Back in late September I traveled to Barcelona, Spain for 10 days of fun, exploration, and pleasure. The weather was pleasingly balmy for the entire 10 day trip. Getting there from Portland, OR was arduous to say the least, but somehow I managed. Its quite the bummer getting up at 7am local time, flying to Philadelphia, and then catching another plane to Barcelona only to arrive at 8:30am local time after 24 hours of non-stop traveling. It felt like the final day of a music festival where almost all energy has been drained, but yet somehow you push bravely on. The fact that the guy in front of me on the plane leaned back so hard he dumped a full Jack-n-Diet on my lap didnt help much, either. I arrived jet-lagged and sticky.
Trying to communicate in a country where you know only the very basics of the language is difficult even for the most rested of people. But I was not rested and it was very difficult to parse together a few basic phrases to be able to communicate. I was speaking, but using the wrong words. People speaking to me were using Spanish words I knew, but just couldnt seem to make sense of at the time. I tried to get some food at a market and the salesman was telling me the amount it cost, but it seemed like he was saying something extremely perplexing. Back in my rented apartment the next day I was like, Oh!! He just said that will cost 2.40 Euros. Duh! But when you are extremely tired, not only do you babble, but other people sound like they are babbling, too.
Spain was absolutely incredible. Some highlights included visiting the Salvador Dali museum in the little town of Figueres, hiking in the Pyrenees, having a drink of Absinthe at Bar Marsella (along with the ghosts of famous artists who drank there like Hemingway, Picasso, Gaudi, and Dali), and visiting Antoni Gaudis absolutely awe-inspiring Modernist masterpiece of a church, La Sagrada Familia. I also was able to attend a football match (thats soccer here in the good ole US of A) which was a surreal and intense experience. The players were great and the crowd was going crazy. I like how they whistle when they are unhappy instead of booing. And the food oh, the food! Tapas, sangria, and paella oh my!! All fresh and tasty. The people were friendly, for the most part, and the apartment was located deep in El Raval, the most crowded and diverse inner-city neighborhood in Barcelona. The densely packed tiny streets intertwined around old buildings with shops on the main floor and apartments on the upper ones. People of all nationalities filled the crowded streets in a bustling, swirling chaos.
Of course, after a few days of taking in the usual tourist sites and culinary delights, I got the itch for some live music. I had seen street performers, heard some flamenco, and even took in a guided tour of the mind-numbingly beautiful Palau De La Musica Barcelona ( check this place out ), but eventually a jam fan needs some heady jams to soothe his music bereft soul in a foreign land. Our hiking guide (who happened to be from Oregon!), told us about how he had free tickets to Green Day one night, but that wasnt the kind of music I was craving. He also mentioned a free blues show, but it was a long walk or expensive cab ride to the blues jam from our apartment, and after hiking in the Pyrenees, I was quite frankly too bushed to make it.
A night or two later, however, after some tapas and sangria from a neighborhood restaurant, I was feeling spry and decided to peruse various tourist books in search of some nearby live music. One place was described as small jazz club near a music school that had nightly jams of Latin, African, Cuban, and Jazz, to name a few. Apparently, many of the students perform there and most people who attend the club are serious music lovers or players themselves. This sounded like the perfect spot! Upon further research, I learned that this little club, the Jazz Si Club, was located only a few short blocks from the apartment. After downing another Estrella Beer or two, it was time to walk down the three flights of stairs and out into El Raval towards the club. The streets were packed and noisy, there were some unsavory characters lurking about, and almost every adult had an open can of beer in their hands I could get used to this place!
We arrived at the club in a few minutes and were inside in no time. There was a small cover charge at the door, but it also bought you your first beer I had a Coronita, which is basically a Corona but for some reason they call it a Coronita in Spain (and no, its not any smaller than a normal Corona like those mini-Coronas you can get at some bars in the states that come in a pail with ice). The club itself was a tiny little place. The bar was directly in front of you as you walked through the door with the stage off to the right and a small room in front of the stage. There was also a tiny staircase that led to a miniscule balcony (more of a parapet that hung just above the main room below) and the bathrooms, but to access the stairs you basically had to walk on stage and excuse yourself to the band. Excuse me guys, need to piss here thanks
After finding an open table nestled deep in the back of the room, it was time to enjoy some live music. The guy sitting next to me quickly offered up a cigarette (everyone smokes in Spain, its true) and I graciously declined. The band seemed more like a little jam session between friends, really. I dont even know if they had a name and I think they were just a few of the music school students who were jamming together. It was a Wednesday night after all, and the place was far from jam-packed. But the music was actually very good. There was a drummer, a percussionist, and a sax player. The drummer was holding down the beat and also performing a flurry of rolls and grooves and provided the main vibe to the music. The percussionist was playing congas and bongos and whatever else he could find to bang on – sometimes even on some of the drummers cymbals. These guys were the backbeat of the jam, and they churned out great syncopated rhythms, both Latin and African in style. The sax player was there more to add a bit of color to the rhythms and he squeaked and squawked along, but never really took any extended solos. It was all about the drums and in a few minutes time some lovely ladies were up and dancing, much to the bands pleasure.
They went through a couple music segments, each time focusing around a Latin or African rhythm, and the leader even tried to work the crowd a bit on the mic. I couldnt understand everything he was saying, but the people laughed and cheered. At one point, as the jam was getting heated, he was urging people in front to get up and dance and many did. Taking in live improvisational music in a small club setting with a few dancers cavorting wildly made this far away jam fan feel a little more like home to me. When the hot and sweaty guys finally ended their last jam, the small audience cheered loudly until the players had no choice but to take the stage once more for an encore.
This time they invited a guest from the crowd up on to the stage with them. As the drums commenced, the newcomer held up his Moritz beer bottle and started tapping along, throwing a high pitched rhythm sound into he mix. Then, much to the amazement of the little crowd, he began to sing into the bottle. Everyone knows how to do the beer bottle flute sound, but he was a master. He sort of sang or chanted as he whistled into the bottle, all the while tapping the outside of the bottle with his drumstick. He kept the rhythm while literally jamming out by chanting/fluting into the bottle along with the rhythm. Honestly, what he was doing was the best lead melody playing of the night! It was amazing and Ive never seen anyone play a beer bottle quite like it before or since. When his solo ended, the room erupted into raucous cheering and applause.
After the set I chatted with one of the guys from the band, who happened to speak English very well. When I told him I was from the states he perked up and told me about how one of his other bands plans to tour the US soon. He asked about different cities, American music, and which clubs to play. I let him know I see smaller bands in bars a few times per week and have a few contacts across the country as far as venues and such. However, he was unfamiliar with the term jamband and did not even know who The Grateful Dead or Phish were. Relix Magazine? Nope. Jambands.com? Nope. But it didnt matter! I let him know his music was fun and there would be an audience for what he was doing in the states. We shook hands and I put my name on their list, just like I would after a good show by an unknown small band in the states. The walk back to the apartment was short and frenetic. As I curled up in my bed that night I felt just a little bit more at home in this strange land. Live improvisational music soothes the soul once again Spanish style!
