The Parable of Two Garys, and One John.

And Etienne, and Ranjit too.  By now, I’m sure these names hint what this entry is all about. The 4^th Dimension - the current quartet led by guitar pioneer John McLaughlin - was set to play at the Grand Sunset Pavilion of  Sofitel Phillipine Plaza on March 16, 2014 .

There’s got to be only one John. McLaughlin formed the Mahavishnu Orchestra, which happens to be among the major forces seminal to the rock-jazz movement (alongside Return to Forever and Weather Report, as far as I can remember). And then he turns around, picks up the acoustic guitar, goes unplugged before even the term was hip, and gravitates towards the contemplative powers of Shakti.

If the gospels ascribe John (the Beloved) as Christ’s loved disciple, McLaughlin comes as the John (the guitarist) Miles loved. He played on the Miles Davis’ birth-of-fusion album “Bitches Brew”. Davis’ must have loved him that much as one track is simply titled ‘John McLaughlin’. And he went on to play with Miles for more releases. Any musician or serious fan would willingly be a part of history that is written tonight.

McLaughlin’s evolution has blown, run down, inspired, appalled, deconstructed, and blasted writers, musicians, critics and creatives into dust. But as the set begins, there is no hint of nostalgia. Now they’re tearing the set song after song from the album “John McLaughlin and 4^th Dimension: Boston Record” (released by Abstract Logix), and it was a set of generally unfamiliar material. But in fusion-speak, there is a tinge of “Where Have I heard You Before?” prevalent in the hall.

One thing was so familiar with the audience was the vibe- it was home for all of us. This quartet of virtuosos was at the top of its game, and then there’s McLaughlin. His snooker-pool eyeballs rolling upward as he dips through, in and beyond the zone, Armed with a solid body PRS, McLaughlin is as McLaughlin can get. Jagged guitar lines tear each solo, theme after theme knocked down to give way to creations on the fly. It was a communion - they were all giving, all sharing the common universal language and we were fortunate enough to partake of everything that was brought to the table. Eyes were closed, standing ovations given number after number, heads bobbing up and down, a happy Lourd De Veyra (of Radio Active Sago Project) dancing at the left side of the hall – it was a convergence. Etienne M’bappe on bass was spectacular live, Gary Husband on dual instruments (drums and keyboards) was unbelievably handling rhythmic, soloing and harmonic roles, while Ranjit Barot always won over with polyrythms, grooves and trading konnakol phrases (Konnakol or konakkol is a South Indian percussion style using syllables).

Virtuosity aside, the songs and the arrangements hold high merit. Crafty arrangements, riffs and hooks (yes hooks) were aplenty. It was a breather from the current “unison-motif-start-stop” fusion material. The track “Abbaji”  - which may well be lifted directly from the “A Love Supreme” template  - ushers THE moment and transforms the hall into one stream – featuring Barot’s vocals. “Little Miss Valley” is a raunchy, riff driven number.

The evening ended with the whole quartet signing autographs on CDs, LPs and even guitars. I joined in – nary an idea that I lined up for my biggest boo-boo. I approached the table and as I went to Gary Husband, the fan in me was fumbling of something to say: And said something, like how I was really amazed with his playing, and that his work on Tribal Tech was highly influential.

Ooops.

Husband said “Sorry, I never played with them, but yeah they’re good. I know the guys”. Something like that.

Then it dawned that it was another Gary. Gary Willis. Ugh. How could I miss Husband? The guy behind Allan Holdsworth’s  Secrets, Atavachron and my favorite, Metal Fatigue  - how could I? Well I guess if it happened to Tuck Andress as he met Carlos Santana on the hallway, It can – and it did - happen to me too. Being so dazed, confused, blown and all.

I hope Gary forgives me. Forgiveness, after all, is a doctrine of the gospel. 

And this, is the gospel according to John (McLaughlin).  

Addendum:

After having my CD signed, I approached someone at the end of the queue, and told him: I know you didn't perform tonight, but I would like you to sign my CD too.

He replied: " Wasaaaaak", and obliged with the note: " Idol ko sila , Lourd".  Here's that that near-cryptic message. 

Thanks, Lourd.

Stages, Divided.

NOW. For  another highly opinionated moment.

I may be part of a minority, but I still find it doubtful to think that the rewards resulting from hustling the regular club circuits are equally obtainable with the rigorous selection processes underwent on highly visible media talent searches.

There are areas that are incomparable for both arenas. These, which I dare say, draw the line between seasoned performers and  seasonal  performers. Seasoned performers are like good wine. They age, they get better with age, they last. Seasonal performers last as the TV network allows them for a season, as supported by the Mr. and Ms. Public's text votes and population.  Though both seek the ever elusive break,  the methods and game rules are so different.

Here are three areas that clearly divide both stages:

Area One:

The live club/bar gigs do not guarantee audiences, even if the talents have  established following and have religiously covered the necessary leg work .  Dates that fall on payday still rule, and should one act fall on weak days, it is still necessary to give 100% performance level before an audience of waiters, tables and chairs.  Those joining broadcast competitions enjoy a sure crowd (which  may like them or not), and do not have to worry if there will be people watching.

With Youtube and more,  audience is guaranteed . So does vulnerability to a slew of merciless- know-it-all- yet-faceless comments.

Area Two:

The talent searches give 3 minute shot at stardom, or less. Repertoire is whittled into something that which is believed to show the act in top form. No obscure requests on  tissue paper to contend with, no birthday greetings. The bar gigs see you as the messiah that can do Celine Dion one moment and Rhianna the next, and everything in between.  You do a 45 minute set, miss on one request and suffer the drunken public's frustrated calls for not doing that Billy Corgan tune (which you may have air guitar-red  to back in college).

Area Three:

If one misses that "note" on a Stevie Wonder cover, talent show guy gets immortalized for that lone fumble, without a chance of redemption at that very moment. The episode is run and rerun through gazillion uploads.   Crippling comments sprawl about, deadlier than MJ's throng of Thriller zombies.  The slight sharp/flat note done on national/ global media consequently turns into a mistake of national/global proportions.

Fair enough. 

Meanwhile ,  the gigging act gets a shot for redemption set after set. There will always be a chance to redeem the horrible version of the Barry Manilow classic the previous night. Though chances are, you may not have to play that song again as a big part of the previous night's performance may have been flushed down with the alcohol.

Oh well, or it may just be me. Just a highly opinionated moment, folks. 

SMOOTHNESS FOR ALL ITS WORTH

The danger in too smooth a jazz is you end up crashing in the rails, asleep. It comes too smooth, devoid of bumps and grit, it smooth-soothes one into a calmness akin to water dripping on time lapse mode. Don't get me wrong - I do love a lot of it - the ones which have 90% jazz and 10% smooth.

Smooth rock  or lite rock, if you may, falls in between having angst of a love found/lost theme climaxing in a guitar solo and raspy tenor singing "Ba-ye-beee" numerous times. Is it lite? Yes. Rock? Arguably.

Sometimes, we carry the inaccurate pursuit of comfort too far and see Christianity only as one smooth, grace-filled ride. Though it is biblical at a surface, it seems to lack the teeth and spikes great men of God, martyrs and disciples are made of.

While some were been burned alive for the sake of the gospel, we hide the gospel in socially relevant topics so as to satisfy our cravings for emotionalism, so we do not offend others, and worse, diminish attendance.

While Paul takes every opportunity and limitation to preach to the point of wearing people to death ( a boy fell from a window after his 2-day preaching), we are too tired to care for needs beyond the third degree of our acquaintance.  To be brutally frank, we only care for burdens and get hyped up when people within our knowledge are affected. Body of Christ? Bahala kayo. I have demons to struggle with,  you know. Philippines? It has always been corrupt governance, anyway, all the way. Though, It was nice to live on this rich soil for awhile. So, like, Ta-taaaa.

While Christ admonishes praying and watching the times and signs, we fill our minds with the number of likes our "copy-pasted-pseudo-spiritual" messages garner, the latest so-called "Pinoy Prides" (forgive my abhorrence of that phrase) - as if our national sovereignty depended on their competitions - and all the profit-driven clutter.

How can we forget how Christ emphasized His pursuit of the will of the Father and not His own, while on this earth?  As Christ is the heart of what we blindly claim as Christianity, it is not a question of which direction to follow. It is a question of "Will We?".

Forgive me, but I don't see a simple, "You-and-me-Lord- let's- walk-together-and-enjoy-the-view-tourist-mode-until -you-come- back" pace.

Where is the urgency? Where is the part where we are redeemed so we can shed the same light of redemption to others? Where is the Great Commission?

Sometimes imperfections are better left were they are. They hurt us, they trample us, they even come close to crushing us. The scars remind us that until that great hope, this earth and everything it embodies -  the government, the honor, the prestige, the residencies  -   is not our home after all. 

And while we're at it, here's an original smooth jazz track (its a mouse over link) - An Alien's Sojourn - from the vaults.