Brief 13
Thursday I still didn’t hear anything of this Cuban pirate Julio. And I already had decided to go the performance as nominally that evening with his Cuban Express in ‘ de Heeren’ applying the same strategy like Tune on the Tumba festival. Firing me just like that, when I was following our compromises and arranging for him! But at nine o’clock, when I am resting suddenly the telephone rings.
‘We have a rehearsal right now.’
No idea!
‘Perdóname, whom I talking to’, I say completely without a voice ( I lost my voice for three days!)
‘Darwin Gregg. We are rehearsing for four performances with Bes this weekend.Well, I hadn’t your phone number. But finally I found it between my messages.’
I really have to laugh. Santaría, let the chi flow....
‘Great, Darwin!’
Giovanni Atalita, the secretary of the Fundashion di Músikos named my name a couple of weeks ago to play in this legendaryAntillean band. But when I asked him four the third time how things were going he told me that they already hired a trombone player fromVenezuela.And no, he had not the number of Gregg... I shook my head because of so many lies.Looked in the Botica Gosie in the telephonebook. Called one of the three Greggs, his sister. She gave me his number. Darwin broke the connection the first time. (He has a radiostation Radio Krioyo and ofcourse I called in the middle of the newsbroadcasting.) Afterwards I send three textmessages and viola. As you sow, you shall you reap. The only thing here is: they reap whenever it fits them. No matter what comes out, if something is coming out anyway... aaaayyy.
When I stepped in his Lincolnfour-wheeldrive (a beautiful car,all leather, but I tell beware of Curaçao bandleaders who have an Americanfour-wheel drive) he said:
‘Four concerts, ƒ200,- , so on Monday you will receive ƒ 800,-’
Andokay, although it is a long way of sacrifice, suddenly I am without a job so fine. Although these Antillean horn players have the same sound as my voice right now and besides that they can’t read, I had to laugh a lot.
‘You play second, he plays first’, Darwin says giving me the charts. Convinced with the fact that ‘makambas are not raised with this music, so better an Antilleanwho doesn’t practice (what‘sthat: practice?) then a teacher at the conservatory in Puerto Rico.’ I see this ‘he’,full with golden ringsandearrings. ¡Dios míos!Bon. This is going to be sacrifice, like Christ at thecross or adapt my .. (I just can not: ‘not play well’ ‘not give my hundred percent’, not try to blend. But okay, then we have the healing effect of rum!) It is the same boy who would play for me in Tune at the finale of the Tumbafestival. He is nice;nevertheless he just asks to be sure if the Dominican trombone player is still going to come.
‘No, she is playing.’
‘We can alternate’, he asks whipping his lips.
‘Claro, don’t you worry’, (I am in shape. TheAntillean man only thinks at his torso concerning condition. Everything above the neckmuscles will not be developed, only decorated with gold,the mouth muscles will be used for everything except dominating a horn)
When we are finished at one o ‘clock at night the special guest, singer timbalero Babaloo says:
‘Tomorrow one o’clock!’
Darwin hadn’t told me anythingabout an extra rehearsal, but okay.This man has passion, sings, and plays great and he had this craziness one needs to express yourself.
‘Where is he from?’ so I askat Rolandó.
‘From Santo Domingo.’
You see, I think, it couldn’t be an Antillean (ora Caribbean Dutch, that’s the latest word I red in the send in items in the newspaper. ‘Antillian’ they think is too discriminated!The lack of identity is why they have these strange quirks! The Dutch did a lot of damage here with their slavery, I sure can tell you that.When even a politician like Giovanni Atalita is bulging is eyes and hyperventilating thinking he has to defend himself: ‘We are no Antilleans’. I am no Limburger, but a southern Dutch ¡por favor, niños! Go study, mix with other folks!)
Well, the next day I think: ‘Let me be there at half past two.’
The Club Bonairiano is within a milefrom my house. A hoffie. These are the dancingplaces insquare and the dancefloor in the openair.The stage and the three bars are covered. I walk thought the gate. NO Babaloo, no Darwin Gregg, only the Dominican saxophone player Gaby, I know from the Tumba festival.
‘Gaaaaabi, ¿Cómo estás?’
‘Más o menos’, blowing out some cigarette smoke.
‘More menos then más?’
He smiles.
‘I don’t understand anyway how you stick it out here. Man, you’re such a good musician!’
Gaby is a merenguero. Has a wonderful sound on both alto- and tenorsax. And when I hear him playing a moña in a merengue, I always have to laugh.These sixteenthruns over two octaves, great!
‘It is me!’
‘You know that all the Dominicans here suffer of depressions?’ I say.
An old student of mine told me the same (ofcourse he is aJehovah witness just like that!)The Dominican cleaner of Judith I know, identical. This island is Dutch and not Latin, whata rude people. There are no caballeros here.People don’t look at you, don’t make any contact.Yes only the black men, hissing to white women (Hedarrrling, are you new?). ..
‘Why don’t you go toPuerto Rico?’ I ask.
‘Ah, well you know..’ Gaby says depressed
I tell him to make his website, so that people in theCaribbean get to know him
‘Is that in English?’
‘No, also in Spanish.Gaby, pa’ lante, come on!
Well, then I go to practice. My daily warming –up of Bart van Lier. Played all dim-scalesand pentatonic scales. An hour later. In the mean time the others arrived too and the coolbox.
‘But the beer isn’t cold yet.’
The guys make a racket, laughing.Luckily there is laughter. But where they are laughing about!The man with the biggest noise is the biggestflounder on his instrument. Increíble.
I am still surprised theydon’t know any embarrassment if you can’t play.Even worse, they are the contrary: proud! In the land of the blind one eye is king, as we say in Holland.
Luckily there are some maestros, Uti Gregorio, the bandleaderand bass player and piano player and/arranger Gregory Colina.
‘ May is my buddy’, Gregory said: ‘We have been in so much together.’ That’s right. He played at my examen in 1991. I whisper (don’t have a voice yet) that Julio fired me because I asked something extra’s for the eight arrangements when we would go to Bonaire Jazz Festival (because I know they pay him more).
‘This still happens?’ Gregory smiles.
‘Yes, you know it as no other!’ I am gesticulating to the rewarded arranger of the Tumba festival 2008.
Beside him there is a man who looks very familiar to me.
‘Otty?’
‘Yes? May!’ Otty smiles.
Eeeeeeepaa. A hug. I have to laugh.
‘May Peters!Where are your glasses?’ the manager of my first Antillean band Bomberos in Holland in 1991. And how many hours I had to spend waiting for my money (and then you got even les), luckily the human brain works in a way that negative experiences will be deleted(or will this be my premature death?)Let’s toast to that! ¡Salud!
The guys laughing. Also without a voice it is very clear that we all have the same Antillean background in Hulanda.
In the evening performing in hoffie Barbolina (a garden with a dance floor this time) I starve of thirst having a dry throat. According to a goodAntillean habit you’ll never getdrinking vouchers. What a suffering again. At half past one midnight we start playing at last and we finis at three o’ clock..
The day afterwards a gala concert in the International Trade Centre.
I am there at ten o ‘clock.. the first one. Walking through the big congress hall with round tables and chairs, towards a mixing table.
‘And we have here, ladies and gentlemen May Peters’, I suddenly hear my voice next to mein Spanish. The man behind the mixingpanel and a broadcasting station
‘The trombonist of Bes. We saw you with Alberto Barros last week. How was that?’
‘Idon’t have a voice,’ I whisper laughing in Spanish to the journalist of Radio Krioyo.I accompanied once one of the singers of Barros Willie Panama in Luxemburg. And that’s why I know Alberto’.
‘How were the rehearsals with Bes? Good?Everyone reads these notes right away, don’t they?..’he asks smiling.
And oh, because I’m such a sensitive and positive person (waaahh) I immediately start talking about my meeting with the people from 1991 when my salsacareer started unconsiously.
‘For me it is one big Sentimental Journey. So many old acquaintances. I think it is fantastic such big parties are still organisedin Curaçaowith a big orchestra. Both in Puerto Rico as in Europa this tendency declined. I don’t know what it is.Or the people don’t have any money, don’t have any ears or don’t have any knowledge of music?’ etc.
Probably the listeners thought there was a noise on the radio, so I wonder if they understood.
Iwithhold the fact that my teacher Bart van Lier prohibited me during my studyperiode to play any longer with Antilleans, because I had a cold chronically. I came at home in the morning at the same time the grocer in front of my house opened up his shop. Didn’t have any resistance at all, my complete embouchure was suffering because they played so hard all the time. While I was observing all these Christmas trees on high heels. Always the only white, not to say woman onthese Antillean parties. Nothing hasn’t changed yet.
To my surprise Doble R was also playing, with the bassplayer of Julio. In the break I had a very nice conversation with him as far as I could talk. He is going to take care I will get paid this sevenarrangements.. he said...
‘I am not busy with money.Money for me is a sign of respect. I want to play with good and sincere people making good music. And I really thought that Julio Cambara Palacio was that’, I said: ‘I don’t know what Fidel did damage. But it looks like all Cubans abroad of Cuba are busy running after the money.’
‘Iknow him for a very long time. He uses people. Don’t worry,’ he says.
Gerardo Rosales the second. ‘Rised to the bait again’, flashing through my head. My passion forCaribbean music is a really crusade.
‘An arrangement costsmoney and for sure one of May Peters. I really appreciate what you did for the band,’ the bass player continues.
That’s nice to hear.
The day after, after riding in a circle a lot within a radius of one mile (seems a lot in the darkness) and asking (in Papiamento!) I finally arrive at the Club di Shell. I know this, don’t I? I spend hours waiting here on a rehearsal with Forsa Dos for the Tumba festival.Walking to the stage and all of sudden a beautiful antilope, in a black dress with a wide belt crosses.She laughs, takes my arm and says in Papiamento:
‘Dutch or Spanish?’
‘Spanish.’
‘Thanks God. I think you are wonderful. As a woman between all those men! What a strong woman you are!’
I ‘m doubled up. Where this angel comes from all of a sudden? How does she know me?
‘Aaaay, danki, mi amor’.
She continues walking, shouting: ‘I admire you!’
In the break she tells me she a writer and a poet! At last an artist. And finally a mulata who does mix with otherraces...
ps. And the money? According to a good Caribbean Dutch habit I don’t have it after a week... Darwin Gregg’s car was broken, aprogram maker told me...