Tuesday, August 31, 2010

This weeks Greg Adams Short Story

"Tahiti, 2005.  I was invited to travel to Papeete, Tahiti for a week of playing some jazz with a local bass player named Felix. Accompanying me was Joey Navarro, the keyboard player in my band and now EBS. And of course Andrea went with me. It's about an 8 hour flight from L.A. Overnight, so we arr...ived at about sunrise the next day. Wow. What a paradise. They put us in the Hotel Intercontinental. Beautiful hotel right on the beach with over-water bungalows. Talk about a working vacation, you couldn't get any better than this Oh, and the food. Oh boy.

We were given vouchers for the restaurants in the hotel. French and Asian were the predominant cuisines. You could have sushi or sashimi for B, L or D if you wanted. The gigs were just a minor inconvenience, if you know what I mean. But 3 shows in 6 days was do able. And at the end of the week, we were treated to an unbelievable afternoon on a privately owned motu (island) just off the coast. It was a trip of a lifetime for us! Now that I've told you about this wonderful travelogue we went on, there's just one little thing that happened the first night on the bandstand.

Our first show was the evening of the day of our arrival. A little jet lag, but who cared? After all, we were in Tahiti! The show was in the hotel, so there was no stress there. Just stroll down from the room and into the restaurant where they'd built a small stage for us. The restaurant was packed and things were looking good for a nice little show. We'd rehearsed earlier in the afternoon and we were just doing standards, so if it was loose, no biggy. Once again, after all we were in Tahiti. Went on stage to set up, putting my horn stands for my trumpet and flugal on the small drum riser behind me. When we were ready to start, the drummer started the count to Night In Tunisia or something like that. Most the songs were straight ahead jazz, which I love to play. I'm holding my flugal and as the drummer hits the downbeat with his bass drum, my trumpet goes flying and hits the stage mangling my first valve. Oh boy. It's not moving at all. I figure I get through the night on flugal and get it repaired tomorrow. After the song ends, I turn to the local tenor sax player whose in this week's band and ask him, "Where's the closest brass repairman?"  He turns to me and says, "L.A." I finished the week on flugal. After all, we were in Tahiti."

See you next week.

For more on Greg go to http://www.gregadamsmusic.com/ or http://www.eastbaysoul.com/