Omar Sosa Journal Entry

Journal Entry: March 1, 2005, Omar Sosa in concert

Good morning, Mr. MJW!

I expect you slept well. I was ridiculously lazy this morning. Got into the office at 9:30 after a long bus ride into work and listening to two gents, about 10 years younger than our dads talking about Costco, Walmart, Starbucks, Sam's Club, and Ikea. They were weighting the social ramifications of them in a safe way. Both were Alameda home owners with kids and wives. Nice guys, typical guys.
I wonder if our generation will be calmed by these kinds of things. Where will our adventure go if our lives are reduced to comparing big box merchants?

So it made me ridiculously thankful for the adventurers we are now. Now I've added running and jumping from a hill to my list of things to do after our discussion last night. Gosh, I have so many death-defying things to do in the next 6 years. Something tells me once the babymaking happens, I'll be protective as all heck and not be willing to jump from high places as often...

Anyway...I wanted to share something interesting, inspirational...I dunno. This is as close as I could come up with:

8:30 pm * Yoshi's Jazz Club in Oakland

Today I enjoyed the Shokado Bento Box Special. For $20 I enjoyed Nigiri Sushi (tuna, unagi, and yellowtail), tempura, lovely samples of a fruit salad, a sweet cucumber with little scallops salad, a crab salas with salmon roe, cheesecake, rice, and miso soup.

My tummy is happy and satisfied.

The rain falls gently outside. Soft, steady, percussive.

When I went to the restroom, I caught a glimpse of myself - pale, worn jeans just about the hips, a casual shirt with horizontal stripes - brown, grey, and black, and the worn jean jacket with pinstripes. Black.

A hipster business look. My hair is up and in a bun with angler fish tendrils. I noticed as I was washing my hands in the basic that my navel was visible. I wasn't disgusted. I actually thought I was sexy for a moment. That was sweet.

We're at table 5. Phil and I were at Table 6 for Cachaito. The stage is set with a drum kit and plenty of percussion, an old, true bass, 2 saxophones, and a piano. Different instruments to evoke the gods and goddesses.

As with all shows at Yoshi's, the crowd is mixed. My table is a blend of rainbow colors...an Asian woman, perhaps in her late 30s, early 40s, a darkskinned Turkman in his 50s or 60s, and a perceivably white woman in her late 30s or early 40s with gorgeous curly brown hair.

I miss Mitzi, my music female friend. Not that my women friends don't enjoy music, but Mitzi shares a passion with me. I appreciate and love her for that.

Omar Sosa was wearing a white caftan and sunglasses, looking like a priest. What is our journey? I don't know!

My favourite instrument on stage is a black, gourd-like bottle. I can't wait for the tones to come forth from it. It could be a bird's nest or a water vessel. How will it sing?

Some avant garde trumpet jazz is playing. I'm reminded of the church of John Coltrane. The ecstasy of the music, not always danceable, but reaching into my mind, easing me, taking me to a detal place of contentment.

Instruments are artifacts of the soul of nature. The are woods, strongs, stretched skins, cymbols, sticks, hammers, vessels, tubes, holes, buttons, metal. Engineered to produce sounds.

Tonight the rain makes the streets of Oakland brilliant.
Crevices in the road are filled with water, glisten like jewels.
Clean. The drops fall, do their journey,
and fall. Some splatter, some are sucked into drains, pool.s
Where they were once one, they now join the collective.
Water, born from mist - cleaning the world. Cleaning my thoughts.

The spring air is lades with the phenomenon of flowers.
All the blooms cry, "Pollinate me!"
The scent is sweet, beautiful, intoxicating.
This is what the world should smell like -
not exhaust, chemicals and waste,
but from a cycle of life.

~~~
The crowd hushes, jazz is about to happen. Where did this music come from?
(Woo! Electric tabla? That's hot!)

Elegua is being evoked aqui. A pianist in leather sandals. Easy smile.

En su piano una vela roja y un pedazo de material rojo. De que esta hecho?

His smile is beautiful. He loves playing. Body jerking as inspiration takes him up and down the keyboard.

He's moved to the next piece. Gentle. Sweat glistens on his face from the fiery first piece. I'm trying to stifle my sneezes.

He's so beautiful as he plays. I think men are beautiful when they play their instruments. So creative, natural, and loving. Even the angriest man playing the angriest piece is amazingly beautiful playing an instrument.

Jazz has this ridiculous, beautiful, self-referencing, humourous, serious element to it. They are pieces that joke and reflect on other pieces. The more you know jazz, the more you know the jokes. It's wonderfully geeky. The more I know, the more I feel able to be part of the "in crowd".

And even so, I'm on the fringes. I love music, though I consider myself effectively illiterate.

Then goes the montuno [The crowd ended the evening singing "Guantanamera." It was beautiful.]

The gourd vessel has the echo of the tabla. Beautiful, subtle rhythm and tones. Drops of water. Ay, que bonito.

Okay, so the plum wine is makine it's way to my brain. I still have a little plum to eat when I am done. And it will be SOAKED with alcohol.

He coos into the mike - Omer. The music blended by these four men takes you from playful, to gentle, to contemplative. Jazz has all these. I think I thank Peter Koniuto and Adrian Sicam most for allowing me to love jazz in college. I know I loved big band before, but they encouraged me by our listening, dinners, and impromptu playing.

My head's light. I have my musical crush for the evening.