The Dowggie Blog

Mmm…

Temper, temper, Aya. Keep your cool.

Be centered. Breathe. Focus.

Both praise and blame should slide off your back like water off a duck’s back.

Both praise and blame are transitory illusions. See through the illusion.

Moon reflected in water. The water may move. The moon remains still.

Balance. Balance in repose. Balance in motion. Balance.

Calm. Relaxed.

Focus.

This too shall pass.

Ego… one of the most tempting illusions.

Don’t fall for it this time. You’re old enough to know better.

So anyway…

The past few months have been a slump for me, musically. Up until a few days ago, wala akong gana mag-ensayo ng gitara. Parang sawang-sawa na ako sa ginagawa ko. Alam na alam ko na ‘yung mga gagawin ko’t sawa na ‘kong marinig sarili ko.

That was my ek for, like, the past couple of months.

Up until a few days ago.

A few days ago, hindi ko alam kung ano’ng nangyari pero biglang bumalik ang gana kong tumugtog at mag-gitara. Parang ang tamis uli ng panlasa ko sa music. I don’t know what shifted in me but I’ve been playing with relish again. Everything sounds fresh and new again… even old standby licks and voicings.

It might have something to do with the fact that I lowered my string action a few days ago. (Prior to that, I’d raised it… ’cause the sound projects better that way and I was finding it a little too easy to play) I don’t know if bringing my action to its usual low height has anything to do with my renewed enjoyment of playing.

I know, I know… Duh… eh, ano pa ba?

Still…

I feel like something has shifted inside me…

… not quite sure what it is, but….

It’s nice.

c",)

So my solo album has been selling rather well. The guerrila self-piracy tactics seem to be working. At a price of php 150, how can they resist? =)

Of course, as expected, most buyers have been musicians or people within the musicians’ circle. But still, it’s been very heartening. =)

Everytime I go out for a gig or a night on the town, I bring at least five copies with me. Most nights, I sell every single one of ‘em. Too cool. =)

Last night, I had a corporate party-type gig with Myra "Skarlet" Romero, Dave Harder, Alvin Cornista and Mikah Azurin.

Awful gig. Sound was terrible. But the pay was ayt. And people danced. To swingin’ straightahead jazz. That part was very, very cool. Sweet. =)

Dave and I then went to Merk’s to hang, jam and shoot the breeze.

Dave and I were called up onstage. It was great sharing a stage with incredible, legendary musicians. Senyor Eddie Katindig, Mang Roger Herrera, Bo Razon, Mang Romy Posadas, Mama Mar, Richard Merck. Sublime.

I thought I’d only be asked/allowed to play one tune with them but ended up staying for three — "All The Things You Are", "Girl From Ipanema" and a jazz-blues in Bb.

‘Twas so heartwarming to be received so warmly by the senyors. Eddie K, father of personal idol Tateng K, complimented me, saying, "… maigi tumugtog ‘tong gitaristang ‘to," while giving me an upturned thumb and a warm smile. Warm fuzzy moment. Kakataba ng puso, sobra. =)

Bo, Mang Romy and Mang Roger also gave me smiles and upturned thumbs. Mang Roger took me aside and complimented my playing. =)

Made me feel good. =)

Not in an ego sense, mind you. Well, ok… in an ego sense, in a sense. ; p

But more because I’ve worked damn hard at what I do. And in years past, I was so hungry for praise and validation — especially from the senyors — and hardly ever received it. Last night, I just let it all hang out… and was surprised at the warmth and love I received.

Sarap. =)

And Richard Merck bought 3 of my cd’s, natch! =)

This morning I went to Baclaran Church to meet up with a friend, who also happens to be a friend of a friend/ex-girlfriend. (yes, yet another ex-girlfriend; what can I say? - I’m cheap!). I met up with Monique (the friend of the ex) to hand her a copy for Janice (the ex). Managed to sell Monique a copy of her own in the process. =)

Monique then suggested I sign both their copies… but neither of us had a pen. So I then approached various strangers milling around the church and asked if they might have a pen I could borrow. After four or five unsuccessful tries, I found a sweet lady who had a pen she was willing to lend.

As I was signing the two cd’s, the sweet lady who owned the pen looked on, then asked if it was indeed my own album I was selling. I said yes. She asked to see it. I handed her one.

And she bought it! =)   

That Alchemist book is right. The universe conspires. It’s wonderful to behold. Awe-inspiring.

I’m not the message, just the messenger. I don’t play the music, the music plays through me. I’m just a channel. That’s all I am.

To God be the glory.

c",)

Illusions…

Fame is one. Money can be another.

Life is so much more than what it appears to be.

That’s what the movie, Matrix, was all about before parts two and three devolved into cop-outs of long-winded wushu, decadent car crashes and Hollywood Zen.

Sigh… What a waste.

Anyway…

A bassist friend called on me earlier this evening. He needed a sympathetic ear and a smidgen of advice.

We met up and hung out at my house. Bassist Friend unburdened himself.

Apparently a friend we have in common has… ummm… taken a wrong turn.

Ahhh… sigh.

Illusions.

There are those who labor under the impression that talent excuses all. This is one of the trickier illusions… expecially because the world at large often chooses to foster this particular illusion. It’s a tricky trap, this one.

Hence the old rock-star-trashes-hotel-room schtick. Ditto the brilliant-artist-who-takes-the-rock-’n-roll lifestyle-a-little too far thing.

Jazz cats are guilty of this too. There’s the trumpet legend who once tried his hand at pimping. There’s the pianist god who never knew when to kick his heroin habit… and died broke and alone. There’s the nokmits alto saxophonist who begged, borrowed and stole to support his own habit. There’s the bald guitarist who once stole instruments from a lounge, pawned them and used the bread to score.

And now we have a percussive personality who seems to have stolen two communication devices for no good reason. Musician par excellance. But as a criminal, he’s strictly an amateur.

The breach of ethics is bad enough. The lying cover-ups are worse. The biting of the hands that feed, worse still. But most unforgivable is the lack of thought put into the crime.

If one must indulge in an illusion, one might as well pursue it with single-minded excellence.

Of course, this train of thought may just reflect a misplaced set of values on my part, but…

Perhaps I realize I have no right to judge another’s lack of morality, having exhibited immoral behaviour myself. (Mine is a past with more than its fair of share of checkers.) So I instead decry the dumbass amateurishness.

I pray that my talented friend recovers from this fall. He has much to live for.

Talent itself isn’t the illusion. Our ownership of it is. None of us can lay claim to our talent.

We are just channels for The Sacred Samting. The Sacred Samting passes through us. The light which illuminates is not ours.

To lay claim to The Sacred Samting is like encircling part of an ocean with our arms and claiming ownership over the water within.

The Sacred Samting is… The Sacred Samting. It merely is.

To say any more would be stupad.