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We arrived home last night, after trying to find our way for three hours in the cold, only to realize that we had left our bag at a store downtown. The bag held our camera (a piece of junk), my note book (nothing special), and "The Smithies," Celeste's sunglasses, the value of which rivals me. I went back. Celeste had an itch to do yoga and I didn't mind going. I thought that while downtown I'd poke my head into a few jazz bars and begin the query on how to get me and my ax on stage in this town. I ran and caught a bus, sprinted the remaining blocks downtown, and miraculously found the same store where we left our bag. I opened the locker we had left our bag in (unlocked because I lacked the coinage to do so--dumb) and found that someone had opened our bag and rifled through it, probably looking for cash. Fortunately I didn't have to call the police because they didn't molest "The Smithies." I think the other stuff was okay, too. Once "The Smithies" were secure, I walked up a block to check out the jazz scene. Now that the panic was over and "The Smithies" were safe, I opened my eyes to see what was around me. I was amazed at how much life was on the street. It was filled with weekenders--couples walking everywhere on their way to the movies, the bars, to dinner. All the signs were lit and blinking. Tall buildings, each containing multiple bars, clubs, restaurants, churches, doctor's offices--you name it--stood beckoning me to explore them. Having never been here at night, I didn't realize the vein of night life that flowed down the street that seemed almost sleepy during the day-- probably from a hangover. I found a club that piqued my interest a few days earlier when Celeste and I were exploring that part of town. I climbed three flights of stares and stood outside, looking through the glass. Through the window, I saw a huge stage with more band equipment than Van Halen surrounding one man, obviously Korean, wearing a Mickey Mouse T-Shirt, a leather beret, suspeders, and cheesy sunglasses playing guitar and singing American songs I've never heard of--I even undelstood a few of the words he belted, though the Carnegie Hall settin on the reverb didn't help. There was a mysterious background music accompanying him--all part of the Karaoke magic that is so huge here in K-town. One of the owners of the club invited me in. The club was huge. It was really nice with plush seats and large tables lining a wall overlooking the city. The stage had sound-synchronized lights, amps, monitors, a 16-channel mixer, three keyboards, guitars, basses, a sax, bongos, a full drum set, and other auxiliary percussion. Soon, a man approached me and asked me something in Korean. I motioned that I was there for the music. In broken English, he asked me if I played the guitar. I said that I play the sax. At this he lit up like a cigar, grabbed me by the arm and led me to the stage. He hopped on the keyboard and handed me an alto sax. I strapped it on and in seconds we were on our first chorus of Autumn Leaves. Then Summertime. Then the blues in E minor, B-flat, and A until we were both blue in the face. The finale came when he started in on the cheesy Korean pop music. I tried the best I could to create supporting harmonies. After about a half an hour the other band members came on stage and it was my cue to split. I shook hands with everyone. The two people at the bar applauded me as I finished. I put on my coat and pushed my way through the revolving doors. I bounded down the stairs and out into the buzzing street. I walked amazed at what had just happened--I played jazz at a club in Taejeon. As I walked down the road among the flashing lights and couples holding hands, I felt like I somehow belonged in this part of the universe. I felt welcomed. I hailed a taxi. The driver talked to me all the way home in Korean. I managed to spit off my memorized phrase, "chonon Kalma waygooko hogwan yongow songsaynim imneedah" (I'm an English teacher at the Kalma language school). Unfortunately, this only encouraged him. From then on I just said mmmnnneh, to encourage the taxi driver's monologue. He was really nice, though. I arrived home before 9:30 and related the story to Celeste. Today I realized that the rare pleasure of playing at the club was nothing of my doing. I realized that it was God was looking after me, watching me roam around the streets of Taejeon thinking, "why not let him play his little horn in a club." He gave it to me. It was all too easy and too convenient to think that it was luck or chance. Cool how he looks after me in ways like that. He Looks After My Jazz--Scottro [2002-11-24]
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