Dave Blinkhorn
Sanlúcar de Guadiana
Everything is still. It’s 5.30pm and 37 degrees.
The dog is stretched out on his back, in his favourite position for losing heat. No wind stirs the leaves on the trees, and the afternoon heat drives up relentlessly from the earth under my feet while the air roasts my nostrils.
I carry the tenor saxophone and a rucksack bulging with instrument stands, microphones, cables and clothes down to the boat, when everyone else who can be is lying motionless on their bed and waiting for the night.
The gig is in Tavira at a French restaurant. I’ll be playing in a duo and we start at 7.30 Portuguese time, but that means I have to walk out the house and travel down the river at the hottest time of day. I’ve played there once before and I enjoyed it, so I’m looking forward to the evening, but these are the times when I really wish I had a road that reached my house.
On the pontoon I dump my gear in the boat, fetch the outboard battery and fit it, then step out of my clothes and dive into the river. It’s the good part about not having a road. After a few minutes submersed everything seems possible. I get out, put on my wet t-shirt, and motor the 20 minutes it takes to reach the village, by which time my shirt and I are both dry.
It’s Friday afternoon, and the yacht pontoon in Sanlúcar de Guadiana is adorned with the bodies of beautiful young boys and girls hanging out, talking, swimming and keeping cool. I know some of the older ones, they’re friends of my son and they smile and nod. They’ve seen this strange old Englishman carrying his saxes from the boat to the car quite a few times this summer, and they quickly make way for me and sometimes ask how and where Nye is. They’re a friendly bunch, polite and well behaved on the whole and I feel grateful to live in this small and generous community.
The car is like a kiln, but after a quick stop in the village to pick up more equipment, I’m on my way, and the aircon is making a difference. I won’t see another car on the road until I get to the motorway.
Luis, the guitarist I’m playing with tonight, has told me his wife, Lena, will be guest singing a couple of songs tonight and I don’t know either of them. It’s Luis’ birthday, so there’ll be a few friends along too. ‘So Many Stars’ is a bossa nova by Sergio Mendes, a classic 60s song that I don’t warm to immediately. It feels gushy and out of date, but I think it’s the arrangement I’m listening to. I have the chords, and I’ll manage to play along, but the main thing to do is listen to it on repeat and get the feel of the thing. She’s also going to sing ‘Parole Parole’ an Italian hit song in the charts in 1972, which translates as Words, words. More homework. I did work on these tunes yesterday, but they still seem unfamiliar. The rest of the set is non-threatening, and Luis is a generous musician to play with, and a lovely guy, so I know it’ll be OK.
Tavira
The restaurant is empty apart from an American couple having a drink. It’s early, we like to set up in half an hour and then we get a choice of dinner from the menu, a couple of glasses of wine, and coffee in addition to our fee. It’s all so bloody civilised. I wonder which countries have the most respect for the craft, I’d say Portugal is high on the list, slightly higher than Spain, and they’re both better that the UK. But I haven’t played in enough countries to have a proper opinion. Sounds like an ambition.
Luis has his mixing desk, mics and pedals set up already. He tells me we’ll be joined by a German guitarist whose Amazonian wife Sandra will also sing on ‘Manha Carnaval’. We order our food from Helena, the French/Portuguese restaurant owner/manager, who seems intent on making our experience as enjoyable as possible. She’s laughing and smiling while juggling the kitchen, the staff and the clientele. While we eat, Luis’ family and friends begin to arrive. They have reserved a table for 12.
The first set is fun, I’m pleased with my sound, there are no guest spots, so we just play our set and it goes down well. People are listening and clearly enjoying it. All the tables are filled with all kinds of people, so Helena is happy too and the young food servers are pretty busy. We take a break and Hubert sets up his hollow-body electric guitar. It’s got a lovely mellow tone and he plays in a thoughtful harmonic style.
After a warm-up with a couple of instrumentals we play a song with both ladies singing. Sandra is confident, in traditional dress, sings in Brazilian Portuguese, and her authenticity is charming. Lena is Russian, with a deep sonorous voice that really suits the bossa novas, and she sings this song in English.
Suddenly it’s the last song of the evening, and Luis asks if I’ll play ‘All Of Me’. He knows it’s not my favourite, but it will work with Hubert. And then a cheerful heckling American voice pipes up from behind us, “Play it in five!”. They’ve been enthusiastically applauding throughout.
We smile politely, but trying to play that jazz classic with 5 beats in the bar is not the easy send-off to the evening we had in mind. But we give the tune some welly anyway. And then the set is finished.
Afterwards there’s birthday cake and chat and mingling while we break down the equipment and put the instruments away, and I meet the American ladies. It turns out that one of them is a muisc professor who teaches jazz harp at Berklee College of Music in Boston, probably the most prestigious place in the world to study jazz. Not only that, but she’s played the harp for Barack Obama.
So to her, playing ‘All of Me’ in 5/4 would be an entertaining walk in the park. I feel humbled, amazed to meet someone of that calibre, and suddenly extremely and embarrassingly aware of all my shortcomings as a musician. My imposter syndrome surges up inside me while we talk. But she is kind and generous with praise for the evening. She says maybe she’ll bring her harp next week! I doubt it.
I’m tired, and it’s a hour or so to drive home, so I’m first to leave. I drive out of the maze that is that part of Tavira and finally reach the motorway. I don’t know if there’s a word to describe the emotion I’m feeling. It’s a kind of warmth produced by the clearly universal human love of music, the range of cultures, nationalities and languages present emphasizing our shared human experience. The world is really quite small.
Sanlúcar de Guadiana
I’m a bit sleepy on the way home. I have to stop, twice, for a 5 minute power nap. I can park close to the boat tonight, but the village is still humming with life at 1.30am. I avoid the bar and set off in the boat, in the dark, with my gear, and motor silently up the river under a supremely starry and moonless sky. Two impressive shooting stars. It’s so quiet, and cool at last. I’ve put on a jacket, it’s barely necessary, but so comfortable. After tying up the boat, I walk up the hill to the house behind Ragnar, our ginger tomcat, who lives outside and is clearly pleased to meet someone else on the night shift.
I enter the house as quietly as possible to avoid waking Anna, sit down on the sofa and have a little vodka. 20 minutes later I crawl into bed. It’s 10 hours since I left. I’m still a bit revved up, sometimes sleep doesn’t come too easily after a gig.
Same again next Friday. But delightfully, as always, it won’t be the same.
Dave Blinkhorn