Description

Music at Sunset
Stir It Up, Gimme One Good Reason
The Waterfront. Someone told me about their to-die-for appetizer. Their Music at Sunset. First time out, I get stuck in Traffic. I miss Happy Hour, barely managing to walk in as the Sun Sets. I look at the Sun’s angle, the Sky’s clarity. There are no low clouds. I walk straight to the Rail, camera ready. It is the perfect set up for the Green Flash. That rare phenomenon where Scientists say the sun’s light bends, refracting across the water separating rays into different colors, much as a prism creates a rainbow. To those with a more spiritual imagination, it’s the masterpiece of Raphael, the Angel of Light, Healing and Music, who with his paint brush and a swoosh of his hand picks and chooses where and when to reward the faithful’s attention. Sometimes with a spectacular sunset. Sometimes with a Green Flash.

Sunset. My way to give thanks and receive my reward for a well-spent day. It is

I found a couple ways to let things go at the end of the day. It all starts with changing my shoes when I get back to my island jeep. Amazing how that little ritual changes my whole being. It creates a shift from work to play, much like receiving a message or heart from afar can send a sliver of love across many miles and years, boosting your energy. Another is swimming. I just imagine the water washing away nonsense, leaving only that which has value. There is Yoga. Similar, for with every stretch, the tension trapped in muscles and ligaments is released. Common to all three, after you let go, you decide what you want to keep from the day, what you want to leave in the discard pile, as you would in a game of rummy, or 5 Card Stud.

Music at Sunset is the best. The epitome of the end to a day and the beginning of the Perfection of your evening play. To Enjoy. No day is more important than Friday, when you can wash away and drop the whole week. Only to pick up on Monday Morning that which is necessary. That which still has value to begin the week anew. In this incarnation of my life I have both Saturday and Sunday free. In my last I was lucky to have Saturday free. Sunday was almost always a diving day. While diving isn’t as much like work as paperwork, it is still work. Paperwork? Off limits unless an urgent Deadline was imminent.

Music. The Gift of the Angels. Of all the Musicians I worked with, Johnny B taught me the most about how to watch Music. He’d always come round when off-island bands play. And I applied those valuable lessons to everyone. He also taught to NEVER, EVER, Let Dead Air Space echo through the little bar/restaurant that I bought as the second part of living my dream. The first was my own little Dive Shop, and part 2 was my own place to enjoy a Burger and a Beer at the day’s end.

Dead Air on the boat is equally bad. It gives people time to get nervous. Out of Control Nerves are the way people get hurt. Usually not the one who lost it. Instead who gets hurt is either an innocent bystander or typically, the one who went to save them. The one who tried to fix their blunder that in the underwater world can be fatal. In a bar, it’s only financially devastating. It gives the crowd time to think about leaving, and on a band night, you need every body to stay for a long time and to drink a lot, for not only do you have to pay upkeep and booze cost, you gotta cover that band. And that band ain’t cheap. So we all drop everything to run for the soundboard when the band breaks. Get House Music On Now. Keep the same genre to keep the mood going.

Every once in a while Music goes beyond this World. Watching “The Boys” taught me the difference between a band who is tight, even playing perfectly together, but doesn’t have that elusive “IT”. That magical moment when Musicians tap into the beauty of another dimension and their Music takes on a quality that can only be described as ethereal. Heavenly. Watching the Boys leave this world together is how I first saw 2 mystically connect through Music as they were playing. It always takes 2. Just another one of those elusive treasures where 2 have a chance to make something special. If missed, or under wrong circumstances it fades back into the nothingness from whence it comes. Together you can soar to a place where you don’t feel pain any more. Interesting, the Bible says where 2 or more gather and ask for the same thing, it will be granted. Maybe that’s what happens, two are just listening and together follow the flow upward back to its source. The Boys created many of those amazing Musical moments when the quality of the Music Clearly exceeds the talent and ability of the Musicians. It’s like they leave this world to pass into another dimension and bring back its Music. That connection. That spark is so real, so visible, that I began to see it emerge. Some Musicians only find it sometimes, for some it slips in and out depending on surroundings. Some can find it almost on demand.
I always imagine they go to some room that holds Janis Joplin, Buddy Holly, Jim Morrison, and others who left this world far too early. Who spend eternity playing their beautiful Music, only now with even more Perfection. That the Musician reaches up and brings these heavenly sounds back to earth. Though to make the magical jump, they need to join another soul.

I went from spotting them leave, to sending my energy to a Musician from the audience in the hope he would catch it, mirroring what I saw happen when the boys jammed together onstage. Matching my energy with theirs to capture and like rocket fuel propel them onward and upward. Maybe attention sparks someone who needs to be heard to really engage. I’m sure how or why, but I know it’s real. Not every Musician could tap into it, or if they did, could we reach “The Room”. But every once in a while, one would catch it and I’d hitch onto their Music, and together we’d ride to that “Room in the Sky.” Our energy combining, together propelling us into that ethereal world. Where all things were

beautiful and only good is felt. It is pure energy infusion. Much as when a Sea Turtle or dolphin in the wild swim over to you and stay and play.
Palm Trees rustle their little cluckety-cluck like they do in the sea breeze, as I focus all my attention on the Sun. In the back of my mind I hear the intro to my favorite song. Now? During the Green Flash? I can’t watch both at the same time. Which way do I look?

I heard this Musician before. It is only a bonus that he is playing tonight. This kid’s got IT. Amazing sound. Amazing Talent. Amazing Voice. But I’m not about to look away from the sun as it touches the horizon when its setting up for the Green Flash. That didn’t stop him. He plays right through his signature intro. Just as he hits the first note of Angel, I see that elusive Green Flash. Did he time that, or is it just the synchronicity of the moment? Raphael in action?

I didn’t stay for nature’s encore, for the deepening colors in the sky before deep blue takes over. Instead camera still in hand, I zoom in on him as he plays my favorite song. He looks up with softness and awareness, as though he could see through the camera and my dark glasses right into my soul. Kindred spirits mingled without touching in a way few ever know. He can’t hold the gaze, looking away. The Perfection of the Moment is captured entirely in his Music. It stirs up my every nerve. Never felt more alive. Not even in the midst of White Flash Love-Making. His Music moves me. As it flows, I feel it washing away the pain, reinvigorating me as it erases long-held hurts.

Despite all his soul, the next song he struggles with his sound. Fussing with the soundboard trying to get his Reps into the Box. I know the drill. A Musician usually sits behind the speakers so can’t hear what the room hears, especially in an open air venue. So I do what I always do. I walk back to the rail, tapping my throat (sometimes its air guitar) along with a thumbs up or down, with a finger thumb combo to say little or lots. Pretty simple when you think about it, but unbelievable how many Musician’s look at you and shake their head trying to tell you they don’t understand.

Just like leading divers. At some point I’d even begun adding that into my pre-dive briefing.
“If you don’t know what I’m saying, don’t waste time getting frustrated telling me you don’t understand. I see you don’t understand, I get that you don’t understand. Or you’d already be doing it. So Just do what I’m doing. Monkey See Me Monkey Do Me. I’m showing you how to solve your problem, not showing you how I’m solving mine.
One time a former student chimed in. “Just do what she’s showing you whether you know why or not, if you do about halfway through you’ll probably figure out why.”

Amen to that. Thank you! For usually when someone jumps in they take you off tangent and leave the others with the wrong message. Then it takes 3 minutes unwinding what they just planted and you still have to share what you wanted the divers to remember in the first place.
Oh man. I’d not given a dive brief in 2 years, but I still feel the nails on chalkboard shiver down my spine remnants and my head still shakes at the truth in that statement.

About 30% of the people just do what I did. No scratch that. It’s more like 10%, maybe 20% after I’ve briefed it. About half the rest just sit there dumbfounded trying to figure it out themselves. As they do, their breathing changes. They hold in more air. Then they float up. Or worse. They get frustrated. Switch to nose-breathing. That breaks the seal and floods their masks, while they float up. Still gesturing to tell me they don’t understand. The other half makes it worse by shaking their heads and trying to tell me they don’t understand. As frustration grows, they start breathing heavier and suck down a fifth of their tank with big fast exhales. Drop down onto the coral. So that is all now part of my pre-dive briefing.

The memory makers happen every time I dive with one of the 10%. We share a bond that survives time and distance. Even 10 years and 5000 miles. So when This One Musician immediately responds to me showing “voice up” by adjusting the voice volume up. Goes 10 better, signaling back a question, while he’s still playing and singing.

“What about the Reverb”.

I signal, it is perfect. (Ok sign) and instinctively know, “Gonna love this guy”.

It is obvious from his first notes how special his Music is. Perhaps because he is fussing. I recognize the signs of Seeking Perfection. Blessing and curse that that is. How Seeking Perfection complicates life, and love, and yet how it brings extraordinary results. This Man has It. He is amazing. Especially compared with the other local talent. No one compares to him. Then one day I played back old video clips of my favorite St Nowhere Musicians. No one there holds a candle to him, either. Not even those who I thought were the best. Funny that, for there was a time I couldn’t imagine anybody’s songs reaching me more than Red’s. For whom I arranged a booking at the remaining Best Music Venue on St Nowhere. For most of his gigs had drifted to St Meg’s during the off-season and I was missing his Music.

Now that we were gearing up for season, I wanted him to be front and center here on our island. So I arranged with the man who answered my ad to buy my little bar. Instead he bought a different bar. Tho he kept in touch and happily set a date for my then Favorite Musician. 7 September 2017. The day we awoke to see the devastation of a Cat 5 shoulda-been-a-Cat 10 Hurricane. I never again heard him play, except in the few clips in my files. The week before, he joined me at table where I was sitting with an old dive student. One who helped me set up my website those years ago when all that was just beginning. This is my Friend Colette, he said to her, who he knew much better than I, turned out. That intro held meaning. For I didn’t realize he considered me a friend. Then the Hurricane hit. I was blown thousands of miles away, as yet to return, at the home of a dear friend from college days.

Her questions stand.

“I just want you to heal. How does this help you to heal? How can you heal?” Mary with no choice but to look on, to watch, to observe the conversation with my Mother. A conversation out of control. Much as I watched helplessly as she would manage, defend, and ensure her projects happen on time and budget, expert though she is at resolving issues before they arise, by anticipating the likely outcome based upon experience. Helpless, unable to jump in, only knowing that later I could offer support and maybe some suggestions. She was only able to love and share understanding of what transpired. And tho, miraculously and thankfully Mary never experienced anything like I had in the years since we last played, worked, and studied together as Best Friends. She chooses not to judge, admonish, or offer unsolicited advice. Instead, all she asks is simply “How are you after that?”

Somehow she knows that the altercation is a twisted interplay, and replay, of old wounds. She observes the difference. Much like I watch someone take their first breath under water visibly change. Their demeanor, their “aura” or energy, changes. You watch them instantaneously morph into someone else. Someone struggling with the more base response that follows once the very fine line between rational and irrational behavior is crossed. For once fight or flight is engaged, rational thought is harder to retrieve.
Where the possibility of nuance change in a verbal contest is naught, especially one steeped in years of practice and rut, the outcome is predictable. Much like a new diver trying to figure out how to move effortlessly underwater without guidance, I was trapped in repeated expression of dissatisfaction with the status quo, a script where new responses to the same old pokes, prods, nags and salt rubbed in an open wound is nil. The possibility of coming up with a new approach, or a way to diffuse a guaranteed fighting word is virtually impossible, implausible beyond expectation.

Especially when the attacker has been spoon-fed a malicious script by one wanting to inflict pain upon their perceived competition. Malice delivered through a third party who by role should be loving, by relation should be a safe place, who’s words should provide comfort, loving guidance, and reassurance. Instead her words now warped by a lifetime of hostile influence that surficially appears helpful. Years of seemingly loving well-intentioned input, but in reality is mean, cold nasty personal attacks. That the third party is a sister who does not wish to share a mother’s love and attention, only makes it worse. A sister who for some reason feels, or believes, there is not enough love to go around. Still. And she now is a Grandmother.
Nancy’s sweet concerned question hangs in memory like snow that remains on an evergreen’s branches on one of those days when the sun appears warm and beckons, and yet cannot even melt wet snow. Even after 6 hours of shining and doing its thing, two inches of wet damp snow still cling to the branches like you cling to the hope that this too shall pass and you can find something of equal or greater value. Somewhere. If not here, then in another domain.

The consummate challenge? What will ever replace Nirvana Lost? Where can I ever live that will match a tropical paradise island, working for myself, doing what I love, at the pinnacle of physical fitness, youth and beauty. What will ever be as rewarding? What singer will ever be able to reach me the way Red’s songs did, in a way that soothed my soul uniquely better than the original artist? His voice more beautiful than the glorious sunset over a tropical paradise that is his backdrop. Moments of bliss that transcend all earthly pain and suffering. So soothing and strong is that performance that now hearing these songs that once brought me joy, bring only sadness for a life suddenly torn from me like a teacher grabs the test paper from a surprised student caught cheating. My life, my friends, my home, my play, my work. All Torn away right before my eyes in a matter of hours as a225 mph winds pummel my island home.
SHOCK BEYOND BELIEF. MUST KEEP WALKING. Raise my foot. Take one step. Try to lift the corners of my mouth into a smile even though each corner weighs 10,000 pounds. Not knowing where, only knowing that the place to find happiness lies ahead, whether it will be found with people who meant the world to me when we shared life long ago or whether my hope for happiness lies ahead in the unknown with new souls who will become my future.

I know not which. All I know is that the only way to replace what is lost is to fill the void that is missing from my life that was in paradise with the things that were lacking there. The biggest being men my own age, and trite though it may sound, fresh vegetables and enough water for showers, cleaning and rinsing my dive gear. Then distantly, somewhere that offers variety and long straight highways perfect for an easy weekend road-trip visit or exploration.

And certainly, if that squirrel frolicking in the aspen tree can climb to the uppermost branches to do his morning loops n somersaults, swinging from branches as though a trapeze, branches that are a fraction of his body weight and yet somehow still support him, then there is hope for me too. There he is, showing off for his lady squirrel trying to get as high as she flies, to join her. If this squirrel can find his way back down safely, after a few more flips, jumps, and tosses, then certainly, I can find something that makes me smile again.

This Musician does that. He makes me smile. His Music. The way he enjoys playing. The way he enjoys me enjoying him play. Quite simply that is it. I enjoy his Music, and He enjoys my enjoyment. His range is incredible. One day Bruno Mars popped into my Music Feed. Wow. Raf has even more “It” than Bruno Mars. As time progresses and somehow Bruno appears more and more. I can better explain this.
Bruno is the Superstar Performer. Now. With full benefit of everything the Music Industry throws behind him. Production, lyrics, the best backup, the best supporting players. Let’s just say, now add that to Raf. They would be the same. Except for this. Raf is that Rare Musician. With Heart. With Voice beyond this world. If you separate just his Voice, it’is hard to find better. As good? Maybe. Different? Then its Crap Shoot based on Preference. But from a pure quality perspective. Better Than Bruno Mars. In My Humble Opinion. You can’t buy Heart. Any more than you can instill in someone the desire to take care of another more than the take care of themselves. It’s the same reason why my divers trust me to the full limits of human capability, and perhaps even believe that at the right moment, that I will pull out some extraordinary from Up Above. That touch of the Heavenly.

This is what Raf radiates. That Musician who can and will take you with him to that Room in the Sky. Of What Sinatra sings about in “Fly Me To The Moon? Funny that. The whole idea of space scares me. Must be all those old Sci-Fi traumas. So Frank’s words Jupiter and Mars are lost on me, until one day many months later I heard Raf sing it. For the first time in my life, I knew the feeling of Love Received. I’m convinced this kid is a Superstar yet to be discovered. I knew it the first minute….