Nov 2021
i ordered a bottle of local beer. they served me peanuts on the side.
for a joint this small they weren't one to skip entertainment.
sometimes they would host local bands.
sometimes they would have a dj.
sometimes they would host an open mic. they often weren't funny.
but often they would have just one man managing music.
he sat in the left of the stage, with a laptop and a mixer.
he always wore a denim jacket.
he was always served a bowl of nachos.
he always played the beach boys. at least once every night.
i didn't take him and the music in mind much.
even though i made music myself, i didn't take it in mind.
my business in the bar was always for the drink.
one drink, then leave.
i was a simple drinker.
what i did take in mind, however, is when the music stops.
i know that the rule within establishments was to always keep the speakers running.
the songs would often blend together, and songs that finished cleanly would always have a two second end gap.
no more, no less.
.
.
the music stopped in this particular night.
the group of teenagers singing pop chords halted in the middle of a chorus.
a second later the lead singer was on her phone.
another second and they were talking to the owner.
and after a moment, they left through the kitchen door.
they left their drums and their guitar.
i was one third through my drink.
i still had a dozen or so peanuts.
i called for the bill early.
and after a moment, the disk **** in denim entered through the kitchen door.
he took his stool from the left of the stage and set it in the middle.
he took the band's acoustic guitar and checked its tuning.
after a few moments he strummed away a song.
beach boys. god only knows.
i had no idea it could be played on a guitar.
he was no carl wilson, but brian would have been proud.
an acoustic guitar plugged into an amplifier loaded with reverb.
it saved the vibe of the night and everyone continued on drinking.
.
.
few months later i returned to frequent the bar again.
months before, i tried to quit drinking.
that didn't work, so i returned.
the bar didn't change.
the beer was still expensive.
i could still drink.
but now i'd look around a bit.
i'd stay longer in the bar to marinate.
i'd order different drinks, stay to watch the unfunny standup till the end, stay till the bell rings.
i would even talk to some of those who drink parallel to me.
small words. but sometimes they'd be interesting.
and i'd listen more to the music.
the bands that would play, the mix of the day, or even when they decide to just mic in the radio.
those were the months i decided to study music.
which meant listening.
.
.
the disk **** in denim played his usual set for this one
when he spilled his cup over the mixer.
and the music stopped in this particular night.
that set a few people aback when they heard the cup topple.
then everyone's attention was stirred after the music lagged and his mixer screeched.
but the dj kept his cool and quickly managed the situation.
he unplugged his peripherals to separate his laptop from the mess.
he took the mixer and set it aside, orienting it vertical to dry.
he took a cloth to the drink puddle so he wouldn't slip.
and after a few minutes of plugging in and setting up, he continued his playing.
he operated the mix on his laptop.
the continuing song
beach boys, don't worry baby.
that gave me a little chuckle then.
i finished my drink and ordered another,
so i could listen to the whole song.
.
.
i visited the bar days after the little incident. it seemed like the dj stopped working for a few nights, from what i can tell from bartender gossip and intuition.
i sat on the bar one afternoon and listened to both the radio and the bar gossip.
"yeah can i have one of these?" i ordered my usual.
"-----we didn't expect a reelection, especially since what we heard he done--" the radio blared as my drink was served.
"--he's not gonna be here for a few days, though, so you'll have to ask for your money in a while." the waiter told what looked to be the manager
"--news from california as an earthquake hit the area 12 kilometers from--" the radio blared as a couple walks in.
"hey, can i have peanuts?" i asked as the bartender approaches.
"---but to be fair, his mixer did break, so there's nothing much we could do and all---" he says as he hands me a plate of salted nuts.
i was taken aback. i finally knew who they were talking about. i kept my mouth shut as i listened to the sounds of the room.
"----relief efforts are being pushed as those who are displaced are--"
"--no i really didn't expect him to just leave, but i did know he had some girl trouble or somethin---"
"---news as oil prices skyrocket after the Bank of America---"
"---ehh that doesn't matter, but i didn't think of him as one who has troubles in paradise--"
"----Brand New Deals from the world's leading online market---"
"---still, does he have any other source of income? i thought his music work was just on the side and---"
i finished my drink rather quickly as their conversation went. i decided i've heard enough and left the bar.
.
.
i went around the malls during the afternoon. when night came i decided to go to the bar again. for a few more drinks.
i ordered a bottle of dark lager. they served me peanuts on the side.
there was a local band playing tonight. they sang a few ed sheeran songs and a couple pop songs from artists i didn't bother to learn the names of. it was a steady, casual night, and all the patrons were still and drinking.
i was seated on the left side of the bar counter. on the center was an old man, finishing his light beer. besides him was a teenager, in sketchy clothing, finishing a draft beer. on the rightmost side of the counter was a man in denim, drinking from a glass.
the two right in between of us stood and left, leaving me to stare at the man parallel from me. it was the disk ****, but today he looked like a customer.
i finished my beer and ordered another. i had the guts to change my seat near him. i struck a conversation.
"you're the dj in this bar, right" i said abruptly. he raised his head like he just woke from slumber. in hindsight, suddenly talking to him probably wasn't polite.
"yeah, yeah, i am." he said. he took a swig of his clear drink and gestured to the bartender for another. "i recognize you. You're a regular, aren't you?"
"yeah, i am." i said. "and i catch you a lot. when you mix and all. i like your playlist by the way." i took a swig of my beer.
"well thank you. not many say that." he says, as he takes another sip.
"no beach boys tonight?" i ask
"not tonight, i'm afraid."
"what do you think of tonight's music?" i ask him, suddenly. i took my peanuts and offered to share it to him.
"i think it's okay." he says, as he takes a handful from my plate. "you can tell the guitarist really likes the vocalist."
"hehe, he kinda does." i say.
"that's what they all have, musicians today. Lots of love." he downs his drink and gestures for another one. i could tell he was near drunk.
"what do you mean?" i ask him. the conversation turned nice.
"i see this band a lot often." he says. "i've talked to them, offered to help them mix once. They're good fellows."
"you're a working musician?" i asked.
"look, see how the vocalist makes eyes with the guitar man."
i chuckle. he shared that chuckle with me.
"i'm sort of a musician too." i told him. "i'm not a very good one, but i make music."
"oh, that's nice." he says, taking another sip. "lots of people are musicians, even those who just sing to their children." he says. "even the not so good ones. Lots of love, i say. These kids got ***** and heart to perform."
"and you?" i took a sip. "lots of love too?"
"Ha, yes!" his mood cheered. he stood straight and clapped as the song ends. i clapped with him.
"yes. Lots and lots of love." he says. "D'you think the guitarist and the vocalists likes each other for music or for romance?"
"well, i dunno. Do you?"
"Haha!" he exclaims. he takes another sip.
"well, i make music for the people i like, so..."
"as we do!" he downs his own drink.
the band was playing a slow, somber song.
"well, i'm a musician." he says. "i make music. i hang around in places, bars, parks. i hang out with friends. i have people i love."
he comes closer.
"if you make music, or art, or anything, you make it for people.
I make music, and i have someone i love.
and i make music for her. With her. About her." he takes a swig. "for her."
"it's not the same if it's not for anyone. Sometimes it doesn't feel right if you keep it to yourself. Hell, i think that's often the case."
"and she loves you for it?" i asked.
"her? she's wonderful. All i do is for her.
Just me and her and a guitar, i could not ask for a better audience."
the song ends. both of us clap.
"pleasure meeting you, good sir." he presents his hand for me to shake. "pleasure meeting a musician, and a regular."
"pleasure meeting you." i shake his hand.
he paid for his bill, and stands to leave. as he exits the door, i notice someone waiting for him. a girl, a bit younger than him. they embrace.
.
.
i haven't seen him play for the bar ever since then. though i'd like to think he's doing pretty good anyways.
.
.
.
.
for a joint this small they weren't one to skip entertainment.
sometimes they would host local bands.
sometimes they would have a dj.
sometimes they would host an open mic. they often weren't funny.
but often they would have just one man managing music.
he sat in the left of the stage, with a laptop and a mixer.
he always wore a denim jacket.
he was always served a bowl of nachos.
he always played the beach boys. at least once every night.
i didn't take him and the music in mind much.
even though i made music myself, i didn't take it in mind.
my business in the bar was always for the drink.
one drink, then leave.
i was a simple drinker.
what i did take in mind, however, is when the music stops.
i know that the rule within establishments was to always keep the speakers running.
the songs would often blend together, and songs that finished cleanly would always have a two second end gap.
no more, no less.
.
.
the music stopped in this particular night.
the group of teenagers singing pop chords halted in the middle of a chorus.
a second later the lead singer was on her phone.
another second and they were talking to the owner.
and after a moment, they left through the kitchen door.
they left their drums and their guitar.
i was one third through my drink.
i still had a dozen or so peanuts.
i called for the bill early.
and after a moment, the disk **** in denim entered through the kitchen door.
he took his stool from the left of the stage and set it in the middle.
he took the band's acoustic guitar and checked its tuning.
after a few moments he strummed away a song.
beach boys. god only knows.
i had no idea it could be played on a guitar.
he was no carl wilson, but brian would have been proud.
an acoustic guitar plugged into an amplifier loaded with reverb.
it saved the vibe of the night and everyone continued on drinking.
.
.
few months later i returned to frequent the bar again.
months before, i tried to quit drinking.
that didn't work, so i returned.
the bar didn't change.
the beer was still expensive.
i could still drink.
but now i'd look around a bit.
i'd stay longer in the bar to marinate.
i'd order different drinks, stay to watch the unfunny standup till the end, stay till the bell rings.
i would even talk to some of those who drink parallel to me.
small words. but sometimes they'd be interesting.
and i'd listen more to the music.
the bands that would play, the mix of the day, or even when they decide to just mic in the radio.
those were the months i decided to study music.
which meant listening.
.
.
the disk **** in denim played his usual set for this one
when he spilled his cup over the mixer.
and the music stopped in this particular night.
that set a few people aback when they heard the cup topple.
then everyone's attention was stirred after the music lagged and his mixer screeched.
but the dj kept his cool and quickly managed the situation.
he unplugged his peripherals to separate his laptop from the mess.
he took the mixer and set it aside, orienting it vertical to dry.
he took a cloth to the drink puddle so he wouldn't slip.
and after a few minutes of plugging in and setting up, he continued his playing.
he operated the mix on his laptop.
the continuing song
beach boys, don't worry baby.
that gave me a little chuckle then.
i finished my drink and ordered another,
so i could listen to the whole song.
.
.
i visited the bar days after the little incident. it seemed like the dj stopped working for a few nights, from what i can tell from bartender gossip and intuition.
i sat on the bar one afternoon and listened to both the radio and the bar gossip.
"yeah can i have one of these?" i ordered my usual.
"-----we didn't expect a reelection, especially since what we heard he done--" the radio blared as my drink was served.
"--he's not gonna be here for a few days, though, so you'll have to ask for your money in a while." the waiter told what looked to be the manager
"--news from california as an earthquake hit the area 12 kilometers from--" the radio blared as a couple walks in.
"hey, can i have peanuts?" i asked as the bartender approaches.
"---but to be fair, his mixer did break, so there's nothing much we could do and all---" he says as he hands me a plate of salted nuts.
i was taken aback. i finally knew who they were talking about. i kept my mouth shut as i listened to the sounds of the room.
"----relief efforts are being pushed as those who are displaced are--"
"--no i really didn't expect him to just leave, but i did know he had some girl trouble or somethin---"
"---news as oil prices skyrocket after the Bank of America---"
"---ehh that doesn't matter, but i didn't think of him as one who has troubles in paradise--"
"----Brand New Deals from the world's leading online market---"
"---still, does he have any other source of income? i thought his music work was just on the side and---"
i finished my drink rather quickly as their conversation went. i decided i've heard enough and left the bar.
.
.
i went around the malls during the afternoon. when night came i decided to go to the bar again. for a few more drinks.
i ordered a bottle of dark lager. they served me peanuts on the side.
there was a local band playing tonight. they sang a few ed sheeran songs and a couple pop songs from artists i didn't bother to learn the names of. it was a steady, casual night, and all the patrons were still and drinking.
i was seated on the left side of the bar counter. on the center was an old man, finishing his light beer. besides him was a teenager, in sketchy clothing, finishing a draft beer. on the rightmost side of the counter was a man in denim, drinking from a glass.
the two right in between of us stood and left, leaving me to stare at the man parallel from me. it was the disk ****, but today he looked like a customer.
i finished my beer and ordered another. i had the guts to change my seat near him. i struck a conversation.
"you're the dj in this bar, right" i said abruptly. he raised his head like he just woke from slumber. in hindsight, suddenly talking to him probably wasn't polite.
"yeah, yeah, i am." he said. he took a swig of his clear drink and gestured to the bartender for another. "i recognize you. You're a regular, aren't you?"
"yeah, i am." i said. "and i catch you a lot. when you mix and all. i like your playlist by the way." i took a swig of my beer.
"well thank you. not many say that." he says, as he takes another sip.
"no beach boys tonight?" i ask
"not tonight, i'm afraid."
"what do you think of tonight's music?" i ask him, suddenly. i took my peanuts and offered to share it to him.
"i think it's okay." he says, as he takes a handful from my plate. "you can tell the guitarist really likes the vocalist."
"hehe, he kinda does." i say.
"that's what they all have, musicians today. Lots of love." he downs his drink and gestures for another one. i could tell he was near drunk.
"what do you mean?" i ask him. the conversation turned nice.
"i see this band a lot often." he says. "i've talked to them, offered to help them mix once. They're good fellows."
"you're a working musician?" i asked.
"look, see how the vocalist makes eyes with the guitar man."
i chuckle. he shared that chuckle with me.
"i'm sort of a musician too." i told him. "i'm not a very good one, but i make music."
"oh, that's nice." he says, taking another sip. "lots of people are musicians, even those who just sing to their children." he says. "even the not so good ones. Lots of love, i say. These kids got ***** and heart to perform."
"and you?" i took a sip. "lots of love too?"
"Ha, yes!" his mood cheered. he stood straight and clapped as the song ends. i clapped with him.
"yes. Lots and lots of love." he says. "D'you think the guitarist and the vocalists likes each other for music or for romance?"
"well, i dunno. Do you?"
"Haha!" he exclaims. he takes another sip.
"well, i make music for the people i like, so..."
"as we do!" he downs his own drink.
the band was playing a slow, somber song.
"well, i'm a musician." he says. "i make music. i hang around in places, bars, parks. i hang out with friends. i have people i love."
he comes closer.
"if you make music, or art, or anything, you make it for people.
I make music, and i have someone i love.
and i make music for her. With her. About her." he takes a swig. "for her."
"it's not the same if it's not for anyone. Sometimes it doesn't feel right if you keep it to yourself. Hell, i think that's often the case."
"and she loves you for it?" i asked.
"her? she's wonderful. All i do is for her.
Just me and her and a guitar, i could not ask for a better audience."
the song ends. both of us clap.
"pleasure meeting you, good sir." he presents his hand for me to shake. "pleasure meeting a musician, and a regular."
"pleasure meeting you." i shake his hand.
he paid for his bill, and stands to leave. as he exits the door, i notice someone waiting for him. a girl, a bit younger than him. they embrace.
.
.
i haven't seen him play for the bar ever since then. though i'd like to think he's doing pretty good anyways.
.
.
.
.
