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Mike Arcilla (violin)
Bunky Bangahan (guitar)
Cholo dela Cruz (percussion)
Christian Pobre (lead vocal)
John Quinto (keyboard)
Sep Simborio (bass)
John Valdezco (saxophone) |
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SAFE PORT IN A STORM
by Ching Valdezco
December 3, 2004
"Fifteen minutes into the second half, he's going for the
goal... Beckham... Ronaldo..." At this point loud cheers erupt
in front of our TV and drown out the commentator.
No, it's not an England - Brazil soccer match; it's one saxophonist
(John) and one acoustic guitarist (Bunky) working off their
post-gig adrenaline playing Konami's Winning Eleven soccer
video game.
It's a crazy Thursday evening -- or, rather Friday morning,
since it's already 1 AM. The rest of Metro Manila is hunkered
down, bracing for the typhoon. Our P&G and HP colleagues in
Cincinnati are poring over weather forecasts and wondering
if we've been swept out to sea. John and his bandmates, on
the other hand, are hanging out playing Tekken and soccer
on the Playstation.
In the midst of howling winds, this intrepid band of six musicians
played for two dozen diners and service staff at Il Ponticello.
It was an exciting day: the storm left everyone uncertain
about whether the gig was pushing through; their vocalist,
Christian, flew back home from Mexico in the nick of time
after being stranded in the US by full Thanksgiving flights;
the gig was cancelled just before it was supposed to start,
and "un-cancelled" 10 minutes later just as Cholo (the band's
drummer) was leaving for home.
The band cut three sets down to four songs so Ponti could
close early and send their waiters home. The performance was
short, sweet, energetic, and well appreciated by the tiny
audience. Best of all, we had our #1 fan in virtual attendance
- our friend Sarah called long-distance from Singapore to
listen to two songs via cell phone.
Somehow, I reached into my bag of tricks and pulled out an
impromptu chicken and mushroom pasta dinner for nine. Twice.
We panicked twenty minutes before call time when we remembered
the cost of dinner at Ponti. Relaxed briefly when the gig
was cancelled. Panicked again when John called from Ponti
ten minutes later to say the gig was on, and had to start
RIGHT NOW so the restaurant could close by ten PM. Pasta boiling
on the stove, garlic toasting in a pan - I hit a virtual "suspend"
button and put all of it on hold while we packed off to Ponti
for a fabulous thirty-minute performance.
Of course, the restaurant kitchen was closed by the time we
got there... which meant panicking again at the end of the
gig when I realized all these guys were showing up at our
place to eat.
This is all funnier when you consider that I have never, ever
been known for my culinary or housekeeping skills. It was
a good deal, though - I'd much rather cook for nine people
on short notice than have to wash up for them afterwards!
The band's vocalist, Christian, organized plans for the band's
next gig. In the meantime, keyboardist John Q attempted to
complete a late-night conference call with work colleagues
halfway around the world (every so often punctuated by the
sound of sizzling butter, and loud yells from the Playstation
crowd).
Just as I started to ponder whether women inescapably gravitate
into homemaker roles, I discovered John was off washing dishes
and bragging about how good I was at throwing virtual kicks
and punches in Tekken (I'm not, he just likes to say I am).
Isn't he wonderful?
After one guy after another got whipped at Tekken Tag Tournament
by our violinist, Oz, I started playing and emerged with a
fairly respectable although still losing score of 11 (Oz,
of course) to 8 (Ching). Shortly thereafter, aches in my right
wrist reminded me why I don't play Tekken. Our corporate ergonomic
health and safety advisors would probably have a fit.
By 2 AM, band members and friends trickled out one by one.
The rain stopped and the wind died down, leaving it safe to
walk to their cars parked a block away. Half of them were
muttering plans for a Playstation rematch. The other half
were looking for muscle pain relievers and drifted off mumbling,
"Look what you did to my thumb, man! My arm hurts."
Another night in the life of an alternative acoustic band...
after all the yelling, the score in the final soccer game
was: John 1, Bunky 0.
Just when I thought I was done playing emergency hostess,
a plaintive message popped up the following morning from one
of our stormed-in friends at the office...
"Do you have lunch at your house?"
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