Surrealism

The life of a jazz trio on a cruise ship is a surreal existence. Drums, bass, guitar set up next to circular watering hole called the 21st Century Bar despite the Roman pillars and pictures of chariot races. Next to the casino, and underneath the marquee broadcasting the night's events in bright red letters. In between two photo stations where guests can stand in front of a Christmas living room backdrop or one of the beach with the ship on the background. It's as if they Photo Shop'd us into a picture you'd find on the brochure. The wafting sounds of Wayne Shorter, John Coltrane, and Bill Evans sailing over the sounds of slot machines, thrilled and agonized gamblers, and the drunken chatter of guests passing by.



On this particular night Preston (our guitarist and bandleader), Chaz (our drummer), and I got in the proverbial foxhole together to fire off eigth notes at the endless parade of guests passing by. After the first tune was over, Preston mumbled under his breath,

"I'll Remember April. 1, 2, 1, 2, 3, 4"

"Pling..............................Pling..............................................Pling, pling........................" went the guitar at 10-20 second intervals while Preston slumped his shoulders and stared at the floor. The entire tune was a vague, sparse, minimalist, affair that would have made Steve Reich and Phillip Glass uneasy. The end of the tune was a vague mystery of random plinging that eventually stopped altogether while the bass and drums faded out. When the tune was over Preston stared at the floor for about a half a minute before mumbling,


"What Is This Thing (Called Love). 1, 2, 1, 2, 3, 4."


"Pling, pling.............................................................................Pling, pling......................................Pling, pling............................................................................................................................Pling." went the guitar, even sparser than before.


He took the minimalist approach to the calling of tunes as well. Sometimes as much as a minute of silence went by before a tune was called.At one point, he looked up from the floor to Chaz and said,

"What do you want to play?"
"I don't care. Just call something," Chaz replied.
(15 seconds of silence)
"What do you want to play?" he asked me.
"I don't know. Whatever." I replied.
(30 seconds of silence)

It was as if the guitar was giving the bass and drums the silent treatment and this set was the agonizingly, uncomfortable attempt at chit chat over dinner. Every tune for the next 2 hours went down in this manner. Intros, melodies, outros, were a sparse mystery. Occasionally, Preston started a tune and stopped playing for an entire chorus or stopped playing altogether 4 bars before the tune ended.


Playing in a jazz trio on a cruise ship is a surreal existence.