Jamming with the Reno Jazz Orchestra

Last night's gig with the Reno Jazz Orchestra went just great. As I said to David Flores, the timbalero, there were things that didn't go as planned, but the event just had so much heart. I don't know the official count, but there were several thousand there, in the most gorgeous 95-degree weather, the lovely Washoe zephyr (I learned that was the name of the wind from Chuck, the Reno band leader) turning my calculated curls into a mop. Beside the stage and park, right in downtown, the Truckee river tumbles along and people are swimming, kayaking and inner-tubing.

Before the gig, we had a whole day to kick back and/or practice and/or twist our brains into a knot wondering how things were going to go. I went down for breakfast in the casino and ended up eating with a woman who was there for a romance writers convention. I learned all about the Harlequin Romance formula, which apparently is quite rigid (the hero can never be married and looking to leave his wife, though he can be a widower, and about 7/8s of the way through the lovers must be separated and have to fight to get back together). She told me the whole story of her latest book, and that it contained lots of sex scenes.

I went back to my room and practiced my lyrics to Caravan over and over again, trying to memorize them. Then I whipped out the metronome and ran through all the songs where I'd have to do percussion. The potential for driving myself batty was steadily increasing when thankfully Murray called and asked if I wanted to go paint pottery! We went down to the ground floor of the casino/shopping center and there was a neat store where you pick out a fired porcelain object--I chose a sun disk to hang on my patio--and paint it with glazes and they fire it for you and ship it to you in two weeks. Murray and I sat there painting and psychoanalyzing eachother and talking about music and I thought it was a brilliant diversion for the several hours of waiting we had to do. It took my mind off things, but it was still creative. Then I went to my room and did my hair and then I met David for lunch and had an awesome conversation with him, packed with more psychoanalysis as well as a shared passion for Jon Stewart and Chris Rock. After that, it was back to the room for costuming and the final 20 pounds of makeup application. Then we drove to the Wingfield Amphitheater.

They'd brought an air-conditioned RV for us to kick back in before the gig, which we dutifully checked out, but there was no food or water in it and the air conditioning hadn't been running, so it was about 100 degrees inside it. Then, Orlando, the other singer, was nowhere to be found. Since we'd left the hotel, Wayne had been saying to me, are you prepared to sing Orlando's songs? You'd better practice them in case he doesn't show--never hurts to be prepared for any eventuality. So during soundcheck I sang one of his songs to the several hundred people who were already camped out in the audience, which was fun. Thankfully, Orlando did show up just before the performance and he did a great job. His voice really rings out in the Cuban style, and his percussion playing is excellent. Plus, I was able to follow his (super simple) dance steps, unlike at rehearsal when I'd been more self-conscious. Also, he's quite masterful at working a crowd, and at the end of the night he got everybody up and dancing, and a massive conga line formed and went through the park. I would love to perform with him again.

As we were dancing on stage during the last song, I was whaling away on my clave and shimmying around. At one point a man in the audience seemed to be trying to catch my eye, but I thought maybe he was gesturing to someone behind me. Then he made a motion like hitting claves with a lot of passion and gave me the thumbs up. It was pretty funny--reminded me of a Saturday Night Live skit where Will Ferrell is whaling on the cow bell and they keep retaking a studio session so he can nail his cow bell solo.

I've been laughing to myself all day because David made this funny comment last night after the gig about the "hey-hey-hey" spoken portion of Oye Cayuco, where the singers are alternating saying "hey" on on- and off-beats. I guess you'd have to hear it but first of all, coming in at the right moment was similar to double-dutch jumprope, and second, I guess the pitch difference of our voices made it sound funny, not like the recording Wayne had sent us, where it's two men doing that part.

But I sang and danced and performed my heart out, and the audience really responded. I sold a few CDs and signed autographs at the end. Several people wondered if I was Cuban. One guy came up and sincerely asked how I managed to stand, let alone dance, in my 6-inch platform heels. I said, actually, my feet are killing me now, but I'm going to put my flip flops on in a minute. Then we had a conversation about how he sprained both his ankles after wearing western boots. I signed a CD for a little girl who told me she was going to take "rhythm" dance classes and that her toddler brother danced too.



Afterwards, Wayne, Carolyn, David, Murray and I all ate dinner at about 10:30, and then I hung out talking with David and enjoying the night air. This morning, Wayne played a little more blackjack and then we drove home. I tried to rest but I kept on getting sucked into the conversation. I told them, if you guys weren't so damn interesting I could sleep!



Speaking of which, it's about time for me to do that, but first I have to organize my gig bag and pick out what I'll wear tomorrow for the gig at Club 17.