Cha-Am: Birds & Bees of Beauty
September 25th, 2005
9:07-10:57 pm
Petchburi

     This was an honor to be asked back for the 4th year to the “Shells, Birds, Squid” Festival in Cha-Am. Last year, due to a mix up in scheduling, I was called at 5pm to drive the 3 hours to Cha-Am and be on stage by 9 pm. I was sitting in church at the time and had to take Jesus along for the ride. He stayed the night and took care of us all. His agent is still bugging us for His fees.
     But, this year, we arrived early to taste the phenomenal seafood on offer at this festival of the seas. Families were playing seaside as the sun dove down for a fish and the concert area filled with 2,000+ patrons. They were treated to good local culture and acts provided by the Dusit Polo Club in Cha-Am. From little tadpoles to foxy mermaids, dance after dance went on and the night grew dark, the lights a little brighter.
     As we waited to take the stage, a dark boy of 12 or so, Bird, kept bugging me for my shirt, shoes, scarf. He had danced with us last year stagefront and seemed to be a lost soul. But,we were preparing for a show and I kept brushing him off until we finally hit the stage with Nu’s eerie keyboards and the slashing sounds of Nui’s Wote (round windpipes).
     We busted into Mekhong Madness and the song felt strong. The stage sound system was filled with fish and we quickly looked at each other and realized we’d have to “eye cue”. Eye cueing is what we do when we can’t hear each other on stage and I nod and shake to show I’m coming in and out of verses. It seemed to work as we took the Central Thai crowd 1,000 K away to the Mekhong with a full 45 minutes of Isan music mixed with guitar & bass solos and dances with the crowd.
     At one point, I broke the 2,000 people up into 4 sections of “Ooh, Ooh, Ooh”-“Yeah, Yeah, Yeah”-“Euy, Euy, Euy” & Hoi! Hoi is a funny Thai expression used by villagers throughout the country like “Whoa”. The Ooh’s seemed pretty dead until I grabbed the lovely Miss Bee and made her dance and shout “OOH” like an R‘n B singer.The Hoi’s kept standing up & screaming just before I’d call them. “Hoi!”
     As I teased and slipped in mini-speeches (“all we have is love, right in front of us, dance!”), some people seemed to keel over in laughter. As I ran up and down from the stage and into the crowd, my assistant grabbed me, “your pants are a mess in the back”. I knew just what she meant-HEMOIRROIDS!. My male period. Natural, a bit painful, but not meant for public display. The band broke into HUSH, a rocker, and I snuck backstage to change my bloody drawers. I was thinking about my father as he approached death and would bloody and wet his own pants. We would get angry when it happened in front of friends. He would look very hurt and often ask, “after I changed your dirty ass as a child, you can’t do the same for me?” Backstage, my bloody privacy was broken by Bird, “What’s wrong with your ass?”. Hey, kid, give me a break. Go out front.
     I returned to the stage a new man (with old hemoiroids) wondering if all that laughter was for my incredible wit or the incredible ugliness of my ass. I announced a so
ng I thought I’d written for my dad, SeaMyth, and our special guests from the Cha-Am Elementary Prison (they were quick to remind the crowd it was a SCHOOL). We were all gonna sing this song for the victims of the Tsunami across that Thai ocean. 20 voices rose up in the chorus and filled my ears with pride. Too bad the monitors were still filled with fish. What came put of their mouths was,
“Hold your minds, hold your hearts, grasp your dreams tenderly”.
What came out of the monitors was, “Hoi!”.
     A young man came stage front to give me a Tsunami T-Shirt and kiss me. He was working for a Tsunami Relief Group. Another dancing dude came up to ask for a T-shirt. I said, “First Give me yours”. He took his flannel outer shirt off and handed it to me. I wore it the rest of the show as a dress to cover my ass-literally.
     We then broke the kids up into air guitars, drums, bass, klui’s (thai recorders) and had them sing & play “Morrow’s Child”. They boogied along, acting out their instruments, Mr. Note doing the Thai kids’ version of a MoshPit and Miss Peung (Bee) playing bass but maintaining the tidiness of her dress. She sang so well we asked her to solo and she obliged with a Thai Country Hit, “Somchai has changed”. With no eye-cues, Pueng stood strong while the band played her melody just a month or two behind her lyrics. I was shocked to see all the kids quickly join in as backup singers and line dancers like this was all rehearsed. Miss Bumble Bee was all of 9 years old, radiant in her satin dress and sequenced hair. As the Cha-Am Youth Gang left the stage, Bee threw a kiss to the Ooh Section and was quickly accompanied backstage by admirers.
     I finished the night off with Back to Samui, fish & frogs & squid & birds flying out of those monitors. Before I could get backstage, Bird, who had been following me all around the venue as I danced and sang, came up to ask for my scarf. I was short with him, “That’s enough, buddy, I really need a break”. As I turned away from the Bird, a beautiful woman approached me with a fluffy, faggy dog held right up to her voluptuous breasts. She said her name was Tong (Dizzy) and asked if I would pet her dog, now perched in between her breasts. I was thinking of Johnny Carson’s famous request to ZaZa Gabor as she held a cat on her lap, “Can I pet your pussy?” “Well, of course, Johnny”. “Good, can you move the cat?” But, in truth I was polite and reminded her that a dog like this, well-taken care of, would grow up to make a fine barbecue-given the right condiments.
     We all took pictures as the Singha Beer Team came to tell us our 2 hour show was a success. Mothers & Fathers came to say thanx & even the Lovely Miss Peung came to ask for an autograph. Her mother happened to be the lovely Bee I had pulled up from the Ooh’s to dance. Cool! Bee& the Bee!
     As I walked away in blood, sweat & triumph, I looked back on the darkened beach upon which the whole festival was built. I could see the shadow of Mr. Bird, walking home, or somewhere like that.
     For all the opsticals, we’d done well. In the darkness of the van, as one by one the band & team ceased to be, I thought of my father and how this bloodied man took in kids like Bird because the Bee’s were taken care of already. He would brag, “in this house, Nobody gets left out. Jesus Christ, Boy, NOBODY gets left out”.
     I realized that we had come this year prepared with all the gods and goddesses of beauty and awards and a well-rehearsed exemplary youth. But, in the deep darkness of the moonless night, I looked next to me and there were 2 empty seats. I had forgotten 2 important passengers. Jesus and Bird.