Tuesday, October 18th, 1:17 P.M.
Tucked in a small, quiet part of town in between a grocery
store and a place to get your oil changed is a place called Guillen's. If you look at it from the outside, you would
not know what Guillen's is. You might
just think that this building has been abandoned for years, despite there being
a freshly painted sign near the door. I
think that is the intent. I think
Guillen's wants to give the impression that they, and the music that is played
therein, is a well guarded secret that those in the know have to clue you in
to. Fortunately, I have been clued in.
Today, Gin sent Rinoa and I to a blues bar, and upon
entering I felt like I was at home. Not
the racist, violent, murderous home as I last saw it, but the warm, inclusive,
safe home I had experienced before. The
music and the atmosphere of Guillen's reminded me of those occasions, before
Sakoshi was born, when my parents would have company over. The adults would be indulging in great food,
great music, and great beverages, while the kids were in the extra bedroom
wishing they were in on the party. On
those occasions, while they were setting up, my Father would talk to me about
the music they would be listening to.
Who was playing, how they were playing, and what they were playing, and
why what they were playing was so important to people in the know. Those memories brought a smile to my face, a
smile Rinoa picked up on.
"What are you smiling about, Hato? You do know they won't serve you here,
right?"
I couldn't, or didn't want to, tell Rinoa why
exactly I was smiling, so I made something up.
"This song, it's by Gatton Jex.
You don't really hear his stuff that often, but I really enjoy it."
Rinoa clearly was not impressed. "Oh.
Maybe that's who's performing."
"I doubt it, seeing as he's dead."
Rinoa was scanning the room, looking for Guillen's manager,
when something caught her eye.
"Also, that sign over there says someone named Shannon Dalton is
playing."
"Oh. I
wonder if he's any good."
Rinoa's continuing scan caught something else. "The person playing is a chick."
Rinoa's observation hurt my pride, so I shut up for
a bit. Luckily at about this time we
found a bartender that looked like he ran things at Guillen's. He didn't, but he went to the back to get the
person who did. As he did so, I took the
opportunity to listen to Miss Dalton play.
There's something about watching a woman play the guitar that is
absolutely mesmerizing to me. I hope
it's not because I marvel at the fingerwork.
Rinoa dealt with the manager and getting Gin's money
while I was watching Miss Dalton play. I
didn't even know any of that was going on untill Rinoa hit me with an envelope
with Gin's money in it and said, "Let's go." With that we left Guillen's. I should have put some money in Miss Daltons
tip glass, but not having money prevents you from doing that.
As we were walking back to Gin's, I was still
grooving on one of the songs that was played.
Rinoa found this quite amusing.
While standing at an intersection, and while I was tapping my foot and
humming as a volume I thought was quiet, Rinoa said to me, "Well, now I
know that all it takes to make you act like a fool is to strap on a guitar and
start strumming away."
Through my embarrassment, I said, "Yeah, I just
get carried away sometimes."
"Yeah, guys tend to get ga-ga when beautiful
women are present."
Rinoa's dismissive and borderline condescending tone
caused me to defend myself. "It
wasn't the Miss Dalton that made me go ga-ga." Rinoa shot me a look that conveyed just how
little she believed me. "Okay, it
wasn't just Miss Dalton, it was the music.
Blues. Good, old fashioned,
stripped down guitar and vocal blues just strikes a chord with me. When I'm in an environment where I can revel
in that music, I just let myself slip away."
This is when the evident cynicism on Rinoa's face
started to break. "I feel
that. You're in an environment where art
that you enjoy is, and you were just enjoying art."
"Exactly."
"It's like my reaction when I look at that
billboard over there." Rinoa then
gestured toward an ad hanging on the grocery store next to Guillen's. It's an ad for Pilot Bananas featuring their
iconic mascot Paula Pilot: The Pilot That Fly Bananas. This ad was a departure from the boring
business-like image we usually see from Paula Pilot. Rinoa described this ad to me far better than
I can do myself. "Look at the
background, the gently sloping hills filled with fertile farms, topped by a
clear blue sky. In the foreground is the
mascot, clad in the attire of the worker, holding a basket of the product just
under the level of her breasts, full, perky, and on display but not in a tawdry
way. Finally, look at Paula's head. Her hair is flowing, long, and free in the
breeze, her eyes look upward optimistically while the brief hint of a smile
graces her full, red lips. That
billboard is so fascinating to me as a lover of art."
The description Rinoa delivered intrigued me. Also, I like the sound of her voice. "How so?"
I could see a glimmer in Rinoa's eye as she
explained. "Well, you can draw
different meanings from that billboard, depending on what mindset you operated
under. If you're an optimist, you see
the good message Pilot Bananas is trying to convey. You see the bright, clean sky, plentiful
fields, and the strong vibrant woman as Pilot trying to say that their bananas
are filled with those qualities.
However, if you're a cynic, you can derive a completely different
meaning. You look at the fields and
think that there is no way that the modern day corporate run farms look
anything like that. You look at the sky,
free and clear of the thick black some belched out of the trucks that move
Pilot Bananas around. Then, in the
center of all this, you see Paula.
Paula, no longer the inspirational feminist icon, now transformed into
the wholly unrealistic representation of the common worker, while, at the same
time, acting as a sexual provocateur, with her breasts and her lips and the
blatantly phallic objects she is holding near her breasts and lips."
I had to stifle my excitement at the unabashedly
militant things Rinoa was saying. I did
this by deflecting. "I feel the
same way about music, particularly the Blues we were just listening to. Depending on what you're going through at the
time, good times, bad times, normal times, or whatever, you can take different
meanings from the Blues. You can
commiserate with the artist about the bad times you both are going
through. You can look at your own life
in comparison to the artist and see that things really aren't that bad. The blues can also be life affirming, as you
remember where you were, were you are now, and become that much grateful for
the high point you are experiencing now."
Rinoa had this slowly growing smile on her face as
she listened to me. "Yeah, I feel
what you mean. Oh look, the light changed."
The traffic light had changed and we darted across
the street before it changed again. Our
discussion didn't end there, we continued talking about music and art as we
made our way back to Gin's house. I
think I've made a connection with Rinoa, a connection that, God willing, will
continue to develop as time goes forward.
Later.
Hato Shurtleff
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