Years ago I lost a friend’s Boston Whaler (don’t believe the hype) to the bottom of the Great South Bay, off of Fire Island. I was late to catch the ferry and I recklessly disregarded a brewing storm. Slamming over a bumpy choppy sea I made a slight turn and three medium sized waves filled the little boat, and it vanished. Unlike the movies where you can hang onto a toothpick and bob gracefully to safety, the boat and everything in it were gone in an instant…

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Last night I went out looking for a laugh. It was long after midnight and as usual I was restless. Soon I was slipping into step with the semi-ambulatory crowd, clumps of drunks moving in algae blooms. Most times I ooze easily, stopping to watch the action or stepping into bars that lure me with music, but not last night. I had a mission, I was hunting Leonard.

The first time I met Leonard I’ll confess I did not notice him until he spoke, “Want to hear a joke?” asked a bald man weighing down a flimsy camping stool. He brandished a cardboard sign that read ‘Jokes’. “No thanks,” I said, and rushed away. Not because I don’t like jokes, more of an automatic response. But that was a long time ago and in time I fell into the habit of posting up beside Leonard because to watch him was excellent spectator sport.

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I made it back to Key West last night and went directly to my favorite bar The Green Parrot where there was dancing and friends and fun, and then, incredibly, almost a full blown showdown fight with a drunk. In all my time here I’ve never had any problems at all, despite the fact I’m always out and everyone everywhere is almost always drunk, meanwhile the mood here is mellow. But this man with a floppy hat and a soggy mind decided I had offended him and he got ugly and began screaming threats at me.

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Here’s the thing, I’m suddenly back in NY after 3 years roasting my middle aged hide in the tropics, and it feels like I never left. New York is like a tolerant lover who calmly acknowledges ones return, no questions asked. One just slides right into step. And yet I feel I’m changed, I now go to bars alone, and dance alone. I have a tan, my hair is long and unbrushed, effectively, I’m a Hippy. Turns out I was always a Hippy, I just didn’t know it. I was rubbing up against the constraints of convention and was shunned at times for carrying the ‘wrong’ handbag. ‘Friends’ actually went out of their way to caution me my unmaterialistic manner was in fact a detriment, who knew? They counseled how the ‘right’ handbag would change my life.

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Here lies the true story of Swell Merlot, a screenwriter who had run dry of inspiration.

Swell lounged poolside at the Mexican resort, sunbathing in her red bikini. She was supposed to be polishing a script, but she could not focus. Instead she drank and sunbathed and pictured Martin, her boyfriend, on his way to visit her. What she could never have imagined was that at that very moment Martin was hanging from chains in a dungeon. No one could hear his pitiful screams each time his skin was raised in welts from the whip.

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Xperimento are seven supremely sexy badass musicians. Their music is a funky hot medley of powerfully energetically masculine jazz with riffs from Reggae to SKA and Rock, and on it goes; Xperimento defies definition, except to say they are superb.

The band are established professional working musicians, some of them have even played together before. Until a moment of providence when a restaurant in Miami asked trumpet player Emiliano Torres to assemble a band, for the house. A gifted musician since childhood Emiliano handpicked his wish list. He has extremely good taste.

Allow me to introduce the band:

Sam Savage on trombone: Luckily Sam was tricked into learning the trombone. In high school he had his heart set on the drums but was steered away by a teacher, probably for no better reason than a slot needed filling. However, it transpires trombone players are the Achilles Heal, the weak link, because there just aren’t that many of them. The scarcity means there will always be a job. Not a bad deal to make with the devil that can be a career in music. To humor his parents Sam is studying to become a teacher. But his true love is jazz, preferably including a stint in a New York City club.

Emiliano Torres on trumpet: Along with being the band leader and conductor Emiliano arranges much of the music. He says that everyone in the band collaborates on composing and that, “We call ourselves Xperimento because we are always trying new things. We don’t stay within categories.” For years he played the trumpet incorrectly, blowing out of one side of his mouth, but he was warned this would limit his talent. Patiently he explained to me ‘embouchure’, meaning the very manner in which one applies the mouth to the instrument. He said it was painstaking to relearn and it took two years, but it was well worth it and now he trumpets like a god! At some cost he had his trumpet refinished with a red coat and it is as magnificent as the music he produces.

Xperimento

Marcos Delgado on bass: Marcos who originally hails from Venezuela is tall, slim, dark and serious. He says he has always played the bass and says playing with Xperimento is exactly where he wants to be.

Derek Cintron on drums: Derek is wiry and topped off with a luxurious shiny dark pelt. He says he has never before played in his underwear but on the Friday night he melted through three changes of clothing drumming in the airless corner of the tiny stage at the Green Parrot. Saturday night he played in his underwear (modish briefs), with a change of undies at the ‘short break.’ Derek says he plans on always assuming such attire for his stints at the hot Green Parrot. Yet one more reason to catch sight of these lads!

Alan Reyna, from Venezuela, on percussion: Passionately slapping a very attractive pair of red conga drums Alan travels lightheartedly through life with a pocketful of good vibrations. Alan says that while playing, “There are moments of ecstasy.” He adds that he loves playing at the Green Parrot because the setting is intimate and, “I get inspired from the crowd and the dancers, we are all breathing in each others energy.”

Camilo Rafael Sierra Tumbao, the lead singer, goes by the name Tumbao -an Afro-Puerto Rican word which means “an indescribably African sexiness.” He is sexy, and he is shy. On stage he unfurls as the night goes on and he relaxes and while still not looking at the room, he let’s go. He sings in a soft yet powerful and confident rolling cadence of lulling sensually driven words, running them on and on into an entrancing hypnotic totally brilliant place, taking everyone with him. His sound is a train of good vibes no one wants to get off. Tumbao writes most of the lyrics and he says the inspiration comes from all angles. Also a pianist, a natural who at the age of six was unintimidated, he always made music with ease.

And last but certainly not least is Leo Boland on electric guitar: Leo repeatedly bursts with spontaneous contagious wide grins. Leo is cool and large and dreadlocked and evidently enjoying himself. I asked him what exactly he is smiling about, and he said, “I’m loving the music, loving the crowd, loving it all. I smile because I can’t help it!”

And neither can the fans. The adoring crowd is mostly women and revved up men who love to dance.

The music is magical genius and much of the time they are making it up on the spot, riffing on this, and layering over that. Their sound is fantastically gorgeous, and it sweeps one away.

Their name is Xperimento, and I’d like to say, definitively, the experiment is a massive success. If you are lucky enough to be in the NYC area on Saturday, July 27th at 8pm do yourself a favor and go get jazzed up like never before.

~ Xperimento playing at The Nuyorican Poets Cafe ~ 236 East 3rd Street, NYC ~Between Ave B & C ~212-780-9386
Saturday, July 27th at 8pm ~ $10 for a very good time, guaranteed!

~ For tickets please go to: https://www.vendini.com/ticket-software.html?w=ef1618bbaad008f9ba24c2f1d8d6b363&t=tix

ps: If you cannot attend the show at least buy their music on iTunes- their first and as of yet only CD is called The Second Floor- a sly reference to the fun that will be had later!

Another tribe worthy of study for the Large Animal Research Station are the Serbians of Key West. The local Serbs move about seemingly in one amoebic glob. They live together, they all mostly work together riding the pedicabs, and they hunt together. You’ll see them, peddling the pedicabs, ably hauling soused and sunburned tourists. To look at the Serbs sure are handsome and some are even friendly, but allegedly on nights of a full moon these Serbians are long-fanged otherworldly beasts. Word around town is the Serbs might indeed be werewolves.

For the purpose of observation I made a plan with one of them, my buddy Vuk (pronounced ‘voooook’). Vuk agreed to participate in this study and no animals, supernatural or otherwise, were harmed in the compilation of data. Vuk and I forged a plan for the night of the fullest full moon of the year.

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Insomnia can be a beautiful thing, provided you don’t have any plans. What I love the most is very late at night when the only sounds are the crickets on percussion and the roosters on trombone and the whoosh of passing cars sounding like a snare drum. Then there are the birds, soothingly, at the cusp of day a veritable symphony with trills and peeps. So much is going on yet it’s merely the world’s ablutions, its waking transformation which in turn shuts me down, quietens the revving, relaxes the nervous system.

The worst thing you can do, as an insomniac, is try to force yourself to go to sleep. However, all this being up all night and sleeping through the day interferes with most social activities, except of course dancing to the fabulous bands at the bars in town. Which reminds me, I had to take a hiatus from the Jail Birds.

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Years ago, when I was recently divorced, I met a sexy bass player with an overwhelming desire to be a rock star. Knowing nothing about the music industry, I said, “No problem,” and transformed myself into his agent. I phoned everyone I knew with even the slightest connection to the production of sounds.

Due to my surname I can get a meeting with anyone, once. I soon discovered there was little good that could be achieved by merely blathering on about some song.

It was obvious what had to be done, so I produced a music video. Manhandling my friends I corralled one producer, one camera operator, one assistant to set up and hold the boom-box while we flitted about Central Park shooting my hot ass boyfriend and his bandmates crooning in various positions near the fountain, crossing the humped bridge, etc, and once we had our footage I even begged time (nights and bump-able) from a pal with a professional editing bay.

A few days later, along with $500 and the trammeled goodwill of pals a music video was born. A miniature movie with the boyfriend’s music and handsome face featured. Something tangible at last to foist while pitching. It was a critical component and armed with copies of these marvels I marched into the offices of the late Ahmet Ertegun, the late Bill Paley, music critics, music makers, and anyone else I could reach. Inevitably one connection led to another and eventually someone said, “You need to meet Nile Rodgers. Nile will know if your music is any good. I will call him and ask him to meet you.”

I reported back to the boyfriend and he fainted when I announced I had a connection to some music dude named Nile Rodgers. I placed a call and explained my plight and Nile promptly invited me over to the Sound Factory studio. I hopped on the subway and found this Sound Factory in an unremarkable building in an industrial section of town. I pressed a button and was buzzed into a waiting room like an Incan vault of plush red with tall walls bespattered with framed LPs seemingly made of gold.

Before too long a door I had not noticed opened and out strode a man dressed in leather pants and shoulder length dreads. He smiled somewhat shyly as he approached me, “I’m Nile,” he said, and offered a hand for me to shake.

I stood up and took the proffered hand. I liked him immediately.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” he began. “But I’ve got the B-52s in there,” and he swung his dreads in the direction of the door. “We’re in the middle of recording, so I can’t stay too long. How I can help you?”

I delivered my pitch along with a VHS.

On a podium in the reception room sat a television and a video machine. This was the early 90s. Nile loaded the video and together we watched my boyfriend as he lip-synched and bopped about Central Park in black and white with a stop frame option to help conceal the simplicity of the finished product.

“I like it, it’s got something, but it’s missing a bridge,” Nile said, when it finished. To my evident confusion he smiled and went on to explain what this ‘bridge’ was. I had no idea what he was talking about but tried to remember every word so that I could repeat it to the boyfriend.

After a few more minutes Nile said, “I’ve got to get back to work, they are paying for this time! Come on in and meet the band.”

I trotted in pursuit of those leather clad legs and then I was in the mixing room with the B-52s and some pony-tailed technicians seated at a table of knobs. We all shook hands and then, a tad dazed, I left.

When I reported every detail to the boyfriend he fainted again. He kept saying that the idea that Nile Rodgers had not only listened to but critiqued his song was absolutely too much for him. It blew his fuses and while he muttered something about knowing there was no bridge in that song, again he fainted.

Needless to say, the boyfriend and I were not destined to be, and while the music video somehow found its way to the AFI (American Film Institute), where it won an award for best production (I was given a block of Lucite with my name carved into it), nothing nearly so exciting happened for the boyfriend’s career.

However, this experience was not a total loss, at least for me, because Nile and I remained life long friends.

Just so happens I’ll be in the Hamptons early August for a book thing, and coincidentally Nile has a benefit concert around the same time and place so I’ll be hanging out with my old pal. Watch this space for news of the concert! Aw Freak Out!!!