Summer 2008 (part II): oh Devla, where are you now?

So I've spent my days hanging out at Laurier pool, then going home and trying to practice & compose, and then finishing off with more swimming at the McGill pool. I'm enjoying it, and that's the closest I'm going to get to a vacation in the countryside; my weekends are always riddled with shows.

On Friday night we played Cafe Sarajevo. Usually we're three or four at the most...but Boris and I found ourselves to be the only ones available that evening. Oh dear...I thought to myself...it's gonna be a night of Boris on beatbox & cheezy keyboard, and me improvising solos for three whole long sets, for little gratification or money. oh Devla, Devla...where are you now? Thinking about the mysteries of Devla got me to reflecting. How faces have come and gone throughout my summer, and always enjoyable. I feel lucky; One minute I was playing my sister's wedding in the Canadian Rockies...

the next I'm in front of 20 000 people with Amanda Mabro at the Jazz fest...


another day I've got a mediocre violinist in the metro making fun of my violin case; while the evening before Les Gitans de Sarajevo were performing au Théâtre de Verdure; a beautiful outdoor amphitheatre in Parc Lafontaine...


one afternoon we're in Studio Victor A finishing up Amanda Mabro's tracks...


then we're dancing the pre-show ritual before Jeff Kavanda's performance au Festival du Bout du Monde, Gaspé...


and the next day I'm in Cafe Sarajevo: playing in front of mafiosos that look at me as if I'm a whore. Ah well...maybe I am a courvah (whore)-if it means making a living at this profession. who knows....

All I know is that I do what I do, and Devla watches quietly. And friday night at Cafe Sarajevo, as I was setting up for a long night, I wondered about Devla and if Devla is with us, if Devla cares about those who are lucky and/or unlucky in life, if Devla breathes into our dreams when we sleep at night, or if Devla watches over our loved ones; ex. my father (recently diagnosed with multiple myeloma)...or if Devla is entertained by the chaos of the world we created...if Devla is busy right now and simply hasn't taken notice of our existence yet. At that very moment I'm tempted to curse and/or hail this existence under my breath, and as if I've stired somethin' in the air, Devla wakes up from the nap: Devla throws the joker dice down and the following happens at Cafe Sarajevo: in walks Sergiu Popa, one of the finest Moldavian Gypsy accordeonists on the earth. He says: "hello! I cannot believe you play alone the two of you!", pulls out the accordeon and bam! we're on fire. As if inspired by this great act of gypsy solidarity, Zohran, a gypsy singer who's been known to make fun of Boris while Boris himself sings, decides to get up and sing along with Boris, as if they were the closest of brothers in the past 10 lifetimes. OPA! Some bellydancers comes out of nowhere and suddenly a slow Cafe Sarajevo turns into a over capacity haven full of drunken people from all over. Cool. I guess our job is here...

whoa...when refering to drunk people: Marton's picture shouldn't be here!

There you have it...
hvala devla...
please take care of my daddy...