The taxi ride from Bitan to the Dream Community in Xizhi cost Sandman and me NT$400, even after a 10% discount offered by the Daqian Taxi Service for called cabs during the day. We worried that the cabbie didn’t know the way but he took us right there, and we arrived just in time to see the Kenyatta Trio perform on the big Budweiser Truck, which had transformed into a medium-sized stage. I grabbed some ribs and mashed potatoes from the stand they’d set up, and such was my enthusiasm in eating them that I ended up looking like I’d just bit the head off a good-sized rabbit. Prince Roy and Spicy Girl had showed up to see us. I got the feeling that the Blues Bash was a kind of compensation for PR, as SG was taking him to hear Tong An-ge later that evening.

Dogs up for adoption were on display, and from the smell I think there was a horse somewhere, although I never saw it. People hopped up and down on strange springed devices that made them look like mechanical satyrs bouncing through the woods. Unfortunately, we didn’t have time for a proper sound check. After a quick warm-up off to the side, we went on stage, hooked up the mics as best we could, and started off.

It was a rough ride. The whole band felt a bit radical, full of confidence from the day before and freshly downed JB and coke, but the audio setup threw static and buzzing back at us instead of music, cutting in and out, levels jumping up and down wildly across the board. I departed from my usual approach to solos, and met at best mixed success in my efforts. Conor’s amp went from loud to soft with no warning, and we all felt like we were playing through thick socks. The end result was lower lows and higher highs, a performance with a lot of enthusiasm but hobbled by uncertainty over technical problems.

It was only a half-hour set, far too short to get into the swing of things. The audience seemed to appreciate our efforts, though. We gave up the stage to the chatty MCs, stowed our stuff and mingled, wandering here and there as we listened to the other acts.

At the end of the performances DC invited everyone up onto the stage for a big jam. It seemed like there were more people on stage than off it. I teetered on the edge, trying not to be knocked off by Thumper’s enthusiastic washboard riffs. The sound was so big I couldn’t even hear myself when I played a solo during the first one. They said it was good; I have no idea. I really wanted to play on the second piece, a slower blues vibe, but my hesitancy got the better of me and I didn’t know where to cut in among the plethora of name-brand musicians on stage at that point. Afterwards, it left me feeling deeply and utterly unsatisfied, as if I’d had something important to say and then left it unsaid.

The bash was winding down, so we piled into cabs and headed over to Capone’s for some pizza, wine and more jamming. I played the bass for a while with some of the musicians from the show for a while, which resulted in a lot of interest in the bass. Three guys came over afterwards wanting to know how it worked. I turned to the trumpet when the Japanese musician Aki started playing more modern offerings. Sandman, ever the showman, was cavorting around the stage in his new suit, blasting the microphone with his little sax. He was a (drunk) man on a mission, and I retreated to a side booth to add flourishes and the occasional solo from there.

Aki’s group packed it in around 1am, and Mr. Green played some music with Conor while I chatted with Jaye at the bar. Jaye admitted that she reads this account as if it were a deeply kept secret.

Only a handful of people were left at that point, and I was running out of steam, so I gathered up Sandman and we caught a cab with brake pads that complained loudly all the way back to Bitan, where he teetered off to the Sandcastle and I lugged my instruments back home.

I was late meeting Sandman at the 7-Eleven on Saturday before our gig at the circus, so we hopped in a cab to CKS Hall, which Sandy calls “Peanuthead Park”. Luckily the gray rainy weather we’ve been experiencing had yielded to sunnier skies, but without too much heat.

We did our sound check on the small stage set up in front of the opera house steps after watching a group of girls and one guy (I think it was a guy) toss tops around in an impressive manner. Their CD music kept skipping and throwing them off, resulting in tops occasionally flying in alarming directions, but it was enjoyable anyway.

After the sound check we were followed by schoolgirls in pink and white shouting “WELCOME! BYE-BYE!” as we walked over to a place along the hallway that surrounds the memorial park and practiced some songs. Before long a crowd of spectators had accumulated, and after we finished many of them wanted to take pictures with various band members, but I stayed mostly away.

We went back to the green room for some lunch boxes our hosts had prepared for us. As we had a couple of hours to kill, Slim, Thumper and I walked around looking for proper breeze-shooting environment. At first we thought we’d sit on a grassy knoll, but when Thumper stuck his hand in the grass he found several inches of worms and bugs before he hit ground. We settled for a park bench instead.

The Betelnut Brothers were up before us, and we went over the stage to watch. The crowd was larger than I had expected. David went up and played with them for one song, and they were going to reciprocate on our last song as well. Then it was time to get ready for our show.

Our set went pretty well, I though, even though the start was a bit rough. Here’s a video shot by an audience member (who also took the above picture). We’d played better in the practice that afternoon, but I think we usually play better when we’re just sitting around in circle without all the wires and mics and stage to bother with. Afterwards we were mobbed by people wanting pictures and autographs. This time I sat down for a few photos and signed a couple of autographs. It was a bit surreal. There were the usual comments, I heard later, about my solemn/somewhat threatening demeanor on stage.

The organizers of the event were putting on a party at 9:30, so Jojo and I had time to take a cab over to the Harbin Restaurant Prince Roy’s been raving about, near Sun Yat-sen Memorial Hall. There we found PR and his wife Spicy Girl as well as Mark from Doubting to Shuo and their friend Martin. Of the dishes we had, I particularly enjoyed the potato/eggplant, and the lamb kabobs weren’t bad either.

Back at Peanuthead Hall, we found the boys camped out in the park drinking and chatting. Thumper sang a rousing version of “I Want a Pony!” before we packed up our stuff and climbed the opera house steps to join in the party on the spacious veranda. We met some of the other performers, including a group from Barcelona. I chatted for a long time with Chalaw, the bass player from the Betelnut Brothers, and found that he was born in January of 1969, which is the time I would have been born if I hadn’t come out a couple of weeks early.

The party lasted until the wee hours of the morning, when David, Conor and I decided to see what was happening at Capone’s, where there was supposed to be a post-Blues Bash jam going on. When we arrived, however, we found only a couple of people sitting at the bar. The restaurant was empty. After a celebratory drink, David and I shared a taxi home while Conor went on to Spaceman with some other friends.

It was a good time. In a little while Sandman and I are going to be on our way up to Xizhi’s Dream Community for our second show this weekend at the Blues Bash. The weather’s great and I’m looking forward to it.

Last weekend we went around getting pickup shots, as there were no major scenes planned. Dean and I got some sword close-ups at his house and then headed out to get shots of him on the ground in front of a previous location and then running up the stairs at a nearby office building. Then we met Bill in front of Taipei City Hall for some extra shots. The audio was unusable, as usual, thanks to some major karaoke activity going on in the square where we were filming.

We also needed Dean hanging on to some scaffolding or other metal structure for a special effects shot. I’d noticed an air raid warning system tower on the top of a building at the corner of Roosevelt and Shi-da Roads, so we went up there, using the critical weapon of casual conversation to get past the old guard, and climbed up onto the tower base. After I helped Dean apply his make-up, he got up on the actual tower for close-up shots. Then I did the wide and found too many buildings in the background, so I asked him to climb halfway up the tower. Keep in mind that there was no wall or anything else separating us from the edge of the roof and a nasty 20-story drop. Dean looked a bit apprehensive, but he did it. The emotion was perfect for the scene. Later he admitted that he has a fear of heights.

There was a new guy at practice last time. He was short and squat with powerful arms, the best type of build for tuishou. Mr. You, an older student, had been grappling with him before my arrival and looked exhausted. “Your turn,” he said, turning the new guy over to me.”

“I’ve only been studying for two days!” the new guy told me brightly. Not a good sign, I thought. He seems a bit too impressed with himself. He lit in to me with all the force he could muster, which, I have to admit, was a bit more than I could muster. If I’d kept up trying to match his strength I would have surely lost every time. His range, however, was limited; a shift of stance was all that was needed in order to throw him off.

It’s always useful to practice tuishou with as many different people as possible, as everyone has a unique style. There’s not really even a way to rank people. Student A may always beat Student B, and Student B may always defeat Student C, but it’s entirely possible that student C always gets the better of Student A. Until you find out what your opponent is doing, it’s very difficult to come up with an effective strategy to defeat him.

That’s probably over-analyzing matters, however. Thinking too much is detrimental, as by the time the opportunity presents itself, it’s already time to act. While pushing with Mr. You I found if I waited until the time was right, I could push him over pretty easily, even though the quick “surprise move” always feels like cheating to me. With Teacher Xu, no matter what you do, and no matter how far ahead you see in the bout, his attack is as undefeatable as it is inevitable. I suppose when you’re that good, you can take your time with the assurance that whatever you’re doing will work. For now, I’ll have to rely on discovering chinks in my opponent’s armor and exploiting them before he knows what’s happening.

The forecast this weekend is for mud.

Lots of mud. As in Muddy Basin mud. On Saturday we’re going to be part of a circus (a circus!) show at CKS Hall. We’ll be playing at 6pm, where I have no idea. Hopefully, as Slim says, in the back of CKS’s Chromalicious Caddy. Later on there might be something vaguely jamical going down at Capone’s.

On Sunday, we’ll be at the Blues Bash at the Dream Community up in Xizhi. Hopefully I’ll be able to get there without emptying my wallet this time. We’re supposed to be on stage at 4:30.

Hopefully there won’t be too much mud, though, as I just bought new shoes.

去大陸玩了十一天, 回來就說服掉那個困在小房間裡面的壓力感. 雖然上海給我滿好的印象, 我在北京反而覺得不太舒服. 這有可能是

One problem I have is running out of room, extending myself too far and consequently not being able to do anything when I get there. This always happens with Yang Qing-feng, who is apparently made of rubber. One way to avoid this, though, is to lower my stance even more to get that extra bit of leverage.

Contrary to my assumptions, Teacher Xu told us not to react immediately to an attack. “See what it’s all about first, then implement your strategy,” he told us. I can see how this would work in learning tuishou, but I’d be hard pressed to keep myself from reacting as quickly as possible in one of the tuishou bouts I see on TV here. But then again, I’m not entirely sure that that stuff is actually real tuishou and not just wrestling with a few airs added in.

Some international tuishou competition was held here over the last week, and the lack of uniforms is the only thing that allows me to differentiate what I’ve seen from professional wrestling. Perhaps everything is happening too quickly for me to see. Teacher Xu said that, in China, the southern schools tend to be more violent and dependent on raw force, training with heavy stones, while northern schools concentrate on softer, more internal methods. “More of the judges in Taiwan come from the south,” he explained. “So they’ll award the win to southern methods through sheer numbers.” Through sheer force, in other words.

But I’m still learning, so I will try to react at an appropriate speed. “When your opponent attacks, let him drive for a bit, then take over. It’s the same car, though, just with you driving,” Teacher Xu told us.