I was at the production office of the 2008 Panama Jazz Festival on a sunny Friday morning getting stuff done with Yamile, putting out fires that often came throughout the course of the week we worked there, when a gentle young man, tall as a lamp post and seemingly fragile, sat down next to me and pulled out his iBook. I didn’t think twice of it, since at this point of the week I’m still trying to remember my way around the jazz world, and after meeting and dining with the Tia Fuller Quartet the day prior, I should’ve been prepared for anything as the Production Office became a hub for volunteers, managers, VIP’s, press and artists to find out what exactly is going on. But I digress; this young man reminded me of one of my distant cousins from Colon in the sense that he was very simple, very humble and wanted to be left alone. Now, we had been having problems with the office’s internet connection (not our fault, but rather the place we were at) and I took my wireless access point in order to smoothen matters regarding the daily internet bills and perhaps alleviate some of the traffic hogging up the bandwidth, but still the Internet continued with its temper tantrums, going dead at the most random of times. I was transcribing something for that night (Dave Samuels and Stanley Jordan were scheduled to perform at the Atlapa Convention Center that night, and we were going to give out some awards to sponsors as well) when this sir let me know about the moody connection.

Mystery Man: “Hey… do we have internet connection?”

Rob: “Yes sir, we should.”

MM: “Wireless?”

Rob: “Damn right. Log on to the access point called ****** and you should be fine. Just let me know if it goes out, because it’s been screwy all morning. I dunno what the hell is wrong with it, quite frankly.”

MM (laughing): “Alright, will do.”

He tries to connect, but nothing. So, like any responsible volunteer would, Rob Rivera works his magic on the office router and, as with many other situations where I’m required to used my hands and fingers, results are swift and amazing.

MM: “Alright, I have Internet now. Thank you so much! I have to send some tracks to my manager.”

Rob: “Sure thing. If the connection passes out again, let me know; I know how to wake it up.”

MM: “Okay, will do.”

So, I sit down feeling happy as a bee because another satisfied customer has been helped by the touch of Rob Rivera. Now, odd sexual innuendo aside, I let that go and kept on doing my stuff when I looked at Yamile and her eyes are peeled, like if someone had just shaved a cat right before her eyes. She asked me if I knew who that guy was, and I told her I didn’t. She quickly went online and started searching while I minded my own business. After a while, The guy left the office to hit the bathroom, and Yamile brought me over to her computer so that I could take a look at what the person next to me did for a living:

Oh, my stars and garters… I just fixed Stanley Jordan’s wireless connection.

I saw the Panama Jazz Festival poster taped onto the window in front of us, one that had pictures of all the major acts performing at the shows and, lo and behold, there he was: the skinny, tall guy, sitting in front of a sepia background holding a guitar that, coincidentally, was resting on some chairs not ten feet away from me and a huge label saying “Stanley Jordan” at the bottom of the image. At this very moment, Stanley came back in. He sat down, smiled at us, put on his headphones and started tapping away on his guitar.

When I asked Wikipedia about Stanley Jordan, I got this:

Normally, a guitarist must use two hands to play each note. One hand presses down a guitar string behind a chosen fret to prepare the note, and the other hand either plucks or strums the string to play that note. Jordan’s touch technique is an advanced form of two-handed tapping. The guitarist produces a note using only one finger by quickly tapping (or “hammering”) his finger down behind the appropriate fret. The force of impact causes the string to vibrate enough to immediately sound the note, and Jordan executes tapping with both hands, and with more legato than is normally associated with guitar tapping. The note’s volume can be controlled by varying the force of impact: tapping with greater force produces a louder note. […]

[…]Jordan’s two-handed tapping allows the guitarist to play melody and chords simultaneously. It is also possible, as Jordan has demonstrated, to play simultaneously on two different guitars. The technique generally requires a guitar with lower action and lighter-gauge strings. It is very difficult to use on a classical guitar, but possible on a steel string acoustic. The technique is the same as that employed by players of the Chapman Stick which was developed by Emmett Chapman in 1969, and later discovered by Jordan, independently.

A helpful analogy to visualize this technique is the distinction between a harpsichord and a piano. A harpsichord produces sound by plucking its strings, and a piano produces sound by striking its strings with tiny hammers. However, while notes produced on a harpsichord or piano sustain after the hammer has struck or the pick has plucked, fingers must remain on a tapped note in order for the sound to continue. This similarity is what led Jordan to attempt such a technique in the first place; he was a classically trained pianist before playing guitar and wanted greater freedom in voicing chords on his guitar.

Now, later that night at Atlapa, things went rather smoothly (Thursday was much more eventful in terms of adventures) but one thing remained: I had never seen Stanley Jordan perform live. Giulio had mentioned him to me several times and I had listened to some of his records but outside of that I had never seen him live, not even on video. So, after making sure with Yamile that everything was kosher and we could relax (which we could, so much so that she went home, surely a result of a grueling week with very little sleep) I decided to go out to the theater, sit down and enjoy Stanley’s show. That’s one of the quirks of working for the Panama Jazz Festival, I believe: I often caught acts backstage, and when I decided I wanted to be with the audience, I usually sat down in some of the most expensive seats. Hell, I went to the exclusive Gala Night at the National Theater ($150.00 a pop, folks!!!!) and caught a rare appearance by the legendary musician (and now Minister of Tourism) Ruben Blades perform with the creator of the festival Danilo Perez. As a side note, I urge you to visit the theater when you have the chance. I hadn’t been there in years, and I have to say that the place is absolutely beautiful. you know what’s also beautiful, though? The way Stanley Jordan made his guitar sing Friday night.

Jordan played for a good hour and a half after a surely-stellar performance by Dave Samuels and his Caribbean Jazz Project. I couldn’t catch much of Samuels’ show mostly because there were still things to iron out backstage, but I do remember that there was some trouble with Samuels’ requested a marimba (not to be confused with a xylophone) in the sense that it was Friday morning and we still didn’t know where we had to pick it up. The general consensus is that this 5th festival has been the smoothest of them all in terms of getting stuff done, but the negative aspects of the whole thing rely on miscommunication between the point-men and the Panamanian liaisons. The marimba is almost the size of a piano, and we were told it was in three different places in the span of three hours. It was unbelievable. The National Theater’s balcony smelled like piss, the sponsor responsible for transportation buses decided a few days before the start of the festival that they were going to give us 6 buses and 2 4WD cars instead of the 12 buses the Festival needed, and then there’s the oh-so-delightful government workers making our lives a living hell. I got into a debate on Saturday morning with one of these ass zits, and I couldn’t believe the things coming out of this person’s mouth. In the end Yamile and I concluded that the reason why the things that went bad actually did so was because the people on the other side of the fence, the government people and others who I dare not mention for fear of scorn, lack something as basic as common sense.

As you can imagine, Stanley Jordan rocked the house on Friday night. An hour and a half of pure aureal bliss. One of the perks of being part of the Panama Jazz Fest staff (even though I volunteered) was the all-access nature of the proceedings; I had never been so up close from world-renowned musicians doing what they do best, and throughout the week of the festival I could see these uncanny individuals do magic on stage. After the show that Friday, I was absolutely flabbergasted… I went out to the audience to catch the rest of the performance after being done with things back stage and I was floored. The result of this reaction by my part brought forth behavior that is totally unlike me: I decided I wanted to be a groupie, so I diligently used my badge to go back stage once more and lounge in front of Jordan’s dressing room, where he was behind closed doors. Quickly the hall filled up with people who wanted an autograph, pictures and to quite basically thank him for such an amazing show. Now, I was told earlier by several members of the staff, people who know Jordan personally, that he was somewhat eccentric when it came to his interactions with people. As I was told, he is so in tune with his surroundings that his senses have been heightened… something like being autistic, but not quite. “Maybe he’s just being a diva,” I thought to myself, as I was told how he doesn’t like being touched by strangers, or be surrounded by people he doesn’t know, as well as other rumors about how he’s allergic to most fruits, vegetables and meats, as well as other assorted outlandish shit that I don’t particularly care for. I was mulling these things over as I waited with some friends and just as the U.S. ambassador in Panama (a real party animal, if the rumors are true) waltzed in with his entourage to be a groupie too when Jordan came out to greet people. The organizer of the festival (and the person I was assisting with Yamile throughout the week) came up to me and asked me if I wanted to meet him, sending a chill down my spine; a totally involuntary response, something out of my control that let me know how impressed I was… suddenly, I realized I was starstruck. I was handed a program and was given a marker when the organizer introduced us:

Organizer: “Stanley, this is Rob. He’s my assistant and I love him.”

Stanley (looking at me): “Ahh yes, I remember you!”

Rob (to the organizer): Yeah, we’ve met earlier at the production office.”

Stanley: “Very pleased to meet you, Rob.”

He said this, and extended his hand out to me. This guy, this eccentric cat who I was told a million and one things about, the person allergic to most foods known to man, the person who didn’t want anyone to touch him, wanted to shake my hand. It didn’t matter if everything I was told was true or not: fact of the matter was that I was flattered like I’ve never felt in my entire life on this planet.

Rob: “I gotta tell ya, that was unbelievable. I’m starstruck, and I don’t get starstruck easily.”

Stanley: “Thank you! Thank you so much, I’m glad you enjoyed the show.”

Rob: “Oh yes, it was unbelievable. You’ll be playing on Saturday, right?”

Stanley: “Yes. Will you be there?”

Organizer: “He better be.”

Rob: “I will. Gotta help her, it’s gonna be the busiest day.”

Stanley: “Good. I’ll see you there, then.”

He shook my hand again, and we greeted each other. I looked at the organizer, then my friends, and that’s when I noticed I was a huge, stupid grin on my face. I, for some reason, desperately needed a hug, so the organizer held me a little while I tried to struggle with the giddiness. Mind you, I’m not even a huge fan of jazz but I couldn’t help but be unbelievably happy. So happy, in fact, that I helped him and his host with his equipment all the way into the van like the most stereotypical groupie you have ever met. Saturday at the Cathedral of San Felipe, where the free show was held with all of the artists present at the festival, is another entry in and of itself, so I’ll save my Jordan-praise for then, which was an even more unbelievable show than the one on Friday. In the meantime, please visit his official site to brush up on your knowledge and, if you will, check out the tracks below.

Stanley Jordan - “Stairway to Heaven” (cover) : Stanley Jordan - “Brooklyn at Midnight” : Stanley Jordan - “Too Close to the Sun”

Share This