I have been coming to Auckland for many years. During that time I have played drums with and had the pleasure of befriending the good folk of AK Samba in Hastings, Wainuiomata and other exotic climes. I have never played with them on home turf (of the lawn bowls variety) until very recently:
It so happened that I was in Auckland, on a Monday, had a rush of inspiration and decided to visit the bowls club. Finding the folk fiendishly stitching tartan sweat-shop garments, I grabbed a caixa and joined in the final practice before a Scottish themed event. Kilts and bonnets were being butchered at the hands of samba seamstresses, while the final attempts at coordinating a musical apocalypse ensued in the club room.
I hate the humble bagpipe with a violent passion only surpassed by the ubiquitous human statue. The end-of-days apocalypse of which I talk has both of these heinous characters on horseback. However, there is a strange inverse law, where: more is less worse, and a lot less is much worse: The single piper can get my blood boiling from a couple of kilometers, up-wind, yet I can glance at an advert for the Edinburgh Tattoo and merely shrug.
So, it was a confronting experience to witness and be part of an abominable experiment to merge samba with the highland fling. Four young players of the bagpipe rocked up and did a sterling job coordinating the cat-like screeches of their instruments to the well orchestrated rhythms. The Fling, The Imperial Death March and some lively funk soared above the live disembowelment of cats, that typifies the instrument's timbre. For me, it was like being pleasantly surprised by flooding therapy for a major phobia, and, I think, I feel better now.
Massive thanks to Darren and team for having me! I can't believe I haven't done that before.
I hate the humble bagpipe with a violent passion only surpassed by the ubiquitous human statue. The end-of-days apocalypse of which I talk has both of these heinous characters on horseback. However, there is a strange inverse law, where: more is less worse, and a lot less is much worse: The single piper can get my blood boiling from a couple of kilometers, up-wind, yet I can glance at an advert for the Edinburgh Tattoo and merely shrug.
So, it was a confronting experience to witness and be part of an abominable experiment to merge samba with the highland fling. Four young players of the bagpipe rocked up and did a sterling job coordinating the cat-like screeches of their instruments to the well orchestrated rhythms. The Fling, The Imperial Death March and some lively funk soared above the live disembowelment of cats, that typifies the instrument's timbre. For me, it was like being pleasantly surprised by flooding therapy for a major phobia, and, I think, I feel better now.
Massive thanks to Darren and team for having me! I can't believe I haven't done that before.
