A BRIEF HISTORY OF JAMBAY IN 8/11 TIME
Memory
is a strange thing. It creeps up on you when you least suspect it and
throws you
back into time. Your body stays here, but the mind travels to places
and scenes
that seem to be ghosts on the fabric of now. Am I really remembering
what
happened? Or am I only seeing my memory of what may have once happened
to
another person only distantly related to the interpretation of me now?
Or am I
actually going back into time, a time only as static as my dynamic
interpretation?
To
try and extricate the beginning of Jambay from Glenmont would be like
trying to
take the breath from your lungs or the water from the sea. "But what is
a
Glenmont, and where can I get one" I hear someone cry out in the
distance,
and I realize I haven't started the story back far enough.
(Everything
becomes blurry as I project back, back, back............)
1987.
Ronald Reagan is acting President and George "I didn't do it" Bush is
on deck. I'm in Solana Beach California, a suburb of San Diego (which
is just a
suburb of LA). I live with some friends, and around the corner is
another group
living on Glenmont Street. We all go to college at the prestigious
university of
California, San Diego. And we were the hippies, the freaks, the party
people,
the ones who really knew how to have a good time. It was odd for me, I
think,
always having been a part of the scene. Ben and Jerry's and champagne
in the
jacuzzi at three o'clock in the morning seemed perfectly natural, but I
guess to
the fairly conservative student body at UCSD our house gained a status
just
short of legendary. And a well-deserved reputation it was.... we always
had the
most epic parties. If there wasn't a band, then it was just a
get-together. The
real events were for bands and kegs and good friends. Then, about
twenty minutes
after the cops had come by and chased all the riffraff away, the party
would
really begin. People would appear out of the woodwork, the jacuzzi
would be hot,
and the acoustic instruments would play until dawn. They say that youth
is
wasted on the young, but I don't think I wasted it at all. I just lived
it.
Of
course, Glenmont was much more than just parties. We were living a
co-operative
lifestyle that you just couldn't find in San Diego in the eighties....
the only
way to get it was to create it for yourself. The bonds that were
created in that
scene have transcended time itself, and to this day I have a network of
close
friends who I stay in regular contact with, a tribe that's scattered
like leaves
around the globe, but who I know love and care for me as much as my own
family.
People who in many ways are my real family, the one I would choose and
who would
chose me. This was and is Glenmont, and it was within the womb of this
sheltering college experience that the roots of Jambay were first set,
roots
that have now spread across the country.
Still,
I can't help but feel I haven't made the point. It's hard to describe
something
that is as much a part of yourself as your arm or your leg. Glenmont
wasn't just
a house or a collection of like-minded people. It was a state of mind,
a
conceptualization of what could be that I will carry with me the rest
of my
life. And out of this state of self-induced chaos rose Team Friendly.
Anyone who
wants to be a member can be... all it requires is love and respect for
those who
share the experience of Here We All Are Now, So Let's Have Some Fun.
It
was either late `88 or early `89 that all four members of Jambay first
played
together. Or so they tell me. I was there, but that's another thing
about
memory. What seems important now wasn't really so important then. I
distinctly
remember the party. When we had night parties, they were in the
Playroom, a
garage that had been converted into a room. For years we had a pool
table in
there. Above this room was a loft, which looked out over the people
crowded and
dancing in front of the band. The particular party I'm thinking of was
Ewing's
Birthday Party. (I would tell you about Ewing, but that would require a
story
unto itself. A fast cat struggling through alcoholic haze as he wailed
a beat up
guitar strapped to a basketball. The pub rat who would play until dawn
and
occasionally landed on your couch for a few days, only to disappear
again for
weeks. Not a role model for the feint of heart) There was no PA, so
there was no
singing, just long extended blues jams that seemed to (and did) last
forever.
Then the guy with the nitrous tank showed up, and the music started to
get
really weird as we sucked gas in the loft. That's about all I remember.
But
apparently the conclave of musicians that played praise to the spirit
of
spontaneity that night included in its ranks Shelly, Mike, Matt, and
Chris.
Fade
to the spring of `89. Spring in San Diego is the season of the beach,
the season
of blow off class and lag in the sun. And then comes graduation, and
bands are
playing everywhere. Ron and I were on a mission, and one of the stops
was to see
my friend Shelly's new band. I don't think they had a name yet, or if
they did
it didn't stick. I vaguely remember meeting Chris, and saying I liked
some song
or another that reminded me of the Grateful Dead. (May have been
"Desert", but some memories are known to be false) Then it was off to
the next adventure.
I
saw Shelly again in the fall of `89. We would run into each other
between
classes, and every time I saw her, she asked, "When does my band get to
play at Glenmont." So finally I said, "How about this weekend. We'll
have an outdoor thing, by the pool. It'll be mellow." So it was set.
None
of us expected what showed up that day. They had a name now, Jambay.
They had
been living together through the summer, and with a handful of all
original
music they were ready to explode into our world. You have to remember
that back
then, at the end of the eighties, improvisation had nearly died. All we
had left
were the Grateful Dead and a bunch of rock-and-roll cover bands, some
of which
only played Grateful Dead music. Don't get me wrong..... I loved it.
But we
always complained that our friends never wrote their own music, never
expressed
themselves, and hence, ourselves. In Jambay we heard a breath of fresh
air, a
band who improvised on original music and who NEVER played a cover
(this was
before the infamous "Disco Phase" when Jambay wore only sequins and
played monotonous seventies covers for three hours straight. More on
that period
of their career in a later installment.)
The
first song that day was "Prelude". Shortly into the show, KR came up
to me and said "We should be taping this." I asked around, and Andrea
offered her boom box as a recorder. Not being a taper myself, I placed
it in the
worst possible place, right next to the keg (When I hear that tape now,
I think
I put it in the perfect spot. The sounds of voices from a past that I
lived seem
somehow more tangible than the swiss cheese of my memory.) The squeaky
tap and
Ron going on and on and on about Black's Beach, man..... very
professional, if I
do say so myself. You'll have to ask someone else for the set-list, but
I
remember Desert, Grab-On, Mother Scolds the Twins, Tumult and Boom boom
as some
of the first songs ever performed. And when I listen to those tapes
now, I can
hardly believe I ever was into this band. The songs are so slow and
simple. Yet,
somewhere in there lies the sound that is Jambay. You know what I
mean.... the
answer to the question "What kind of music do they play?" Even from
the start, they played that same kind of music.
There's
more to the story than that. And if you were to ask someone else who
was there,
they may tell you it all happened differently. All I know is what I
remember.
And that's all I can tell you for now.
Peace.