Day 19

Hungover, barely able to sit on the stool, but I try to play through it. For most of the day no one paid much attention. Like my homeless friend down by the rink says, “I need a new game.”

Later on in the day I was in an open G tuning, just kind of noodling around, making up an ambient song in a bastardized blues progression, you know, feeling it. A Spanish looking guy approached and said what I was playing reminded him of a Spanish guitar player who mixes Flamenco with new-age type music.

Alejandro is a bartender at an exclusive members-only bar in a hotel off of 54th St. in midtown Manhattan. Super rich and well-known folks only allowed. The likes of Kissinger and Ted Kennedy hung out there. He’s from Ecuador, but came to New York about thirty years ago. He's been behind the bar for over twenty years, says it’s too good of a job for him to leave. I ask if he needs a helper. Unfortunately, he doesn’t. I mentioned Andres Segovia, the great classical Spanish guitar player, and he told me that Segovia's brother actually played once at a club he worked at.

For the longest time Alejandro was trying to think of a modern virtuoso Flamenco guitarist, who did some sort of collaboration with Sting. He says what he plays is absolutely amazing. But he’s stumped. He can’t think of the name and I’m clueless. It’s right on the tip of his tongue and driving him crazy. Eventually, he left, frustrated. Five minutes later he came back running towards the tunnel. A good thirty feet away he yells, “Paco Lucia!” He was so happy he’d remembered his name. His good deed for the day had been done, and as I laughed he walked away from the tunnel with a little skip in his step.