Teacher by Day, Rockstar by Night
My Spanish tutor is one of the most inconspicuous people you'll meet anywhere.
His is hair tied back in a pony tail, and his dark eyes look at you through wireless glasses. He is soft spoken, the way you'd expect it from a teacher or even a college professor. He wears a suit and carries a briefcase with him, wherever he goes, the ultimate Joe College.
That is, of course, until his day job ends and the night begins. This is when he makes his smooth and seamless transition to hard rock singer. The suit is replaced by leather clothes, the hair is untied and will fly everywhere around his head like planets orbiting the sun. The glasses are nowhere to be found, and the gentle, soft-spoken voice becomes a set of pipes belting out Judas Priest and Def Leppard tunes with a remarkable vocal range, not to mention songs from his own band, Facto Alfa.
Meet Vico, the teacher by day and the rock star by night.
I had long promised Vico I would catch one of his live gigs, and last Friday would finally be the time for it. Of course, there's a hitch. The concert doesn't start until midnight, which is when I am usually counting sheep, or here in La Paz's case, all the lamas in Bolivia.
As a parent, your job never really stops. When you come home from work where plenty of pressing demands needed to be met, there are more demands the minute you walk through the door.
I remember somebody in Baghdad who once told me, "The Moment you become a parent, consider sleep a hobby." Okay, so it's not that bad anymore, and the kids are not babies anymore, which isn't to say they don't have their nightmares and wake you up at night. To make matters worse, the kids are early risers, meaning that's what you become by default.
And now I must squeeze in a rock concert. Hey, anything to hear old 80's hard rock, right?
The alarm clock wakes me up at 11:30, and I quickly get dressed. No way am I driving, since one, I will be drinking some beer and two, leaving a car anywhere in La Paz in the wee hours is akin to leaving a rabbit chained to a tree in the middle of the forest. That car will be seriously vandalized, which I am not in the mood for.
I somehow flag down a cab, find the place, the 'Alive', and buy a ticket. The place is bigger than it looks and is tailor made for rock concerts. Since there is nobody there I know and my Spanish wasn't made yet to be heard above electric guitars and power vocals, I take a seat upstairs and order a Huari beer. The place is packed and a few fans don't wait for the music to start until they get plastered.
The band starts with songs from 'Hysteria', one of my favorite 80's albums. Some drunk kid waves a set of brass knuckles in front of me and I smile weakly, thinking, 'Bud, you're going to look pretty weird walking home with those shoved up the small intestine'. Luckily, the kid heads off to the stage, where he is gesticulating wildly to the musicians, who take in this little sideshow off the stage.
I quickly find out that the upstairs is more for the drunks who need to sleep off their fix, and one by one, leather clad drunken youths occupy the chairs and tables next to me, their heads blissfully slumped over the furniture. Security needs to haul a few of them out.
The later it gets, the more questionable the creatures of the night become who've decided to frequent this place. It's only a matter of time before something major, like a fight, breaks out here. The place is both rocking and rowdy.
I leave at around two thirty between Judas Priest songs, it's getting too gnarly around here for a family guy like me who is way out of his element. I salute the band and duck into a cab outside.
Good concert, but not without its risks. I no longer live among the creatures of the night.
His is hair tied back in a pony tail, and his dark eyes look at you through wireless glasses. He is soft spoken, the way you'd expect it from a teacher or even a college professor. He wears a suit and carries a briefcase with him, wherever he goes, the ultimate Joe College.
That is, of course, until his day job ends and the night begins. This is when he makes his smooth and seamless transition to hard rock singer. The suit is replaced by leather clothes, the hair is untied and will fly everywhere around his head like planets orbiting the sun. The glasses are nowhere to be found, and the gentle, soft-spoken voice becomes a set of pipes belting out Judas Priest and Def Leppard tunes with a remarkable vocal range, not to mention songs from his own band, Facto Alfa.
Meet Vico, the teacher by day and the rock star by night.
I had long promised Vico I would catch one of his live gigs, and last Friday would finally be the time for it. Of course, there's a hitch. The concert doesn't start until midnight, which is when I am usually counting sheep, or here in La Paz's case, all the lamas in Bolivia.
As a parent, your job never really stops. When you come home from work where plenty of pressing demands needed to be met, there are more demands the minute you walk through the door.
I remember somebody in Baghdad who once told me, "The Moment you become a parent, consider sleep a hobby." Okay, so it's not that bad anymore, and the kids are not babies anymore, which isn't to say they don't have their nightmares and wake you up at night. To make matters worse, the kids are early risers, meaning that's what you become by default.
And now I must squeeze in a rock concert. Hey, anything to hear old 80's hard rock, right?
The alarm clock wakes me up at 11:30, and I quickly get dressed. No way am I driving, since one, I will be drinking some beer and two, leaving a car anywhere in La Paz in the wee hours is akin to leaving a rabbit chained to a tree in the middle of the forest. That car will be seriously vandalized, which I am not in the mood for.
I somehow flag down a cab, find the place, the 'Alive', and buy a ticket. The place is bigger than it looks and is tailor made for rock concerts. Since there is nobody there I know and my Spanish wasn't made yet to be heard above electric guitars and power vocals, I take a seat upstairs and order a Huari beer. The place is packed and a few fans don't wait for the music to start until they get plastered.
The band starts with songs from 'Hysteria', one of my favorite 80's albums. Some drunk kid waves a set of brass knuckles in front of me and I smile weakly, thinking, 'Bud, you're going to look pretty weird walking home with those shoved up the small intestine'. Luckily, the kid heads off to the stage, where he is gesticulating wildly to the musicians, who take in this little sideshow off the stage.
I quickly find out that the upstairs is more for the drunks who need to sleep off their fix, and one by one, leather clad drunken youths occupy the chairs and tables next to me, their heads blissfully slumped over the furniture. Security needs to haul a few of them out.
The later it gets, the more questionable the creatures of the night become who've decided to frequent this place. It's only a matter of time before something major, like a fight, breaks out here. The place is both rocking and rowdy.
I leave at around two thirty between Judas Priest songs, it's getting too gnarly around here for a family guy like me who is way out of his element. I salute the band and duck into a cab outside.
Good concert, but not without its risks. I no longer live among the creatures of the night.
0 comments