Sleepless in Bangkok

Another sleepless night in The Big Mango. I cruise the hood under the moonlight, ready to rumble down to soi Nana to hook up with Barry Wedgle, jazz musician and founder of Exit Records. The parking lot behind the 7-11 is teeming with thousands of Thais on a mission to dig a cool scene for real .A huge stage has been erected. Luk Thung music rocks the night, a chorus line of vedettes dance about on stage, exotically costumed, displaying beaucoup des flesh and sporting extravagant, humongous hairstyles. A dude in a white Saturday Night Fever suit belts out the up country Luk Thung hit parade as the crowd goes wild. Only in Bangkok mes cher amis.

  Soi Nana is throbbing as I make my way past the garish entrance to the go-go bars and beer bars of Nana Plaza. Ten minutes down the road, I turn into a courtyard, roll past the swimming pool, and knock on the door. Mark Johnson, a local character actor in films invites me in.

 Mark is a cool looking dude from California who one casting agent described as the devil with a Fu Manchu. Barry has thinning blond hair, and is riffing John Coltrane on a guitar plugged into a small amp. Mark supports him on bass .Barry starts to sing in Spanish, muy salcero. I clap along with a flamenco beat .Barry rips into the blues so I do my best Voodoo Chile imitation and sing RIDERS ON THE STORM, LIKE A DOG WITHOUT A BONE ACTOR OUT ON LOAN.

  We stop for a beer, smoke and talk trash. Barry runs through a litany of the saints Coltrane, Miles Davis, Dizzy and Bird, Lady Day. He founded Exit Records a decade ago in NYC. It is a communal organization based on Socialist principles, not corporate greed. The artists get a 50 per cent cut. A state of the art recording studio on Koh Samui is on the cards as well as an office in Bangkok. The roster includes world music, hip-hop, rock, and jazz. Plans are full on for The 2008 Intl Revolutionary Music Festival to tour Europe, Asia, and South America. Barry gigged on same bill with Beyonce and her all girl band in Shanghai, and just returned from a jazz tour of China. Exit Records features eclectic titles on sale like JAZZ ELEQTRIQUE, COUNTRY AND EASTERN, GEMINI, or DIAMONDS AND COFFEE. As Detective Caruso says on CSI MIAMI – I AM LIKING HIM FOR IT. BAG HIM, TAG HIM, and AND BOOK HIM.
 
  Time to roll deep, boy’s night out. We catch a cab outside and hit it for the oldest entertainment center in Bangkok Patpong. We bail out at the Silom entrance, the strip is full up with tourists shopping for counterfeit luxury goods as touts entice the punters into the bars and discos. I lure the lads upstairs into SUPERGIRLS. Demimondaines in various states of undress are dancing on stage. There is so little vodka in my screwdriver it tastes like a health drink. Suddenly, a vintage black and silver Indian motorcycle with a Thai dude behind the handlebars is lowered from the ceiling onto the stage via an ingenious network of pulleys and levers. A voluptuous girl on stage helps the rider dismount. Romantic music plays in the background. The protagonists strip naked, on song to perform a live sex act.

  My cell phone rings. I check the telly number; it is my agent Kaprice Kea.(pictured left) Excusing myself, I roll out onto the street. Bad news, the Oliver Stone motion picture; Pinkville that I auditioned for has been cancelled due to complications of the screenwriters strike.

Another B-movie I and Mark had been up for suffered the same fate. Kaprice says to stay in touch; I feel a gentle tap on my shoulder.

  She is a ravishing Thai dressed to the nines, with raven hair and splendid teeth. The LOUIS Vuitton accessories are the real deal .Joy introduces her and asks for the whereabouts of the Hip-Hop Club. I flip her my card, the one that reads NOVELIST, PLAYWRIGHT, and ACTOR. She seems impressed so I offer to escort her to the club.

  We make the grand entrance as the house band does a passable rendition of  THE BLACK EYED PEAS. Joy hits the dance floor, I bust a move, and all eyes are upon us. The lads can fend for themselves at SUPERGIRLS. We roll to the bar, curiouser and  curiouser,  Joy insists on picking up the tab. The houselights come up for last dance, last chance and last call for alcohol. Joy offers to give me a lift home.

  We walk hard by the Cafe Roma and the Cafe De Paris, her ride is parked in front of Foodland. Joy tips the security guard, he opens the door of the latest  model black BMW, and clicks his heels throwing her a military salute. The BMW purrs down Convent Road, Joy winces as I give her the address to my bohemian crib.

  She pulls over in front of my hipster pad, I invite her up for mocktails. Joy kisses me on both cheeks and declines. She has  a commercial shoot tomorrow, must look fresh and gorgeous and all that you know. Joy gives me her card and rides out into the wind. She is high rent and high maintenance. Voodoo Chile is home alone. JUST ANOTHER NIGHT IN THE BIG MANGO.

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