Once upon a time there was a Cajonero. He travelled the lands far and wide, following the rhythm of life with his cajon. It was his charge in life to provide a beat to life as it occured around him. From simple conversation to the hustle and bustle of a city street to the wind blowing through the trees, he sensed the rhythm in it all and would play his cajon to make life whole. For what is life without rhythm?
During his travels, he realized that his cajon hadn't fully reached its purpose. Although he had enhanced the life of all the occurrences around him, there was still one thing missing.
The locals on the coast spoke of a Siren. A figure of mythology that dwelt just off shore in the foggy morns that drew in the fishermen, mariners and sailors with her voice. Hers was a voice so mesmerizing that the men at sea would follow its sound, even into trouble. But unlike the mythic dames of yore, it was this Sirens intent to find the right accompaniment to her sultry, seductive tones. To date, no one had proven to be the one to match perfectly with her voice.
When the Cajonero came to this seaside burg, he overheard the locals speaking of the siren. Intrigued, he decided to wait for a foggy morn to catch her voice upon the still, damp air. For weeks no fog had rolled in and the Cajonero spent his time in the town square providing a rhythm to the life of this drab, colorless village. Slowly bringing life and purpose to the daily routine of this village, its denizens began to grow accustomed to the rhythm of life the Cajonero provided. The town elders approached him and asked him who he was and what his business in their town was.
He explained that while his intent was to pass through, he became intrigued with the tale of the Siren. That it had become his mission to hear her and have her voice move his hands. The elders warned of the danger inherent with the Siren. Many men at sea had been lost forever to her voice.
The Cajonero didn't waiver.
It finally came to pass that a thick fog blanketed the fishing village one morn. Within the dense veil the subtle sounds of the Siren began to meander through. The Cajonero awoke to her voice and began to walk toward it. He followed the sweet sounds to the end of a rocky jetty where the sea suddenly calmed and the tide went out, giving the Cajonero a dry path to pursue the voice. The voice grew louder as the Cajonero came upon a large rock where sat atop a woman who's beauty was matched by her voice. When she saw the Cajonero she stopped singing. She knew something was different about him. This was no fishermen, mariner or sailor. No, this was a man that would complete her voice.
She smiled down at him and motioned for him to ascend the rock. No sooner did he reach the top, and the Siren, did the tide come back in. Stranding them atop this rock.
She began to sing, he began to play.
Last night at Java Jones we had the pleasure of being seduced and mesmerized by the siren like voice of Brenda Xu. Accompanying her on the cajon was Ben Kent. How good do you think these two are to inspire such a story? I found myself mesmerized by her. Sometimes being put into a trance like state. The rhythm and timing of Ben's cajon playing are impeccable. He plays as if his life was meant solely to create the perfect beat, in perfect time and perfect harmony with the voice of the siren.
It was a night of music that I would follow into the densest fog. It was a pleasure to have them both play. Don't miss your chance to see them.