Alex Alunday; from the archives
Saved an embarrassingly old version of my early writings for public viewing. My old garage tapes. Forever grateful to you Peter Oliphant for the invitation.
I wrote this in May 2023. Put it on my old website as a shy new writer. I quit drinking booze after this piece. Oddly. Alex and Songs Without Purpose will be on an upcoming music summary. Enjoy my ramblings from a new punk scene writer, also new (ish) to the town of Albuquerque.
Stringer
Alex Alunday
I tapped the message notification on my phone, and on a warm, spring Tuesday, found myself free and clear to attend the atypical musical event later that evening, at a venue I’ve not yet visited. I’m usually not concerned with the genre of music, but I was a bit concerned about being underdressed, with my chanclas and cutoff jean shorts and black Dymer t-shirt. The doldrums of winter had passed, and a warm, energizing electrical vibration filled the spring air with a near-audible buzz.
The buzz in the air may have been an army of drone-like pollen, in a wide-spread kamikaze diving formation, attacking the poor schmucks that ventured outside of the confines of their clean, filtered-air abodes, but regardless, there was a buzz.
The set list read:
Alex Alunday
Senior Recital
Keller Hall
I messaged my buddy and asked where the venue was, and he told me Keller Hall. As soon as I read his response, I laughed (out loud) at my own absurdity. Senior Recital and Keller Hall were not bands; they were key descriptors of what I was about to witness. (If you’re not also chuckling at my absurdity, you may want to close this now and carry on with your day.)
The solo musician scheduled to play that night wore a suit and I barely recognized him, but he was certainly identifiable, as I’ve seen him play keyboard with another band in town. I was distracted by the elegant quietness of Keller Hall, and the distinguished-looking silhouettes scattered around the building; the kind of crowd where veteran musicians look like professional assassins, cleverly disguised in sports coats, blending in with academia clingers and alumni. A definitive detour from the usual D-I-Y performance atmosphere in Duke City.
I had a feelin’ this wasn’t gonna be a typical Duke City Jam Session, and the auditorium seating would put a fatal crimp on mosh pitting, or as my writing and local music guru buddy, Rhea would say “hardcore dancing.”
With the summer music season getting underway here in the desert, I assumed the fine folks at UNM were offering their space for a touring band coming through, or perhaps some spirited political artist making a justifiable claim on free education, universal health care, or reversing the dire housing situation. My mind was a playground and I was beaming with excitement, and curiosity, as the spring fever had awakened my creative and receptive soul as the pollen infiltrated my sinuses.
Several local musicians have asked me what sort of music I like, or prefer to listen to while I’m around town, and I usually respond with “meh, the genre isn’t what catches my attention; it’s the emotion, and does the artist(s) pull me into their world.” The conversation normally stops, or shifts there, and that is fine by me. Nothing to force in that moment. But this music experience will, perhaps, shed light on the human emotion I feel compelled to write about as I explore the musical and artistic depths of the homeland I now reside after bouncing around the globe for the last 25 years.
Music isn’t the only thing about New Mexico that I find fascinating. It’s the energy that people generate here, within the confines of their expansive support system, and the gratitude given to those who support their true artistic calling. The gratitude and determination to be a better human, and to give back to the community, often radiates to public display and we, as audience members, are fortunate to witness the culmination of culture, talent, and expression in sound we call music.
Twenty six years ago, my Boeing 747 wide body landed on Kadena Air Base, in Okinawa, Japan, after a 14-hour flight out of Seattle. I was 22 years old and I had just left the United Kingdom. The four-year tour would evolve to be one of the most influential trips of my life, as I was immersed in nearly every culture on the planet. I was extremely open-minded and grateful for the opportunity to live in yet another foreign land, after living in the UK for two years, with the flatlands and hate-filled people of Arkansas a distant memory. I was gobsmacked with my new tropical island home and the culture that speckled tiny islands all over the Pacific.
I traveled extensively throughout Japan during that tour, with multiple trips to Thailand, South Korea, Guam, and Singapore, and a few other exotic locations. I returned to the Pacific many times over the next 20 years and always enjoyed my visits. Although I joined the Air Force too late to experience Clark Air Base in the Philippines, after Mount Pinatubo erupted in 1991 and altered the way of life for everyone, I was thoroughly immersed into Filipino culture as several of my friends and coworkers were Filipino. I became enamored with Filipino culture, food, and the most jovial human spirit I’ve witnessed to this day. I learned more about humanity from Filipinos around the world than I ever learned from my own family or from the demeaning western view on Asians and Pacific Islanders.
Did I mention the food? Bruh. Fo realz, their food is the best cause it’s cheap, not fancy, and its fucking delicious. Spam musubi. You can have it for breakfast with an egg, lunch with mac salad, or dinner with grilled chicken thighs AND mac salad. That is all. And don’t even get me started on chicken adobo, lumpia, pancit, Kare-Kare, and arroz caldo (some Filipino dishes are Spanish-influenced, and others are Chinese-influenced, but my absolute favs are the simple dishes that pack a ton of flavor).
In all the countries I’ve lived in and visited, I was always surrounded by Filipino people and influence, as they account for roughly 2.2 million of the world’s Overseas Foreign Worker (OFW) labor force (as of 2019). Young Filipino hospitality, medical, and service workers became the norm for a young Joe Smith (not yet Stringer) service member in nearly every austere corner of the globe. I became friends with them, admired them, then began to research what was going with the world and OFW’s and why the need to have a neutral labor force in politically and physically hostile environments. It was also my way of learning how Filipino culture blatantly dismissed the atrocities handed to their ancestors by the Spanish in the 17th thru 19th centuries, and then the threat of Japanese occupation just prior to WWII. Americans came to the aide of the magnanimous people, helped keep the Japanese at bay, and the result was a pretty cool partnership between Americans and Filipinos. The alliance wasn’t all good, but at least the country was free to carry on with their freedom and soon after the world war ended, they drafted and ratified their own constitution, gaining independence in 1946. Sort of.
Strangely, it was a tiny little island in the middle of the freakin’ Indian Ocean where most of my Filipino knowledge comes from. I made friends with a crew of Filipino barbers on a tiny archipelago called Diego Garcia. I lived there for seven months, in a tent, with eight other military dudes. I got out as often as I could, but there weren’t many places to go. Since land was scarce, I often found myself at the Filipino compound, which was off-limits to service members. I didn’t care; what were they gonna do, send me to a remote island that we couldn’t tell anyone about? Pfft.
There were roughly 20 Filipino men who lived in that compound and every one of them knew how to cook. They had THE BEST food on the entire island!!! Filipinos have perfected the art of neutrality and they loved seeing me come into their compound. I would sit by the fire at night and listen to them talk, listen to them talk about their families and their homeland. They smiled more than any culture I experienced and they had a way of bringing outsiders into their world of love, peace, food, and human companionship. They were also very touchy and affectionate. They were the first culture of men, and women, I experienced the bizarre affection of plutonic human contact.
No matter where on the planet you may find yourself, seek the little clumps of Filipino people and they will, by humanistic design, feed you, nourish you, and send you on your way with a clean cloth, filled with spam musubi, bread, and some sort of noodle to carry you to the next destination. I know because in every horrific place I’ve visited, there was a Filipino human there to accompany me, care for me, and welcome me into their home, with smiles and damn good food. Filipino culture is not submissive; they are servant and there is a difference, despite what we see in modern pop culture and horrendous stereotypes.
And for Alex Alunday, who grew up with love, affection, and support, with his great grandparents, grandparents, and extended family of pure love, embracing his talent and love of music, that family-centric culture fostered him to greatness so that he could one day walk the globe and give back to the people of the world. Because Alex’s family has been around the world, and they know what it takes to live in love, compassion, and kindness.
Music is love.
Love is unconditional.
Love is global, if not galactic. Love is omnipotent and omnipresent.
For his UNM senior saxophone recital, Alex wrote, arranged, and performed music for the momentous occasion and shared a bit of his life with us, as audience members, not knowing the impact he, and his ancestors, would have, or had, on one particular audience member. And that is fine; Alex did the damn thing with unbridled passion, gratitude, and respect for his ancestors, with his energy and unique gift. Now it’s my turn to close the loop, and if I do the damn thing well enough, it will be an emotion that Alex will connect with, and use it to keep going.
Alex, the next time you want to ask Mama how much she loves you, pay particular attention to her arms when she says “doot doot doot doo” because they will span the globe, across all the oceans, giving you the energy (love) from all corners she and her ancestors were imprisoned against their will; the same seas they later explored and influenced with their hospitality and service workforce. When she looks into your eyes and smiles, know she is smiling with the weight of the world in her soul, traumatized by centuries of oppressive occupation, and with divine gratitude for life, with simple pleasures as a smile, a cheek squeeze, or some homemade chicken adobo. She looks at you with that weight (of her ancestors) so that you don’t have to do it on your own. She reaches her arms out so far in scope and magnitude, so that you may give the gift of music to the world, for that is where her spirit now resides.
She is no longer burdened with the memories of her loved ones dying senselessly on the Bataan Death March. She is no longer imprisoned by global corruption and disregard for human life. She now lives among us, in spirit, arms open, smiling not only on you, but on the magnificent band and bandmates you now call family; the same bandmates in attendance on your day of graduation. Your Day of Commencement.
She believed in you, not from empty affection, responsibility, or admiration; but from centuries of pain and imprisonment, only living for the light that sustains human life. She loved you in the most playful way to show you how powerful the state of being human is, so that you may one day, as in Filipino culture, pay it forward to the lost souls who wonder into your cosmos, hungry and looking for answers. And if your sphere of influence (cosmos) consists of the entire planet, as it turns out, Mama knew it all along, then so be it.
Alex Alunday, you are now the light; the light you brought to HER world when you were born. When she reaches her arms out, from the heavens and the pacific seas that spawned her lineage, she is showing you how much she loves you. She is also showing you how much of the world you will influence with the music you now create in your soul, to be shared with others. She knows…she has always known, who you are and what you were destined to do. The work has only begun, but fear not, she’s still here in spirit, helping me write this letter to you, using her culture and span of influence as the medium to assist my memory recall to write this.
I had the distinct pleasure of attending your senior recital and I only hope this letter will give you scope, comprehension, and cause. Your music is now a light for the same selfless and servant humans that helped me in my times of darkness; in the far reaches of the globe I found myself in; unconditional love in the form of music, generated by you and reproduced with your friends, to the skies above us and the water around us, well beyond the distance of her human hands, times a million.
(Originally published on LIVE! From Duke City, my old website.)
Stringer
