The Strangest Gig Ever

A family of about eight sat at a table in the Thai restaurant where I had been a serenade singer for a few years. They were attentive to my songs which they requested and generously tipped me. Nothing seemed unusual.
A few minutes later my first set was finished and as I went to take my break one of that family’s number, an attractive young woman, approached me and asked, in perfect English, if I would please come and have a drink with them as they wanted to talk with me. I rarely accepted such invitations but I did this time.
I joined them at their table and the young woman began to speak to me as the others sat silent. I noticed instantly that no one smiled which is strange when I encounter people in my line of work. The young lady I’ll call Nang began.  
“My mother loved you.” She said.
“Oh that’s very nice to say. Thank you.” I replied.
“And she died” she continued. I was a little floored.
“I’m so sorry to hear that,” I said, mystified and a little horrified at such a frank and odd revelation to me, a complete stranger. Why are you telling me?, I thought.
“Before she died she gave me this,” she said, suddenly producing my business card.
“And she told me to find you, and have you come and sing for her funeral.”
I was struck dumb for a moment. Huh?
“I would be happy to do that”, I said not quite knowing what it meant to say yes. Everybody smiled. “When?”
She said, “ in about week’s time.”
“Where?”
“Kohn Kaen”; (a distant province in the North of Thailand.)
“I’m sorry” I said, “but I work here every night and it is so far away.”
“Well how much money would you need to take the time off and come.”
I named a substantial price adding “ I would need a driver to take me there and back.”
Nang said that would be fine and gave me her telephone number. They would be in touch.
“What was your mother’s name?”
“Noy”
Not long afterward they left the restaurant very happy.

Over the next week I received several text messages. A couple confirming the transportation arrangements and some with song suggestions, which I learned later came from her mother’s friends.

The day for the trip to Kohn Kaen came. The taxi driver picked me up right on time and ahead was a grueling eight or nine hour road-trip which I absolutely dreaded. Bouy, the taxi driver, was excellent company. He spoke halting English, which along with my halting Thai made for an eighteen-hour mutual language lesson.
I was surprised to be delivered into a Buddhist wat, or temple complex, which consisted of several large beautiful ornate buildings as well as a mausoleum in which Noy’s body lay in state. It was a sweltering day. I thought this is going to be interesting. What kind of gig is this? Where am I going to play? How? I thought I was going to play at a party.
As I swung my taxi door open there was Nang waiting to greet me and put my payment right into my hand. It was before noon and a very hot sunny day. There were about 250 people plus 50 or more Buddhist monks.

Nang soon introduced and seated me next to Harry who was the only other farang (non-Thai) person there. Harry, an Aussie, was Noy’s widower and Nang’s stepfather. I spent the next 2 hours+ chatting with him and he told me something of the family’s history, how he had married Noy twenty-seven years earlier and brought her, Nang and her sister to Australia where they’d had great success in business. His wife had returned to Thailand in recent years and had actually built this fantastic temple complex here and a house on the ocean, where “her and her mates used to come and see you at the restaurant”.

My time came to play mid-afternoon and in the height of the heat. I still couldn’t imagine what the arrangements were for singing at a Buddhist funeral in a sacred temple. I was brought, acoustic guitar in hand, to a spot in front of the mausoleum, above and far from the people. It was simply impossible to do this without a microphone, two in fact. The monks who live in the wat possessed several wireless microphones which they used for chanting, but lo-and-behold not one microphone stand. So there it was. This was not going to work.
Offered no other solution one orange-robed Buddhist monk stood to my side and held a microphone to my mouth and another held a microphone to my guitar. A third monk held a large sun-umbrella over all of us. I sang up there for nearly two hours, Beatles, Elvis. the monks never moved. I think her favorite song was Only You. I added a few Thai songs since 95% of those attending  knew no English songs or spoke the language. 

I finished the gig and was showered with many looks of approval and smiles. The family was very happy with it all.

Ten hours later I was home.

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