It’s that same reverence for the jazz idiom (coupled with a healthy dose of irony and wry humor) that shines in his recently-released all-instrumental album, aptly called Solo.
Part parody, part catharsis, Solo glistens like a polished gem – taking off from where Joe Pass, Wes Montgomery, Tuck Andress and other jazz guitar titans left off.
With a handful of traditional jazz standards as his medium, Aya does a high-wire act as he deftly navigates through knuckle-busting changes while simultaneously juggling single-note runs, piano-like chord voicings and walking bass lines over a steady groove.
But listen more closely, and you’re bound to hear snatches of familiar melodies all cleverly injected in good taste. Aya’s penchant for the crazy and the absurd echoes throughout the CD’s 11 tracks. Who else would have the gall to deconstruct such immortal favorites as Autumn Leaves or Summertime by throwing in some musical quotes from Mr. Suave, Mission Impossible, Enter Sandman, Living La Vida Loca or even Stairway to Heaven, or actually create a full etude out of the familiar Selecta jingle?
But Aya gets away with it and makes the whole romp one refreshingly swingin’ affair.
It’s a work that’s been long overdue, conceived even prior to his tenure with the ground-breaking WDOUJI (Witch Doctors of Underground Jazz Improvisation) quartet, and further crystallized and refined in solo settings and transitory duos (including the short-lived Strange Fruit) before he joined the JazzPhil Ensemble late last year.
"My basic concept for this CD was to take the most mediocre tunes and through jazz alchemy, make them worth listening to," he explains, with the same levity and eloquence that permeates his playing. "There’s no such thing as a kitschy tune, but there is such a thing as a kitschy musician. So, I set out to prove it. The second reason was that it was meant as a Valentine’s gift for someone, but that relationship didn’t work out either. Because of that, it’s actually the most heartfelt thing I’ve ever laid down on tape, so to speak."
To date, the reviews from the jazz community and the jazz guitar mafia have been good. "The most flattering reaction so far (not to toot my own horn), was from Agnes Arellano – who is Mishka Adams’ mom," he recounts. "She said, "Wow! It’s like Bill Evans, but on guitar!" When I heard that, I was extremely flattered."
The resemblance was not coincidental. A rabid Bill Evans fan, Aya best describes himself as "a piano player playing a guitar," which explains his fondness for pianistic voicings or contrapuntal ideas. "Everytime I hear an idea," he explains, "I try to harmonize it as a piano player would, which means a lot of minor seconds, stretch fingerings, cluster voicings and fourth voicings. That’s why I really prefer listening more to piano and horn players, instead of guitar players."
Ironically, it took only a few hours to record all the tracks. "It was all a spur-of-the-moment thing," Aya elaborates. "It was done in (session drummer) Boyet Aquino’s room. When I recorded this album, his studio wasn’t up yet. But he had a computer in his room. I just dropped by his place. He asked me to lay down a few tracks, and after that, I asked him if I could record my own stuff."
All tracks were played on his custom-made archtop, patterned after a Gibson Johnny Smith model and modified with a Kent Armstrong pickup. "The first five tracks have no plug-ins whatsoever. No preamp, no nothing, just straight to the computer," he adds. "The remaining tracks had a bit of reverb, delay and compression."
Aya initially toyed with the title: "QUEER EYE FOR THE JAZZ GUY." "But my dad (STAR Lifestyle columnist and distinguished literary giant Krip Yuson) didn’t want to," he laments. "He was the one who funded the project. He thought that people might get the wrong idea. But for the people who know me, it’s obvious that it’s just a joke."
Going solo guitar-wise may be a piece of cake for Aya, but dealing with an independent release has its own concomitant issues. "It’s currently available at Magnet, Katipunan, but I’m planning to consign at Conspiracy, ‘70s Bistro and at BigSkyMind," he enthuses. "I kinda enjoy flying under the radar in a sense. When you do that, you’re not subject to greed or temptation, as much as you would if you were a record slave.
One of my mottos has always been: the essence of business is making a profit, but the essence of music is sharing the bounty."
"Can I be controversial?," he pleads. "I’ve been saying this for years, and I’d like to see this in print. The masses are NOT baduy. Record company executives are baduy.
Radio executives are baduy. The only reason why people consume crass commercial crud is that it’s being force-fed to them. I don’t agree with the theory that the market is buyer-driven. That is a fallacy. The music industry is totally seller-driven, and it’s driven by greed."
But how does one demystify such an esoteric discipline as jazz anyway?
"The most I can hope for is that people will respond to something heartfelt," Aya intones. "I think one of the great myths of jazz is that you have to understand it to appreciate it. I disagree. Yes, it can be cerebral, but you don’t have to understand the music intellectually to appreciate it. It’s supposed to hit you in the gut."