Blues deluxe, jazz redux

It’s a stroke past midnight at the Hobbit House on a stormy weekend, and the resident blues band has just wrapped up its second set. Tired and sweaty, the band members shuffle off to the bar for a quick fix, while a solitary figure remains onstage — stirring up his own tempest on a battered Fender Strat.

Amid the smoke and clatter, a faint but catchy bop groove slowly emerges from the din. Long, intricate horn-like phrases billow forth — playfully teasing and taunting while cleverly pummeling their way through the frantic changes of a Coltrane tune.

The lone virtuoso cranks up his amp by a hairline as a spotlight trails the elegant dance of nimble fingers hovering effortlessly over the fretboard. A torrent of scales, arpeggios and bluesy bends weave in and out of a seemingly tangled harmonic web — yet resolves into familiar melodic terrain.

Stunned and doubly bewildered, the audience wonders, “But wasn’t this the very same guitarist who, just minutes ago, was copping Clapton, Hendrix, Beck, and paying homage to the blues gods? Is this a jazz gig?”

Such is the irony of Joey Puyat — fusion guitar extraordinaire, musical chameleon, unsung guitar hero, and indisputably one of the Blue Rats’ best-kept secret weapons. But beneath the blues facade lies the heart and soul of a seasoned sideman whose illustrious career blossomed at the height of the jazz fusion era during the late ‘70s to the mid-‘80s.

Even then, his musical acumen and improvisational prowess were already beyond reproach. Fusing the free-spirited melodic sensibilities of jazz and bebop with the edgier, overdriven tones of the rock gods, Joey soon forged his own style — a diverse palette of unpredictable lines and altered chords that defy soloing convention. Striking resemblances abound, particularly with the stylistic hallmarks of his guitar heroes such as the bluesy wailings of Robben Ford, Larry Carlton, John Scofield, Scott Henderson; the bop-tinged intricacy and precision of Pat Martino and Wes Montgomery and the lush, pianistic chordal vocabulary of Ted Greene and Joe Pass.

Always on a quick draw to shoot down such comparisons, the self-effacing virtuoso remarks, “I really just try to hotrod it. That’s just how I hear it. Sometimes, it works, sometimes it becomes convoluted and becomes fusion.”

In the hands of overzealous, ego-driven players, fusion easily turns into confusion — characterized by a chaotic barrage of bizarre scales and modes that are nothing more than mindless, self-indulgent wanking. But in the hands of an artist of Joey’s stature, touch, taste and restraint take precedence over more tactile elements. Rare indeed is the guitarist who can make his axe whisper, sing, or scream with just the right amount of pick English, or who can dial in that sweet spot by fiddling with the guitar’s volume control.

Such oft-overlooked facets are the offshoot of countless years of gigging with Manila’s finest jazz veterans, including legendary jazz keyboardist Boy Katindig, bassist Roger Herrera, pianist Rey Cristobal, and the late great guitarist Menchu Apostol — whom Joey reveres as his favorite guitar player of all time. “He could play all styles, and the most impressive thing about him was that he never overplayed. He could even not take a solo the whole set, and he’d still blow you away with his rhythm playing. He wasn’t just a guitarist. He was a musician, first and foremost.”

Joey was also an alumnus of two short-lived fusion outfits, Spectrum and Mother Earth. Of the latter, he gleefully recounts how the band “discovered” and eventually recruited the then-unknown 15-year-old Electone prodigy Louie Ocampo, who blew them all away with his masterful rendition and transcription of the Return to Forever tape that they asked him to study as part of his audition.

It was in late 1978 when Joey joined Boy Katindig’s band, playing six nights a week at the then-popular jazz haunt Birds of the Same Feather. “Playing with Boy was a very good learning experience,” Joey recounts. “I picked up on a lot of theory just by watching and hearing him play.”

In 1980, he joined Take One with Roger Herrera, Dick Lagrimas, Romy Francisco and Rey Cristobal, this time playing a more manageable two-night per week stint at the Vineyard. It was there where Joey got to meet and jam with foreign jazz artists like Tom Scott, Steve Gadd, Carlos Rios, Alphonso Johnson, Billy Childs, Freddie Hubbard and Henry Johnson.

In-between gigs, Joey also did a handful of recording sessions — waxing guitar solos for the likes of Florante, Lolita Carbon, Pabs Dadivas, Leah Navarro and a few other obscure jingles.

In 1983, Joey stopped playing completely. “I felt like a dinosaur then,” he recalls. “There I was doing that fusion thing amid that burgeoning ‘80s wave — Duran Duran and all that. I felt like I didn’t fit in.”

Around 1995, Joey rekindled his passion for playing when he joined the Mexicali Blues Band. Then, in 2000, he bumped into long-time colleague Andy Locsin, founder of the Blue Rats. “At the time, the Rats had a revolving chair of musicians, with the guitar players’ chair being the most-revolved,” he reminisces. “He asked me to join them and I’ve been with them ever since.”

Despite the musical leeway and camaraderie he enjoys with the Rats, Joey misses the full-blown sonic landscape that can really afford him the luxury of fully flexing his jazz muscles. Sadly, except for a recent Mother Earth reunion gig and a few sparse gigs with the smooth jazz group Working Stiff, that dream has yet to be realized.

But Joey is taking things in stride. Although still in the drawing board, plans are afoot to put up a project band, gather potential tunes and finally record an album.

It’s a dream come true for fusion guitar fans and Joey’s long-time musical colleagues who have long been egging him to finally record his playing for posterity’s sake, thereby sealing his legacy as a guitar hero and reaffirming his rightful place in the annals of local jazz history.