Asi Fui + Chola Orange

Story by Baraka Noel
photography by Jacqueline Richard

From the multi-lane thoroughfare outside, Bamboo’s covered and abandoned outdoor patio implied a quiet night. Inside, the dimly lit tiki tavern stayed lively with piped-in music accented by the drum kit sound check of openers: Chola Orange. Their April release record Pizza, Skate & Surf is available on bandcamp, apple music and easy to find through the search engine of your choice.

An intimate barroom on Anaheim street in the Zaferia district of Long Beach, lush flowered walls adorned with jungle cats, calmly illuminated by pufferfish lamps and lanterns of purple and orange. The space glowed in shifting hues of flickering lights, shadows from across the room hinting at unexplored areas around the periphery.

Layered keys from Krist Castro fell across Noah Arroyo’s funk splash synth and bass. Greg Nelson’s flamboyant drum fills danced against guitar grooves laid down by Art Avila. Like ambassadors from King George Clinton’s Parliament, their spaced out ’70s inflection building to pedal-delayed, astronautical rhythm and rock.

Five keyboards. A grinning skeleton with a parasol. Hints of Sgt. Pepper infused R&B and a self proclaimed Clearwater Revival homage. Minnie Mouse rocked the dance floor, celebrating Halloween early. Climbing organ trills and a touch of Ziggy Stardust.

“Somebody out there crying? You okay? This is for you,” proclaimed the lead and their melody swelled into an upbeat retro action theme. “Sometimes you gotta face the facts,” Castro, Chola Orange front man, consoled the crowd. In a thick beard and Army of Darkness t-shirt, blasting late ’70s galactic riffs with a sci-fi flourish. Gear all across the stage. Using a digital mouth harp as their makeshift vocoder — Joe Cool in a snoopy tee, backed by Nelson’s glittering trap set.

Krist’s flamboyant wind down: “that’s it, no? One more. Guys, we got albums.” They closed with an ode to sex, tonight. A tuned up 1990s love ballad of post-Prince pop seduction. The ideal soundtrack to a bumping singles bar full of newsboy hats, audacious curls, well dressed black men and cheerful hipsters. A hint of the carnal from a band certain they know what “long beach likes eating”.

Closing band, Asi Fui, gathered on the patio. Marine themed saloon doors. Skeletons and ghosts threaded throughout the jazzy tropical atmosphere. Water falling in an outdoor fountain of faux igneous rock. Hanging chandelier and thatched palm straw. A teardrop of colored glass hanging by net from above. Floatation devices and netting upon the wall. Miguel Vasquez broke the ice. “It mostly starts with jam sessions,” Asi Fui’s guitarist spoke, thoughtfully.

“My name is Miguel.” The musician and recordist recounted his entrance into music. “I tore my acl and couldn’t walk for a long time, so I started playing guitar” as a teenager in Oxnard. “I used to play a lot of hardcore music” with a variety of bands. Moving to Long Beach, he sat in with several groups, including “Wild Pack of Canaries. Bobby Blunders. Don’t Trip.” When asked about Asi Fui, he admitted — “it’s my only serious band.” The reason? “After playing in like five bands at once in the past,” Vasquez prefers to “focus on one project and kind of see that through.”

Ryan Reiff could be considered “the dad of the group” according to lead singer, Tatiana Velazquez.

“I play drums,” explained Ryan. In the early ’90s, “I had a cousin who was a drummer in a rock band in Brooklyn, New York.” The D.C. native’s eyes turned inward, thinking back. “Middle school, I was playing tenor saxophone,” but “I wasn’t feeling classical music as a 12-year-old.” Visiting his cousin — “a drummer in a rock band, like a metal band,” Reiff continued. “I showed him some scales on saxophone and he showed me a little bit on drums” and “eventually, within a couple years, we switched.” Asked about his influences, the percussionist hesitated. “I might answer this differently tomorrow.” The ancestry of his sound ranges widely. “Tony Allen from Fela Kuti mixed” with “the drummer from Fugazi — mixed with, you know, a little from Pink Floyd.” Even running the gamut from “Beck to Bjork to jazz and old reggae” and “a lot of African music.”

The eclectic sonic timeline mirrored by murals on the wall — pterodactyls and pixie women, painted behind hanging pseudo African tiki masks; the odd skull or bone gazing blankly toward a hanging pirate flag.

Vincent Mazza — the handsome, newest member of the band shared his interests next. “Guitar. Bass. Keyboard.” He sat up. “I started playing bass when I was 13 cause I went to a punk show.” He joined the lineup six years after the group’s founding. “I started two years ago.”

Velazquez interjected, “you hit us up” and “it was kind of crazy, because we” had been “wanting to add a fourth band member” but “we didn’t know who it was.” Vince seemed surprised. “I took initiative? Okay, cool. Very cool.”

Asi Fui’s bassist, keyboardist and singer, Tatiana, took her turn at describing the band’s sound: “trip hoppy, freaky.” They have moved away from playing songs from their previous album — Parallelogram, available on the usual major streaming platforms. “We recorded that at Jazz Cats,” a local Long Beach studio. “Miguel’s been doing a lot of the recording lately for our new stuff,” she continued, “just investing in ourselves.” She said the first of those releases came out on Nov. 1.

Vasquez articulated their approach. “We have our own Pro Tools rig” and have been “gathering gear: microphones, pre amps, making our room sound better.” Ultimately, he reflected, “we opted to put that budget into some equipment because we know how to do it ourselves” and “it’s been working for us.”

Tatiana took the stage in stripes and polka dots with a colorful drink in one hand, microphone in the other. Her neck was laced in three strings of pearls. Rouged cheeks, bell bottoms swaying across a stage littered in elaborate foot pedals. Reiff’s drums ramped up against Mazza’s twangy guitar, discarded setlist on the floor. The bar quieted, perking up at Velazquez’s controlled wail. She swayed and sang like an OCD Joplin alongside Vasquez — just offstage — thick coiled guitar cable brushing the bar floor, three stripe Adidas tennis shoe pressing gear levers with the harnessed frenzy of a burning art gallery.

Gwen Stefani’s glamor with the power of Joan Jett. Humming from glam punk to surf rock, gadgets littering the stage. The bar settled in as conversation faded back. Their concert — the heart wrenching soundtrack to a post adolescent party film. Easy to imagine them filling rooms across the country with their incongruous punk-ska flair.

Velazquez trembled, singing, “love dies.” Merch against one wall. Half drank pint on an amp. Stale air, full of acrid exhalations and a hint of what the bleach had missed. Their audience crushed forward, leaving a darkened patio.

Fairly young crowd for a bar show, Hawaiian shirts and trendy coifs, couples flirting in half shade. A haphazard backdrop of stacked receivers. Garage sound, spanning Kennedy to Obama; revving like a motorcycle, then unwinding. Reverb. Plaintive grunts and passionate exhalations, crying to be sampled. Long Beach rock at its core. Synth harp, buzz and echo. Eighties backsplash, and an almost acoustic sincerity. One hand on her keyboard, singing with no mic stand. Hip hop-laced funk licks and pop groove.

Tatiana took a breath, “we’ve got a few more.” She stared out for a lull at the cane reed lined bar, framed by hanging glasses. Thick, nautical ropes. Thatched bamboo booths to one side. Unmanned DJ rig by the entrance. A man in costumed homage to A Night at the Roxbury. Animated conversations and rising laughter. Coeds carrying easily priced drinks; gazing over strange faces, looking for a friend.

Then, stuttering drums and Velazquez’ bass; epic and plaintive — the sound of what’s coming. Passion of Bonnie Raitt, flush thrum of the Pixies. Alternative chick-rock backed by deep catalogue hip pocket blues. Chirping melodies and deep breaks. Wistful, upbeat with a hint of mourning in the undertone. Prepare to fall in love.

She smiled; “we are Asi Fui,” at the crowd’s applause. See for yourself, at Ghengis Cohen, Nov. 17. DJ Londres took to the ones and twos; spinning disco soul into a singles party atmosphere, as the two bands gathered outside.

The evening concluded with openers, Chola Orange, discussing double bass technique. “Fool, trust me. When I observe a bass player,” opined Arroyo to his crew; launching into a lecture on Eddie Gomez as the parking lot filled with cigarette butts. Bar patrons gathered and split as late night became early morning. The DJ threw on a bossa nova record and Asi Fui’s vocalist bid passersby adieu, with a cheerful, “be safe.”

Chola Orange is scheduled to play Alex’s in Long Beach Nov. 10, and Paramount in Boyle Heights the following day.