We were eating hamburgers and fish-and-chips, sitting on the porch of Bongo Ben’s enjoying the air of our first evening on the Kona Coast.
A guy was playing the guitar and singing on a small stage at the far end of the porch. No, that’s not right. We were at the back, and he and a table of woman celebrating perhaps the birthday of their grandmotherly mom were at the front.
He sang a mix of old pop tunes (think Margaritaville) and Hawaiian songs. The Hawaiian songs were really good. He clearly had his heart in them. But the pop songs were, well, pop songs.
Each time he’d sing one, the porch began to feel a little bit like an bowling alley lounge. I want to say that his pop songs felt a bit like a show to retirees in Branson, but that unwarranted quip would offend, and frankly, I’ve never seen a show in Branson (although we drove thru once), so I wouldn’t know what I was talking about if I said that, so I won’t say it.
Now admittedly this was a Monday night. So I’ll give him points for his tenacity in standing up on that porch in the cool air of a Monday evening with very few people in the audience. And I’ll give him points for his Hawaiian songs, which he mercifully mixed in with the pop songs. And I’ll give him points for the genuine smile he maintained thru it all.
A hard way to make a living.