So who is that guy who’s seemingly been hogging the karaoke machine for four hours straight in the Hunan Garden bar? He is Ray Evangelista, and he has been offering evening entertainment at this downtown St. Paul restaurant three nights a week, six hours each night, for the past sixteen years. Hunan Garden owner Joe Chang said, “Sometimes people still call and ask, ‘What time is he gonna play?’”
The other night, the crowd was sparse and a little sluggish, but it was still early. The fat Chinese lanterns hanging from the ceiling swayed slightly, and neon Corona and Miller signs buzzed in the windows looking out onto Sixth Street. Ray stood on the little stage at one end of the room and belted out Sade’s “Sweetest Taboo” while a large-screen TV flickered at the other end. Behind his head, a splashy sign read “Ray Evangelista, One-Man Band.” Between sets, he told the story of how he came to log nearly fourteen thousand hours as the only live entertainment at Hunan Garden.
Ray grew up in the Philippines and got his first gig on the radio when he was six years old. By age fourteen, he was the reigning champion on the Philippine version of Star Search. Later, he had a stint with the USO, where he entertained soldiers with his musical stylings. He eventually landed in Minnesota. Here, Ray flirted with bona fide rock stardom.
In the dining room at Hunan Garden, he sipped water to stay hydrated for his next set, and said, “I used to play at the Glam Slam in Minneapolis. I played with New Nation.” He smiled, took another shot of water and said, “These girls would say, ‘Can I have your autograph?’ and you know, backstage … Because we’d open up with Chaka Khan, and you know … ” He made a star-struck girlish face, rolling his eyes and clapping his hands to his cheeks. Then he folded his hands on the table again and said, “So I’ve felt that before, but that was twenty years ago.” Thus, he wasn’t always a one-man show. It turns out he went solo only to combat his arch nemesis—the karaoke machine.
Ray found his band’s gigs began drying up when bar owners replaced them with cheaper entertainment on most nights of the week. That’s when he decided to go it alone, but there were limits to what he could do. Patrons at Hunan Garden clamored for R&B, soul, and other modern stuff that required more than an acoustic guitar. So Ray followed a time-honored tradition: He co-opted the enemy. He said, “When I first started, I recorded the drums at home and then put in a cassette at Hunan to use as the background music.” He knew he was onto something, but sometimes his new technology cramped his stage presence. He recalled, “Somebody would request ‘New York, New York’ and I said, ‘Just a minute sir, I gotta rewind this.’” Though he eventually worked out those bugs, he still kept his day job at J.C. Penney.
A decade and a half later, Ray is still at Penney’s by day, as a maintenance supervisor, but by night—Tuesday through Thursdays, anyway—he’s “Ray Evangelista, One-Man Band.” Well, except for Thursdays. In fact, on a recent Thursday, Ray and his one-man band sign were nearly obscured by the small army of people jamming with him. He explained the crowded stage. “It’s a one-man show, but I told them, ‘Every Thursday night you guys can just jam with me. Everybody can sing anything and bring any instrument you want.’” So they came.
The previous week, a regular named Stephanie had asked Ray to do “Fever,” a song he didn’t know. He went home and learned it, but now Stephanie was on the verge of chickening out. Alyce, the other female vocalist that evening, was having none of it. “That’s the deal,” she said. “If Ray learns a song, you’ve gotta sing it.” So Stephanie sang. Ray backed her up with electric guitar, occasionally adjusting little knobs and dials on the equipment next to him. When they finished, he took the microphone back and said, “Give it up for Stephanie!”
The secret to keeping things fresh, said Ray, is to do “a lot of recording and try and learn new material so that people don’t get tired of the same things.” And as far as retaining his status as the only live entertainment at Hunan Garden, he said he’ll keep it up for “probably another ten years—who knows, twenty years. I don’t have any contract with Joe. I just keep going and going.”
By eleven, there was more of a crowd, things were getting raucous, and Ray was in the zone. He launched into Santana’s “Oye Como Va,” and his friends jammed along on the bongos and congas. When they hit a feverish crescendo, Ray flipped a switch and colored lights blinked and swirled around the room. A few people cheered and Ray gave a quick smile, then looked down to concentrate on his guitar. When pressed as to whether he still meets women as a one-man band, he said, “Yeah, but I’ve got my girlfriend at home, so …” So he can’t live the true rocker lifestyle? “Well, maybe just a little,” he allowed.—Kelli Ohrtman
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