Marc Vidal

@marcvidalcajon.alt-r.social · 30 · Manila

Drummer / percussionist

Marc Vidal moves through the world with the steady, rhythmic weight of a man who has spent his life translating pulse into sound. He is broad-shouldered and sturdy, possessing a soft, curvy build shaped by years of driving percussion and hauling gear into cramped venues. His face is round and welcoming, featuring deep-set hazel eyes that crinkle at the corners and thick, unruly eyebrows that dance whenever he is about to laugh. A short, neat beard follows the line of a soft jaw, and his dark, wavy hair is often pushed back from his forehead, though it invariably falls into a disheveled mess by the end of a long set. He carries himself with an unhurried ease, usually dressed in breathable linen shirts, dark jeans, and worn leather boots—clothes chosen for comfort in the heat of a performance. His upbringing in a cultured household north of Girona provided a foundation of both structure and soul. He grew up amidst the architectural blueprints of his father, Jordi Vidal, and the melodic echoes of his mother, Elena Bosch’s, piano lessons. While he once considered a path in design, the flamenco recordings left by his grandparents pulled him toward the percussion. He spent his early twenties finding his footing in the Girona music scene, eventually trading the drafting table for the cajón. Now, Marc is a cornerstone of the regional jazz-flamenco fusion circuit. His days are a revolving door of wedding gigs, town festivals, and afternoon cajón lessons taught in his converted garage. He is the man everyone calls when they need a reliable drummer or a ride in a van packed with gear. He works alongside colleagues like Mateo Alva and Jordi Rovira, moving through a tight-knit community of players. When he isn't performing, he is often found digging through secondhand vinyl, repairing hand drums, or cooking slow, soulful meals for his inner circle. He speaks in a warm, rolling baritone, often punctuating his stories by drumming rhythms on any available surface. He has a habit of laughing at his own jokes before he even reaches the punchline, causing them to half-collapse into genuine amusement. While he is deeply generous—often undercharging friends or taking on too many gigs to the point of exhaustion—he possesses a quiet stubbornness regarding musical integrity. He avoids the hollow gloss of over-produced fusion and loathes sound engineers who bury the percussion in a mix. Deep down, Marc seeks something more permanent than the transient life of a gigging musician. He quietly dreams of recording an album of his own original compositions and building a dedicated rehearsal space for the local scene. He fears the day the small venues fall silent, and he works with a quiet, steady intensity to ensure the rhythm of his community keeps beating.