Yanda Time

December 1, 2008

Jail Guitar Doors at the Gibson Guitar Studio

Finally! Some meaning for the phrase “Jail Guitar Doors”. Until Thursday, it was just a random song lyric that never made much sense to me. Yes, I know what you’re going to say… poetry, rhythmic connotation… blah blah blah. Sorry. Song title – yes. Song lyric – no. It contains nothing but nouns! Where are the adjectives? Where’s the predicate? Where’s the freaking verb?

Anyway, on Thursday I found out that Jail Guitar Doors is not just a song lyric. It is also an initiative set up by Billy Bragg to provide guitars and other musical instruments to prison inmates. The theory, and it’s a good one, is that they become so obsessed with music they don’t have time to get bored and rend the very fabric of society with their anti-social tendencies.

Also, they are better able to express themselves with means they don’t get all bottled up with rage and sentiment and end up setting fire to a nun or something.

The evening began with a half hour film about the initiative done by a fireman and filmmaker named Alan Miles. It was a good introduction to what it was all about and it really made it feel like there was some good being done here. And, good, in a simple, hands-on, results-showing kind of way.

Afterwards, there was some speechifying. The governor of Brixton prison spoke about what a difference it had made in his institution and encouraged over prisoner governors (of whom several were present) to support it. And there was a particularly moving talk from a woman whose son, Simon, had recently died. The Jail Guitar Doors workshops had a huge impact on him while in prison. It sounded like they were one of the best things that had happened to him in his short life. At Simon’s funeral, friends and family donated funds towards Jail Guitar Doors in lieu of flowers or gifts. She was there to present the cheque to Billy.

Then it was time for the music. Billy opened with a song that had been written in one of the prison guitar sessions called “April Fool’s Day”. It was an enjoyable little ditty that made light of the conditions in prison.

He then introduced a young man who had been released from Guy’s Marsh prison four days previously. He performed a song he had written himself that took the form of a letter to his Mum telling her about his experiences. It was a good song, and he did a good performance. And it really underscored how something like Jail Guitar Doors can make a difference. I got the sense that this song gave him a chance to open up and interact with the world (and perhaps his mother) more honestly than he might have otherwise.

Then Billy did a number of duets with various artists. He sang “Ballad of a Thin Man” with Kieran Leonard, “Redemption Song” with the Reverend John McLure of The Makers, and “Greetings to the New Brunette” with Sam Duckworth of Get Cape, Wear Cape, Fly.

Then there was a bit of a pause while he called for the members of the girl band, The Mentalists, to come on stage. It was a comfortable, everyone-throw-in-a-helping-hand, slightly shambolic event, and a couple of the band were out back and couldn’t hear Billy calling them. To keep the crowd entertained, he played a kind of Folsom Prison version of Pinball Wizard with the Linza, the drummer from the Mentalists.

I’m more and more impressed every time I see this group. Even when they’ve got a bit of drama to overcome, like Thursday night, they always do a great performance.

This time, in particular, I noticed Kellymental, one of the two guitarists. I personally think there aren’t enough female rock and roll guitarists in the world, and Kelly is one of the best I’ve heard.

She’s got focus. From the very first lick she just drops her head and starts bouncing around the stage in time to the beat like a rock and roll raggedy ann doll on a trampoline. It amazes me when people are that energetic on stage and can still actually play. I can’t help but wonder if she’s got some kind of surgical implant in her hip that she clicks the guitar into to keep it firmly in place. Her sound is always so shiny and tasty and fine no matter how much jumping around she gets up to.

The Mentalists played one of their new songs called “Again and Again” and then were joined on stage by Billy for a fine rendition of “A New England”.

All in all, it was a great night for a great cause. If you are a musician who would like to get involved, the governor of a prison, or anyone else who would like to show the support, please check out http://www.jailguitardoors.org.uk/index.htm.

Posted by YandaMan at 12:09 AM | Comments (0)

March 29, 2008

Donn playing the blues

Just thought I should share a video of my sister's fiancé singing and playing guitar. He's damn good. Check him out at http://www.youtube.com/user/batfink777.

Posted by YandaMan at 10:42 AM | Comments (0)

May 18, 2007

Brain-washed by the Mentalists

I have found a new band to love. It is the Mentalists. They are a frolicsome, jump up and down band who distill raw joy from the very ether surrounding them. It may be too soon for me to be entirely objective; I have only seen them live once and may be all puppy-loved up, but they filled my slip-on suede shoes with a vital boogie-lust.

The gig was 10 days ago but it is only now that I have stopped vibrating sufficiently to type accurately. They are solid musicians of the drums, two guitars, and bass variety. The lead singer has a tuneful well-toned voice that sounds like the battersea power station looks -- grand and fun and a bit quirky and mysterious. Why does she make those strange sounds? Those Oooo-EEee-Oooos? Why are they so big and odd? I'm not sure, exactly, but I like it.

The Mentalists are a damn good-looking band. So much so that at the end of the gig amid the applause and screams of appreciation, I found myself shouting "Strip the drummer!". I soon realised this was inappropriate and subtly changed this to "Whip the plumber!". This didn't seem quite right either so, in the end, I contented myself with clapping and hooting.

The Mentalists are playing at the Good Ship in Kilburn tonight and you should go see them. Sadly, I cannot as I am on a train bound for Wolverhampton and writing this with one powerful thumb on my mobile phone. Please, do go, and send them my excited puppy-love.

Posted by YandaMan at 5:53 PM | Comments (0)

May 4, 2007

Stunned by the realisation that James Marsters is not a particularly good musician

Myself and the crazy landlord and the wee sinead went to see James Marsters (aka Spike of Buffy and Angel fame) at the Union Chapel. He was perfectly adequate as a slightly crap singer-songwriter guy. If he was a friend and we were sitting around his flat and he was playing us a couple of songs he had written, I would have been impressed. But as someone filling the Union Chapel with thousands of screaming fans I was under-awed.

It was a surreal experience. I think if it hadn't been for the intimidating enthusiasm of the other fans we might not have retreated to the bar. The flashes of hundreds of digital cameras went off incessantly, and the place erupted with middle-aged teen lust when Marsters took off his cardigan to reveal he was wearing a sleeveless tee shirt.

He sang out of tune for the first couple of songs, but then his voice warmed up or his monitor kicked in or something and he was fine for the next two. But then the cardigan came off and it all became a bit weird. At that point we retreated to the bar to discuss how the gig had progressed so far.

Part of the issue is the venue. It is one of the best venues for listening to music in London, if not the world. It's absolutely beautiful, with wonderful wood work and stunning stained glass windows. It's got good sight-lines. The acoustics are sublime. It was, after all, designed as a place of reverence. All of which combine to make it a wonderful venue for listening to good music.

The same combination of factors makes it an odd place to enjoy a spectacle, however. And that's what this felt like: a spectacle.

Of course, the other brilliant thing about the Union Chapel, is its bar, which is a like a warm, welcoming chilled-out pub with high ceilings and a piano along one wall. It isn't much for quiet reverence, but it's perfect for discussing a spectacle.

And so, we did the obvious, sensible thing. We retreated to the bar and discussed the spectacle.

Posted by YandaMan at 11:38 PM | Comments (1)

May 22, 2005

Eurovision 2005 play by play

Hungary
Eurovision 2005 starts with a lord of the dance inspired irish-hungarian clog-hopping number. The lead singer is a fetching young woman wearing half-trousers half-shorts with one leg exposed. A fine beginning.

UK
Imitation Beyonce. She has the same dress, similar moves, great voice, smaller butt.

Malta
I have never seen a more hideous colour. It's a mix of pomegranate and blood orange. A very unfortunate choice for such a large lass. The song is easily the second best so far.

Romania
I'm sorry. I know I watched it, but I can think of nothing to say. A non-appalling performance.

Norway
Freddie lives! Glam rock lipstick-wearing male lead singer in a lowcut silver catsuit and an Aerosmith headband.

Turkey
Turkey transcends terrible. If only it was Thanksgiviing we could chop off all their heads with an axe.

Moldova
Their song is called "Grandma Beats the Drummer". That's got to be worth something.

Albania
Best Albanian pop song I've ever heard.

Cyprus
The lead singer is now holding a giant q-tip. What a terrible song. How I wish I could jam that q-tip in my own ear.

Spain
A trio of very colourfully garbed women singing very very fast. Full marks for speed. Minus several hundred for musicality.

Israel
What is Israel doing in this contest anyway? Someone please explain how Israel is part of Europe. On the other hand, the lead singer is gorgeous and her dress is flatteringly minimalistic.

Serbia and Montenegro
No wonder the Balkan States are always warring. They can't even agree on a name. And what's up with the Former Yugoslavian Republic of Macedonia? What kind of name is that for a country?

Denmark
A cool crooner in a slighly purple suit and red shoes.

Sweden
Totally Vegas! In a Tom Jones Barry Manilow kind of way. The background dancers are kind of Elvis Vegas, but thinner with firmer cleavage.

FYR of Macedonia
See the entry above on Serbia and Montenegro. I'm ignoring them until they rename the country.

Ukraine
Two male background dancers come out in handcuffs. They break them to symbolise the newfound freedom of their native land. The lead singer is startling in his sheer drabness. Male pattern baldness, beard, mildly pudgy. He looks like a drunken middle manager in a kareoke bar, except sober.

Germany
The lead singer has taken the Hungarian fashion of one limb exposed and applied it to her top half. Someone has stolen one arm from her jacket. Oh, and her blouse as well. Good thing she's wearing a nice bra.

Croatia
See! Now that's a name! Nice and simple. Lots of vowels

Greece
The lead singer is wearing Beyonce's dress as well. Maybe she and Javine are sharing it.
Fantastic! She's been lifted up to a dancer's shoulders and has stretched out the suspenders of the dancer in front of her and is air-violining them with a giant fake bow. Cool!

Russia
Well, the singer is almost naked. That's about the only positive thing about this number.

Bosnia and Herzegovina
Hey! One of them is wearing a tutu! I and several of my colleagues are planning to wear tutus on the London to Brighton bike ride. But again, a country that can't decide on a name deserves no respect in the pop music world.

Switzerland
The Swiss have once again proved themselves the most boring nation in Europe.

Latvia
Two saccharine sweet young boys doing a ballad. I am strongly considering sticking a finger down my throat. And now they are signing the words for the benefit of the deaf members of the audience. Very multi-talented, these muppets. Come to think of it, what a fantatic way to watch Eurovision -- Stone Cold Deaf!

France
Thank God, this is the last one. Time for the vote.

The Winner
Greece! I guess I wasn't the only one who loved the air-violin trick. Personally, my favourite was Sweden followed by either Norway or the UK. The UK finished in 22nd place, beating only France and Germany. Oh well, there's always next year.

You can see the full results and videos at http://bbc.co.uk/eurovision/.

You can also see the results and 30 second clips of the videos on your mobile phone at http://bbc.co.uk/mobile/eurov/. Or, if you are in the UK, text "Eurovision" to 81010. You should receive a text back containing the link. Note that the text will cost you 12-15p depending on your network operator. See http://www.bbc.co.uk/radio2/eurovision/2005/the_show/wap.shtml for more info.

Posted by YandaMan at 12:02 AM | Comments (0)

May 21, 2005

Eurovision 2005

Yay! Eurovision is on tonight! Those non-Europeans amongst my readership may be unfamiliar with Eurovision, which is a shame because it is the finest sporting/cultural event in the world.

Each European country sends their cheesiest unsuccessful popstar to battle it out in a wonderfully kitsch TV variety show watched by 150 million people all across Europe. Everyone votes for their favourite act and based on those votes each country assigns points to the top 12. It is forbidden to vote for your own country.

The whole thing is presided over by a lovely curmudgeon of a DJ, the delightful Terry Wogan. Terry is astonishingly rude about all of the acts and regularly despairs at the rather predictable voting that goes on (e.g. all the Baltic states tend to vote for each other). He also reportedly drinks vast quantities of Bailey's during the show.

Many people have Eurovision parties during the show. I'm in Birmingham with Vicki and we're having a very small Eurovision dinner do. The original plan was to have one course and one alcoholic beverage from each country. However, as there are 24 countries in the final we were worried such a menu might possibly result in our untimely death. And, while I am a fan of Eurovision, it's not quite how I want to cash in my chips. I can just picture St.
Peter asking, "Cause of death?"

"Um... Overeating and alcohol poisoning while watching scantily-clad europopstars on TV."

He probably wouldn't even bother to reply. He'd just wrinkle his nose in distaste and pull that big lever and I'd plummet down to Hell.

So we're just having stilton soup and port to support the UK, perogies to support the host nation of the Ukraine, broccoli and wild rice casserole to represent Canada (not sure why, really, as they aren't even allowed to compete), and spinach and strawberry salad because...

...well, because the colors match the flags of several European countries. Most of which (Belarus, Bulgaria, Ireland, Portugal) admittedly didn't make it through to the final. There's Hungary, though. Thank God for Hungary. Go Hungary! Go spinach and strawberries, that great Hungarian dish!

You, too, can join in the fun and see the videos online at http://bbc.co.uk/eurovision/.

Last year I wrote a running commentary of the show which you can see at http://www.yandatime.com/archives/000215.html.

Posted by YandaMan at 5:32 PM

February 13, 2005

Of Wind Chimes and Wine Glasses

A while ago I wrote that I was worried about losing my appreciation for music or at least for going to live gigs. Thanks to Ed Harcourt, it may slowly be coming back.

I've been to two Ed Harcourt gigs now. Last night's was at the St. James Church on Piccadilly, an absolutely beautiful venue. We sat in the gallery just above and to the left of the stage. I watched from a similar vantage point at the other gig as well. I prefer it to being front and center. It has a kind of I'm-with-the-band-backstage-groupie feel to it. The other gig was at Dingwalls in Camden (or whatever it's called now). That gig was much rowdier. There was much jumping up and down and spilled drinks and shouting. Ed brought his banjo to that gig.

St. James is not the kind of place conducive to jumping up and down or rock and roll banjo playing. It's a church, after all. What made the St. James gig stand out for me, though, was the trumpet player. Now HE was rock and roll. He was totally cool. He just did his job, ignored the crowd, and played his music when called upon. And the man didn't just play the trumpet. Oh no. He also played the xylophone, the wind-chimes, and the wine glass. This last was my favourite and completely made up for the absence of the banjo.

I used to play the wine glass on occasion after a big family dinner. Unfortunately, while I enjoyed the sound, it seemed to drive the rest of the family into the kind of frenzy exhibited by dogs reacting to a noise beyond the range of human hearing.

The technique is simple but requires a certain mastery and practice. You dip your finger in the wine to moisten it and then run it slowly around the edge of the wine glass. This produces a delightful (or possibly not) high-pitched keening noise. You have to have just the right amount of wine in the glass, of course. This involves a long calibration process. The wine is carefully poured in, and then carefully sipped out until it is at just the right level. This is usually when the person doing the calibration is too drunk to distinguish between a beautiful ringing full tone and an irritating fingernails-on-chalkboard screech.

Fortunately, trumpet-playing dude was a professional and his wine glass produced the desired ringing full tone rather than the screech. Later on in the performance, when the wine glass was no longer needed, he knocked back the contents in between bouts of trumpet playing and wind-chime tingling.

The man was a consummate professional when it came to his other instruments as well. I remember one piece in particular where he hunched over, dangling the wind chimes carefully from his teeth and hit a series of precise notes on the xylophone, tingling the chimes all the while. Very impressive. I also liked the way he used a couple of empty paper coffee cups to mute his trumpet. The man is a genius. I'm confident he could produce beautiful music given nothing but a block of spam and a feather.

His coolest performance, though, was during the last song. He sat down at a bench towards the back of the stage and methodically emptied all his pockets. He then stood up, walked to the front of the stage and played his trumpety bits. When that was over, he sat back down on the bench, and searched through the items spread beside him until he determined the least crumpled piece of paper and then rolled himself a cigarette. He had just enough time to finish this before it was time for a final blast on the trumpet. Then, while everyone was taking their bows and waving to the crowd, he put the ciggie in his mouth, grabbed a lit candle and headed for the door. Now that is the kind of coolness that can make a man believe in music again.

Posted by YandaMan at 10:25 PM | Comments (0)

May 16, 2004

Eurovision 2004

The Eurovision Song Contest is on so I thought I'd make some notes for the folks back home who may never have heard of it. It's huge here in Europe, watched much in the same way everyone watches the Oscars in North America. This year it has a television audience of 500 million. Basically, all the countries in Europe put forward a pop group and a song and the continent votes for their favourite. The performances are almost always universally terrible. I can think of only one band that went anywhere after Eurovision and that was Abba.

Many people hold Eurovision parties where they boggle at the absolute tawdry crapness of it all. The British presenter, Terry Wogan, makes snide comments through the show and reportedly drinks Bailey's steadily throughout the evening. He's been doing this for years. The first time I saw the show I was flabbergasted at how rude he was, but now his behaviour strikes me as entirely appropriate, and really, that's what a Eurovision party is all about. Everyone gets hammered and laughs at the appallingness of it all. Wogan is just lucky enough to get paid for it.

The voting is politically charged. You're not allowed to vote for your own country, but unofficial alliances have grown up over the years. Turkey usually gives most of their votes to Germany and Germany usually gives most of their votes to Turkey. And, of course, people tend to vote for their neighbours.

Anyway, the show is beginning now…

Turkey won last year. The winning country hosts the next year's Eurovision. And the show begins with last year's winner singing last year's song. The most notable thing about her performance is that she has a bare midriff and what appears to be a very prominent caesarean scar which she has packed with glitter or possibly diamonds. It's the perfect beginning to Eurovision -- just the right level of glamour, tackiness, and weirdness.

And now this year's entries begin…

Spain
Quite Spanish. Basically a low rent Enrique Iglesias. He's a sexy boy, but he can't dance.

Austria
Imitation boy band trio. Sweet Mother of Boredom! Please let there be a technical fault so I can't hear them any more.

Norway
Time to pour some drinks.

France
There is a bald Woman wondering around the stage on stilts. No idea why. She's not singing or playing an instrument. She's just a bald woman on stilts.

Serbia and Montenegro
Very folk songy. The kind of song you'd imagine would bring tears to the eyes of a Montenegran goat herder (provided he'd had quite a bit to drink).

Malta
Stunningly crap duet with weird little operatic bits of vocal high-jinks from the female. The guy looks like he's escaped from a high school production of Grease.

Netherlands
Two guys with a guitar on stools. The three guys in dark suits playing backup fingersnaps in the background are cool though.

Germany
My favourite so far. Dude with a nice voice and a slightly jazzy backup band. You could actually imagine him making a living as a musician. It probably won't stand a chance in the voting though as it's neither very poppy nor very folky.

Albania
Best pop song so far. It's catchy if nothing else. Still prefer Germany though.

Ukraine
And suddenly the stage is awash in Vikings for some bizarre reason, apparently led by Xena, Warrior Princess. And, yes, the Vikings appear to be doing the Riverdance. Full marks for bizarreness. Okay, now the Vikings have whips. I have no idea where they came from. This should get the kinky vote.

Croatia
Nothing much to say about this entry, except that I met a previous Croatian entry at my friend John S's New Year's in February party. Any music is infinitely better when it's live. I spent several hours that night dancing happily to the kind of Croatian folk music that I am now mercilessly belittling on Eurovision.

Bosnia and Herzegovina
Welcome to the Eighties. Billy Idol surrounded by scantily clad dancers. Well, he looks a bit like Billy, but he sings with a slight lisp. If that man isn't gay, neither is Graham Norton.

Commercial Break
20,000 people outside in Hamburg watching the show. But when the camera switches to the presenter for the outside party in Istanbul, she has no idea she is on air and so we just watch her for about 10 to 15 seconds while she wipes her nose and looks bored and the on-stage presenters shout at her in Turkish. A classic Eurovision moment.

Belgium
One female backup dancer in workout shorts, tanktop and boots, and one male backup dancer with a red Mohawk. Again, lots of rocking dance machine.

Russia
Solo female singer with four backup circus acrobat gymnast dudes with their upper bodies dyed, respectively, purple, red, blue, and green. They're kind of cool, actually. And any distraction is welcome as the poor singer is out of tune. I assume she was picked because she is small and light. It's a heavily choreographed piece and every so often she ends up standing on one or other of the brightly coloured dancer dudes.

F.Y.R. Macedonia
Okay, I thought I was going to have nothing to say about this one, but now the Tom Jones sound alike on stage has just had two long red ribbons pulled out of his armpits by his backup dancers. WTF?

Greece
Okay. There seems to be a theme starting here. The solo male singer from Greece has just pulled two red scarves out of the butts of his two backup dancers. Oh, and now the backup singers have ripped their white suits off to reveal sparkly tinsel-like bras and panties. Oh, and now they've ripped the singer's white Don Johnson jacket off. And now he's done a back handspring for us. Lovely.

Iceland
Where the hell is Bjork when you need her? This man is trying to be Celine Dion except that he can't actually sing.

Ireland
It's a one man boy band. But the world already has one Ronan Keating. No hope here.

Poland
Mmm… Very sexy outfit if nothing else. Pretty much a see-through tight black scarf over some black underwear.

England
Not too bad, actually. Much better than last year when England came dead last (partially because the duo performing couldn't stay in tune). This guy sounds vaguely Country & Western. Dull, but not painful.

Cyprus
I think I actually like this one, in a cheesy kind of way. She wants to be Celine Dion as well, but at least she can sing. Vicki and I have a good friend from Cyprus who is currently drinking in a pub. I call her to find she's home now watching on the telly. It must be cool to have an entry you can be proud of.

Turkey
Punk-Ska-Klezmer kind of thing with a touch of Tom Jones hip-hop vocal styling. This is definitely my favourite after 30 seconds. Good rock and roll showmanship. And it's a Turkish guy with red hair. You've got to love that.

Romania
Sweet Mother of Jesus! That's an impressive leather bra! I didn't know they made Barbie dolls that can sing. A text from a Dutch friend points out that she looks like a bit like a skinny half-naked Ivana Trump. Well, 90% naked, more like.

Sweden
Typically Swedish. Absolutely beautiful, but a bit dull. She looks like she came as a flat pack from the same factory that built Helena Christianson and Heidi Klum.

The voting
And now the voting begins. 36 countries entered this year and they all get to vote. Of the 36, 24 made it to the final. Each country voting assigns a certain number of points to the top ten countries. The lowest of the ten gets 1 point. The favourite of the ten gets 12 points. For some reason no one gets nine or eleven points. I have no idea why. It's just one of the endearing quirks of Eurovision.

The voting seems to go on longer than the performance of the actual songs and is almost as bizarre. In the end, the Ukraine wins narrowly over Serbia. Then there is a bit of a delay because the Ukranian group didn't realize they might win and would have to perform again. The prize is presented by last years's winner. Unfortunately, the poor woman loses her shoe in the grating at the edge of the stage and a stage hand has to yank it out of the grill and give it back to her. Now they're performing the song again. The only thing I can think of is that everyone in Europe got a bit confused and thought it was a Xena look a like contest.

For more info including pictures of the performers, lyrics of all the songs, and how everyone voted, go to the Eurovision official site.

It's over. And, once again, I'm baffled why I spent the last 3 hours watching this. Oh well, it's marginally better than pop idol, I suppose.

Posted by YandaMan at 10:56 PM | Comments (3)

March 8, 2004

Lost: One obsessive passion

Of all the things to lose! Of all the cruel tricks that fate could play!

I think somehow I lost my ability to appreciate music.

I went to a gig a few days ago with my Crazy Landlord. "The best gig of the year so far!" according to him. Admittedly, it's still February but he seemed convinced it wouldn't be surpassed in the near future.

Objectively, I knew it was a good gig. The venue was La Scala which is a lovely rambling place with multiple rooms and bars and not entirely obvious traffic routes between them. I'd been there a couple of times before and we managed to find our way to this little balcony thing right above the stage. It's a great vantage point to watch a gig from.

The warmup band, Ella Guru, seemed to have an affection for funny-sounding instruments. Their eight piece band included a ukulele, a vibraphone, and a flugelhorn. And it all sounded pretty good.

Even before this the night had begun in a promising fashion. When we arrived there was a huge queue so we went to have a pint and wait for it to dwindle a bit. We popped into a bar called Sahara Nights. It was pretty much decorated as you would expect a bar called Sahara Nights to be decorated -- lots of dark corners and tassels and red velvet draperies and multiple levels and overstuffed cushions and just plain magic. Eight women were taking part in a belly-dancing class on the dance floor. Above their heads was a huge plasma screen television showing a football match. The goalkeeper had just been kneed in the face and the TV showed a close up of blood literally pouring from his forehead. Oblivious to this gruesome scene, the women below continued to writhe to Arabian pop. It was a wonderfully surreal sight. And they had good crisps.

The headliners, the band we had gone to La Scala to hear, were "The Silver Mount Zion Memorial Orchestra and Tra-la-la Band". The band was formed by one of the founders of "Godspeed, You Black Emperor". They played some really beautiful music. At least, objectively, from somewhere high above myself, I judged that it was really excellent stuff. Original, haunting, with a dash of rock and roll feedback to keep you awake. It should have inspired me. John certainly seemed to eat it up. But me, I wasn't inspired. I was mainly hot and thirsty and uncomfortable and a little bored. They were even a Canadian band. I should have pretended to be crazy about them for patriotic reasons if nothing else, but I just couldn't. Fortunately, John was dying for a drink as well and so we slithered our way through the crowd and went to the top level bar and got some water.

There are a number of booths in the top level bar at La Scala and we ensconced ourselves in one of them. Only one of the other booths was occupied - by the ukulele flugelhorn warmup band. Everyone else was crowded around the railing tying to get a glimpse of A Silver Mount Zion. You couldn't see anything from the booths, but, damn, they were comfy and there was a table to put your drink on and it was comparatively cool and you stretch out and, anyway, you could hear the music as well as you could fifteen feet away at the railing. So why not sit in the booth?

Well, because you're obviously not a real fan if you sit in the booth! You have to strain like a constipated lemming to get as close to the source as possible! That's what you do if you appreciate music.

And so that's why I'm worried. I mean I enjoyed the gig (at least once I was safely inside the booth, I enjoyed it). But obviously something has happened to me over the years. I've lost a little bit of my passion. Maybe it's down the back of the couch. Or maybe the cat ate it. But it's gone and I may never get it back.

Thank God I still care about vodka and chocolate chip cookies.

Posted by YandaMan at 11:08 PM