Wednesday, February 22, 2006
Pink Martini-eering
Bolero made a noisy and emotionally charged return in my life. It was the opening song for Pink Martini’s second consecutive show in Montreal (that was last night, I am still singing in my head), a good way to start what I expected to be and turned out to be even more of a musical/emotional experience.
For about two hours the venue was immersed in a quiet musical waterfall; Pink Martini played songs that I’ve never heard of before, or barely knew the original versions, yet they revived them with vigor, without imposing a feeling of nostalgia. Almost an orchestra (they were ten or maybe even eleven on stage), the happiness and fun that they had playing these classical / old or old sounding songs was contagious and spread to everyone in the room. The singer was amazing; the pianist was smiley and happy.
I say musical waterfall because the sound was thick and intertwined, I guess something you can do only when you are that many musician on stage. The drummer made an amazing drum solo, and so did the guitarist and the contre-bass players (they all played their respective instruments for their solos).
But what amazed me the most is that the show made me think a lot and made me feel even more. Was it the clarity of the voice and instruments, because no one spoke, but I felt like it was a private show.
It was an amazing night, started by the friendly scalper that I bargained with for our tickets, continued by the weird women complaining (because we were talking during the show!!!), carried by the music of Pink Martini and concluded by the drama of my sweetheart, which made it all feel more real.
It was a weird night; I guess one that only Pink Martini can stir.
Weird.
For about two hours the venue was immersed in a quiet musical waterfall; Pink Martini played songs that I’ve never heard of before, or barely knew the original versions, yet they revived them with vigor, without imposing a feeling of nostalgia. Almost an orchestra (they were ten or maybe even eleven on stage), the happiness and fun that they had playing these classical / old or old sounding songs was contagious and spread to everyone in the room. The singer was amazing; the pianist was smiley and happy.
I say musical waterfall because the sound was thick and intertwined, I guess something you can do only when you are that many musician on stage. The drummer made an amazing drum solo, and so did the guitarist and the contre-bass players (they all played their respective instruments for their solos).
But what amazed me the most is that the show made me think a lot and made me feel even more. Was it the clarity of the voice and instruments, because no one spoke, but I felt like it was a private show.
It was an amazing night, started by the friendly scalper that I bargained with for our tickets, continued by the weird women complaining (because we were talking during the show!!!), carried by the music of Pink Martini and concluded by the drama of my sweetheart, which made it all feel more real.
It was a weird night; I guess one that only Pink Martini can stir.
Weird.
Wednesday, February 15, 2006
Why do we always have to remember the bad things?? It’s the good things that really matter.
Thursday, February 02, 2006
My plant and I
In my recently temporarily-acquired cooperative lodging, there are very few alive things: usually a few humans and a sole-lonely plant. It was my mother’s plant, an old plant, tall and proud, green and strong. I love plants and I took it, put in a moving truck for about 20 minutes and brought it over to my cooperative. It didn’t like that, it didn’t like being moved from its owner and carer and its home. It froze in the truck. I thought it would be ok, I thought it would recuperate in a few days, but it hasn’t; every day it’s dying more and more.
I am not used to the sight of death, I have always been sheltered from it. But now I see it crawling, creeping slowly, and everything I do is not enough: extra water, heat, grooming, noting seems to work. And we haven’t had real sun in days, the clouds have settled over our city like a casserole lid and don’t seem to want to budge, damn annoying, sun and life blocking clouds. What did I ever do to them, what did my plant ever do to them to deserve such unfair treatment.
I still hope that it will recuperate, that its strength will come back. I’ve known this plant for many years and I will miss it. And I wouldn’t want to be the cause of its death. I wouldn’t want my wanting it to cost its existence; that would defy the logic of me wanting it.
Please come back.
Or maybe, I can take one of its branches, put in water and wait for it to grow roots, and start all over again. Over time it would re-grow to the proud living breathing creature it once was.
I am not used to the sight of death, I have always been sheltered from it. But now I see it crawling, creeping slowly, and everything I do is not enough: extra water, heat, grooming, noting seems to work. And we haven’t had real sun in days, the clouds have settled over our city like a casserole lid and don’t seem to want to budge, damn annoying, sun and life blocking clouds. What did I ever do to them, what did my plant ever do to them to deserve such unfair treatment.
I still hope that it will recuperate, that its strength will come back. I’ve known this plant for many years and I will miss it. And I wouldn’t want to be the cause of its death. I wouldn’t want my wanting it to cost its existence; that would defy the logic of me wanting it.
Please come back.
Or maybe, I can take one of its branches, put in water and wait for it to grow roots, and start all over again. Over time it would re-grow to the proud living breathing creature it once was.
