(Come and enjoy a Friday evening with me)
It is indeed the morning after that Night Before, having arrived home at 1:30 last night. I suppose that makes it “this morning.” I had an escort, who shall remain discreetly unnamed since I don’t know yet what I’m going to write here. It is enough to say he was a good companion, intelligent, observant, a good conversationalist — and he drove and nagivated; that was a treat! (And I don’t believe he comes to The Spruce Tunnel often.)
Things are a little fuzzy right now. I’ve already missed my target this morning and had to show up someplace else to fulfill my religious obligation. By the time I came home from that, I began waking up to…a body in distress. (Never mind the details.)
I am beginning to suspect this body is getting too old for such Night Befores.
SO, how did it start yesterday? I got up way too early. like a little kid on Christmas morning expecting all sorts of excitement and good surprises. I’m not a little kid, so in effect, I started the day somewhat sleep-deprived – but eager to get on with the day’s plans nevertheless.
I went on to lead my little Friday Morning class, as usual; imparted some information to them; and, as usual, they proceeded to “lead me” into a deeper understanding of what our lesson was. A little group of great minds, there.
Cue in music and drum rolls:
Then it was on to the Big Event, a 70=mile drive away. Better make that cue in LOUD MUSIC and CRASHING DRUM BEATS. Oh, yes, I went to my very first ROCK CONCERT yesterday!!
I have no idea what I’m supposed to say about it. Sometimes it seems that most of the other people in this world have been to rock concerts and know what they’re like. I don’t need to describe it. My escort said it best: “There are some things I loved about it and some things I really didn’t like.”
What’s to love? This!
It was a spectacular light show with beams of colored lights and lasers bursting out in patterns in all directions and speeds, some softly traveling across the space above us, some forming a solid ceiling above us in the air, some forming a delicate matrix which held us motionless, some brilliantly flashing deep into our eyes — the designer is a genius at providing the maximum visual and physical effect.
The color changed according to the intent of the “music.” Yellow!
Or blues, greens, oranges, silver, pink — Fire flashed all over, on stage, overhead, behind us, hot on our faces. Amazingly effective and exciting.
The “musicians” appeared in stereotypical and easily recognizable rock concert costumes, semi-mocking formal attire with silver buttons and rivets and coattails paired with blue jeans and big black boots, flashing long shiny blond and blonde hair in skillful head-banger jerks and twirls.
Sometimes they hung over the audience
Oh, but I’m describing what you very well know and have seen. . .
Kudos to the drummer!! Hats off to the drummer!! We all stood for the drummer at certain points when the drum beats united with our heartbeats and lifted us upward into one throbbing rhythm. . . .
And hats off to Beethoven, who provided some of the music, though he probably didn’t intend his pieces to sound quite like this. It is said that when Beethoven’s music was first performed, well-bred young women were advised not to attend these concerts because of the deepy-emotional content of the music.
Well, yes. Quite so.
Remember the beautiful, lyrical Moonlight Sonata? Well, lyrical it wasn’t last night! I began to worry about the hands of the piano player. No hands could possibly survive that banging on the keys for that wonderfully satisfying length of time!! I have a feeling they did Beethoven-Plus. I think they did Beethoven the way he wished he could have written his music – but never dreamed it was possible. Beethoven-Plus-Plus.
What’s not to like – Or: “the difference between troll and man” (a famous quote from the fairy tale, Peer Gynt)
One of this band’s signature numbers is a rocking rendition of In The Hall of The Mountain King. You know, Peer Gynt? The overture composed by Edvard Grieg? Haunting. Menacing. The dark, powerful abode of the magical, mesmerising trolls under the mountain, forging away with iron and fire, the flames of Hell reaching up into this world.
Oh, yes, this performance last night had it right.
Appealing to our lower natures, there was a strange, somewhat incoherent narrative inserted between the “musical” sections with words like lost, tragic, abandoned, some bloody, disembodied soul roaming the streets of New york City, untimely death, a brain-damaged child, a greedy businessman, and so many other gut-wrenching phrases that are supposed to evoke emotional responses in this 20th century socialist world.
There were words shouted out and sung out, words of hatred and impotent power, discordant voices the wails of tortured electric guitars, those self-contradictory howlers of the modern world.
One woman sang a husky plaint with the repeated agonized phrase “I…am…trying.” And each time she said those words, the audience responded with howls and stomps and hand gestures….like the trolls inside the hellish mountain aroused to inhuman purposes. We were transformed into participants at Balthazzar’s Feast, but no handwriting appeared for us.
It was the audience that was a bit disturbing.
We had very, very good seats that placed us right in and under and sourrounded by the action. However, the seating location also placed us right next to a pair of female screamers, who let out random, ear-piercing yells for reasons known only to themselves. They could be heard over and above the high-decibel music and even above the shouting, cheering audience. Several people in our area had fingers in their ears. The man in front of them had his jaw clenched at each scream. My companion had to leave the area for a while, since he was exactly right next to one of those mouths.
I think the Screamers wounded my ear infection . . . .
(Saying any more would certainly lead to a confessible offense….)
And the audience was restless and strangely “in motion.” At any time, in every section of seats, people were getting up, moving across the rows or aisles, sitting down. It produced a very weird effect, like a human version of molecules in their random Brownian motion.
It was the randomness that affected me the most. Not just the movements, but the random emotional cause-and-effect reactions that were imposed on us all.
I’m not sure.
Is that good, once in a while? Is it just an experience? A “happening” as we used to say? Is the effect the whole purpose? Like watching a sunset. Or skiing mindlessly through the mountain snow. Or coasting aimlessly on Rollerblades. Walking without a goal through the Spruce Tunnel. . . .
So, see? I think I liked my first rock concert.
Some of it.