Wednesday, April 2, 2014

Bohren & der Club of Gore @ Jedinstvo 28Mar2014

As time goes by I become increasingly aware of my passions...
And also my limitations.

When I heard a song by Bohren & der Club of Gore somewhere in early January I was so smitten by its beauty I immediately made plans to go and see them play live...
And I was also wary of this experience.

You see, I listen to a lot of jazz, instrumental and crossover music at home and I enjoy deeply in multitude of its qualities, from pensive introspection to dancy soundtracks to accompany cooking (Kurt Vonnegut’s letter on his daily routine to his wife comes to mind), and yet, I am also profoundly aware that this is a passion I thoroughly prefer enjoying exclusively in my own company. Going to see Bohren play in a sold out space with 4 hundred other people could have proved an experience I did not really want to... hmm... endure. But, I got the ticket (as a birthday present, no less!) and I planned to use it.

So March 28th came, bringing the gift of good weather and evening free to enjoy some good music.

I came early (as it was said that ticket numbers up to 200 should come at 8 and I had 113) and met a friend so we stood there, wrapped in small talk and waiting. Some time after 8 we got in.

The stage was set in the middle right of the Jedinstvo hall, surrounded by chairs from three sides. We agreed on where to sit and we got a drink and sat. The space was filled with fog and instrument places on stage were marked with small overhead colored lamps. Waiting for the concert to start we were treated to some Žedno Uho festival headliners music. If I didn’t already buy the ticket for the festival I surely would have to after this experience.

Suddenly, the hall went dark and Bohrens stepped on stage. Music commenced.

I love that feeling of being alone in a place filled with people and this is exactly how it was. There was darkness and silence from the audience interrupted only with intermittent clanking of bottles. Band played. Overhead lamps repeated endlessly their colored mantra: yellow-orange-red-purple-blue-green and yellow again. Songs flowed, one after the other, like a mountain spring, bringing warm along with freezing cold, love with despair, kink with the stink. I thought of Lt.cmdr. Riker and his trombone, of smoking cigars and playing poker, of James Ballard fucking Helen Remington, of Komm züruck zu mir and Minuet, the fantasy that forever blocks the way for reality.

It was a beautiful feeling, fulfilling and deeply satisfying, to be there and to only feel the music.

Everything else was eaten away by darkness.

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