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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