Dance like nobody's watching
From outside, The Fillmore looks like just another building in San Francisco. It's a building that you could just pass by with out the slightest clue that there is a hell of a lot of history to that place. From the blandness of the outside you would have no idea that acts like James Brown and Tina Turner played there in 50's and 60's, and that this building continued to host some of the greatest musicians to ever live over the years, musicians like Janis Joplin, The Grateful Dead, Jimmi Hendrix, etc. The outside reveals non of this.
But entering the Fillmore is almost something magical, as you see the photos of all these greats hung on the walls like totems, ancient gods and goddesses of the music world.
The main room looks appropriately old, as though the architecture has not changed in over 50 years, which it probably hasn't. I could easily envision women in lacey corseted dresses from the 1800s sitting in the balcony and fanning themselves as some opera was performed below (which would not be historically accurate, but is the image my mind jumped to upon seeing the room).
The energy was so intense that I could feel the room vibrating, even though no one was there yet. I had to remind myself to take some deep breaths, just so that I could assimilate it.
I was introduced to Yonder Mountain String Band by a friend. We had listened to their cd while I was helping her move and vaguely remembered liking it. So when she mentioned that they were in town, I jumped at the opportunity to join her (more because I had not been to a concert in over a year and was excited about going to a concert, any concert, than love or affinity for the band. Besides, she needed company.)
She kept telling me how great they were, how I would dance my ass off, etc. I smiled and accepted this as truth, determined to have a hell of a good time. I took a beer in hand and patiently awaited the show's start.
The room slowly filled up with all kinds of interesting people. Lots of beautiful hippie boys and girls. My friend pointed out a few people who she sees at every Yonder Mountain show she has gone to. One guy in particular, with long brown hair, always arrives early so that he can nab the spot front row center--every time.
Then the lights dimmed. Everyone whipped out their joints and pipes. And four guys walked out onto the stage with a banjo, guitar, mandolin, and and something that looks like a really thin cello. And they can all sing.
Truthfully, I could never have known that such incredible sounds were going to come out of those instruments. I cannot even describe it. What they did was nothing short of magical.
I danced my ass off.
At one point, I was quite tired and a little beer buzzed. I could feel my head lolling a little and my eyes were closed, but my body just kept on moving. When the music played, I danced. When it stopped, I rested. I think I could have fallen asleep and my body would still have been moving with the music, would still have been dancing. Then, I would have just simply fallen over when the music stopped.
"That's god," she said. "Their music is god." She's not wrong.
* * *
"Sing like you don't need the money,
love like you'll never get hurt;
dance, dance, dance like nobody's watching."
--Susanna Clark & Richard Leigh
But entering the Fillmore is almost something magical, as you see the photos of all these greats hung on the walls like totems, ancient gods and goddesses of the music world.
The main room looks appropriately old, as though the architecture has not changed in over 50 years, which it probably hasn't. I could easily envision women in lacey corseted dresses from the 1800s sitting in the balcony and fanning themselves as some opera was performed below (which would not be historically accurate, but is the image my mind jumped to upon seeing the room).
The energy was so intense that I could feel the room vibrating, even though no one was there yet. I had to remind myself to take some deep breaths, just so that I could assimilate it.
I was introduced to Yonder Mountain String Band by a friend. We had listened to their cd while I was helping her move and vaguely remembered liking it. So when she mentioned that they were in town, I jumped at the opportunity to join her (more because I had not been to a concert in over a year and was excited about going to a concert, any concert, than love or affinity for the band. Besides, she needed company.)
She kept telling me how great they were, how I would dance my ass off, etc. I smiled and accepted this as truth, determined to have a hell of a good time. I took a beer in hand and patiently awaited the show's start.
The room slowly filled up with all kinds of interesting people. Lots of beautiful hippie boys and girls. My friend pointed out a few people who she sees at every Yonder Mountain show she has gone to. One guy in particular, with long brown hair, always arrives early so that he can nab the spot front row center--every time.
Then the lights dimmed. Everyone whipped out their joints and pipes. And four guys walked out onto the stage with a banjo, guitar, mandolin, and and something that looks like a really thin cello. And they can all sing.
Truthfully, I could never have known that such incredible sounds were going to come out of those instruments. I cannot even describe it. What they did was nothing short of magical.
I danced my ass off.
At one point, I was quite tired and a little beer buzzed. I could feel my head lolling a little and my eyes were closed, but my body just kept on moving. When the music played, I danced. When it stopped, I rested. I think I could have fallen asleep and my body would still have been moving with the music, would still have been dancing. Then, I would have just simply fallen over when the music stopped.
"That's god," she said. "Their music is god." She's not wrong.
* * *
"Sing like you don't need the money,
love like you'll never get hurt;
dance, dance, dance like nobody's watching."
--Susanna Clark & Richard Leigh