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Ridiculous thoughts while waiting for live, moody Icelandic music.
Biltmore Cabaret
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
The place is filling slowly, but steadily with mostly artsy-looking 30- and 40-somethings. I'm sitting at my table, nursing my beer, having just played groupie with Johann Johannsson: I went up to him, said hello, shook his hand and asked him to sign the two CDs I brought with me. That's two modern European composers whose hands I've been fortunate to shake (the other one being British composer Gavin Bryars). He was polite, quiet, almost reserved. This tour is his first time playing in Canada; his ensemble consists of a string quartet, a percussionist/laptop player, and himself on piano and laptop.
Laptops as musical instruments. Welcome to the hear and now of music.
It's good to be here at last. I have been waiting for this opportunity for years, ever since I first heard IBM1401: A User's Manual. Still, I do wish that I had been able to convince others to join me tonight. This really is wonderful, almost transcendent music. Whenever I find something so moving, I want to find somebody with whom I can share it.
I asked another person out last night. I got politely turned down again last night. I think that makes seven people in the past year. Do I reek of desperation or something? To make matters worse, my almost nonexistent biological clock involuntarily went off today. Twice. This is not good. I cannot want to have children, not after all this time; I'm over forty, and the opportunity to breed has long since passed me by. To have any parental feelings kick in now after everything that's happened feels like a cruel joke.
I need to get back to writing. I've been feeling restless and inclined to ask ridiculous, rhetorical questions. And I still feel the need to censor myself here. Stupid.
Non sequitur! The Biltmore Cabaret is an interesting little venue: dark, lit mostly with table lanterns, red lights and miniature chandeliers; ornate red & gold velvet wallpaper in elaborate patterns; miniature televisions broadcasting nothing but static; and animal heads, stuffed and mounted on the walls, including a jackalope (note to porphyre: I think the moose won).
Later ...
The show was wonderful - such beautiful soundscapes! There's something vast about music from Iceland; it seems to reflect the beauty of isolation, of solitude. I would love to get over there and meet as many musicians as possible.
Tomorrow night That 1 Guy is playing at the Railway Club for $10. Pretty reasonable price, and I am curious to see this instrument that he's created, called the Magic Pipe. The real question is: is he a truly inspired musician, or just another one-trick pony? Only one way to find out! Of course, this all depends on how much sleep I manage to get tonight, as I nodded off during my 1/2 hour break at work today.