I'm not sure if its because I walked in half way through the first song, the box office staff cheering at me and saying I had made their night just by picking up my ticket or if it was her. I think it was impenetrably complete which is problematic in terms of tossing words at it. They all bounce off.
The Spatula and I bought these tickets months ago, well before paying for university fees and incomprehensible European washing machines were even thought of. The gig seemed so far away that I had all the time in the world, I had all the time in the world until it was halfway through the support act and The Spatula and I were racing around inside The Peach looking for shoes and keys and handbags.
We found a miraculous parking spot one block from The State Theatre, we had time for The Spatula to buy sushi and stuff it in her handbag, we arrived at the box office just as the bell sounded and the lights flashed. The box office staff asked for my surname, I told them and they tensed and drew closer. "What's your first name what's your first name?" I said Dale and they cheered, with their arms in the air. One of them said "we've been waiting for you, you just made my night". It was most peculiar.
We waited at the back of the theatre with the usher while the first song finished before racing down the aisle and taking our seats. As I sat she sang the song I was hoping to hear. The one I play on repeat. The one I have played on repeat since 1994.
I kept thinking of fairy floss machines and how easy it is to poke in a stick and come out with miraculous amounts of the stuff with the spinning sugar never seeming to deplete. She gathered the music more easily than that, easier than gathering spinning sugar on a stick.
She didn't prepare herself before a song, didn't gather anything to her or even step one small step to the side. She might raise an arm with the first note or bend into the sound as it rose but it was effortless and divine as though the music was always there and she was just pointing it out.
I'm not saying it wasn't powerful and focused and building angels into my architecture. I'm not saying it didn't reach inside and punch out the walls of worry. I'm not saying that it wasn't an answer to the problem of living. I'm just saying that joy, ease and a smattering of arrhythmic sideways hopping arm flailing spaz dancing. The kind of spaz dancing that requires a larger kitchen than my own.
After singing Hallelujah if she had crumpled quietly inside her giant white suit with shoulder pads, if she had fallen kindly onto the flat floor, I would have understood. Sometimes there a silence that follows sound. She stepped out of the silence with such energy and joy as though it had been easy, as though the universe was not now depleted as though music was infinite and hers.
As if that wasn't enough she shook off the applause and the heavy pockets of silent worship. She stepped straight into the next song and showed me just how a gliss can break and mend and break your heart. I felt impenetrably complete. I walked out weighing words. I walked out feeling words in my pockets and shoes and head and stomach. I walked out knowing that words have been weightless all along.
I should mention that it was KD Lang, shouldn't forget to mention that. There are photos on Fspazbook if you're a looking at photos kind of a person.
The Spatula and I bought these tickets months ago, well before paying for university fees and incomprehensible European washing machines were even thought of. The gig seemed so far away that I had all the time in the world, I had all the time in the world until it was halfway through the support act and The Spatula and I were racing around inside The Peach looking for shoes and keys and handbags.
We found a miraculous parking spot one block from The State Theatre, we had time for The Spatula to buy sushi and stuff it in her handbag, we arrived at the box office just as the bell sounded and the lights flashed. The box office staff asked for my surname, I told them and they tensed and drew closer. "What's your first name what's your first name?" I said Dale and they cheered, with their arms in the air. One of them said "we've been waiting for you, you just made my night". It was most peculiar.
We waited at the back of the theatre with the usher while the first song finished before racing down the aisle and taking our seats. As I sat she sang the song I was hoping to hear. The one I play on repeat. The one I have played on repeat since 1994.
I kept thinking of fairy floss machines and how easy it is to poke in a stick and come out with miraculous amounts of the stuff with the spinning sugar never seeming to deplete. She gathered the music more easily than that, easier than gathering spinning sugar on a stick.
She didn't prepare herself before a song, didn't gather anything to her or even step one small step to the side. She might raise an arm with the first note or bend into the sound as it rose but it was effortless and divine as though the music was always there and she was just pointing it out.
I'm not saying it wasn't powerful and focused and building angels into my architecture. I'm not saying it didn't reach inside and punch out the walls of worry. I'm not saying that it wasn't an answer to the problem of living. I'm just saying that joy, ease and a smattering of arrhythmic sideways hopping arm flailing spaz dancing. The kind of spaz dancing that requires a larger kitchen than my own.
After singing Hallelujah if she had crumpled quietly inside her giant white suit with shoulder pads, if she had fallen kindly onto the flat floor, I would have understood. Sometimes there a silence that follows sound. She stepped out of the silence with such energy and joy as though it had been easy, as though the universe was not now depleted as though music was infinite and hers.
As if that wasn't enough she shook off the applause and the heavy pockets of silent worship. She stepped straight into the next song and showed me just how a gliss can break and mend and break your heart. I felt impenetrably complete. I walked out weighing words. I walked out feeling words in my pockets and shoes and head and stomach. I walked out knowing that words have been weightless all along.
I should mention that it was KD Lang, shouldn't forget to mention that. There are photos on Fspazbook if you're a looking at photos kind of a person.
Comments
Her cover of Hallelujah is to die for. I'm so jealous. So....freaking...jealous.
Z"I kept thinking of fairy floss machines and how easy it is to poke in a stick and come out with miraculous amounts of the stuff with the spinning sugar never seeming to deplete. She gathered the music more easily than that, easier than gathering spinning sugar on a stick."
Damn. You can write.
The box office thing? I have no idea.