Blog Question Of The Day:
Why does heat make hair curl?
Friday, May 01, 2009
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
I could rattle on, and on, for a page or more about how stupefyingly boring tonight's Leonard Cohen concert was. Or I could preach about the stupidity of the blackness imposed upon us by the show. Perhaps I could best illustrate my point about the insipid dictum that absolute silence be upheld at all times.
I could do that but I will best make my point with one example.
I am leaving the building as the show is winding to its grand finale. In another other 'concert' (and I use the term loosely in this connotation) the energy of the show would be ramping up to a crowning point, before cresting and ending abruptly, having achieved the intent of leaving the crowd with more.
As I walk towards the door, rather than hear a pulsating roar from the stage, or an intensity from a crowd that is loving the show, I can hear, from somewhere within the pitch black darkess of the side of the stage, a portable generator. My ears are not filled with the sound of the show. My senses are not sparkled by a crowd enthralled with the performance. I can hear a stupid, portable generator, cranking out electricity. Its drowning out the performance on the stage to the point that I can't hear the singing, but do hear this mechanical pulsing, as I walk towards the door.
If that doesn't signify the pathetic energy of this show any more vividly, then I'm a lousy story-teller.
I could do that but I will best make my point with one example.
I am leaving the building as the show is winding to its grand finale. In another other 'concert' (and I use the term loosely in this connotation) the energy of the show would be ramping up to a crowning point, before cresting and ending abruptly, having achieved the intent of leaving the crowd with more.
As I walk towards the door, rather than hear a pulsating roar from the stage, or an intensity from a crowd that is loving the show, I can hear, from somewhere within the pitch black darkess of the side of the stage, a portable generator. My ears are not filled with the sound of the show. My senses are not sparkled by a crowd enthralled with the performance. I can hear a stupid, portable generator, cranking out electricity. Its drowning out the performance on the stage to the point that I can't hear the singing, but do hear this mechanical pulsing, as I walk towards the door.
If that doesn't signify the pathetic energy of this show any more vividly, then I'm a lousy story-teller.