Euro-Music

First, sorry - it's been a long time. I've been thinking about writing, but been pretty busy and a little bit sick. In any case, I'm back!

I played at a concert this weekend that was remarkable. Not remarkable in the way that going to see U2 is remarkable, though... it's a different kind of thing.

It was billed as a gospel concert, which, in some respects it was. But in some respects, it wasn't.

It was a lot more R&B than gospel. I know that gospel and R&B share similar roots, but that doesn't make them the same. But if there's one thing I've learned, it's that Europeans LOVE gospel. You can pretty much do any kind of music you want, but if you call it gospel and encourage them to clap on all four beats, it's almost guaranteed to be a success.

The opening band (that I was playing in) was rather definitely rock. Not much of a gospel sound. Okay, we're only the support act, but I would say that if neither of the groups plays the style in question, it's probably not a good idea to bill the concert as that style.

But I'm nit-picking.

There were really a couple of things that I found interesting.

First is how popular R&B-ish kind of music is in Christian circles. Maybe I'm the only one, but this music mostly makes me think of making out. Not to be vulgar, but that's just what it sounds like. And you can put "God" in the lyrics, but it still sounds like that. This was further complicated by the fact that, during a costume-change midway, the headliner played a video of one of her tunes. It wasn't really very tightly lip-synced, had special effects that reminded me very much of the Bananarama or some such 80's band, and featured her dancing against a wall and looking a lot like she was coming on to me.

Now, granted, my senses in this respect may not be that highly refined. I'm still in training. But I'm pretty sure that's what she was thinking of when she was recording it. Normally, this wouldn't bother me so much, but the combination of "come here, baby" in her eyes and "God, thank you for saving me" in her mouth kind of threw me off.

The other thing is just how white and... well, European it was. And how very, very non-anglophone.

This is the kind of thing that's hard to really explain until you can experience it. Part of it is the aforementioned clapping on every beat. 1-2-3-4.... 1-2-3-4... it's just wrong. It's marginally less wrong than 1 & 3, but still... wrong. Still, I can't blame that on her.

The part that makes it feel most like this, I think is the lyrics. I wish I could remember better examples, but how about this line:

(blah, blah, blah, it doesn't really matter)
You are indescribable,
(blah, blah, blah... something that wasn't supposed to rhyme)
Your love is unwritable

Now, I'm not 100% sure that unwritable isn't a word. But I do know that it's not a word I would ever use in a song. The lyrics were full of little things like this that, while they weren't necessarily "wrong", just weren't.... right. The music was good, actually - she's a pretty gifted writer, but the lyrics certainly had the babblefish kind of touch to them. Things that don't really rhyme unless they're sung with an accent that it would never occur to you to sing with.

She wasn't helped by the fact that she had the lyrics put up on a screen beside her. Have you ever noticed how songs - even good songs - can sound ridiculous when you read them? Well, if you start with something a little less than bring-a-tear-to-my-eye lyrics, that effect is kind of amplified.

The other thing was the she had a projectionist who had an actual film projector set up in the balcony. The minute I saw the guy, I knew it would be trouble. Very French, very hairy, very, very artsy. Surprisingly, the film was a constant barrage of people, slightly out of focus, running off the camera, water running, and similar evocative but, let's admit it, rather meaningless things. There was only one point in the whole show that I noticed any kind of link between what he was projecting and what she was singing about. And that was not exactly masterful... she was talking about running to God, and he showed a woman starting to run... and tripping. Over, and over and over. And, of course, slightly out of focus.

Is this bad? Not necessarily, if that's what you're looking for. The down-side (besides what he was showing) was that, in order to satisfy his artistic needs, the lights on the stage were really, really low. So you could see water flowing, slightly out of focus, and the woman falling down, but you couldn't see the face of the singer.

Hmmm.

I feel exceptionally inept at describing this. Maybe it was a bad idea to even try. If you were here, I could try to distract you with a little dance or something, or I could make you some popcorn or tell a joke to make up for it. Actually, I'm not good at jokes, but I could make really, really good popcorn.

Oh well.

Can You Spare A Quarter

There are always people begging or busking outside the bank near my place. This is in a country where you can get a $1000 bill from an ATM, and $200's are so common you can use one to buy a pack of gum.

Hasn't it occurred to them that no one is going to be coming out of there with something small enough that they'll be willing to part with it?

"Hey, man, it's okay... I can make change..."

At Least They Say Good-Bye

I haven't been everywhere. I suppose, if it comes down to it, that I haven't even been most places. But so far, I'm nominating Switzerland (maybe I should say Geneva) as having the worst customer service on the planet, except for the fact that they often say "hello" when you arrive and "good-bye" when you leave.

There are exceptions; every once in a while someone does something right. But it's rare.

Today was a typical example. I have been looking for a bag or backpack for camera stuff. I went to the biggest camera shop in town, called Photo Hall, to check it out and to ask about the price of a little adapter guy that magnifies an image by 2x.

Now, I can preface my story by saying that this: when I first purchased my camera, I was looking at online prices in Switzerland to try to shop wisely. I know that it's more here than in the US, but it wasn't too much of a difference. So I went into the aforementioned Photo Hall and told a guy what I was going to buy. I showed him the prices I could get it for in Zurich, and said that if he'd match the price, I would like to buy it from him.

He took my sheet, opened up his price list, wrote down the list price next to each of the prices on my sheet, did the total and handed it back to me, without saying a word.

"That's it?" I asked, "you won't move at all?". He just shook his head. I laughed, congratulated him on losing a sale but maintaining his honor, hoped almost sincerely that he would be able to make his rent payment out of his extra stored-up honor at the end of the month, and found the door.

So, my expectations weren't too high today.

First of all, the lens adapter thing (called a teleconverter). I went in and asked for the price, just out of curiosity. He looked at me suspiciously:

"For which lens?"

"Huh?" I was a bit surprised... I didn't think that there were multiple versions of it for different lenses. But I told him the lens I wanted to use it with.

"It doesn't work with that one," he said, "that lens only works with this teleconverter." And he pointed to another one (1.7x instead of 2x) that they happened to have in stock.

"Uh, no," I replied, "it works quite well with the 2x. I've seen the pictures."

"With autofocus? No, I don't think so".

I just shook my head. "What's the price, monsieur?"

Now, I can understand that, in technical issues, "the customer is always right" is a dangerous mantra to live by. But "the customer deserves a sliver of respect" may serve these guys well. In this case, I don't know if he was lying or just ill-informed, but he was most certainly wrong. I pity the people who go to this shop for advice without having done their own homework.

The good news, for me, is that they did have the backpack I have been wondering about in stock. I had a chance to try it on, see how the construction was, and check out how things would fit inside. Then I took a look at the price:

$540

Yes, you're reading that right. It's for a backpack... a backpack I can buy online for $150 or $160 pretty easily in the US or Canada.

I thought about asking for a discount, but decided I'd had enough fun for one day. Maybe I'll go back and inquire about it next week.

"Good-bye!"

9,000

Hey, we just passed 9,000 visitors. Thanks for reading, everyone. I think that when we get to 10,000, I'd like to have an ice-cream party.

Montreux 2008

Looks not bad this year: I'll be seeing Paul Simon, Sheryl Crow, and Alicia Keys.

I'll say hi for you.

Before You Knew Me...

... I was a fairy princess.


Crap: there it goes again.

No, that's not some bizarre confession, and no, you won't find related pictures on the internet. But it's a line from a Faith Hill song that I've had going through my head, on and off, for a month or so now. It's pretty catchy, and it's fun to sing.

Unfortunately, that results in me singing it. But mostly just the one line that I remember.

This wouldn't be so bad if I would "sing" it and not sing it. But there are no moderating factors here... I don't imagine it, don't kind of hum it. I sing it, with the words, out loud.

Tough to explain to people who don't know the song.


Oh well. In other news.... well, I don't have a lot of other news. I've had a cold for the past couple of weeks that, somehow, the little chick has managed to avoid (hooray, little chick!). I'm still wearing spring clothes, and spring is still not showing up. And I've tried red sauerkraut, but am not entirely happy with the results.

How have you been?

Blue Suede Shoes

Well, I got some new shoes in Prague. One pair are blue suede driving shoes. I like them, because I didn't have anything quite like that before. They're quite blue, so I didn't figure they would be every day kind of shoes, but they were inexpensive enough that I'm quite okay with that.

Spring has been resiting here, and so I've taken a bit of a new tack: I am dressing for it, in a (so far futile) attempt to force its hand. Today, that translates into a light striped shirt and the aforementioned blue shoes.

[EDIT] And pants. I'm also wearing pants. [/EDIT]

Now, I think it's interesting how you (and by "you", of course, I mean "I") get used to the shoes you usually wear. I have a pair of skate shoes (Vans) that, on occasion I pull out. They are the closest thing I have to white runners, with the exception of my actual running shoes, which only make an appearance when I'm running. They're not Seinfeld-white exactly - more like grey - but lighter and a bit more bulky than most of my shoes. I was wearing them when we were in Prague, actually (figured they would be quite weather-resistant), and I kept getting the feeling that I had these two foreign objects swinging around underneath me.

I'd be walking along and all of a sudden kind of catch myself:

"What the...? Oh yeah... those are my shoes."

Pause to collect thoughts.

"Okay."

Keep walking.


Now maybe this doesn't happen to you. Or maybe you're just not entirely comfortable admitting it on the interweb. Either way, I find that when I'm wearing unfamiliar shoes, they have a way of distracting me.

So today, as I've been walking in my BSS, I have noticed something I should have perhaps come up with before I purchased them.

They make me feel like I'm wearing slippers.


I'm pretty sure it's the color. The shape is not that different from many of my other shoes, and they are regular, old-fashioned lace-ups, so there is no hush-puppy/slip-on kind of ambiguity going on there. They're just a rather vibrant blue.

One not usually found in footwear. Or, at least, adult footwear.

Oh well.

Spring... where are you?

Read It/Spring Is Here!

One of Sydney's comments about reading sporadically made me realize that I do that, too. Actually, "sporadic" would be generous. I'm really bad at remembering.

I have good intentions; I also have about 800 bookmarks.

Anonymous seems to have picked up on this early on and figured out a way to automatically generate email feeds from her blog when there are new posts. So, I see those. But for those of you who do this kind of thing, what do you suggest? How do you read mine?

I would prefer a format that collects them all in one page, rather than loading each blog in another tab or something. Full text (with pictures, if there are any) would be good.

Ideas?


And, in other news, it was snowing yesterday, but it's definitely spring. The new shoes are out, and it's looking good... the kind of inverted pyramid-shaped heels from fall are gone. Skinny heels are back, baby! Now we just need to get rid of this rain/snow/cold...

Pictures

The sun was out yesterday at lunch, so I decided I should be, too. I hope you like them; you can see the rest here.

Blunt

Blunt (definition):

1. Having a dull edge or end; not sharp.
2. Abrupt and often disconcertingly frank in speech.
3. Slow to understand or perceive; dull.
4. Lacking in feeling; insensitive.

James Blunt:

Yeah, he pretty much checks the boxes, too. Maybe not #2 so much, now that I think about it. And there should be something about intolerable amounts of whiny, mid-tempo, acoustic-guitar based songs about people dying/falling out of love/losing their minds/honestly I stopped listening after the first one in there.

The good things about this concert:

• I was there with a friend who, should her current career fall apart, seems well-suited to some kind of crisis intervention work.
• The opening band, The Hoosiers, was pretty fun. Very bouncy. Also, they ran across the stage completely naked (but covering up their saucy bits) after James' set. I'm guessing it's because it was the last show of their tour together, but maybe they do that every time. In any case, it's the most interesting thing that happened while he was on stage.
  
• Blunt's drummer hauled. Actually, the whole band was quite good.
• The girl in front of me not only had great eyes and wonderful cheekbones, but also had the good grace to turn around frequently.
• There were a couple other girls close by who, in every slow song (and trust me - there were a lot of them) would put up their hands with their fingers curved over and their thumbs extended down, kind of in the shape of a heart. Yes, we love you, James. Except that, after a little while, they would kind of relax the posture and it would look more like two zeros instead of two hearts. Less passionate, but perhaps a shade more accurate.
  

There was one point where he stepped away from the mic, and all I could hear was the sound of heavily accented French girls singing, instead of him. At first, I thought, "hey, I came here to see the man, himself". Then I realized that it was just a lot more pleasant with them singing. Eventually, he came back.

I cried.

And if that's not an indication of my high level of musical satisfaction, here are a couple other tidbits:

• By the fourth song I was using my phone to catch up on my email.
• I didn't buy a tee shirt.

I would warn you not to go see him, but this was the last show of the tour. But next year, don't say no one ever told you...

Happy Birthday To Me, Part II

Well, we had a MNB listening session last night to choose some new tunes. It was not an easy affair. I've been on a country kick. Our bass player figures that Motown is the key to get people dancing. Caro has an ear for b-sides and rarities, and our singer doesn't trust anything that isn't on top-40 radio. Here.

Not a lot of overlap, there.

But, they surprised me with a little birthday celebration. Caro brought a cake, Helen a bottle of champagne, and we had a little party, MNB-style.

Now, when I was in Canada at Christmas, my aunt was kind enough to give me some "candles" that have been legendary in our family for some time, but that I had never before had the pleasure of experiencing.

I have "candle" in "quotes" because they are mostly plastic, and about the size of stubby pop can. I put one on the cake last night, and lit it. And, to our shared delight, it shot up a sparkler about a foot into the air. The sparkler lit the mini candles (about... oh, nine of them?) that were on folded-up leaves above it, and then the leaves dropped down, making it look like a rather explosive lotus flower. The leaves started to spin, and a cheerily electronic version of "Happy Birthday" began to play.

And play.

And play.

And play.

Eventually, I took it outside and put it on my window ledge. It seemed reckless to throw it into the street, I didn't want to keep it inside, and, besides, there is a pigeon who has been visiting the little chick and I, and sitting there. At first I thought this would be grand, and a wonderful chance for her to see a bird at close range. Then I realized that, should I decide to open the windows this summer, it may be a little too close, and quite likely messy. I speculated that perhaps this rather spiky lotus-thing would help him stay away.

Nathan, upon arriving home, mentioned that he had gotten up at about 2:30 to have a good cough, and noticed that it was still playing. Crazy, we said.

The party was... about 8:00 last night. And it's now about 7:00 today. And Nathan just opened the window to check, and it's still playing.

Happy birthday to me.

Happy birthday to me.


That pigeon is never coming back.