 |
| Chapel: Along the Road to Djupavik, Iceland |
Last night was neither an open jam nor a gig. It was more like a talent show of very special songsters eager to celebrate Heiko's birthday at Madame Claude in Berlin last night. We were all entertained by Heiko's light humor, his pleasant yet somewhat brutal form of honesty, and the roomful of humanity which gathered there for the occasion. Especially memorable was his scolding of anyone who couldn't keep it "real" and who let their "pro-y" slicked back hearts do the talking. There's yes, a place for "pro" audience chatter, i suppose, but i think it's rather the casualty of extremely conservative environments creating pressure cooker like environments which make musicians competitive and money focused before they ever find a way to get down and dirty. And anyway, it's certainly not at Madame Claude on Sunday nights.
Yay to the very special community of experimental and vulnerable songsters which compressed themselves to half their original size in order to fit through the tiny doorway and into an impossibly small, black bricked basement. For a moment I felt myself entering the caves of the Mayan underworld. And to get in, we would have to commit some sort of spiritual transition which would literally convert our bodies to a size small enough to squeeze us all through a pinhole. But once inside, magically, we fit, and expanded, with plenty of room, back to full size as we soaked in each and every quirky, raw performance.
The prayer-like energy in that room really explains how and where the creative communities find their churches - crammed shoulder to shoulder in sweaty caves, to watch each other find some tattered piece of soul to share with all those other souls eager to listen, laugh and connect. And aside from my breath tasting like warm flat sour beer the whole time, it was a fricking ball. Special thanks to Geoffums Grimm (who sat in on banjo for my tune), Omnivore, Karsten, the LA Boobs.
Yay to the very special community of experimental and vulnerable songsters which compressed themselves to half their original size in order to fit through the tiny doorway and into an impossibly small, black bricked basement. For a moment I felt myself entering the caves of the Mayan underworld. And to get in, we would have to commit some sort of spiritual transition which would literally convert our bodies to a size small enough to squeeze us all through a pinhole. But once inside, magically, we fit, and expanded, with plenty of room, back to full size as we soaked in each and every quirky, raw performance.
The prayer-like energy in that room really explains how and where the creative communities find their churches - crammed shoulder to shoulder in sweaty caves, to watch each other find some tattered piece of soul to share with all those other souls eager to listen, laugh and connect. And aside from my breath tasting like warm flat sour beer the whole time, it was a fricking ball. Special thanks to Geoffums Grimm (who sat in on banjo for my tune), Omnivore, Karsten, the LA Boobs.
