Post titles are for bitches.
Just got back from seeing Regina Spektor at the Roxy with Janny.
It was beautiful.
I haven't really dedicated myself to listening to either of her two albums which are in my posession, so when she started playing one of her songs (The Flowers, in case you give a damn), I didn't immediately recognize the piano melody. I half-remembered it-- like something out of an old dream-- and familiarity slowly, slowly snuck up on me. I think that stretch of some thirty seconds was the highlight of the show for me. Not due to any particular musicality (though I was entranced by the way that, though she would kind of sing through her teeth, her voice came out just as richly-- like there was nothing that could stop the song from pouring out) but more from my own (oh boy, time to use The Word**) mediocrity as a listener. For once, being less-than-adequate worked out for the better.
Which reminds me. Janny is my favorite concert buddy ever. She's so fucking passionate about the little details. The Decemberists and her vagabonds line, tonight's show and that line from that one song that (surprise) I'm not wholly familiar with. I really wish I were able to connect my music and my emotions quite so viscerally (Colin Meloy will make that girl cry at the drop of a fucking hat... maybe not exactly as viscerally).
But I suppose that would require me to have a heart. Instead of this rusty tin box of mine. Sometimes I wonder if there's anything left inside it that hasn't turned to rot.
Calling this off before I get anymore needlessly abstract.
Bon soir.
-Eric
** I have an unhealthy fixation upon the word "mediocrity." It's become something of a self-definition for all things personal. Which I'm sure will become evident (The fixation? Or the self-definition? He's so deliciously vague!) as time goes by, if I actually post on this thing regularly.
It was beautiful.
I haven't really dedicated myself to listening to either of her two albums which are in my posession, so when she started playing one of her songs (The Flowers, in case you give a damn), I didn't immediately recognize the piano melody. I half-remembered it-- like something out of an old dream-- and familiarity slowly, slowly snuck up on me. I think that stretch of some thirty seconds was the highlight of the show for me. Not due to any particular musicality (though I was entranced by the way that, though she would kind of sing through her teeth, her voice came out just as richly-- like there was nothing that could stop the song from pouring out) but more from my own (oh boy, time to use The Word**) mediocrity as a listener. For once, being less-than-adequate worked out for the better.
Which reminds me. Janny is my favorite concert buddy ever. She's so fucking passionate about the little details. The Decemberists and her vagabonds line, tonight's show and that line from that one song that (surprise) I'm not wholly familiar with. I really wish I were able to connect my music and my emotions quite so viscerally (Colin Meloy will make that girl cry at the drop of a fucking hat... maybe not exactly as viscerally).
But I suppose that would require me to have a heart. Instead of this rusty tin box of mine. Sometimes I wonder if there's anything left inside it that hasn't turned to rot.
Calling this off before I get anymore needlessly abstract.
Bon soir.
-Eric
** I have an unhealthy fixation upon the word "mediocrity." It's become something of a self-definition for all things personal. Which I'm sure will become evident (The fixation? Or the self-definition? He's so deliciously vague!) as time goes by, if I actually post on this thing regularly.
posted by Unknown at 1:14 AM
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