Sunday, August 12, 2012

Flightless Buttress

Watching the cellist, her beautiful sinewy arms, sculpted, tan and sleek, the blue whale tattoo running the length of her forearm, I wondered if I was imaging it; I decided I couldn't possibly like the music as much as I thought I did.  The guitarist, moving in chain reaction to her bow, mathematical, perfectly executed, but kinetic and spontaneous, they were speaking, laughing, discussing things out loud with their music.  This was no memorized set, in the common sense.  I could feel them bubbling with thoughts and humor and intent, but considering my ironclad rule that everything sounds better with cello...I didn't bother to buy the cd.  Because I don't like instrumental music.

Only I was so wrong.  Every single time the album has come on in the cafe since, all of my senses spring to attention, I've stopped every conversation, every time, to gasp.  And demand someone burn me a copy.  Because I n e e d it.

Thank you Simon.  Now I listen in my car.  I listen in my house.  I listen everywhere.  It's the thing I love to listen to the most.  At all times.  Longing.  Sadness.  With mirth and joy and implicit power to create, all sewn in.  I love this.  You should buy it.

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