musicians

Masala Festival with Rosario Smowing and Pinkspots & Der Hutklub

in

In the words of the Pinkspots, "there is going to be too much testosterone on the stage anyways" with the Argentinian group Rosario Smowing which is why their usual accompaniment wasn't there. And true it all was. The brief interlude to the passion was a gentle, cucumber-in-water subtlety. It was meant almost as a lullaby, to create a contrasting effect to the Argentinian blood. How could they have competed? They couldn't have - which is why they went for the opposite - the one that cannot be compared. And it worked - the moment, the two bands came together, the dialogue began - a dialogue across languages, across musical styles, across sound levels and decibels. And it was then that you realized that is not your usual concert. When the audience started conversing with the signers in Spanish, when the singers welcome the seated audience to reposition and dance - and how couldn't they when their feet were already involuntarily moving in the rhythm of the swing. They give each other boost through solos that glamorously focus the attention on the improvisational capacity of the musically inclined - because they are in their moment, their world. For them, the audience is part of the musical instrument, the instrument is their voice, their colleagues are the admirers and admired. This was a concert that reversed the roles of the audience and the performers - because the audience was singing along, and because the performers were doing it for themselves. And this is when I get the goose-bumps - when the connection gets established on the crossroad between the roles - when the juncture is crossed as if jumping on the next train platform to the train moving in opposite diction. Hop on!

Music is Indispensable

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The day started with guilt. I have that inexplicable desire to always ask the most brutal questions to myself - like "why is this important to do?" and "what is the meaning of life?" - you know - even before my alarm clock has ran 6:00 am. Which is not even my first alarm for the morning (I told you, it is about "inexplicable" things). This morning was particularly drifty - between reality and illusion - for a couple of hours before the alarm clock could no longer be ignored. And that's where the guilt came in - the "couple of hours" - couple of hours too late (and still before 8:30). It is criminal to feel like a criminal before 8:30 am. Even before 8:30 pm. But after 8:30 - one is free to be who he wants. 

Coming out of Rewe after the day which got lost between the cells of the Excel table (still seeing the blank cells and numbers though), I am trying to push aside the thought of another dinner alone (hear that guilt again?), and trying to think of a weekend activity other than more work, I hear guitare music. It wasn't a new marketing strategy from Rewe (you know, the one where they give you something for free so that you reciprocate and buy more). It wasn't an audio-book enhancement ("About a Boy", Nick Hornbey - a current iPod album). It wasn't guilt reminding me I should pick up music again.

It was a group of inspired teens (by my estimation of age) - at the end of the day, they went home, packed their gear, and pick a random spot where they could jam. Not for the cents they thought they might collect (they had brought some snacks which probably cost them more than what they gathered), not for the praise they hoped to get (they had the fire in their soul already), and not for the delight of everyone living on that street (in fact, for the dismay for some of the bewohners there who complained of "noise" - forgive the airquotes). Just when I was getting tired of humanity again, they showed me the world in colors. 

Music is part of our life - "everyone loves music", don't they. A guy from the street joined them - an elderly gentleman with a heart full of warmth (and a twinkle that I might boldly attribute to other things in his blood). And he got them, you know - he was there - in the music, around the music, with the music. He called for them. And they came along - they sang, they played for him, the audience communicated - they answered, they clapped, they smiled, they sang along. The tramp then turned to me and said "What would you be without your camera?! You'd still enjoy the music!". And he was right, you know! And I didn't think of guilt anymore.

If you guys are reading this, your spirit (it was not even the music itself - you were great at it, but that's not the most important) - your spirit made my evening! Next time you have a spontaneous desire to perform, let me be there again. Find me on facebook!