- Make faces and say, “ugh, mom, please stop,” when she’s creating feedback and breaking strings in honor of Jimi Hendrix, after dancing and singing and urging people to riot for two hours? No temptation to wonder why she can’t be more like all her age-cohorts who are busy tossing AARP junk mail in the recycle?
- Cringe when she holds the string-stripped guitar up in triumph and says,
“This is the only weapon I need.
And I never run out of ammunition” ?
- Feel happy to play with great musicians and flattered when she says,
“I always wanted my own bar band;
when other little girls prayed to be a nurse or a beautician,
I prayed for my very own bar band”?
Nix on scenarios #1 and #2.
Fantastic show with Patti Smith last night at the Neptune in Seattle. The Banga band seemed even better than everything you might have read, or guessed from the last CD. Audience in rapture (the good, rock kind; not the fairy tale kind).
I came away with all the boxes checked for what I want at the end of a live show:
[x] a belief that I understand the artist in new ways, having reviewed 3/4s of my own life in the course of the show;
[x] can’t quit talking about her and her band in amazement with my friend, so awake past 2:00;
[x] recommitted to making art;
[x] hoping to be a better person.
Not tempted, however, to try that feedback/busted string trick in front of anyone who’s related to me.
And hope to avoid making up bad poetry, live in front of an audience.
(Don’t forget to check the new chapters from Nine Volt Heart.
And check this nostalgia shot from High Voltage Music Store on Pike Street in Seattle.)