Communing with the ancestors through trad
I want to talk briefly about art. I hasten to add that it is one of the many things I know nothing about. But I had an encounter with an artist and a class of an epiphany last Monday night at the National Concert Hall. In one way it was the last place I wanted to be, as I was gearing up for the first show in the new run of Cutting Edge and I prefer to be keeping the head down and focussing on work at these kinds of times. But the tickets had been bought ages ago and I love the Gloaming.
We couldn't get a babysitter either so I had to jettison the wife and bring a friend. He didn't really know the Gloaming and he's more of a rock 'n' roll type. I was concerned at his ability to sit still and to enjoy a concert in the absence of drum and bass.
But in we went anyway. There was the customary delirious welcome for President Michael D, the lights went down and off they went. When I say off they went, I mean that five blokes walked out and began playing what you might called traditional music. There were no explosions and the light show was mainly five simple lights half illuminating each of them, as if they were mere bands of light themselves, stripped to their essence as they lost themselves in the music. They played for a good 20 minutes without stopping initially. No talking. No hello. Just straight down to it.