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...four days worth. this should be a challenge. Too little sleep on thursday... not that a full eight (as rare as that is) would have made much difference. All day, digging through cds, reimagining sets of appropriate music, trying to gauge the whims of an as-yet unknown public. stressing, decompressing, deep-breathing... awaiting the time to get up on the riser behind the mixing board, and do what i was bidden to do: incite the crowd, complement the atmosphere, leave no silence. Something must've worked. pre-publicity, surely... the first souls climbed the stairs around seven-thirty. by showtime, more than two hours later, the place was packed. No better means of seeing what you're made of, than mixing with someone else's equipment, cold. and creating a pace. Like cusak at the end of high fidelity.
Humid, noisy, awash with faces in the shadows. a few, brave enough to say hello. Then, the musicians began. And, just as quickly, the set between performances... the crowd that much louder, the anticipation that much more electric. Old friends, faces unfamiliar, an few abortive snaps... and who made an ectoplasmic appearance?
check the left elbow of the singer, to the guitarists right... looks like George, Father Of Our Country! To an active imagination. Time permitting, part two to come. |
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