Paul Rats and Mexicans
It was just over a year ago that the best Blast ever was held in the Half Moon. Headlining that stomper of a show were the almighty Bunny (who are still MIA by the way) and the…well…Turn! I don't really know enough about them to give them a prefix.
And of course, I wasn't on stage with Turn. But I digress, that was the best Blast ever. And as is so often the case, take gravity for instance, when something reaches it's highest point, it's got nowhere to go but down. And as such Blast has begun to steadily decline in the last year. At least I think it has. Or it was always pretty bad and I just never noticed before?
Either way, I decided to go to Blast last Sunday, despite the fact I knew it would be pretty bad. Why? It was to be a group gathering of the Fuse Music Department. Unfortunately, most of the music department isn't half as interesting and good to talk to in the real world! And, as you'd expect, the music didn't make the experience all that more pleasant. In fact, it was quite possibly the worst gig I have EVER been to. It was just band after band of identical teeny metal crap. One band even dared to attempt the Jeff Buckley version of Halleluia! The little pre-pubescent worm onstage even sat on a monitor to give his wailing more…gravitas, and stuck the mic right up by the monitor causing the worst case of feedback I've ever heard. Fuckin' idiot! I spent most of my time there standing upstairs, staring with disdain down at the churning mass of worms below. Remind me never to go to Blast again unless I'm actually playing at it.
After Blast, which (and I know I'm going to sound melodramatic here) I can really only describe as an insult to music really, I went home, ate and venture back into town to attend my second gig of the day - Rodrigo y Gabriella at An Crúiscín Lán, with Alan and Mike and two of their friends whose names escape me now. When the doors were finally thrown open, the lads were lucky enough to get a table right up the front. And I mean, RIGHT up the front. I was a foot from this stage, in fact, at times I had my foot resting on the stage. Needless to say, it was one of the best seats in the house.
At about 9.30, "the magicians" as their support act had called them took to the small stage and began. I'm beginning to realise how pointless it is to write about the experience of seeing them, because really, simple words can't even come close to describing it. I was never really sure which one of them to watch, it was like a game of tennis, wathcing Rodrigo, then Gabriella, then back to Rodrigo again. I got totally lost in the music, head down, moving it to the beat, tapping out what I thought the rhythm was (though if it could be heard, I'm sure I was WAY out!). And they were so tight, it was incredible, it was as if they were psychic, moving in perfect synchronicity! Their bits of Metallica renditions almost gave me a new appreciation for the kings of metal…almost. I may seem like I'm gushing here, but really, I could find no real fault in their performance whatsoever. They moved effortlessly from flamenco/Spanish style, to Metallica, to the White Stripes and even a spot of the Chili's! They knew exactly how to work us, getting the audience to clap along, click their fingers, etc. In the end, they fully deserved their standing ovation. Now THAT (you Blast bastards) is how music is meant to be played!
After the gig, Gabriella sidled up to me. Now let me tell you, Gabriella is one HOT lady. She may not be the most gorgeous woman you'll ever see, but she has the whole Latino dark passionate look down to a fine and irresistible art. They way she'd strum and beat that guitar, those sultry eyes and arched eyebrows…mmmmmmm. But I digress again, she sidled up to me, guitar in hand and stood in real close, looking up at me.
"I know you," she said in that Mexican accent, "you're the one they call Afro, right?"
"Why yes I am," I replied coolly, "I really enjoyed you're show. Do you think you could sign my ticket?" I was holding a marker and my ticket in my hands.
She gave me one of those looks and said "I'll sign it, but you must come back to our hotel with me so we can make mad, passionate and heated Mexican love. I want you Afro."
I smiled (as you would), but softly said "I'm sorry Gabriella, I already have a girlfriend that I love, and while I'm sure she'd understand if I ran away with you, I'd miss her terribly"*
She grabbed the marker and ticket from me, clearly disappointed and somewhat angered. "Very well," she said, "Have it your way, she is a lucky lucky girl. But I will ask again the next time I return, and it does not do well to refuse Gabriella twice!" With that, she handed me back the autographed ticket, turned on her red stiletto-ed heel and walked away, turning one last time to gaze longingly at me, before disappearing into the dark of the Cork night. I swear that REALLY happened! **
*Oh yeah, should get some brownie points for that! ;)
**May not have happened!
And of course, I wasn't on stage with Turn. But I digress, that was the best Blast ever. And as is so often the case, take gravity for instance, when something reaches it's highest point, it's got nowhere to go but down. And as such Blast has begun to steadily decline in the last year. At least I think it has. Or it was always pretty bad and I just never noticed before?
Either way, I decided to go to Blast last Sunday, despite the fact I knew it would be pretty bad. Why? It was to be a group gathering of the Fuse Music Department. Unfortunately, most of the music department isn't half as interesting and good to talk to in the real world! And, as you'd expect, the music didn't make the experience all that more pleasant. In fact, it was quite possibly the worst gig I have EVER been to. It was just band after band of identical teeny metal crap. One band even dared to attempt the Jeff Buckley version of Halleluia! The little pre-pubescent worm onstage even sat on a monitor to give his wailing more…gravitas, and stuck the mic right up by the monitor causing the worst case of feedback I've ever heard. Fuckin' idiot! I spent most of my time there standing upstairs, staring with disdain down at the churning mass of worms below. Remind me never to go to Blast again unless I'm actually playing at it.
After Blast, which (and I know I'm going to sound melodramatic here) I can really only describe as an insult to music really, I went home, ate and venture back into town to attend my second gig of the day - Rodrigo y Gabriella at An Crúiscín Lán, with Alan and Mike and two of their friends whose names escape me now. When the doors were finally thrown open, the lads were lucky enough to get a table right up the front. And I mean, RIGHT up the front. I was a foot from this stage, in fact, at times I had my foot resting on the stage. Needless to say, it was one of the best seats in the house.
At about 9.30, "the magicians" as their support act had called them took to the small stage and began. I'm beginning to realise how pointless it is to write about the experience of seeing them, because really, simple words can't even come close to describing it. I was never really sure which one of them to watch, it was like a game of tennis, wathcing Rodrigo, then Gabriella, then back to Rodrigo again. I got totally lost in the music, head down, moving it to the beat, tapping out what I thought the rhythm was (though if it could be heard, I'm sure I was WAY out!). And they were so tight, it was incredible, it was as if they were psychic, moving in perfect synchronicity! Their bits of Metallica renditions almost gave me a new appreciation for the kings of metal…almost. I may seem like I'm gushing here, but really, I could find no real fault in their performance whatsoever. They moved effortlessly from flamenco/Spanish style, to Metallica, to the White Stripes and even a spot of the Chili's! They knew exactly how to work us, getting the audience to clap along, click their fingers, etc. In the end, they fully deserved their standing ovation. Now THAT (you Blast bastards) is how music is meant to be played!
After the gig, Gabriella sidled up to me. Now let me tell you, Gabriella is one HOT lady. She may not be the most gorgeous woman you'll ever see, but she has the whole Latino dark passionate look down to a fine and irresistible art. They way she'd strum and beat that guitar, those sultry eyes and arched eyebrows…mmmmmmm. But I digress again, she sidled up to me, guitar in hand and stood in real close, looking up at me.
"I know you," she said in that Mexican accent, "you're the one they call Afro, right?"
"Why yes I am," I replied coolly, "I really enjoyed you're show. Do you think you could sign my ticket?" I was holding a marker and my ticket in my hands.
She gave me one of those looks and said "I'll sign it, but you must come back to our hotel with me so we can make mad, passionate and heated Mexican love. I want you Afro."
I smiled (as you would), but softly said "I'm sorry Gabriella, I already have a girlfriend that I love, and while I'm sure she'd understand if I ran away with you, I'd miss her terribly"*
She grabbed the marker and ticket from me, clearly disappointed and somewhat angered. "Very well," she said, "Have it your way, she is a lucky lucky girl. But I will ask again the next time I return, and it does not do well to refuse Gabriella twice!" With that, she handed me back the autographed ticket, turned on her red stiletto-ed heel and walked away, turning one last time to gaze longingly at me, before disappearing into the dark of the Cork night. I swear that REALLY happened! **
*Oh yeah, should get some brownie points for that! ;)
**May not have happened!
1 Comments:
Suck up!! You giant big headed suck up!
I told you not to go to BLAST! you should have stayed in my house and had the best day ever, but noooooooo..
sheesh
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