It’s Sunday afternoon. Magi’s gone out shopping with her sister so it’s just Krishna writing today. I’m just catching up on emails and doing some channel surfing.
Magi’s parents have one of these massive televisions where everyone looks close to lifesize. I just turned the channel to HBO and am now watching a Bjork concert and this is what has inspired me to write this afternoon.
This concert took place on September 5th, 2001 in NYC at a tiny chapel on the upper west side right on the edge of Central Park. The crowd consisted of only 100 fans. You can’t imagine a more intimate setting.
Magi and I can because we were there.
When an edited version of the concert aired on HBO a few months later we had to wait to watch it later on a video because we didn't have HBO. We watched it on our crummy little television immediately after we got the tape. But now, to see it on this big television, with this stereo sound, and this quality of colour, well, it feels like we're there again. It is especially exciting to see Magi and myself on the big screen as the cameras show close-ups of the audience. We were in one of the first rows.
I wrote a review of the show for a friend’s zine. Here’s a much-edited tidbit:
The last time I was this enchanted was the day I climbed up the side of a waterfall on the southeast coast of Iceland. It was March. The sky was painted blue- the shade of blue that pierces your eyes and makes you squint. The only sounds were the wind and the waterfall working in harmony with one another. The landscape was vast, smooth, and crisp(…)
A man approached one of the music boxes on the stage and turned its crank. It was long and squat and read “Porter”. As he walked away, the soft, clear plucking sounds of Aurora began churning out from the seemingly unnecessary speakers. A silence fell over the crowd (…)
We spent the next half-hour waiting and looking at the stage, smiling at the pigeons playing outside in the rose window above, staring up at the tall nave, and making mental notes of the odd range of instruments on stage: a harp, two Mac computers, two music boxes- the Porter and a taller, more typical one with long and winding glass icicles dripping off it’s sides, a large shallow tray with small white rocks, a banjo, a guitar, a bell, and a keyboard. Many more instruments, including a deck of cards, an accordian, and a cymbal would appear later. “The Truth Shall Set You Free” was carved in the white stone above the altar. We listened to conversations, had a few brief ones of our own, but mostly just sat there with our hearts racing (…)
The sixteen choir girls from Greenland entered. All were clad in red or white long satin dresses with beadwork. Some wore headpieces… they were all barefoot. Their glowing skin and smiles were enchanting and their faces reflected varying stages of confidence (...)
Moments later, Bjork walked in from the left. She tiptoed down the aisle. Her small body was wrapped in a swan made of black and blue sequins ending with a crinoline skirt. She was barefoot though she wore striped tights. The makeup painted up to her eyebrow was a rich peacock blue. Her clammy hands and wide eyes reflected what I interpreted as nervousness. It was one of the first times she would be playing her new songs in front of strangers (…)
The remainder of the show is somewhat of a blur. I remember precise, precious moments but cannot form them into a logical sequence. Such are feelings, wilting and flowering without control (…)
Bjork’s voice, one word, can draw out tears. It is so powerful and feels like she is capable of harnessing all the energy and strength in her body and releasing it through these sounds. She is St. Theresa in ecstasy. And I wondered how she was able to stand after the release without wavering, collapsing into the side of the harp, through its strings (…)
If you’re still with me, thanks. I am completely wrapped up in that night, forgive me. But my emotions are about more than this one concert, it is all the memories of living in NYC and having opportunities to be a part of things like this. It makes me really miss the vibrant energy of NYC and our time there.
It also reminds me that six days later, NYC was hit by two airplanes.
And then, everything was different.
I guess that’s a big part of what makes that night so incredibly honest, innocent, and special.
cheers to NYC,
k~*