bjork!

so i went to see bjork, and it was...
well...

even before she walked on stage, there was a sense of reverence in the air.

we'd cheered and giggled at the neon-bubbles-adorned-with-red-flags that were the horn section/choir. we'd cheered (perhaps a little lacklusterly) at the men - one drummer and, what did she call them? electronists? digitalists? some weird new word... and we'd whooped for the serious keyboardist.

but when the man in black nodded off-stage urging her entrance, i felt it in every pore of my being: i was about to be in the immediate viscinity of true greatness.

bjork is even grander in person than in her wondrous videos and fabulously freakish photos. how can she be so many things at once? so large and so small.. she's a cute, tiny little being with gentle delicate features. like her hands - i was reminded of the e.e. cummings line: "nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands." but then, defying all tiny, was her voice, her titan voice. it seemed almost to drain and pain her at first, requiring vigorous vocal exercises between the first few songs.

in those moments, those desperate gasping breaks she took, she seemed like an orphan needing nurturing. did anyone else feel an urge to rush up and rock her gently, feeding her spoonfuls of honey? was anyone else shocked back into standstill when suddenly, she would smile (i was close enough to see her dervish dimples). i watched in glowing wonder as she would grin and flick her arm; even the most half-assed thrust would elicit a rush from the audience, entrancing us completely. i was reminded, again, of another line from that cummings poem: "in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me." she was suddenly no tiny orphan, but a giant, a goddess - and we were hers, hers alone. even the others on stage seemed closer to us than to her, straining to serve her, to make her smile, to make her proud. she stood alone in her aura of awe.

the music started slowly, with such sweet soft songs like Hunter and All is Full of Love and Pagan Poetry - the latter eliciting a spring of tears that slid along my smiling cheek. i was moved by the beauty, by the power, by the intensity. god, those notes, that music..

by the time they launched into the grandiose, sweeping Bachelorette (whose waves i swam with eyes closed, smiling brightly), i knew she had different plans for us. already my hips were swaying, and the poignant Hyperballad eased us from swaying hips into stomping feet. well.. i say "us" but sadly, not many people were dancing. not around me anyway, and i was only about 20 people back from Bjork!!! in fact, the uptight bitch next to me kept throwing me sidelong sneers everytime an energetic dance thrust would see my right arm gently brushing up against her left arm. (and understand, i was not dancing even remotely vigorously, but the odd sway would wrench itself from me, how could it be helped?? IT'S FUCKING BJORK, SISTER!! whatfuckingever.) she eventually sidled up to her boyfriend, leaving me space to sway in peace. poor thing..

it wasn't until the last song (pre-encore), Pluto, when Bjork fucking lost it on stage in a tangle of freakish thrusts and twists and flails, that most people let themselves sink into the music, letting it coarse through their limbs and souls.

it's interesting. the very hot canadian "electrivist/whatever" kept trying to get the vancouver audience to.. i dunno, wake up! we were EXCESSIVELY mellow. ok sure, maybe it was the stellar bc bud, but i don't think so. it wasn't quite that..

whatever it was - you would have thought people weren't really "feeling it." until the encore. there were no lulls, there was no shyness, no quietness - it started when she left and raged until she returned, a roar that was energetic, loud, even a smidge frenzied. we wanted more more more!

and she gave us more - but only just a little bit more. bjork, ever the petulant goddess, tossed us a few crumbs before trotting back to her retreat, clutching her already half-enjoyed glass of red wine.

yes, it seems she had better things to attend to... but it's ok, we'll happily forgive her any transgression.

fishbone and eddy

so a few weeks ago i went to see Fishbone. i'm not a huge fan, in that i don't own any of their albums, but that did not stop me from loving them. do you know Fishbone? they're... they're incredible. how to describe their music? in my scrawled scribbles from the night, i wrote "they're like the lovechild of Frank Zappa and Motorhead - though i probably say that because the image of Zappa's stache melding with Lemmy's chops pleases me greatly."

in truth, Fishbone is... well... people might be tempted to harken to Rage Against the Machine or Red Hot Chili Peppers, and they'd be right though they'd be reversing the influence flow. Fishbone's more primordial than them bands. they're like Zappa and Sabbath and Sun Ra and Slayer lovingly nurtured in Parliament Funk's ferocious grip.

favourite moments of the night include my friend Jessica mouthing/acting out that charming date-rape-to-anal-rape-in-prison ditty, with the lyric "that's when things got out of control!" i watched in wide-smiled glee as she did what we all do in our bathrooms or living rooms: she *became* the star of a rock video. it was brilliant!

i was also deeply impressed by the fact that, although there were.. what.. 60 souls in the place when we showed up, Fishbone were rocking as though there were thousands. no half-way for these motherfuckers, they were full-out, full-on, and i fully respect and admire them for that.

it was not my first time seeing Fishbone. i will sport always a dented scar on my knee from the last time i saw them. that was... 6 years ago? 5? i was with my punker-lover Eddy Kolasinski. sweet Eddy... we dropped acid and drank rivers of hooch and stumbled through the Commodore and stumbled through the streets of Vancouver, pulverized by Fishbone funk. it was a beautiful night.

i was remembering that night, watching Fishbone strut their stuff once again. i was not with Eddy, nor did i search the crowd in hopes to see him. not that i wouldn't have loved to see him - though romantic love didn't work out for us, i'll always love him. (i'll always smile when i remember how Eddy felt guilty for being heterosexual, worrying our boy/girl relationship was inherently patriarchal. ah, sweet Eddy!) but last summer, Eddy died of heat exhaustion. i knew always he was a tender and fragile soul, but who knew a 30-something year-old man could die of heat exhaustion in Edmonton? and yet, it seems fitting.

last december, i found myself sitting at a calgary table, sharing drinks with one of Eddy's heroes, Ford Pier. Ford remembered Eddy fondly, and we raised a glass to him.

hey Eddy, Fishbone was great. sorry you couldn't be there...

walking through the downtown eastside

white-bearded skinny man stands on street corner, clutching a small yellow feather with his left hand, brandishing a blue pack of matches with his right hand. he waves the matches around slowly. he stares fixedly, murmuring or chanting words my headphones block out.

i nod slowly as i walk by.

we're all fighting off the demons as best we can, brother.

i do it through tireless self-analysis.
(though it may in fact be my biggest, nastiest, fiercest demon.)