concerts

“OK, here’s the plan for the rest of the night. We’re gonna play the next song, then we’re gonna play the fake last song. Then I’m gonna introduce the other guys on the stage, with their Christian name, their nickname, possibly their Zodiac sign, their place of birth, and their surname. Then we’re gonna turn our backs to you and act like we’re off stage for a few moments. Then we’re gonna turn around, pretend to be surprised, and play some more music and then the show will end.”

Richard Thompson’s one of the most depressing lyricists in the world. He’s also one of the artists I admire the most for his skill. In retrospect, a bit of emotion on my part could have been expected, since Susan and I saw him five days after we found out about the Benoit tragedy (original). I teared up hard during the first song. You’ve got a viewpoint character singing about bad relationships, you’ve got guitar playing that echoes through the minor keys and embraces atonal harmony as a metaphor for futile rage, and somewhere in there Thompson’s voice has become just about as effective an instrument as his guitar. I think it was cathartic: despite what the world’s lost, life goes on, and talent goes on, and there’s aught yet to admire. ...