Soup Nights #1
The air is crisp as you make your way down the stairs to the basement – through heavy doors you’re heading into a wormhole that’ll take you places even Rick and Morty haven’t been yet. And though you’re alone, your heart warms in a place like this - caught between an old Western film and the twenties. And a tiny disco ball twinkles an intimate juxtaposition; it’s shrouded in fog and purple light and you’d think, if you were a time traveller it would remind you of home. So you find a nice concrete platform to place yourself on and contemplate the time until they start.
The slouchy Red Sweater strolled up to the stage with easy nonchalance and the casual confidence of a something that seemed so solid it could never betray you. She sat down in cool, detached silence, began a very melancholic note, and melted into the rest of the stage. She was weaving organic buckwheat vocals into gardens in the back yard and riding bikes in the rain, and it started a chain in my mind of wonder and admiration as she enchanted the speakers with a style that was reminiscent of the lyrics on the Arctic Monkey’s first album but in that moment also seemed so new. It enveloped my entire being for what felt like only a second and then she was done and it was gone, and I was disappointed with the images of Pokémon at high fashion opening parties that followed.
The sounds that filled the longest part of the night were made by two mousey intellects with skinny legs and dead straight bangs, they cast electronic spells with mystery circuits and incredible bells of reason and voiceless rhymes for ages along open space. They dawned a realization on me as they split the floors with thundering bass rattles and then droned on through infinite possibilities like Indiana Jones in the jungle without a map. It reminded me of other songs in similar genres who’s names and authors I can’t remember but the effect remains and it’s that an entire world is created so you lose yourself in it and then events make their ways in and out, often before you’ve even noticed them. It’s like a striking reflection of life itself and I thought it’s so funny that something so Human could be made with something so not. At any rate they were very good and they mesmerized the entire room without a single word at all, and I was in awe of how they could even make that.
And then when it’s done you take your last breath in the presence of the people you’ve adored, so far there’s not much food for thought that you’ve happened upon but certainly you’ve come out with an emotional connection and new appreciation for this kind of practice. Now, in contrast, everything seems a little bland like your usual slice of plain whole meal bread with no toppings on it, and you take the quiet bus back to Wasley Street and then you go to bed.
The End
