Friday, May 13, 2011


Instead of clay, I ended up eating dinner with the parents, as we wait for Baby and I'm thankful that my dad's doing better than he was, and I came back trying to figure out what to do with the rest of a cool night, not wanting to stay inside, not wanting to go see anybody's band, not wanting to do anything too epic.

So I drove down to the art walk in Tremont to wander and explore, because it's easier to walk alone in the dark when there's a lot of other people around, and I'm always up for gazing at beautiful things, but after being in awe of gorgeous illustrations, generic Cleveland skyline photos and overpriced jewelry just wasn't all that exciting, and the people-watching seems to get less and less arty and more, well, swanky, all the time. It was definitely date night or girls night out and there were hipster parents with little kids holding stuffed monkey animals and yuppie parents with kindergarteners in button-up shirts and ties eating at upscale bistros.

But one can't have an art district without affluent self-styled connoisseurs who can afford to eat at those restaurants and buy boutique clothes and paintings by local artists so they don't totally deserve the wrath of a younger self yelling "DIE YUPPIE SCUM" out my car window on one of my late night drives when they dashed out in front of my car and I freaked out. At least there's not enough of them to drive the rent up as the population of My Fair City plummets to new lows. I'm still not crazy about that whole culture at all, but as far as necessary evils go, they're not quite so bad.

The music was louder coming from all the bars and as I walked up the street I noticed a lot of people standing around by the ice cream shop and then saw a young guy playing the cello. As I got closer, even though I'm not classically trained, I could tell that he was really, really good.

There was a girl with him playing violin and they sounded incredible, as they worked through their repertoire. I wish I knew my composers better because I definitely heard Vivaldi and Bach but there were other things I recognized and couldn't remember who they were by.

I really didn't care about seeing everything else so I sat on the park bench feeling like I had my own private concert, watching the passerby either walk on to the next thrill or stop and listen in wonder, and dropped three dollars in the hat by his feet because it was the least I could do.

I suck at writing about music even though I do it a lot but it was just so perfect, with the cool night smelling of flowers, the beauty of the instruments meshing together perfectly and watching people play who truly enjoy what they're playing and are better than I could ever try to be and just everything about it was so perfect in part because I didn't expect it and it was something more than I could have ever hoped for.


Randal Graves said...

Thumbs up to good pop news. I think good music writing doesn't necessarily mean B-flats and Lydian modes saturating because then it's inching towards the pedantic, though for those in the know, 'tis good in moderation. We listen to tunes, and they touch us or not, and isn't that the reason we do in the first place? That's what you said here, the surrounding atmosphere and vibe of the whole evening (minus the poor little kids in ties, what's wrong with you upscalers), so more thumbs up, if I had more than two.

Christine said...

I can't imagine you yelling DIE YUPPIE SCUM. LOL.

Anonymous said...

capturing, and being captured by, a mood is what instrumental music (and writing about it) is about no?
have you read bird by bird?

Anonymous said...

thatgirl said...

poor kiddos also had 6-year-old-sized sport coats on too.

Never underestimate the heady brew of caffeine, punk rock, and unfocused youthful rage, especially that last one. There are way bigger problems and worse people in the world than rich people who patronize art galleries.

I've read 'bird by bird' and love her writing, especially 'traveling mercies' but since the Bush years I find her as judgmental in her own way as the fundies she rails against, if that makes sense. But that's just me.

Anonymous said...

yes that makes sense just thought it might help with your fear(?) of exposure/judgment with yer writing

thatgirl said...

It's not so much fear so much as I want it to be worth reading. Nothing I've done has reached that point yet.