I'm sitting on the fourth floor of the university library/National Library, almost on the level of the roof tops of the buildings opposite. I'm seated by an open window, trying to catch the small draft that comes through - it's no longer stifling hot outside, but the library doesn't have a particularly good air-conditioning system, so it's still too warm inside. Still, it's not so bad. The library is in the city centre, so I'm enjoying the sounds of the city through the window. I've taken my shoes off and from time to time get up to get a particular book in the Classics shelf nearby. The library floors seem to be spotless.
It's back to work after the three days of celebration at the Flow festival. Of course, some of the artists performing were more trendy cool than authentically touching but a lot of it was new and interesting - the very reason I go every year. Some fascinating, interesting, just plain fun or mindblowing music:
Grey Park. I'd never heard of them before but their concert at the experimental music stage was quite something else: a continuous, slowly-moving, massive wall of sound, with tones, colours and textures woven in. It's not something I'd listen to on a daily basis but as an experience it was fascinating.
Hey. This really was their name. They created wonderful soundscapes with an electric guitar, cello, violin, percussion and a synth.
Girls. An American lo-fi pop band with a rather eventful personal history (birth in a cult, prescription drug addiction etc). On cd they are kind of Beach Bousy, lovely pop but live they completely rocked. A fantastic gig. And at the end of the gig they threw the roses they had on stage to - you guessed it - girls in the audience. Very sweet!
Ballake Sissoko. The world's second most known player of the traditional Malian instrument kora (related to a harp) after Toumani Diabate. I was looking forward to this since there are a few Malian artists I really like. In the end, though, I had to conclude that the kora is supremely beautiful but not very captivating. It all sounds the same in my ears. Well, my experience may also have been influenced by the fact that there were people around talking all through the concert. I don't understand why people come to a concert where the music is quiet and requires listening with concentration and then spend the entire time talking instead of listening.
Owen Pallett. This Canadian guy is a violin-electro wizard, who is most of the time on stage alone, playing his violin, but sounds like a string orchestra with the help of the backing tracks etc. that he used. A completely original sound. Unfortunately I had to leave after half an hour because the venue where the show was held, the old engine hall of the power plant, had a sauna-like temperature.
Caribou. They played a mind-blowing concert. A superbly danceable electro band but in concert they played all live: drums, bass, guitar, a synth. Completely incredible. The music was like fire; the beats like from the earth's core; the music like the earth's elements themselves. An astounding drummer. I can't believe the feeling their music gave me.
Caribou were the last band I saw, on sunday. There would have a couple more interesting names left, Marina and the Diamonds and The XX, but I decided to leave. One reason was that the queues to all the water spots and toilets were insane, but also I felt that anything after the concert I'd just experienced would be a comedown.
A thought about this: in trying to express the inexpressible of how music can make one feel, one is necessarily reduced to platitudes like 'incredible', 'mindblowing' or 'I can't believe how to the music made me feel.' These expressions do not properly DESCRIBE what the feeling was, they do not get to the core. That's the thing about music. The reaction to music is mainly about emotion - or should be mainly about emotion; if your only reaction is simply 'what an interesting guitar chord progression' (or similar) then I think something is wrong. The effect of music being about emotion also makes it personal in the extreme, which means the experience cannot be shared in its totality. I'm sure the majority of the audience in that concert was taken up by a shared emotion, of fervour or of joy perhaps, of being there as one among many, but if each person in the audience was to try to explain what they felt to someone who wasn't there, I'm sure they would find themselves lacking in words.
But: perhaps the feeling doesn't need to be explained, just felt.
