A bit more energy this time. And things are brighter.
It occurs to me that three of my favorite live music experiences have not involved musicians at all.
One happened on a back-country camping trip during cicada season. The sun went down and they started. And they were loud--ridiculously loud, laugh-out-loud loud. And they were everywhere. You could hear the whole area--the sound came from across the dale, over the next hill, from right on top of you. And different trees and areas would pulse, and swell, and decline. And individual cicadas would go in and out of phase with each other. It was exuberant. Euphoric, even. Nearly hysterical.
Another was in New York, on top of one of those double-decker buses. We had just turned a corner into another huge glass canyon, and there was construction, and a surge of honking, and the bus's brakes shrieked and it was thrilling. It sounded composed.
Then, a long time ago, I was working in a shop next door to a three- story building that was undergoing asbestos remediation. This was in a semi-suburban setting, so it was pretty open. Anyway, the asbestos building had been surrounded by scaffolding and wrapped in thick contractor plastic. Like a Christo thing. And I closed my shop around 8:00 pm, and it was a windy March evening, and the wind just roared though the suspended plastic. Roared. Like a train. But ebbing and flowing. And it was three stories tall, and loud as you could want it to be.
Not that this has anything explicitly to do with the tracks here.