lie on my table four objects of this past December I have not had time keep in the box of memories: a ticket to a concert, a plane ticket to America, the backbone of an Ethiopian runner in a race for Christmas and a ticket to access an empty football field.
start with the concert ticket. It was earlier this month, in the middle of a long bridge, with half-empty city. Plucking action at nine-thirty in the evening. I descended slowly Roger de Flor, seeking Almogàvers street, wanting to be late. In a certain sense of ridiculous because I went to a concert just noise without compassion, just fit for ears that were not young. Had the opportunity to keep my ticket in your pocket and go home, read the next day chronicled in the paper, memorize it and release it to the person who had given me the entrance, Sgt Hayden, when I ask for mine but this is not done.
Almogàvers On the street, even though we were in the middle of a long bridge, with half-empty city, although the landscape of industrial buildings illuminated by four lamps just not invited to hang out, had a long tail of public access to Razzmatazz. Predominated rimmed glasses, colored stockings and leggings , platform shoes, dresses lady at the knee and long sleeves, the denim shirts worn ... It was lucky to leave the beret at home, despite the cold.
I asked a member of the organization if they had to wait turn a ticket purchased days earlier in the ServiCaixa. I was passed a second tail, which was uncrowded, to access the innards of the premises. For some time he was not on that site. Had not changed much since then. I do.
I was moving around the room trying to locate people of my generation. I also do not cost much. The public was not as young as I had imagined. I stood next to a couple of a similar age to mine. I took with Christian resignation. At half past nine, the scene is cast in black and a woman appeared, just intuited by her ponytail under a minimal overhead light blue, to spin plates and perform "The Message" in your mixer. That was slow. I thought I had the wrong room (that evening were two concerts in Razzamatazz), and I'm clueless nature.
But after ten minutes a curtain plunged from the roof to conceal the stage. When the rose again, there was Maya Arulpragasam (MIA) jumping on the tables with its noise and fury, with its original rhythm based on the electronic grime, rap, hip-hop and metal riff repeated until exhaustion. The girl remained mixer instead. Was added to the scene a drummer and two dancers dressed in military machine gun that kept the public. On the wall began to appear hypnotic images of war.
time ago that I like MIA, but his music has nothing to do with me, because I used antidepressant. I like to be the daughter of a Tamil revolutionary, called Arular, as their first album. I like to live on a farm without water or electricity in Sri Lanka. And then in a tree house in India. I like to learn English on the radio in the yards of their neighbors in Mitcham (Great Britain), after listening walls. I like that, now, has not forgotten those roots.
That night at Razzmatazz presented his latest album: Maya. Performed "Born Free" and agreed to play hits from their previous jobs as "XXXO" "Bucky Done Gun" and "Boyz" (when he invited thirty people to dance with her on the stage). Then came "Lovalot", "Story To Be Told" or "Teqkilla." People urged me to go to the bar or sink. I ended up dragged beside a tall, big nose and straight hair. Raised his fist in the air as if he'd score a goal, while continuing with its trunk the repetitive rhythm of the music. Flipped it, shaking his head like those dogs that were formerly put on the back window of cars. She had the St. Vitus dance, and I passed it. I had not take years off me. That night I remembered that I can do other things with my body than walking.
Razzamatazz I left before midnight. His legs were so tired of trying to move something like that thing called dancing . However, walk back into my neighborhood. Unintentionally, I followed this girl a good time straight hair and big nose, to the intersection of Marina Casp. Probably had a certain sense of ridicule because he had gone alone to a concert of noise without compassion, just fit for ears that were not young. Probably, now he was happy because it had taken years off. We walked in single file (keeping the regulatory safety distance to avoid collisions), saying he nodded, outlining the waist, bringing his fist from time to time, as if we had scored a goal. Singing softly: "I fight the ones That fight me / I really love a lot / I really love a lot."
PD: Where's Waldo?
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