Friday night, we went to a concert, because we are cool like that. (No really. The opening act guy looked RIGHT at my half of the room and said we were cool. Even though I didn’t know what a “merc table” was. But, and this is the important thing, I figured it out) (Merchandise table)
We went to see Rodrigo y Gabriela (with Bonus DVD), and they are amazing. You need to buy their album, if you haven’t already. They play acoustic guitars that are plugged in (if you have questions, call our friend Mark, who was there, and he can explain it), but that doesn’t really begin to describe it. Their style is called “Flamenco nuevo” which, if you are like me means nothing to you. Their fingers fly over the guitar strings; their hands beat out intricate rhythms on the guitar bodies; their music is fantastic. It’s like nothing I’ve heard before, so I can’t really compare it to anything.
We heard them on the radio, and liked them so much we looked them up and bought the CD. It comes with a little concert DVD, so we already had an idea of how incredibly fast their fingers are, but live was so much better.
It was my first American concert in a very long time, with the exception of some summer outdoor concerts that were very casual. We arrived before the doors opened and stood in a very orderly line. There were no seats inside, which was new, (even in Africa, there was seating) so we had to stand. We were early enough that we were in the second line of people. However, I am somewhat height challenged, so even with that I was worried about being able to see.
The opening act was okay, not great, but he gave me time to take stock of the people around me. Directly in front of me, a frisky lesbian couple rubbed each other’s necks and backs, constantly, urgently. Next to them, a 60ish hippy couple, he with long grey ponytail and she in jeans, Felt the music very Deeply, in their Souls. They grooved in time, together, to the beat; they were Profoundly Moved and shook their heads Intently.
After the opening act, nothing happened for a long time. My feet began to ache; I felt the mermaid in the fairy tale who gets legs but with every step it feels like she’s walking on knives. I subtly tried to shake some feeling back into them and discovered a little ledge, about three inches high, attached to the barrier in front. I was able to gradually insinuate myself onto this ledge, along with the frisky couple, the hippy couple, and others who were squeezed alongside them. This helped a lot, especially as I was a bit down from the frisky couple, who had the habit of putting their noses together while I glared at the backs of their heads which completely cut off my view. (I just didn’t get it. Am I not romantic? This music was not slow mushy music, nor was it Deeply Felt music. It was fun, dance music)
Finally, what seemed like hours later, Rodrigo y Gabriela took the stage. They played a great concert. Everybody got into it. I had managed a spot on the far side of the frisky couple, where I could basically see (except when they moved, which they did a lot).
Suddenly, a woman who will henceforth be known as Drunk Kitty Cat arrived. I call her this because a. she was drunk and b. she was wearing black sequinned cat ears in her long blonde hair. I don’t know why. Possibly she doesn’t either.
She had already pushed her way past Mark and Christie and landed right near me. Now, here is the thing. I could have moved over. There was a tiny bit of room. But that would have put me right back where I couldn’t see again. And I saw no reason why I should move. So I used this little trick I learned from all those hours at Mauritel, standing in line to pay my bill. I put my elbow out, just the tiniest bit, so that it dug into her ribs.
“I’m here!” she announced, swaying.
“I’m here too,” I told her.
She swayed into me. I stood quietly with that elbow out, just a little bit. After a few minutes, she disappeared back from whence she came.
“Amateur,” I thought. Any Mauritanian worth his or her salt could have easily gotten me to move. That’s the thing these days–I see people trying things, trying to stop me from cutting in a long line of cars, for example, or getting drunk at a concert and trying to squeeze me out of my rightful place, and I almost feel sorry for them. I have lived in Africa. I know how to use my elbows, how to drive on a sidewalk, and many other useful skills. I didn’t realize how useful my new and improved personality would be here in the States, but it just goes to show we never know what skills we’ll end up needing in life.
Here are Rodrigo y Gabriela in concert. Pay attention to the blurriness which is her hand. Isn’t she amazing?
16 comments
February 12, 2008 at 5:32 am
Rebecca
Wow! They’re astonishing.
“I almost feel sorry for them. I have lived in Africa. I know how to use my elbows, how to drive on a sidewalk, and many other useful skills.”
Wonderful, wonderful post.
February 12, 2008 at 5:41 am
suburbancorrespondent
Ha! And why weren’t there seats? Any concert I’ve been to has had seats…
February 12, 2008 at 8:10 am
gretchen from lifenut
They are fantastically talented!
I can completely picture Drunk Kitty Cat. There are dozens at any given concert. They usually do that zoned out hippie Grateful Dead arm dance, no matter what kind of music they’re listening to.
February 12, 2008 at 9:22 am
Kelly @ Love Well
Is it wrong that I’m craving chips and salsa right now? That was AWESOME!
And your comments about using your wild-and-crazy African skills in domesticated American life cracked me up. I sometimes have similar thoughts about having lived in Southern California.
“Umm, you want to try to out-drive me, Minnesota Nice person? I don’t think so!”
February 12, 2008 at 11:57 am
Veronica Mitchell
I once went on a Christmas shopping trip to Chicago with an friend who spent her childhood in Indonesia. The crowds were unbelievable, but I would blink and she would be 30 feet ahead of me. No shopper was too big, no little old lady too frail. She was unstoppable.
February 12, 2008 at 12:32 pm
Kit
Wow – amazing …and all I kept thinking was that her hands must get so sore and what about repetitive strain syndrome… it’s sad to have no soul!
February 12, 2008 at 9:54 pm
jean
I love them. I’m betting she has to put ice on her wrist every night.
You should live in NY, with your street sense it would be interesting to watch.
February 13, 2008 at 12:40 am
meredith
You should do well in the lines at french ski lifts 🙂
February 13, 2008 at 12:45 am
Caffienated Cowgirl
I am still laughing about the Drunk Kitty Cat…bravo for your moves!
February 13, 2008 at 5:31 am
cce
Thanks for the music find…I can’t stay up late enough for Letterman so the head’s up on the music scene is much appreciated. And good for you for going to a live performance. As I age, I get more crowd-a-phobic. Can’t do frisky couple and hippie duo and Kitty Cat Girl all in the same place.
February 13, 2008 at 10:07 am
LIB
Very evocative–as usual, I felt like I was right there.
Those musicians are VERY cool! It reminds me of the musician in
“Life Aquatic”. (Although his style is much more staid.)
Using the skills you learned in Africa is great.
February 13, 2008 at 1:41 pm
Jolyn
Thank you for getting my heart rate up as THEY ARE AWESOME! and had me and my preschoolers dancing and clapping and bopping around the room like the cool people we are. It has also inspired me to finally start calling around this new city of ours to find the guitar lessons I have been promising my 12-yr-old…
My experience during my brief stint in Tanzania (oh so many moons ago) was that they have quite a bit of a different take on “personal space” than we do? Africans in general, yes? And having just come from Italy, where my GERMAN friend complained about their rudeness (how’s THAT for irony!) I have more than once, here in Ohio, had to remind myself to bring out my inner Kansan and PLAY NICE. Because that’s how they play it here, for real.
And now I’m going to write a post on my own blog.
February 13, 2008 at 8:59 pm
Carrie
I JUST bought their CD this week! I am excited to listen to it, and now I want to go to a concert!
In Africa news, are you keeping up with Rocks in My Dryer? Because she is in Uganda, blogging with Compassion International. And there is a picture of a. . .”toilet” that I think will make you chuckle, Mrs. Nomad! 🙂
Plus Mr. Emmons, another one of the Compassion bloggers on the trip, is from my church. I love reading about people’s African experiences! (I love experiencing it myself even more, though!)
February 14, 2008 at 7:23 am
Cheryl
Hey! I loved reading you while you were in Africa, then I was gone for a couple of months and totally missed that you moved- where are you now? Unfortunately, the only skills I have learned that I can take back to the states after living abroad are sneering at inferior cheese and wine. (We’re in France). 🙂
February 21, 2008 at 12:01 pm
Pieces
(Note to self: Beware Elizabeth’s elbows.) That video is AMAZING. I am sending the link to The Loved right now–I think we need to own the CD.
February 20, 2009 at 2:57 pm
Complicated Jet « Planet Nomad
[…] on how much Donn and I are working on being able to elbow our way into crowds and cut people off. We’re really improving, and I’m proud of us for being able to shed our inhibitions, our […]