BoBo

March 1, 2010

Shivered my way downtown last night, to the Bobo Gallery, for an evening of new local bands. The first had a Central European feel, with a fantastic male vocalist and, I think, enormous possibilities. The violinist didn’t realize he was playing out of tune, but with all the exuberance round about, it didn’t make much difference. The second act was a girl with an amplified violin. I wasn’t sure how she made the sound she was making, but the result was a sort of Sino-Appalachian feel that, solidified, could be commanding. I’d gone for the sake of the third band, Poor Mouth, because Casey and MM are playing in it. The out-of-tune violinist appeared there, too, as a sort of bossy auteur whose presence was the one flaw of the night. But Poor Mouth, when it finally got through whatever preparations it was making behind the wall of backs, was rough in all the best ways, passionate, sweet, cacophonous, sloppy, vital, wonderful. I was so proud looking at Casey, and MM on his unexpected, transported vocals. I’m used to thinking all types of love are pretty much the same at root; what I felt last night was tilted towards pride, and the most joyful perception of the triumph of one’s friends. I walked out into the night smiling. Poor Mouth is very like the Pogues, though without the ruinousness that haunted them, undamaged, and, if possible, more eclectic. Bobo itself was a revelation. The too-big-for-the-room crowd was there to consume art, in the most serious, supportive, and discriminating manner. We ancients are tempted to lament that those behind us have no feel for culture, but that would have been an idiotic prejudice; it would have been difficult to find a room more intent on the building of culture, more respectful of art and artists, more determined to enjoy what was laid before them. I felt honored to be among them. Many of my students were there, and I counted each one a victory. I left wondering how to add that energy to my own work, how to have people standing at the edge of the stage, laughing, eyes gleaming, waiting for me to begin.