The Good Weekend...(2)

LIVE.

Ed’s a bit of a hippie these days but I still think he’s hot. And even though we cringed inside when he asked us to come together and spread a psychic love energy, [This is Africa Ed (you reminded usJ, Jo-han-nesburg ) you have to be careful how you spread that love] the guitar riff into Lakini’s Juice was a saving grace, the electric spasm reaching into the gut and ribbing it, unlike anything else.

Some of the worth-mentionings on the setlist (which, according to Ed of Hotness, was thrown out and Live played by gut, mood and heart. The band spanned their discography and served up some true classics): All Over You, Dolphin’s Cry, Lightning Crashes, They Stood Up For Love, Run To The Water, Beauty Of Grey, Shit Towne, I Alone, Iris, Selling The Drama.

The lyrics that stuck like sticky stuff into the next morning:
“The stillness in your eyes convinces me that I don’t know a thing”
“We spend all of our lives, going out of our minds, looking back to our births, forward to our demise”

(Electric Spaghetti goes cryptic)…They ended with Dance With You. I knew before we even got there, before the rain turned us to sponge and dampened our tickets, that I would think of him when that played. A favourite, he knew the lyrics, and in that febrile merger of voices, I wondered if his was there too. After Insignificant, it was difficult to listen to Live without slipping into fugues of karmic-questioning. But you make a certain peace by revisiting that which pulled you to pieces, and while I can not say that the dents have been completely panelbeated, the engine’s still good.

Queen Lestat thought the last song was a schmaltzy way to end. True to her vampiric mien, those paranormal eyes pulled me out of a crowd of thousands. Well, sure, there weren’t that many brownish people around, but all she had to go on was a blogger profile pic, impressive QL.

My favourite Live anecdote to tell is the one on how I got the lyrics to Dolphins Cry a little wrong. I would swear that Ed was saying “These crazy folks arouse me, you wrap your legs around me,” until I saw what was written on the album inset, “This crazy fog surrounds me, you wrap your legs around me”. Now, I’m not unusually gutter-minded, but I think my version fits the context better, even though Ed may not willingly admit to having a kinky edge.

Now, the quality of a concert is directly proportional to the hoarseness of throat the next day. I still sound like a tween whose voice just broke, and I believe that’s a damn good indication that Ed and the boys rocked.