Sensory overload

I have been rather fortunate to be able to indulge in a little artistic appreciation lately. It started with yet another visit to the acoustically-magnificent-if-slightly-weird-looking The Sage sometime last month for a performance by Wynton Marsalis and his band from the Lincoln Jazz Centre with my usual partner-in-crime, Jo.

I don’t get to watch jazz performances that often, but I didn’t want to miss the opportunity to catch someone who’s regarded by many as the best jazz musician of this generation. The hype was there – multiple Grammy awards for both jazz and classical performances, along with the fact that he’s the only Jazz musician to have been awarded the Pulitzer prize for music.

The only thing that I was wary about was the atmosphere – in my mind, jazz should be performed in an intimate setting, not a concert hall. But kudos to the man – his interaction with the audience and his amazing performance (not to mention those of the rest of the band), along with the acoustics that allowed you to hear every scratch of the drumsticks made us feel that we were closed-in within a jazz bar.

The band played a number of Duke Ellington’s pieces (Marsalis is notorious for being a traditionalist who shuns more modern jazz pieces, except his own of course) and introduced us to concept of train sounds in jazz, which I had hitherto not realised. The second half was filled with his own compositions, which were notably influenced by the various subject matters that he brought to our attention. And we decided to finish the night and enjoy the rare occurrence of beautiful weather by randomly snapping pics of the quayside.

Second bit involved me going up to Edin this past weekend to experience the ambiance of The Fringe with my ol buddy Radzi. The first night was a case of walking around aimlessly and enjoying the sights and sounds that were on offer. I had wanted to catch one of my favourite comedians, Frankie Boyle, but unfortunately his show was sold out so we chose 4 other shows to watch instead the next day, none of which disappointed.

Our afternoon had a rather oriental twist to it – we had Japanese food for lunch followed by our first show, called Legend of the Sword. It was posed as a play with rather amusing manga-istic tendencies, but really it was a showcase of wonderfully choreographed samurai sword-fighting (by the folks who brought us Kill Bill apparently) that was performed to the background of amazing (and I mean AMAZING) Taiko drums. The hot samurai-sword-wielding Japanese chick in a white suit helped as well.

The second show was rather slapstick in nature – I had my reservations, but the rather endearing Japanese duo that made up Gamarjobat had Radzi and me laughing so much that we had tears in our eyes. It was all done via a mixture of mime and sketches, and once again, it was the wonderful interaction with the crowd that made all the difference.

Fuerzabruta was probably one of the weirdest shit I’ve ever seen, but also one of the most amazing spectacles I have bore witness to. When I read that the creators of Fuerzabruta described it as ‘Fuerzabruta doesn’t have a purpose, it just is’ I thought we were heading for a rather pretentious and over-hyped show.

But it is very difficult to explain the show in words, as words can’t possibly portray the experience of being there. All your senses are assaulted – and it starts off by the audience being led into a darkened room bathed with gentle red light and left to ponder on what’s coming next. Suddenly, a guy in a white suit enters the arena, walking on a gigantic threadmill. He starts running...until he’s at full pace, before he suddenly gets shot in the chest and I find myself covered with his ‘blood’. This leads on to more wondrous performances – e.g. girls running along the side of the walls in the guise of fairies and performers (reminiscent of the nymphs of mythology) swimming and splashing playfully above us before coming down just low enough for us to touch them through the clear plastic. Even the sound of surf on the beach and the pitter-patter of rain plays their role. Oh, and somewhere in the middle, we find ourselves in the middle of a huge rave. My favourite bit involves a man and a woman clinging onto what can only be described as a ship’s sail, spinning and whirling around before it all comes down. Go to the website, it's definitely worth checking out.

What did it try to portray? I thought there was a bit of existentialism involved, Radzi thought it was to do with hedonistic pursuits. According to the creators, it’s anything you want it to be. Can’t really make up my mind, and to be honest, I haven’t really put much thought into it and don’t particularly care at the moment. Just enjoyed the spectacle of it all – the sheer brilliance of the person who not only thought of the concept but made it reality as well as the talents and commitment of the performers involved (e.g. falling smack on your face). I’m quite grateful that the video shots of the n95 is of DVD quality. Unfortunately, the fact that I’m on dial-up has prevented me from uploading them.

After pigging out on some spicy steamboat, we headed for our last show of the day – a stand-up by Rick Shapiro. This was more adult in nature, with jokes about the current American political climate to incest to why God must be a women (she made the testicles easily accessible – and hence easy to kick – but made the clitoris difficult to find). Not to everyone’s taste, but enjoyable nonetheless. The only downside was probably the fact that some of the jokes would’ve made more sense to a more Americanised audience.

Chilling with Radzi was great as usual, and this time round we even indulged in a little of Castro’s finest. Next stop will be Glasgow next week for a performance by a jazz drummer turned rockstar, along with his bald friend and a couple of new friends. And after Pumpkins, I might just get some work done.