A breakdown. A fall – on the knees, on the face. The soul — inwardly — sobbing and shaking even as one sits prosaically, sheepishly, helplessly, motionless, arms hanging purposeless by one’s sides, lost for words to apologize for it, some way to appear rational.
The same now as it was then. 42 years. So much life. So much art. And yet here it is again, the same as it was then.
The pang of incongruity: the put on manliness of the singers; or their helpless homeliness — none of it matters, stands in any relation at all to what comes out of their mouths. And only serves to point out how transcendental the sound is, how otherworldly. How easy to believe that in that moment the artists are possessed, channeling some higher force.
How impossible to explain; or in any way share. Who could possibly understand what this does?
Oltre Mare 