Mozart, nightmares, babies.

We have temporary internet at the moment which is why we are writing littlish. We borrow the magic internet waves from our landlord downstairs and perch on the kitchen stools at the high metal counter which is shaped like a spaceship. The only problem is that my wrists start to freeze on the cold shiny metal as I type. Maybe it is a RSI inducing setup.

I keep imagining I see my black cat Tinkerbell in the corner of my eye, but it’s a hat, or a scarf, or Adam. Last night I had a horrible dream about having to walk with her in my arms from place to place seeing if someone wanted her, and then being told I would have to put her down. I woke up in an anxious sweat at 3am, and then remembered with huge relief that my friend Juliet has her and all is well and right now Juliet’s daughter is probably confiding precious teenage secrets into Tinkerbell’s soft furry ears.

For the last three days, I have had these kinds of moving nightmares, the one before last was our friends waving us goodbye, Adam and I were in a large canoe type ship, and we started off and then sank and because we were heavily strapped in, we both drowned. In the dream everything went very very black, blacker than black for a few moments. Our ever practical and resourceful friends Bibi and Igor pulled us out of the water, and they somehow brought us back to life, (they are the couple that introduced us and have in fact saved us on many occasions, so this is partly true, especially on the last day of moving when they swept through our apartment like a cleaning whirlwind and finished off the jobs that we no longer had the heart for, and then drove us to the airport, just in time for us to catch our plane, which as you know by now never in fact left, but there it is)

You would think that being saved was a happy ending for the dream, but oh no, not in my twisted brain. Instead we both lay on the concrete floor of the dock consumed with horror feelings about how it felt to drown. Typical.

Of course, when you make a positive action in life, your head will try to manufacture fears to overwhelm you. This little setback comes after an incredibly productive week where I’ve been writing songs, practicing loads and met some nice folks at the local coffee shop, mostly consisting of old timey fellas who know everything about everything. This guy in particular was very nice.

http://www.loucarbone.com/

He creates these warm, neo cubist figurative paintings on a rather large scale. The figures are large and laughing, pounds of flesh and fancy.   

The old guys know all the music places here, and I suspect most of the musicians hang out in the cafe anyway. It has very good coffee. Mention what you want to do and suddenly you are surrounded by the old fellies and inundated with addresses and dates of gigs and venues, and I met the woman who is in charge of the arts and culture scene in Hoboken and she was very nice and enthusiastic which is good when it is the first thing on a Saturday morning, and it’s cold outside.  

Last night we went to see Mozart’s Requiem Mass performed by the New York City Master Chorale. We wrapped ourselves up against the Autumn mist that has now descended upon the town and walked four blocks down to the very ornate Our Lady of Grace Church at 4th and Willow. Inside the huge German Gothic church, the high arched ceilings are painted blue with hundreds of golden stars. The little girl behind us gasped and said “It’s just like Hogwarts!”

2006 marks the official 250th birthday of Mozart, the Requiem was his last piece, and many stories circulate about it. A mysterious stranger commissioned Mozart to write a Requiem Mass - a prayer for the salvation of the souls of the departed – and that during the writing of this funeral piece, Mozart grew gravely ill of rheumatic fever and died before completing it. He started to realise that he was writing his own funeral mass, his health, which had never been good, deteriorated. It is now suspected that a Count commissioned the piece and wanted to pass it off as his own work, that maybe Mozart was compliant in this and perhaps paid more in order to keep the secret.

But some think that he was commissioned by an agent of the otherworld.

Mozart’s life was fraught with difficulty, his overbearing father denied him a normal childhood by pushing him as a child genius and then later he played out his hatred of authority figures by rebelling against his employer, the Prince Archbishop of Salzburg. Self sabotage ensured his position in life remained thwarted. If you know the Requiem Mass it is difficult to imagine a more terrifying sound as the voices beg to be rescued from the Eternal Fire. It is the music of a man tormented by his own darkness and self loathing. 

If you feel like enjoying a bit of self loathing of your own, or if you have never experienced self loathing, you can try it here. http://www.ftrain.com/archive_ftraintwo_27.html

The performance was for a community peace gathering, various local groups spoke, quoting texts from Walt Whitman and W.H. Auden amongst others. We watched a very small baby in the pew in front merge in and out of sleep whilst the choir sang the terrifying and beautiful requiem, and finally he slept deeply, his tiny hand clutching his grandmothers finger, his little mouth in a soft smile, as the audience clapped. We applauded for this tiny baby. Well done little fella, sleep right through and dream of angel’s voices. The angels on Earth were singing right there in that church.    

And well done, to our friend Susie’s sister, for giving birth to a little girl, Ruby Rose at 8:50 pm on Saturday night, 4th November.

- Tiger   

 I’ve moved my previous blog about games and films over to here, if you are vaguely interested you can read them.