New York Music Experiences
M.I.A. Sri Lankan goddess. Will be MIA when I grow up. Diplomats like her too. Isn’t that politically incorrect?
Johnossi. Two men, much noise. Me likes.
The Essex Green. Mushroom Head, Elaine and the blind keyboard player didn’t really do it for me.
Shout Out Louds. Hot singer. Hot music. Hot hot heat?
Drunkenness and delirium. Dance dance dance.
Rosa Passos. Five people, some slightly younger than the average crowd, others a lot younger (me!), dressing fancy for the Blue Note. Brazilian jazz and Bossanova. Rosa is a beauty. Rosa smiles like a tipsy grandma, only warmer and with honesty. And she sings like your lover, she moves her hips like your mum when she remembers how much she loves your dad, and then she brings you roses. Five people fall in love and have no qualms about the money spent. Qualms exist, however, about the mojitos after.
Fires of Rome. He wants to be gay, he wants to be Justin Hawkins, but fails in both attempts.
Thomas Dybdahl. After months of separation, I find myself surrounded by Norwegians again. For good reason. Although the bastard went ahead and got married, and even though he claimed he was from Stavanger and bad-mouthed our actual hometown, I feel nothing but love for him.
Grand National. I am PROUD of my British heritage. I need to say “Up yours, mate!” and “Wanker” more.
