I bought this postcard in Korea of a painting of a young Buddha, sitting on the peak of a cliff above the sea, in the moment just after the sun goes down, and he catches a shooting star across the sky.
You know I once heard that at a certain moment of a perfect sunset, you can witness a green flash across the sky. This is one of these bits of wisdom that I might have heard in a dream.
Something fantastic and wonderful — a small motel near the sea on the East Coast of Korea. The ocean at night — the white crests still visible. A small road along the ocean — a tall, barbwire-capped fence running the length of it — the barbwired South Korean coast, which keeps the North out. Night is over. The brilliant sun glittering and scattering over the rough surface of the ocean.
I’ve been lonely. I saved up all the things I would say to the next one, and then the next one came, and I said all those things I was saving up, and then I wasn’t anymore. But now I’m juggling the promise of happiness with the threat to my freedom.
Some music doesn’t let itself be listened to. It takes the listener over. It spaces me out, and my mind drifts into places it hasn’t been, the cobwebs of the mind get cleared, it cleanses the brain, it washes over you.
These are just a few of the things that crossed my mind tonight, entranced by the concert of Sigur Ros, a quartet from Iceland, who played Massey Hall in Toronto.
The Sigur Ros singer tends to not sing in English or Icelandic. Just these warbled, angelic phrasings.
Earlier this year, I found a lot of pleasure in listening to Sigur Ros, while reading a book that I think was called Chaos & Light.
I love walking in the open air, when you feel a cool breeze, and you get that sensation of breathing through your eyelids. Tonight, the air conditioner came on in the auditorium, and I felt that cool, breathy feeling in my eye lids.
The lighting was brilliant. Conjured up all kinds of effects. The guitarist’s arms were all red, and this idea caught in my brain. I imagined music on another planet. Alien lifeforms forming a band. A giant blob on the stage with a dozen limbs that could break into smaller components, which could then scatter to the different instruments. One blob playing a symphony with a million limbs.
Sigur Ros make music for that meltdown that so rarely occurs. That moment of ecstacy … Something that bewilders the senses. It’s music that refuses to be remembered, pulls you to deeply into the moment.