A couple of days of music in Cambridge....(Special report from Peter M)
Thursday night, one of the
guys in my painting class had given me a spare ticket to the Boston
Philharmonic, a not-the-BSO-but-well-regarded classical operation. Sanders
Theatre at Harvard is a beautiful space, a tribute to the wealth of 19th century
Boston. The maestro, Benjamin Zander, is a real showboat. He gave long talks
before each piece, with live demos by the orchestra, who are sitting there
waiting to play....I bet they love that. The program is all Brahms, the First
Piano Concerto and the Fourth Symphony. Great stuff. The Fourth is a real
war-horse, full of chunks you've heard a thousand times, but still
powerful.
After the concert heading back to my car I realize the woman
walking right behind me with her friends is tonight's soloist. With long dark
hair and high black boots she looks just like the other fashionable young women
out in the Cambridge evening ...young, beautiful and talented.
Redbones
for a beer. Hello! Still in the third quarter and it's 10 to 10! The Jets look
bad, bumble to a field goal. But Tebow is worse. He's terrible! Three and out
again. Then the 5-minute drill. Unbelievable. Nobody touches him on that last 20
yard run.
A slightly wild-eyed but not dangerous looking guy sits next to
me. Quickly I learn he is 47, can't see why they are playing football on
Thursday night, is bi-polar, gets a check from the state, and has $4. Orders a
Narry and hands over the four bucks. He's pretty excited when Dez gives him a
16-ounce can plus $1.30 change. I know he's thinking, if these guys sitting at
the bar drinking $6 drafts could help me out a little, I could get a second
16-ouncer. He starts an animated conversation with the two deaf guys sitting on
his other side. A couple of minutes earlier they had signed to him that they
were deaf, but he must have forgotten already. As I'm leaving after the
satisfying Jets loss, he suggests a contribution, but I pass.
Friday
night picking up Bob at Logan at 9:45. Old guys awake at that late hour is a
music opportunity. Atwoods in Cambridge for Tim Gearan Band. It's Friday Night
for sure. The place is packed, but no Tim Gearan in the Band. Another local
guitar hero, Dennis Brennan is subbing. (I think we saw him with Sarah Borges at
the Lizard Lounge a few years back.) He's cranking rock and roll, a couple of
Smuttynoses revive Bob after a long plane ride, and it's going good. Then the
fight starts. Right in front of the stage, bodies flying, yelling, bouncers
(burly guys in standard issue black leather bouncer jackets over hoodies) rush
in. The signature moment is the guy in the white t shirt, suspenders, neck
tattoo and bulging veins screaming at somebody across the room as he's pushed
out the back door, "This ain't Davis Square, motherfucker!" Gotta be some
history there....and probably not the end of the story.
The band comes
back on, the dancers are little more subdued, and the night is back on track
after the excitement. Time to head for the suburbs. I'll catch this show again
some time. Tim Gearan should be back as usual, and Blondie says she's here every
Friday night.
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