Goodness. What an outstanding show. Peter Murphy's concert at Bricks on the west side of Salt Lake City was completely entertaining. It was performed at an oudoor venue with a capacity of around two thousand people. Marcus and I got there twenty minutes early and the line to enter was already stretched around the corner.
As we got in, we decided to head up to the railing/balcony above the main floor. A couple of nice people waved us over to a couple of seats night next to a barricade keeping people from the center stage lights fixed to the railing. The sweetest drop descended when security came up to remove the barricades and direct us to go to whatever seat we wanted. Marcus and I proceeded to center stage, about twenty feet from the microphone. What a seat.
Though the sound board operator was hopelessly deaf and technically challenged, setting up the amps facing the audience and consistantly setting the vocal levels under even the rhythm instrument, it was a fantastic concert. Peter Murphy is a consumate performer and a Mystic Poet, getting under the audience's skin despite a minimum of conversation with the audience other than in song and gesture. His lyrics are lucent, coming from a place impossible to describe other than in poem or transcendent verse.
His band was wonderful, playing instruments ranging from a truly incredible electrfied violin to turkish lute and a banjo played in a way I have never before heard. Absolutely delicious.
They did five encores, the last of which was done by Peter without the band while the crew was dismantling the stage after the lights came up. He came back out to tumnultuous applause and proceeded after a few instructions to the crew into a three minute a'cappella solo to top off the truly wonderful evening.
I loved every minute.
Oh yeah. My Toyota is still in the shop.
As we got in, we decided to head up to the railing/balcony above the main floor. A couple of nice people waved us over to a couple of seats night next to a barricade keeping people from the center stage lights fixed to the railing. The sweetest drop descended when security came up to remove the barricades and direct us to go to whatever seat we wanted. Marcus and I proceeded to center stage, about twenty feet from the microphone. What a seat.
Though the sound board operator was hopelessly deaf and technically challenged, setting up the amps facing the audience and consistantly setting the vocal levels under even the rhythm instrument, it was a fantastic concert. Peter Murphy is a consumate performer and a Mystic Poet, getting under the audience's skin despite a minimum of conversation with the audience other than in song and gesture. His lyrics are lucent, coming from a place impossible to describe other than in poem or transcendent verse.
His band was wonderful, playing instruments ranging from a truly incredible electrfied violin to turkish lute and a banjo played in a way I have never before heard. Absolutely delicious.
They did five encores, the last of which was done by Peter without the band while the crew was dismantling the stage after the lights came up. He came back out to tumnultuous applause and proceeded after a few instructions to the crew into a three minute a'cappella solo to top off the truly wonderful evening.
I loved every minute.
Oh yeah. My Toyota is still in the shop.