Spoilt For Sound

I got to see my favorite band a couple of weeks back. Now what you may know is, I’m from New Orleans. What you may not know is I currently live in London. London is loud. New Orleans is loud, but in a very different way.

They played at this place called the Garage.

garage

It’s a fairly large standing venue with a full bar in the back. I got there after dinner and quickly realized that, had I ‘queued’ (the London term for standing in line), I would have been pressed up against the stage. Because I hadn’t, I was at the far back of the room. This normally wouldn’t bother me, as the music is as loud and excellent everywhere in the venue, but for context, this this where I usually go to see them.
howlin-wolf-den
No line, and a venue almost as intimate as my bathroom.

It got me thinking about context, and comparison. I looked around at all these Londoners who’d paid quite a hefty sum (compared to NOLA prices) to come shake their tail feathers and not even see the band up close and personal with enough elbow room to boogie.
I was really shocked.

Last spring I was back in NOLA visiting and the big thing was gentrification. People moving into old parts of New Orleans, around the block from famous music clubs or performance venues and complaining about the noise.

Maybe I’m getting too old, too impatient with people’s shenanigans.
zerohero

Zero Tolerance Man

I just don’t get it. Why does the human animal so consitently and reliably show the least amount of gratitude for what is right in front of them?
Why can’t we just appreciate what we have and not yearn to change it?

Don’t get me wrong, I loved the concert in London, and I was grateful that they did a Europe tour so I could see them, but I was shocked at how easily and consistenly even I could take something so obvious for granted. Today, of course, everyone in the US is thinking of gratitude, but I’ll do you one better. I’m going to cogitate on, ruminate about, and wallow in appreciation. Not just for today either, but for the forseable future.

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