Day- January 18th, 1997 - Boston, Ma., EEUU.
The square in front of the library, the ticketmonster sales place,
unfortunately necessary until that moment in my situation, I get there and
mumble:
- Hy, 1 tickket for Tori Amos show.
- Sold out - he replies.
- Vine desde argentina a este viaje malparido y no puedo ver a tori????
[I came from argentina in this fuckin' trip and I can't see Tori????]
- Excuse me - he says
- Nothing, thanks. Me cago en todos.
[Nothing, thanks. Fuck you all]
Day- January 23rd, Penn Station, NY, EEUU.
- Hey isn't this the madison??
- Yes.
- Tori will play here, I'm gonna go see if I can get a ticket.
- Hy, 1 tickket for Tori Amos show.
- How much??? - he replies.
- . . .
- How much??? - re-reply.
- 1
- $ 46
- Thanks.
. . .
hotel, shower, putting on the 10 kilos of clothes, and walk down the 8th heading south.
Let me get this straight, since the "How Much?", my being was a few centimeters high above the ground, and I was still that way. . .
MSG, people and more people, waiting for the gates to open.
Interesting place the theatre of the MSG, walking down meters and search and find sector 300, we are there.
Sit down and try not to land, after the unconditional wait, lights out and a bold guy with a guitar stands out??!! Where's Tori??? Thank god it's not her, but a talented guy when he has to use the guitar, with his songs in between country, pop and funk, it was more than interesting. The following day I found out his name's Willy Porter, someother day I'll tell you that story.
After about 30/45 minutes the guy walks away. . .
Lights ON, and a new wait for everybody. . .
From that moment on I will not assure that everything I write it'll be the truth, I can assure it is what my mind has beautifully been looking after.
A piano and a clavichord, a triangle of images between psychedelic and new age, screams, claps, uncontrollable declarations of love, and a BEING that starts touching certain keys bringing a deadly silence.
It's a woman and she only ask us to enter a world, in which she, wether she wants it or not, is the queen.
Melodies one after another, only interrupted by a stupid lens with an eye behind it, trying to capture seconds of that wonderful paradise. It impress me the way people acts, only howls when silence wants to take over some space. During each song, a sacred respect toward HER.
SHE and her IS, in perfect harmony, telling and being successful at being heard and for some, maybe, understood.
Everything is harmony, lights, video, sounds and everything comes to an extreme when SHE decides it's time, Cornflake Girl, SHE dances, SHE IS, the rest indescribable.
Everything lands, well almost everything, for a while. Less than a while. Like not to perturb brains yet, Talula . . . I believe the place got to 20 centimeters above the sea level.
Ok, SHE wants to say something, further away, Me and a Gun . . . lens with steam. . . astonished brain . . . scary silence . . . state . . . weird? beautiful . . .
EVERYTHING continues, the souls return, another extreme and personally special, a man is beside HER, a bold guy that I find very familiar, and yes, it was him, Maynard James Keenan, the voice of Tool, I remember the yelling of an argentinian guy at that moment, together they tried to raise my stupid body, and they accomplished it, as my soul was screaming to come closer.
After some more whips, y remember being at one McDonalds, alone, in part, trying to digest NOT my food. I think it's worth the time to clear that, that fact according to my plane tickets, lasted 15 days.
I left lots of things untold, but. . .
darío