Wittgenstein must have given up on
philosophy when he came up with the not-so-profound comment, “I don’t know why we are here, but I’m
pretty sure that it is not in order to enjoy ourselves.” Perhaps he was
just having a bad day. If so, I can understand his sentiment. I experienced one
this week, when Windows endowed our PCs with an update, the benefits of which were
obscure, but the inconveniences of which were all too apparent. After hours of
failed log-ins, password re-sets and niggling personalised-setting tweaks, I restored
my good humour by going out for a walk in the real world. The weather was temptingly
bright and, besides, I had a more enjoyable mission in mind.
I was on my way to the Northern
Quarter, to visit a music venue that has a monster hi-fi system which is
available for the use of customers. My route was via the normally quiet backstreets
off the main square, but that day there was a sudden invasion of police. They
came in vans, cars, on bicycles and on foot. By their actions, I could tell
that they were in hot pursuit of a felon, so I watched them rush around, intrigued
to see what a felon looked like. However, the action soon fizzled out and they
all dispersed. For a moment, though, it was like watching a film or TV drama –
until the illusion was shattered by a couple of un-fit looking coppers lumbering
past, wheezing and clueless about where to go. The ones on cycles looked fitter
but equally uncertain. At that point, I realised it might be some time – if ever
– before I witnessed the denouement, so I resumed my journey, disappointed.
Music venues abound in the Northern
Quarter, but this one allows the punter (me) to take control, not only of the
sound-system but also of the playlist. My mission was to set up an evening of
jazz for the entertainment of enthusiasts, tentative enthusiasts and friends
who are unlikely ever to become enthusiasts but who might enjoy the craic
anyway. Live performances are best but, since the artists on my playlist are long
deceased, I am relying on their recordings. Not that there is a shortage of live
music in the NQ – I was recently at a performance by Trish Clowes, saxophonist
and leader of an excellent band. The venue, the legendary Band On The Wall,
lacks only one thing, and that is proper cider, so I stopped off on the way at
the Crown & Kettle for a pint of invigorating farmhouse dry. A band was
playing there too and, when Trish took a break after the first set, I nipped
back there for a refresher, to find that yet another band had taken the stage. Trish
finished playing early enough for me to call in at Matt & Phred’s, where a
young trio were blowing enthusiastically and, afterwards, even as I walked home,
I passed three more venues where bands were still playing. Live music thrives,
in the NQ at least.
I didn’t get to see the live band at
the next event, a wedding, to which I was invited only because of my partner’s
acquaintance with the bride. It was a traditional affair, which meant I had to endure
a religious service. I suspect that vicars can sense my resentment: I’m sure that
this one sneered at me as I passed him on the way out – just like the last one
did. Since I had never met the bride, the groom, or any of their guests, I was
prepared to work hard at socialising, but we were offered a lift to the
reception venue by Phil and Sue who, being similarly isolated, readily became
our best friends for the duration of our hosts’ generous refreshments and, through
the rosy glow of bonhomie, I reflected on poor old Wittgenstein and hoped that
he had not too many bad days.
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