Hotel Very Quite Acceptable, Rome.
The Crimbus left the Verona venue around 12.30, refueled, then hit the road to Rome at 01.45. We arrived in this hotel at 10.00.
The sun is shining, the sky is blue. Backtracking to the Verona gig --
Sunday evening in Verona, June 22nd:
The performance space was a Roman theatre, which was part of a museum site. Stunning. The sound was strong, despite a DB limit, the audience were in the main well-dressed, polite & generous. Astonishing new discoveries in the Clams Crimsonique department. Perhaps a contributory factor was the heat. The players were wilting and there were mechanical consequences of this. In One Time the tuning between Ade & myself shifted,the guitars' also wilting, so I had to follow him as well as possible by wibbling the whammy bar. My meters were reading OK! but my ears were twitching.
There were several flashes. But most noticeable of the evening's intrusions was one exceptional character who had come to suck: he of The Vampiric Gaze, a member of the Non-Contributory Kind. Red trousers, red t-shirt, black beard & moustache. He sat in the second row, directly in my sightline, and close to the front of stage, binoculars constantly staring towards Adrian & myself. He only put them down between pieces, although he wasn't applauding. I felt & sensed his intent: he was having an eye-feed.
It is particularly hard to achieve integrity in any endeavour (that is, to maintain the qualitative wholeness of any undertaking). One exceptionally clueless pillock is able to do damage well above their personal capacity. He of the Rapacious Eyes did his job in Verona.
You only need one prick in a balloon.
One person pisses in the well, a village drinks bad water.
And, quite apart from all this, to stare to this degree is a discourteous act and extremely rude.
The Crims had an aftershow dinner in a superb restaurant immediately opposite the Roman theatro. As we got back on the Crimbus to set off, he of the Vampiric Gaze was standing at the front of the bus.
This is a particular type, and I have met him in various bodies in many towns over several decades. Life will disappoint him. It will not give him what he deserves, the world will not recognise the merits he knows himself to possess. That he makes no attempt to contribute to the lives of others escapes him: they are there to provide him with what he wants. He fails to recognize the connection between what the world gives to him and the contribution he makes to the life of the community.
In a Guitar Craft context, there are situations that (in the main) arise naturally from the conditions of the courses, where we are inescapably drawn to see ourselves. This can be very hard. In much of what passes for our "normal life" we are able, for various reasons, to escape seeing what we are; and are unlikely, and/or unwilling, to accept information to this effect from others. As my father's partner once said, to the estate agent who has handled most of my property transactions since 1980, you can't tell a shit they're a shit.
Seeing this man at the front of the Crimbus, it was hard not to feel compassion: this is how he lives his life, and how he lives his life reflects the man he is. But last night, having endured his destructive attention throughout the performance, compassion was not quite on hold but rather in second place to a righteous anger that he had spoiled the performance.
Meanwhile, one more for the list of --
Several Reasons Why I Am Not Suited For The Life Of Public Performer: The Vampiric Jerk.
22.58 To bed after the last diary entry & a gentle collapse from tiredness. Then a walk around the area, a giving-up of trying to get online with AOL, and another walk around the corner for a little to eat before returning to practise.
Event of the day: completion has taken place on the new-old premises for Fripp World HQ. This new incarnation of FWHQ has moved from Wimborne, Dorset to Bredonborough, Worcestershire. The translation is very, very close.
"Expect nothing."
