This is going to be a quick one I’m afraid, owing to the time of day at which I write. It’s nearly 2am, and there is an outdoor party happening yards away from my room. It’s likely affiliated with the jazz festival, with hundreds in attendance, but the not-jazz bass frequencies are penetrating my very soul.
Tonight was the second of our Jazz Festival appearances and the set list was printed the same as the first. Of the show’s first half, it can be said it was the same as last night’s, except the cheer for Lover Lover Lover would have gone on forever if Leonard hadn’t started the next song, Anthem.
In the second set, Waiting For the Miracle stood out as the bonus song. The crowd were perhaps a little livelier tonight, but not by much; as previously explained in the Brussels blog, the extra line inserted into The Partisan, ‘right with me here tonight’ garnered a cheer from the audience mid-song.
There was a (quite) minor hiccup in guitar world: the Telecaster with the demonic knob, in a sudden, developed a problem with a nut-slot. Owing to a stubborn particle, microscopic chip, or something else unknowable in the nut, the B string, when plucked open, sounded like a sitar. This is not altogether an uncommon occurrence but one hopes it will not happen during the show. However, due to the length of some Leonard Cohen songs, certain fixes are made logistically possible. A folded piece of 600-grit sandpaper passing through (do you see what I did there?) the slot yielded unfruitful results, but a few careful runs with 400-grit sorted the slot right out. I don’t think Mitch ever knew about it — if he did, it remained unmentioned.
The load-out took quite a while due to the truck dock accommodating only one truck at a time, and of course, there was the lift. Whenever a lift (elevator) is involved, the speed at which things can move from stage to truck is limited; the lift is usually the load-out’s weakest link. As I type, my weakest link is my patience with the shitty music propelled to my room from the once-idyllic space of green to which I’d grown accustomed. Oh well, off to Rome in 8 hours. It’s a hard aul’ life.