I find it somewhat strange that people don't look at the performers anymore.
I walk into this bar, converted from a car garage, to come see my lady friend play her geetar and howl over the African drum; 'twas a nice even mix, although my friend's voice should've been mixed louder.
I've sat down in a booth with aquaintances, sipping my S. Adams and keeping a keen eye on the lady singer, who sang so well I kept thinking about how her microphone should be louder. I look to my left, and there's a man, a young man, head stooped over in a beanie on his seat, face illuminated by a Blackberry; I look to my right, and a woman is smiling at me; I turn around, and I see my lady-friend-guitar-player; and I ask myself, and others not aloud, "Are you not anamored with the music? This woman singing? This djembe rumbling the floor?"
Has music just become a background noise to you? A mere pulse in your juvenile pursuits? Where have days gone, when music held water to your emotions? Has music become mere riffs, or crescendos into compressed bass drops and vocal samples? To you? Has it?
She sang a song so sweet, and had but two on their feet; but the hum of the jock is too hard to beat; nobody listens, might as well repeat; slip a little sauce in these guys with their peats; bring a little more smile to the street...a little more smile to the street...
Next time you are entertained, shake your ass and have no shame; appreciate the troubadour who lit your flame, and dance the stars 'till light; it is he with the bamboo flute that shake you out yo' suit, so come on in and close the door behind ya
Evening for my star