We went to my cousin’s music
final in Boston, but calling it that isn’t right. This wasn’t a test,
it was a performance.
Crate sized speakers littered
the front of the stage, while piano, drums, and assorted other instruments
littered the stage. How many were performing tonight? It was Tucker’s night,
but 3 performers joined him, switching instruments every now and then during
lulls in a 10 minute song, occasionally fingering the strings of a guitar with
one hand while the other slid the bow over a bass clamped to a stand. It was an
odd sight, and an even odder sound.
Moments would pass where you
could swear you’d heard the same incoherent vocals accompanied by flute, and
then drums would signal the beginning of chaos. Pianos, synthesizers, sax and
bass, they all collided in a musical pattern so long you could barely recognize
the repeat, each instrument on a different cycle. It wasn’t bad, there was
talent there, but it was nothing I would seek out on my own.
Afterwards Tucker heard
compliments and praise. When my turn came I told him congratulations, he was
done. I told him he was lucky to have a following. I said he was very talented,
but I did not tell him I liked it. I think he knew what I meant. He shook my
hand, in gratitude, I think. I wasn’t going to say it, unless I meant it.
