Saturday, March 12, 2011

The PFM Concert
K's best friend Massimo does not always pick up his telefonino as he is a very private tipo who is Dalai Lama-esque in his peaceful quietness. So when he invited K last minute to a concert he had an extra ticket to, K did an un-K like thing and agreed to go out of the house on a Friday night without T or F, thus missing an important bootlegged episode of Survivor and her early bird special bed time.

F was convinced that the concert, which was to take place in the beautiful Teatro Giglio and seats about 500, was probably going to be opera or classical -- and for a hip hop girl like K  that is alright, but not super exciting.  Nope, nothing doing. It was an eighties band called PFM. I don't know what these guys looked like in the eighties, but last night its electric guitar player looked like Chevy Chase with long flowing white edge hair doing an SNL skit about aging eighties band members;  the lead singer was a dead ringer for Steven Spielberg in desperate need of a haircut; and the french guy on bass resembled an escapee from the Grateful Dead. They were wheezing inbetween sets and I thought the lead guy was going to jig himself off the stage at two different points. The show had three encore numbers, much to my dismay, as well as audience participation on the choruses. The big nerd on my other side had a pretty good voice, but whenever he stamped his foot, which was every other second, my chair shook. There were psychedelic videos for several numbers with images of Venice flooding, a boy who wanted to be a bird and an old man who had cumbersome man-made wings jumping off a cliff.

Teatro Giglio
I spent the last hour preparing myself for the question of whether I had enjoyed myself; and because the lead singer wore his drum sticks, bird whistles, and tambourines on his grandpa jeans I answered in very slow Italian: "I enjoyed myself so much that I am going to wear drumsticks in my pants tomorrow." This made our group smile and so mission accomplished.

I'm so tired today. So tired.

PFM 1972

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