A License to Entertain

I step into a random car on line 5 (green) of the Madrid metro and lean against the opposite doors.  There are just three stops until I get off the train. All’s calm; people seem to be minding their own business, it’s a Saturday during lunchtime (aka 3pm.)

But then, at the next stop, a large man trundles into the car.  He’s pulling some kind of machine behind him.  We did not have to wait long to find out what it is, for as soon as the train starts moving again, he flips a switch and brings a microphone to his mouth.  Music starts.  He begins.  It’s a Bon Jovi song.

Yes, this guy is singing karaoke on the metro.

Needless to say, I don’t think that this “gentleman” went to Conde Duque cultural center this week, where Madrid is holding its first-ever auditions to determine who gets to busk in the downtown area.  There are only a certain number of spots available, and the judges are looking for quality with an idea to prevent excess noise.

Street musicians will not be allowed to play during siesta time (3-5pm.)

Not that this will prevent karaoke man from hopping from car to car in the metro.  But it may give authorities their own license to ask him, not to mention the plethora of accordion players with no training, to see a busking license and maybe give us a bit of rest.

According to El Pais, many of the musicians applying for licenses this week were talented people out of job in a down economy.  People who are looking for ways to make money.  So, with this in mind, if you hear something nice on the streets of Madrid, please give.  Better yet, listen and then give.

Humility

I’ve been thinking about humility lately.  Humbleness.  I didn’t bring my 25lb dictionary with me to Spain, so must make do with the Internet: the Oxford English dictionary (which itself made the leap into a solely virtual existence) says humility is “the quality of having a modest or low view of one's importance.”  According to my hardcover – not be carried around – Spanish English dictionary from Collins, the Spanish use “humildad” and the noun is appropriately feminine.  (Read that last bit as you’d like.) This definition does not give humility enough credit.  Perhaps a proper volume would delve into the positive aspects of having a “low view of one’s importance.”  There’s something in that which doesn't agree with me, but let’s leave that for now, because humility is a quality many of us strive towards.  And the funny thing about humility is that you don’t learn it just once.  Its lesson comes again and again in various forms.  It sneaks up on you just when you’ve forgotten there are things you still need to learn in life.

• I’ve actively sought it in yoga. You cannot push your body more than it will allow.  You must learn to work with it – this thing so incredibly connected to emotion and soul that sometimes it seems only a manifestation – and accept it as it is.  Yesterday, for example, I could do astavakrasana.  And today, for seemingly no reason, there is not a chance.

• I’ve learned humility from relationships. When I realized that I could not control everything, it took humbleness to accept defeat and recognize that I cannot fix everything, cannot make things better, cannot help someone else on the strength of my own sheer will. I will admit to anyone that that may be the hardest lesson I have learned so far in my otherwise charmed life.  I will also admit that I have deleted two sentences from this paragraph.

• And I learned it through horseback riding. Lessons that culminated when I crashed unexpectedly into a fence.  When everyone thought I was a ringer to win (or place well), my horse did not jump the fence I had pointed him toward.  We circled and then went over and the entire round was perfect but for this one small unexpected circle. (Okay, so it wasn’t a crash.)  I had learned enough to make even a refusal look purposeful.  But I will tell you something.  My horse did not refuse.  He simply did not see the fence until the last minute.  I had not prepared him.  Interestingly, these years later, I express the opposite of humility when I think of that round.  Because I could admit that it was my fault.  This thing that happened which was such a shame to everyone.  But when I exited the ring after that round and dismounted, when my legs were shaking and I wanted to cry so badly, I looked at the trainer who had the duty of dealing with this girl who did not perform as expected, I smiled at him and said, “Well, that didn’t go as planned.”

There are things more important than even our heartbreak.

Those are three very different examples of learning to be humble.  And I think I’m a better person for them.  Of course, I still long for the distinct pleasure of being 15, 16, 17 years old, when humility was not in my vocabulary.  And perhaps, being so pleased with living abroad has returned me to that state, because without warning, humility tapped me on the shoulder and disappeared before I had time to see her.  (Although, in truth, I did have a visit before.)

Most mornings I get my coffee to go from Paloma on the way to my office.  I don’t drink coffee before leaving the apartment which is not the smartest thing because Paloma has usually been working for hours by the time I run into her and she’s ready to talk.  Half the time I just say si, si, entiendo, gracias, even when I have no idea what’s being discussed.  Even when I’ve had a cup of coffee Spanish evades me.

Well, lately, I must have been responding in a more convincing manner because now she demands responses that imply I really do know what’s going on.  NAd here is the humility lesson because Paloma does not stop talking to me in Spanish when other customers enter her store and get in line behind me.  No.  No, no no.  She carries on with her Spanish conversation/lesson the same way she will carry on with the next person in line…as if we have all the time in the world.  And have I mentioned that the Spanish are not exactly quiet talkers?  So, essentially, everyone in line behind me waiting for their turn to buy a coffee and a croissant or whatever are also actively engaged in this conversation with the American – whether they like it or not.

Have I mentioned this is all happening without my having imbibed any coffee???

My first reaction was to get the hell out of there.  Fast.  Without coffee if necessary.  And never return.

But for some reason I went back and kept going back.  The coffee isn’t even that good.  And I talk to Paloma in my ridiculous Spanish which does not have any subjunctive whatsoever.  And I do the sorry, smile, nod, shrug my shoulder thing at the people behind me because I know I sound ridiculous.

But I also know it doesn’t matter.

Heroin, Jeff Tweedy, the Palace

To get the show, we couldn’t just walk in a straight shot.  Rather, the route went either to the left or the right and then back in again to the Escenario Puerta del Ángel.  I’m not sure what I was really expecting.  (Maybe a music venue?)  But what I got seemed to be constructed just for the summer in the middle of a lot in the middle of a park on the side of Madrid City Center.  The walk to the park will be lovely…eventually, when they start construction again and perhaps plant some vegetation. There were also people shooting heroin.  Which, you know, makes it exciting.  As I said, the park is a bit out of the way, and right at the entrance is what must be a halfway house of sorts.   A place to get clean needles or cleaned up, depending on your stage.  I must stress here, it wasn’t dangerous.  I wasn’t nervous in the least.  But, it was a strange entry into a Jeff Tweedy concert.  Or, maybe fitting.  Life isn’t always pretty.

That said, there are other reasons why going to shows in Spain is a funny experience.  I’m seeing bands that I would normally see in the States (red blood shoes, the leisure society, she & him) but the crowd is a bit different.  At Spanish shows, there is:

• More politeness
• Less crowding near the stage (ironic considering the personal space issue)
• More smoking
• Less excessive drinking
• More crowd banter

Not to mention the shows start ON TIME and there is rarely an opening band.  I missed a number of bands last winter because I just couldn’t believe they started at 9pm.  Trust me, international shows start within fifteen minutes of the time on your ticket.

But back to Jeff Tweedy.  The World Cup semifinals were happening that night, so the place was empty.  At the beer station (the largest cup option only seven euros, expensive for a Spaniard but cheap for an American), everyone had a radio in their ear and cheers would suddenly erupt.  Smart man that he is, Tweedy waited for the football game to be over before he came on stage and when he did, he obligingly listened to us sing the Spanish football chant to him. This occurred a few times that night.

Tweedy is among those at the top of my list.  I may never go see Wilco again because they had begun to bore me, but I will go to any Tweedy show.  That night, I had been hoping for a particular song.  For nothingsevergonnagetinmyway(again), delivered with a particular angst ridden ending.  But as soon as he started playing, I knew there was no chance, because the man is different.  He is older, he seems sober, he seems content.  But he can still play and sing and make me fall like very few can.  A true poet.  The lyrics rattle me.

The crowd knew most of the songs, but not all… For example, Passenger Side from AM was met with (polite) silence, except for, you know, that one guy.  But it seemed to make Tweedy love the crowd more. He asked us to marry him.  He asked us to marry his wife as well.  (Did I mention that the polite, non crowding crowd makes it easy to get as close as you’d like?) He responded to everything the crowd yelled at him.  He played a couple new songs.  He played a Bob Dylan song and made it seem both fresh and a homage.

I looked to my left and saw the back of the Royal Palace of Madrid lit up against the sky.  This is where I live.

And when it was over, the crowd sounded like the open-air stadium was full rather than two-thirds empty; and then we all dispersed quickly, picked up and swept into the wave of  Spain’s first win in a World Cup semifinals.

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Click here for other shows at Escenario Puerta del Ángel.