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08/24/2019
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Sittin' on the dock at the bay...
Yesterday I was in the Elbphilharmonie. And since yesterday I realize: The Heeley stays! He's an evergreen, albeit in a slightly different sense. But this requires the whole story.
Well, I'll start at the beginning: I'm not a hippie, and I don't know any real hippies. I'm too young to be here and I grew up on the wrong continent. I grew up in a melting pot of both punks and hippie reminiscences. If you will. And I had sympathies for both sides. I liked patchouli back then. Rose was less common. But I also liked the sometimes very different scent of different roses in gardens.
Also in terms of music I carry the melting pot of my story within me. I grew up with classical music, Flower-Power-Music, Punk, Neue Deutsche Welle and Progressive Rock. Later techno and rap. You might think I lack clear positioning, but that would be a mistake. My taste is versatile, widely spread, but by no means indiscriminate. In each of these genres there are groups, composers and pieces that I don't like. In order to inspire me, two main things are important:
First of all, there must be something in it that I find extraordinary. That can be something more interesting or something extraordinarily beautiful sounding.
Secondly, I need internal traceability. By that I mean that I have to get a feeling of meaning.
Both are of course highly subjective.
It's the same with perfume. With perfume, however, the beauty factor is even more important for me and with perfume I'm far more choosy.
Now to last night. The concert of the Aarhus Symfoniorkester & Bell Orchestre at the Elbphilharmonie. It was the first time I'd ever been there in the great hall. What scent should I wear? It just happened to be Hippie Rose. I had already worn the scent during the day, as I had received it from Gschpusi in an exchange, wanted to test it, and suddenly I was pressed for time. So no more showering, quickly the black Marlene trousers, a white and cream blouse with pink roses suggested in watercolor style thrown over, a very thin, black short leather jacket with hood in addition, if it should be cool on the way back, in the bootees and then go. Perfume? Ah, Hippie Rose, quick spray again. Yes, the prelude is quite snappy, a bit sourly sharp, coarse and violent. I already know why I doubt I'll keep him. Then I notice: Forgot my cell phone. Too late to turn back. Shit!
As I get off the subway at Baumwall station, I hear music: a strange version of Sittin' on the dock of the bay, played by a street musician. I haven't heard the piece for ages, it's actually quite nice, although not in this version. But somehow it fits, at least we are at the water, really at the dock, and I'm wearing Hippie Rose that fits into the time of the song. Now I really smell of rose and a light, friendly patchouli, which brings back memories of another phase of life. I feel somehow like 14.
again In the Elbphilharmonie then stairs over stairs over stairs. The place in the penultimate row above. Floor 16.
It's about to start. I'm sweating from climbing stairs. Stravinsky's firebird. I knew it when I was 14. I'm coming down slowly. Complete silence in the hall. It begins tenderly and easily like from a magic world. I'm going in. I have never heard such an emotional, sensitively balanced, transparent and yet intense version of this work. It is the orchestra, the conductor, that are so great, but also the acoustics of the Elbphilharmonie. Obviously it is true: this hall is an acoustic masterpiece. My leather jacket smells of leather. Oh, no, it's not the jacket at all, it's Hippie Rose. Beautiful! I continue to enjoy.
There's a break after only 20 minutes. Sunset on floor 16. Panoramic view over the five main churches of Hamburg, the ruins of the old Nicolai church, the town hall and the television tower. Clear sky. I forgot my cell phone. No photo. Some pictures have to be saved in the head. It rings several times. Now comes the avant-garde: house music arranged for symphony orchestra.
My leather jacket patchouli rose doesn't feel like 14 anymore, more like 30. Still great! Too bad you can't dance in the seats. Two musicians from the Bell Orchestre do it rudimentarily - while playing.
When it's over, it's dark outside. The view from floor 16 a silhouette. Stairs down stairs down stairs down stairs. Then on the street and - the street musician is still playing. I have to laugh. It's Sittin' on the dock at the bay again. I still smell like a wonderfully finely balanced rose on the finest patchouli and leather with a little musk. Again I am 14.
Heeley's staying.
Well, I'll start at the beginning: I'm not a hippie, and I don't know any real hippies. I'm too young to be here and I grew up on the wrong continent. I grew up in a melting pot of both punks and hippie reminiscences. If you will. And I had sympathies for both sides. I liked patchouli back then. Rose was less common. But I also liked the sometimes very different scent of different roses in gardens.
Also in terms of music I carry the melting pot of my story within me. I grew up with classical music, Flower-Power-Music, Punk, Neue Deutsche Welle and Progressive Rock. Later techno and rap. You might think I lack clear positioning, but that would be a mistake. My taste is versatile, widely spread, but by no means indiscriminate. In each of these genres there are groups, composers and pieces that I don't like. In order to inspire me, two main things are important:
First of all, there must be something in it that I find extraordinary. That can be something more interesting or something extraordinarily beautiful sounding.
Secondly, I need internal traceability. By that I mean that I have to get a feeling of meaning.
Both are of course highly subjective.
It's the same with perfume. With perfume, however, the beauty factor is even more important for me and with perfume I'm far more choosy.
Now to last night. The concert of the Aarhus Symfoniorkester & Bell Orchestre at the Elbphilharmonie. It was the first time I'd ever been there in the great hall. What scent should I wear? It just happened to be Hippie Rose. I had already worn the scent during the day, as I had received it from Gschpusi in an exchange, wanted to test it, and suddenly I was pressed for time. So no more showering, quickly the black Marlene trousers, a white and cream blouse with pink roses suggested in watercolor style thrown over, a very thin, black short leather jacket with hood in addition, if it should be cool on the way back, in the bootees and then go. Perfume? Ah, Hippie Rose, quick spray again. Yes, the prelude is quite snappy, a bit sourly sharp, coarse and violent. I already know why I doubt I'll keep him. Then I notice: Forgot my cell phone. Too late to turn back. Shit!
As I get off the subway at Baumwall station, I hear music: a strange version of Sittin' on the dock of the bay, played by a street musician. I haven't heard the piece for ages, it's actually quite nice, although not in this version. But somehow it fits, at least we are at the water, really at the dock, and I'm wearing Hippie Rose that fits into the time of the song. Now I really smell of rose and a light, friendly patchouli, which brings back memories of another phase of life. I feel somehow like 14.
again In the Elbphilharmonie then stairs over stairs over stairs. The place in the penultimate row above. Floor 16.
It's about to start. I'm sweating from climbing stairs. Stravinsky's firebird. I knew it when I was 14. I'm coming down slowly. Complete silence in the hall. It begins tenderly and easily like from a magic world. I'm going in. I have never heard such an emotional, sensitively balanced, transparent and yet intense version of this work. It is the orchestra, the conductor, that are so great, but also the acoustics of the Elbphilharmonie. Obviously it is true: this hall is an acoustic masterpiece. My leather jacket smells of leather. Oh, no, it's not the jacket at all, it's Hippie Rose. Beautiful! I continue to enjoy.
There's a break after only 20 minutes. Sunset on floor 16. Panoramic view over the five main churches of Hamburg, the ruins of the old Nicolai church, the town hall and the television tower. Clear sky. I forgot my cell phone. No photo. Some pictures have to be saved in the head. It rings several times. Now comes the avant-garde: house music arranged for symphony orchestra.
My leather jacket patchouli rose doesn't feel like 14 anymore, more like 30. Still great! Too bad you can't dance in the seats. Two musicians from the Bell Orchestre do it rudimentarily - while playing.
When it's over, it's dark outside. The view from floor 16 a silhouette. Stairs down stairs down stairs down stairs. Then on the street and - the street musician is still playing. I have to laugh. It's Sittin' on the dock at the bay again. I still smell like a wonderfully finely balanced rose on the finest patchouli and leather with a little musk. Again I am 14.
Heeley's staying.
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