However, it isn't famed for its live music....
Thus, it was with some surprise that when we entered into the hostelry known as the Kazbah last eve' - with nary a Moor in sight - we did meet a vocal song-smith who goes by the name of Andrew Bate. A song-smith not only vocal, but local - in the sense he is from Par.
And his singing was certainly above par, quite far above, in fact. As was much of the singing far above the normal octavian range. For truth be told, oft times his harmonies could have emanated from the silken chords of a Venetian eunuch.
The young man not only wove an audible magic but he did so with a presence and elan that could have sustained the finest halls er faces did smile. But the notion of smile....well....therein... my dear reader... lays the nub of the dub.
Life and love are so very rare, in this universe of ours. And youth so short and old so sick. And all those lives that never had the chance to live, and all those cut so quick. And then those who live long and lonely and lost and loosing...
....that when I see a handsome singer/songwriter/catamite (Mum, I'm not gay!), who looks in good health, clearly has talent, I assume good prospect.... and he seems to have the attentions of an attractive female human...
... I ponder... as I listen... to this melody and it's moribund majesty... why oh why... don't you smile... why do you cry when you sing, but instead of tears you cry words... why... oh why... so glum?
I spoke to him after the gig and he wasn't glum, in fact he seemed quite a happy chappy.
Note to self - the performance is not always the actuality.
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