|Andrew Eldritch hiding in a cloud of smoke
||[Nov. 16th, 2011|11:33 pm]
Spinning 45 Ballerina
I've only heard bad things about Sisters of Mercy concerts over the last couple of years, but when "they" came to my one horse town it wasn't like I wasn't going. I believed wholeheartedly in peoples recounts of live shows where Edritch shat all over his fans just because he could. This one man show is after all born out of his contrary genius, and maybe, for the small group of people who are goths, he is a sort of Bob Dylan, and allowed. (That infamous time I was hugged by Nick Cave it was the same. An acquaintance of mine berated him for not doing Stagger Lee, so for his second show he killed it, and not in a good way.)
Goths are dicks, and even though that has caused me a lot of pain in my personal life, I am a lot more forgiving of it's stars. (Lets just define it as a trait of the genre.)
Last night Edritch presented me with nothing short of a hit-parade, and I got caught up in a frenzy of emotion bringing me back to the time long ago when I actively listened to all the greats of the 80s. I was embarrassed by my cat calls, embarrassed by the smile I couldn't keep from my face, so big it slit my visage in half (...embarassed that I just wrote the word visage). Also I felt bad about the ambivalence I have towards Sisters. My taste in music often tends to be a little bit safe, and my fav's are oft "in good taste".
Edritch I always viewed as a sort of necessary evil, singing ballads of love lost, and doing rock n roll in the decade when it died.
Last night I had an epiphany of just how great this band is, so great I can't even be a snob about it. I came with zero expectation, and left ashamed I could ever doubt this total blim blam of a band (and man).