I watched my first music documentary tonight, which is Wim Wenders' The Soul of a Man. I was supposed to catch Mike Figgis' Red, White and Blues on Tues night, but I watched Gozu before that and it lasted 129 minutes, leaving me with barely 3 minutes for dinner inbetween. So. I fed my stomach instead of my ears, and skipped Red, White and Blues. This only made me more determined to catch The Soul of a Man just now.
The Soul of a Man focused on some relatively unknown blues musicians like Skip James (he's got a great lyric that goes: "I'll rather be the Devil than be that woman's man") and J.B. Lenoir (whose death was lamented in John Mayall's tribute song The Death of J.B. Lenoir). Watched this with a friend whom I didn't realise enjoys the blues, and who didn't have enough legroom for his long legs. The film wasn't as much a documentary as a means to introduce the songs and their covers by current acclaimed musicians, but it was good music.
After the screening, we went off for supper where I had my first ever cheese and mushroom prata. There, my friend turned into a human radio and tuned into music only he could hear in his head. "It's Eric Clapton now," he said, as he hummed the line "Before you accuse me". And then Crowded House hijacked his frequency, followed by Roy Orbinson. All the while I sat opposite him in my music-less state, listening to his second-hand relay of music only audible to him, and wondering why music wasn't broadcasting in my world.
It's rare and amusing for me to be the less musical one.
The Soul of a Man focused on some relatively unknown blues musicians like Skip James (he's got a great lyric that goes: "I'll rather be the Devil than be that woman's man") and J.B. Lenoir (whose death was lamented in John Mayall's tribute song The Death of J.B. Lenoir). Watched this with a friend whom I didn't realise enjoys the blues, and who didn't have enough legroom for his long legs. The film wasn't as much a documentary as a means to introduce the songs and their covers by current acclaimed musicians, but it was good music.
After the screening, we went off for supper where I had my first ever cheese and mushroom prata. There, my friend turned into a human radio and tuned into music only he could hear in his head. "It's Eric Clapton now," he said, as he hummed the line "Before you accuse me". And then Crowded House hijacked his frequency, followed by Roy Orbinson. All the while I sat opposite him in my music-less state, listening to his second-hand relay of music only audible to him, and wondering why music wasn't broadcasting in my world.
It's rare and amusing for me to be the less musical one.
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