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Check out reviews of other concerts in 2000

Isotope

JJ Smyth's, Dublin, July 2000

Cruise to JJ's on my Toblerone
To tell the story that accompanies a Tenor Saxophone
I feel like Tom lost his car keys and his shoes
I'm appreciatin' blues
The sax is talkin' to me once more
Where's the point
Who knows, who cares?
This screaming jazz thumps the tables and whispers at the walls
And my scrawl tries to fly with it as it reaches heights
And teaches me the thrill of a drummers trill
And the keyboard player talks to the white keys
And argues with the black
But the sax don't give a shit;
He's got a date with an ear-piercing wail
That don't succumb to no dull bass-bompin
Foot-tapin', rhythm keeping section.
Let it out man, keep it slow,
Make it fast. At last
The tempo drawls to a halt in the smoke...

Now a schmoozy blooze slops out of the horn
All over the floor
And laps against our toes
And couldn't be bothered to make it past the bar at the back
Just Crack open a bottle of bargain scotch
Take a snatch and head back where it came
And tame the runaway bass
And a cacophonic percussion splash
Even the piano cringes in the corner for the lost tune
But we all know its cool
Cause we're swaying with an electrically programmed metronome
Whose home is the calloused finger
Of a double-bass playin' long haired dude
With f-holes carved the size of saxophones
The moan of music is makin' me groove to it
My head nods uncontrollably but probably
The tempo will change
I'll lose my beat, and now my feet are tappin'
And the drums are clappin' up a clamour
To the rumour of a faraway black-and-white jive
On the 88 keys. Please keep this thing alive
For just a while for me
Cause I need to be moved by this octave murdering quartet
and yet it still flaunts the symbols and taunts me
With fretless fornication on a 4-string blackboard.

Oh Lord, thank you for this pleasure
The minstrels at their leisure
Are about to stop
But it matters not
I think I caught the grimace of the drummer
And the stammer of the blower
From the low notes of the bass
Right to the clatter of the pianist
If only you'd have seen this
On a Thursday night in Dublin
The trouble in your soul would be appeased
Just for a while
For music brings a smile
And I'm going to leave it now
Before I miss the grand finale
Of an amplified soliloquy
Of a four piece contradiction
That grants us benediction
With a beat that keeps us lookin' and foot-tappin'
And well, you know the score
You'll have to wait for more.

Donnacha

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