I've written about them before on my blog, but this would be the first time I had heard Emily perform since then. I hadn't been inside for more than 30 seconds before I could feel the tension of a long day...a long week...begin to melt away. Part of it was the pleasant contrast of the cool air after time out in the muggy heat.
But most of it was the mellow setting and the lilting harmonies of Nikki and Emily. They were the audible equivalent of a fresh glass of flavorful ice tea, and I found myself mentally saying "Ahhhhhhhh."
Nikki (in glasses in the photo) and Emily were so playful and relaxed in their playing I almost felt like I was sitting in someone's living room while the host and a friend pulled out a couple of guitars and just winged it. To be honest, I didn't recognize any of the songs. But I enjoyed myself nonetheless. I recognized a few faces in the crowd, and after Emily closed out her show I made it a point of buying her CD. She's still young - a student in Andover - but it will be fun to watch her career blossom.
Nikki was in good voice, and I marveled at how she could harmonize so effortlessly and effectively. I left Chiart and strolled down Douglas, not sure where I'd stop next but not ready to call it a night. Part of Final Friday's magic is spontaneity anyway.
It was only a little after 9 p.m., and fading sunlight still streaked across the sky. I love that about this time of year; sunlight seems to last for ages. Cars rumbled down Douglas, windows down, stereo volumes up, laughter echoing off the buildings. The Wichita Wingnuts were playing at Lawrence-Dumont Stadium, and when I strode past empty lots I could hear the public-address announcer intone the next batter and music implore the crowd. It was a pure summer tapestry, including the unyielding heat and humidity that seemed to cling to the pavement.
A couple of photos in the gallery Blank Page caught my eye, so I stepped inside to take a look. They were images taken by Nathan Buhr, in locales ranging from just down the road in Kansas to around the world in places such as China, Poland, and war-torn Sarajevo. Among the photos to catch my eye was one of a woman's eye in Prague.
It immediately took me back to my time in Prague, where one of my most enduring memories was how beautiful and stylish the women were - as if they had one eye on how they'd look in a photograph as they dressed - and the young adult men seemed intent on throwing on whatever jeans and shirt they found rumpled on the floor next to the bed when they got up that morning. The contrast was remarkable.
A photo of a narrow street in Poland took me back to the medieval streets I strolled in so many European towns and cities, reminding me how young a nation America is in comparison with so many cultures around the world. Ache filled me as I gazed upon a photo of a woman in a train's "speisewagen" - meal car - on her way to Berlin. I loved riding the trains in Europe, watching the landscape fly past, sipping a wine or beer, lingering over a meal and conversation with whomever you shared the table. I hope to do more of that some day.
A small cup of wine, a cookie or two, and it was back to the street. To the heat. To the darkness that had settled on the city with sunset. A few of the people I knew from the Chiart duet had said they were headed to Melange to listen to musicians jam. I had not been to Melange before, so I decided to walk down there. It was a few blocks away - nearly to Hatman Jack's, a store I know all too well, having a healthy collection of fedoras - and by the time I got there I had the sense that the music's crescendo had already been reached. Idle strums on a guitar seemed mere musical backdrop to the buzz of conversations.
I'm not into handmade jewelry, so little in Melange piqued my curiosity. But it reminded me of my ex-fiancee's aunt, whose handcrafted creations included wedding rings. I talked to a couple of friends briefly, then decided to call it a night. On my stroll back toward my car in the La Galette parking lot, I passed T.J.'s, an old-fashioned burger joint - and felt a pang of regret that I hadn't stopped in there for the night's repast. Instead, I had spontaneously chosen a take-out Chinese restaurant I liked whose daily special had proven surprisingly disappointing.
Another time, perhaps.
Three new places, familiar faces, comfortable paces. A satisfying dose of Final Friday once again.
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