Funny how your being changes in a second, once chemicals and germs runs through your body and shake your brain up.
Woven Hand’s show last night in Barbie club, Tel Aviv, was supposed to take over me, dissemble me, chew me up and spit me on the ground. I was supposed to devote myself to them like a dog devotes to his owner after he kicked the poor bastard’s head, a devotion and respect reserved only to those the master who’s in charge of the time a dog goes out to pee, eat and sleep. Woven Hand was supposed to be the puppeteer and I should have been hanged on a thin rope between the mighty sky and earth.
But all of that didn’t happen. It didn’t happen because of the damned air-conditions who made me sick during the weekend. To get over it, I went to the little carton box, full of Nusidex pills. They help me whenever I catch the cold, ever since I was three or so. The side effect is a complete brain fuck up. They dry you completely, puts you to sleep, make everything sounds dim, like music behind a far distant waterfall.
David Eugene Edwards’ missionary preaching could have not been missed, no matter how sick as a dog I was. He sat there, sang to two microphones, one of them was a telephone-sound, and the other one was a plain one. He showed all those new kids in the block of America’s Got Talent, how you can sing loudly without shouting.
He was restrained but disparaged each and every person in the audience. Squeaked his teeth, shook his head rapidly, held on the spell, absorbed into his Christian lyrics. Jesus Christ was sitting there on stage at that moment, and I guess it’s true that god is in each one of us, because whoever led Woven Hand last night was not a human. He was a divine creature on a mission.
You can see WH’s songs as one continuous song that changes the formats every now and then, but there were couple of moments there that was pure sublime. I felt it, but could dissemble because I was a zombie.
His band was so powerful, kicked the songs asses like it was a voodoo doll of Bin Laden, in the hands of Bush jr – but they also knew to step aside and let Edwards be himself, alone, with musicians around him.
I walked out couple of songs before the end, because I couldn’t hold myself anymore, and I fell asleep the second I got home. Even now, beaten up from the bloody summer flu, and feel like every man with a flu (that the world collapses on him), even now when I listen to Ten Stones, I can’t figure out how in the world I didn’t repent last night.
Woven Hand – Not One Stone