Chapter 1169 A Lone Lamp
Whoosh, whoosh, the wind is hunting.
The world outside has completely plunged into night, and the steaming smoke is thick and dense. Even street lights and car lights cannot dispel the thick night.
Looking at the time, it was only half past five.
Pushing open the door and breaking into the bar, a creamy yellow halo and alcohol with the aroma of wheat hit your face, wrapping around your body and stretching your muscles.
The door panel swayed, and the noisy roars and cold waves flickered on and off. Finally, when the door panel was completely closed, they were all isolated, and the world suddenly became quiet.
At this time, it was not dinner time yet, and there was not a lot of people in the bar.
Moreover, the evening show has just begun, and the popular heavyweight underground singers from Manhattan and Brooklyn are still behind, and the atmosphere is still warming up.
Looking around, there were only four tables of guests, and the whole space seemed particularly empty.
The guests were chatting and laughing, immersed in their own world, completely unaware of the changes in the stage.
The sound of clinking wine glasses, the puff of cigarette smoke, and the murmur of chatter and laughter were all accompanied by all kinds of trivial noises in the kitchen and outside the door.
Anson stepped onto the stage with his guitar on his back.
Confirm the microphone, confirm the sound, confirm the lighting, etc. with ease.
Then he moved the bench onto the stage, sat down quietly, bathed in the light, and began to tune the strings.
Calm and focused, as if this is the only important thing in the world; careful and gentle, the movements on the guitar strings reveal love.
Involuntarily, there is an illusion that time seems to slow down in this space.
Inadvertently, his eyes drifted to the stage and landed on that figure. He couldn't help but take a second look, and his turbulent emotions calmed down quietly.
But he couldn't stay too long, and then he looked away because of his partner's call and continued talking, temporarily forgetting the stage figure.
At the bar, Edward-Bowes was wiping the table. He raised his head and looked at Anson, who was tuning the strings, and couldn't help but sigh——
Anson said he was exploring a character and that he was entering the character's world in his own way.
Obviously, things are not that simple.
However, Edward still didn't understand what was going on in these actors' heads.
What's more, Anson already has everything he needs, and he can do everything he wants. What's wrong with continuing to be a vase? Just like Adam Sandler, he can continue to pretend to be crazy and act stupid with peace of mind, repeating himself in different movies, easily. Make a ton of dollars, sit in your mansion, and let the trolls go to hell.
Isn't this better than heaven?
But thinking about it seriously, Edward seems to have no way to condemn Anson.
Looking at himself, when other bars are surrendering to pop and dance music, he still firmly believes that "live performances" bring a different atmosphere.
What they need is not those synthesized sounds produced by electronic synthesizers, where they lose themselves in the endless rhythm and drum beats. After the short-term pleasure, only a void is left, and the music turns around and is thrown into the trash can; but real musical instruments. The sound is truly live, creating a bridge between performer and audience to feel the melody.
Maybe, this is life.
They can always choose a simple method, quietly hide their edges and colors, and go with the flow until they no longer recognize themselves.
They can also choose a complicated method, insist on finding themselves, embrace themselves, face the truth calmly, and explore in the truth what life should be like.
This is also the most special place in New York, because there are still a group of stubborn fools who insist on the latter, and every alien can find his or her own corner here.
Just in time, Anson raised his head, noticed Edward's gaze, and smiled.
As if being stung, Edward glared at Anson viciously, hurriedly changed his gaze, covered himself up, and pretended to be busy. Obviously, Anson didn't have the ability to read minds and couldn't guess what Edward was thinking.
Anson lowered his gaze again and gently plucked his fingertips on the guitar strings.
Edward looked at Anson again, sighed softly, turned around and dimmed the surrounding lights, until only the beam of light above the stage remained.
Orange yellow, with a hint of dark red in the gold, the warmth and gentleness fell down, and the entire stage was enveloped in a caramel-colored halo.
The exposed brick walls and pipes, the simple stage and equipment have reduced complexity to simplicity, and everything has been reduced to the background, focusing on the singer.
A lamp, a chair, a microphone.
Then, a guitar.
That's all.
There was no opening words or self-introduction. Anson's fingertips gently plucked the strings, and the clear and melodious notes were like rolling and colliding pebbles in a gurgling stream, embarking on a distant journey in the misty morning light.
The performance is not loud, noisy, or obtrusive, and is perfectly invisible in the background.
Obviously, Anson didn't mean to remind the audience, he just played quietly. Even if no one pays attention or appreciates it, it doesn't matter. He just needs a corner to quietly tell the story of life.
That's enough.
The melody is clear and bright, melodious and graceful.
There are no lyrics, Anson just hums the melody softly, and the notes ring between the resonances of the vocal cords, infusing the softness and delicacy deep in the soul into the melody, slowly flying through the microphone, causing ripples layer by layer.
Slightly unexpectedly, I wasn't singing to my heart's content, nor was I swaying wildly, just humming a tune, but the hustle and bustle of the outside world gradually faded away, and the excitement of the tavern rolled around in the empty space.
Inadvertently, with a glance, my mind was slowly falling and sinking before I realized it——
What's this?
It sounds very, very familiar, but I can't remember it at the moment.
Just in time, Jim brought the beer to the table, and the guest grabbed him and asked.
Jim, "Oh, The Travelers, 'Five Hundred Miles.'"
It suddenly dawned on me that this was the case!
In the history of music, the Beatles' "Yesterday" is known as the most covered song, and the only song that can match it is "500-Miles".
This song was written in 1961 and included in the album of the same name by the trio The-Journeyman. Over the past 40 years, it has been covered by countless singers around the world.
Later, this song was covered again in the 2013 movie "The Ballad of Drunken Country", which awakened countless memories and became one of the most widely circulated songs in the movie soundtrack.
Familiar melodies and familiar tunes seem to have memories in my mind, but I can't remember them for a while. When someone else tells me the answer, I suddenly realize that the memories are coming like a tide——
What is familiar is not the music, but the people, stories and memories with whom I listened to the music.
Although there are no lyrics, the humming tune makes the memories deep in the mind surge up, and if you don't pay attention, you will fall into your own time and space vortex.
Staring ahead, the focus of his vision slowly faded away in the void.
Listen, that person is singing softly.
"Before I knew it, I was five hundred miles away from home, leaving home, leaving home..."
(End of chapter)