Two nights ago, I was lucky enough to witness the British film composer Clint Mansell’s first ever live performance in NYC at the Church of St Paul the Apostle. Imagine excerpts from ‘Moon’, ‘Requiem for a dream’, ‘The Fountain’, ‘Black Swan’, ‘Pi’ being played at a place like that: the rich sound of live orchestra, electronic synthesizers and a band filling up the high ceiling enclave of a church; swelling up crescendos vibrating through the quiet, absorbent audience (dressed mostlyin black) for nearly two hours.
Bonus: Darren Aronofsky showed up before the show to make an introduction. (Turns out Clint and Darren were roommates way back when they’re both struggling artists living in the proverbial tiny apartment in NYC.)
Confusing situation where we’re both tired and both leaning on the same iron column. Would feel intimate and flirtatious in a less populous city, but here it’s just a long, thin thing of elimination, where this is the last iron column to lean on and neither of us smells bad so: hooray, a spot of leisure.
Living in New York, I thought I had become a professional jaywalker. Not even close. It’s a whole different league in Tehran. New Yorkers wait for a small break in the traffic to step into the street. Tehranis CREATE small breaks in traffic by stepping into the street. There is no waiting involved.