We met on the church's cold stone steps at 5. A small gaggle of people gathered nearby. The heavy wooden doors blocking our entrance. As time passes, more
people gather down the steps to the curb and then streak down Burrard like an art school admissions parade. The door opens at 7 and we're determined to get good seats.
At about 6pm a man comes out to inform the crowd to not smoke on the church steps and that the other door would be the one opened. Access to this was of course hindered by a steel railing. You could hear the hipsters suck in their breath as the thought that their space in line to see the harp playing elf creature known as Joanna Newsom, might be lost in the mad scramble to move from one side of the railing to the other. Lucklily, the no smoking man and his booming voice intervened.
However, that didn't stop the subtle and casual inching and manouvering towards the door. Even from me. Being determined to keep my spot and thus eventually score good seats, I was gently reminded that I was going to go see someone who played a
harp. But isn't Anthrax opening? I asked.
Once inside and safely seated in our front row pew, we than began the tedious wait for the elfin creature to emerge. Hipsters and art school afficiandos and various stages of in betweens surrounded us. A diminutive Liza Minelli and her Foxy Cleopatra companion repeatedly walked past us. With the observation of stylish accessories, scarves that matched the boot and barrets to match the earring and cell phone combo, I secretly concluded they must have just left fashion design classses to attend tonight's perfomance. A
few other observations were made and finally our long wait was beginning to show sign of being over.
A man dressed in the fashion faux pas of white jeans (after labor day, really!) and a blue check shirt.
He had a lovely voice but damned if I know who he was. So we sat and politely listened. Cramped in our little wooded pews, bored into glancing through the hymn book, we endured for the spritely songbird to appear. And then he said he had 39 more songs to go. Clearly he could also hear the polite but strained applause and the shifting of figedity bums.
After he left without ever announcing his name, I began to wonder if he was a lovely busker found on the city streets and invited to come down. We endured the wait once more. And I openly wondered if Ms. Newsom wasn't out shopping on Robson. Packed like lemmings into tiny little tin cans we sat. Mumuring amongst ourselves, silently passing judgement on our fellow brethren. Then without a noise a wee little mouse dressed in a strange little costume possibly borrowed from an art school fashion drafting classmate friend sat down behind her harp. Her pointy elfin ears covered by long wisps of golden flax for hair. The crowed hushed and then clapped and the concert, long awaited began.
My only regret was that I didn't bring my camera. I assumed it wouldn't be OK.
