There are times when you wonder what they put in Guinness. It can't just be love and alcohol. Times like tonight, for example. It all started abnormally. A guy is having his dinner. He looks up. He points at a door. In there, apparently.
Let's open the door and go in. Maybe bump into a guy playing the saxophone in a freeform manner? I did. On the big screen behind him, there are people dressed as brown paper bags worshipping some sort of phallic symbol. This is Noma. Confusion reigns.
Saxophones and jazz (and art) notoriously go together and that's more than enough reason for an adjournment to the State Bar. A pleasurable encounter with Dizzy Blonde follows. Don't worry - the blonde is a beer. You can't get into (much) trouble with beer. Unlike blondes.
Return to the Griffin. Three brunettes in a row. I have my pen out. One of them suggests I am a trainspotter. Or a guitar spotter. Or something. She clearly does sarcasm. She also does punctuation or so she claims. I also do sarcasm so I enquire if she can cook. She looks straight through me. The room suddenly goes cold.
The man Flett gathers together his troops for the launch of his album "Cold but Bright" and sets about the live entertainment. He's dragged in some musical firepower such as Dochan from the Ballaculish Hellhounds. There's something distracted, almost ethereal, in his songs. Despite the miserable sound, I get the point. Jamie Flett drifts out to sea on a boat filled with lost souls and forgotten dreams. Part urban and part magical, this is about mood. It's about mood and the city lights. Everywhere you look, you see patterns. Patterns of light that show all that man has achieved and in the shadows thrown by those lights are his songs.
Her cold, clear eyes haunt me for the best part of an hour. As they should.