Rockin' good time

After frisbee last evening, I rode my bike over to the hulking monstrosity of what was supposed to be the mausoleum for the former dictator, Enver Hoxha. It’s a huge concrete pyramid smack dab in the middle of Tirana.  It hasn’t changed much since I climbed it for the first time four years ago.  The amount of graffiti ebbs and flows, the windows are broken and the iron gets progressively more rusted.  On the top, one can look down through a hole to see bottles, cigarette butts, metal bars, and mattresses.  It’s as if someone has staked out the place as a possible abode.

All the time I have been here, the interior, has been a complete mystery.  I imagined long lost detritus, a storage area a Communist regime in the dustbin of history, everything covered with an inch of dust.  Last week, one of the wrought iron wire mesh doors was open—someone was in there fixing bicycles. 

A friend who sometimes plays frisbee with us, said she wouldn’t be playing because she was going to a concert—at the pyramid. I assumed it was something outside—there is plenty of room for a gathering on the steps surrounding the place.

As I approached, however, I saw that there were people at the door, and people going in and out.  I never imagined that I would be able to actually enter the pyramid—I felt like Howard Carter finding King Tut.  The junk had been removed and a space the size of a basketball court appeared. At one side, there was a drum set, a key board and what looked to be computers designed to control background music and lights. 

The stairs, the upper walkways, the alcoves, and the various levels from which one could view the bottom was like a grand theater or opera house.  We walked up stairs until they became totally blocked by boards, insulation and other bits of exactly the rubbish that I had expected.  As we listened to the groovy warm-up music, I half expected to see Jabba the Hut sitting on his throne. 

On the stage, I noticed what I looked like several baritones.  These are brass instruments—bigger than trumpets, but not as big as tubas.  Then I decided to take closer look and I saw a tuba, a clarinet and a saxophone.  I was intrigued.  This was not going to be a bunch of screaming guitars, but people using their lungs. The curious thing was that nobody could see any musicians.  From time to time, a couple guys wearing t-shirts and torn blue jeans would walk around looking important as they adjusted the lights or the sound system.  It was already after 10:00.

A dude in traditional Albanian garb—a white square felt hat, flowing white skirt, topped with a colorful vest was sitting in the wings of the stage. As I approached, I noticed…The musicians!  Dressed all in black, they had been hiding. I asked when they were going to start.

Someone understood my question, and after a couple seconds to think of what to say in English, the answer…“Now!” They had been waiting for me to ask.

The drummer started banging around having a good time, sounding superb. Then the tuba player showed up.  Man, could he play! I love tuba players and their checks. His tuba was beat up to the point where someone might put it out in the garbage. The brass-colored instrument had long, deep scrapes and large dents, and the pads were ripped up. But no matter, he made that thing sing.  Soon the baritones, three trumpets, two saxes and a the clarinet materialized.   

The ensemble started the place on fire!  Their music was a cross between jazz and swing and Albanian music.  Everyone in the crowd was hoping, jumping, yelling, dancing and wiggling.  We were jammin’! For 30 minutes, everything bopped along nicely.  Then they tried something new, and shut down most of the lights. It was a nice touch; we could focus on the rich sound of the instruments without the distractions from the flashing lights and background video.  Then someone in the crowd trained their smartphone light onto the stage.  Some of those dressed in black were looking around with attitudes like, “What’s the deal?”         

My everything-is-planned attitude was shattered by the realization that the power had gone out. 

We’d been standing some 10 feet back from the stage.  Now we were all sucked forward. Just as we came to them, the musicians came to us. One trumpet player climbed onto one of the speakers at the front of the stage.  Wonderful! Pretty soon, they were all out there simply playing their horns. They were RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME!  Even without amplification, the horns filled the place with delight.  

The distance between musician and audience, both figuratively and in reality was eliminated. My friends talked about the concerts planned for the space the next day, on the weekend, and several times in the future.  I couldn’t help but think that they would be hard pressed to top this rockin’ good time.

Here's the band.  Don't they sound fantastic?

Here they are again, AFTER the power goes out.  Who needs power?

For some more pictures and information about the of the pyramid, go here:

http://oskarmaxim.blogspot.com/2011_12_01_archive.html

After the power went out