Anti-Expertism

The second of a series involving noise in front of the coffee shop and my iPhone.

On a warm October Friday in St. Louis, worn down from the drudgery of a week in front of a computer screen, I was grazing in front of the café for a cigarette (I had run out of my weekly ration) with beer in hand when I ran into my friends, Derek and Greg. Somehow we found ourselves on the topic of music, an atypical discussion for the Newton scholar and designer (respectively) and, just as Derek’s screed against Billy Joel had hit its climax, we heard some commotion across the street in the abandoned parking lot of the old repair shop. Curious to know what exactly was going on in our neck of the woods, Al Roker style, we made our way across the street to spy on the situation.

I stood aghast with Derek nearly weeping. We had never anything more incredible on the Loop.

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(It’s a rough recording from an iPhone, so it is best heard with headphones.)

The first of a series involving noise in front of the coffee shop and my iPhone.

Loafing in front of Messhugah Cafe is something of an endurance sport for me. I live just around the corner and pretty much treat it as my living room/kitchen. On Saturdays I often roll out of bed and into clothes, sans shower, and stroll stumble to the café for coffee. These particular sounds, however, were on a Wednesday night, after six, when the usual busker was jamming on his guitar and another one, just walking by, decides to join in with his harmonica: the perfect frame for a slouched form enjoying a cigarette and Pabst.

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