Very rarely is much consideration given to the choice of music played in public spaces, in my view. This hotel is "contemporary designer minimalist" which even has (what passes in the West for) Zen-like touches. What works for me in this hotel is that attention has been invested in the choices of furniture & design, and care taken in putting the ensemble together. I may not like the style (and I don't dislike it either), but I am persuaded by the concern. Until I open my ears.
I can kinda handle hits of the 70s & 80s, including Bryan Ferry, on a quality sound system - and even during Sunday breakfast. Not my ideal, which would forswear an uncompromising, undeviating, leaden rhythm enforced by uncaring drums; and insincere protestations of love & affection; when I'm reading. Or eating. Or drinking coffee. Or sitting. Or just being. But after about an hour of Bryan et al the CD of greatest hits gave way to the radio. On came the 07.30 news (in German) followed by music which had not yet been tested & accepted as classic over a period of 15-30 years. Something like bad Radio One without hip airjocks.
This carelessness, the deafness of the staff, absence of care, the lack of concern for the clientele, exhibited the presence of absence. The golden hits provided the absence of presence, but radio news at breakfast in a "good" hotel? Who wants to listen to radio news at 07.30 on a Sunday? (The answer may be, one of the young staff). Perhaps they were too deaf to even hear the news. We fell an octave from negative presence into positive absence.
A feature of the cafes & restaurants (I've visited) here in Vienna is the total reliance on US/UK rock hits. What of the Austro-Bohemian tradition which gave rise to (what is commonly called) classical music?
For the time I could bear to remain in the restaurant this morning I began "The Buddha-Christ as the Lord of the True Self" by Fritz Buri, translated by Harold H.Oliver (Mercer University Press, Georgia, 1997; German original 1982). This was bought for me during my special day with Toyah, May 24th., en route from Nashville to Copenhagen and has her dedication on the fly-leaf. Driven out by noise, I began the rest of my day practising guitar. This is a superb centering activity.
20.19
Hotel This One Was My Mistake, Conegliano, Italy.
We have 3 nights in one hotel. The performance here is on Tuesday in an open square. When planning the tour, our promoter recommended we stay about 12 miles away, well outside the town. This suggests to me that, without independent means of transport, the Happy Gigster is stuck. So I suggested that we stay in town with friendly neighbourhood cafes, restaurants, old architecture, etc., all within the immediate vibrating zone. That's the idea. It's a good idea. Today, it's a bright idea.
We drew up after 5 hours' driving through the wonderful scenery of the Austrian alps & Dolomites (conforming to the injunction displayed on the protest platform by the Opera House in Vienna: "Auslanders Raus") at this modest in extremis modern-but-not-youthful-perhaps-even-somewhat-tired hotel, & not too far for a sweltering walk to the town centre if you're not recovering from gastro-enteritis. This hotel was my call. It was a bum call.
"If we can define our aim, we are halfway to achieving it."
