Sunset at 4:28pm with clear skies and lows in the thirties. Last night I was sitting in a church basement when someone’s phone began to chime with notifications. Then a voice behind me said, “Omicron is here.” A chair squeaked. Somebody shrugged. Conversation resumed.
This afternoon I encountered an exciting holiday scene. A man carrying a Christmas tree pounded on the windshield of a Cadillac Escalade that nearly hit him in the crosswalk. “You wanna be an asshole?” he yelled. “Let’s see what kind of asshole you are.” The driver got out, and the two assholes circled each other, making threatening noises in the middle of First Avenue, one with a Christmas tree drooped over his shoulder. For all I know, they could still be out there, shaking their fists and calling each names. I wonder what that man will think about tonight while he decorates his tree.
But humanity isn’t completely hopeless. Wolfgang Voigt released a new installment of his Gas project today, and it’s as stately and monolithic as expected: an unshakable kick drum chugs through the murk of strings, frosty reverb, and smudged choral voices. Winter music of the highest order.
