About a decade ago I discovered this awesome little cafe on 14th Street in San Francisco, an easy drop-in on my way to work. Scraggly 34-year-old skater boys and goth-damaged conceptual artists in fishnets and combat boots hung out in front smoking cigarettes, talking road rash and Agent Orange.
One day I wandered in and heard the most loveliest music ever to reach my ears since Robert, Jean and Gaby Casadesus played Bach’s Concerto for 2 Keyboards with the Cologne Concert Orchestra circa 1967. In fact, its dreamy lilt was so heavenly it made the entire Casadeusus family, the most gifted pianists every to lay claim to a harpsichord concerto, sound like heaving drunkards spewing Seagrams-and-Hawaiian-Punch on my Hush Puppies in a dark Juarez alley. This stuff made “Perfect Day” sound like an AM broadcast of I Like Traffic Lights. Srsly.
I fell to my knees. I wept. I howled. I cried, “Why, God, Why? Such beauty! The pain! The pathos! From this point forward all other things in life will seem like the cheap jokes of a brutal universe! WTF kinda music is this, thirtysomething skater barrista with goofy hair and Buddy Hollies?”