We make a short drive from Kassel to Bremen. The Ex are playing a show on a docked boat and we grab two of the final four tickets available. We take a long walk in a light rain, going over a bridge that overlooks the Weser. Two German tall cans on an empty stomach makes me talk. I laugh at the signs that say Moderne Kunst and Aktuelle Kunst. It starts to pour and we run down the streets with opened cans of beer, the liquid spilling over the rim and onto our hands.
We have a short dinner of mediocre schnitzel before heading onto the boat. The Ex are soundchecking and we talk to their merch girl. An old-school punk named Willie introduces himself to us. We speak in broken language about the universal tongue of music. There are roughly a hundred people below deck to see the show. Everyone shuffles to the front as The Ex take the stage. Terrie rocks back and forth all night as if seeking calm from the concatenation of Katherina's syncopated rhythms, the sudden paroxysms of Andy's guitar, and the childlike bouncing of Arnold. I watch in bewildered laughter for most of the set. Never have I felt the ecstasy of music reach such transcendental heights.
The show ends and we hug Willie. Nothing needs to be said. The Ex forged a relationship between everyone in that room that night.
A more lucid explanation:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jPWcf3U4oHs
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