I first met her at a crowded expat hangout in Busan's university district. She was there with her western friends. But when I approached her, she was sitting alone at the bar. We started talking. I put my arm around her. I asked her if that was okay, and she said yes.
We walked around in the night for what seemed like a lifetime. It was she who wanted to walk. I couldn't understand why we didn't just take a taxi. I'm still not sure. Maybe she was unsure of herself. Maybe she was testing me somehow.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Sunday, July 4, 2010
"Leh Jani" by Omar Souleyman
The Montreal International Jazz Festival with my brother. On this evening, we found ourselves at the Bell stage looking up at this mustachioed middle-aged Syrian man in beige robes, red and white checkered headscarf, and aviators. And it was clear he was leading a dance party.
While the singer delivered the Arabic lyrics to his songs in traditional mawwal style, the man standing behind him produced these frantic pulsing electronic Middle Eastern rhythms on his synthesizer. With this brand of "Jihadi techno," the duo worked the young crowd into a dancing scarf-twirling frenzy, hoisting their friends up and bouncing them on their shoulders.
While the singer delivered the Arabic lyrics to his songs in traditional mawwal style, the man standing behind him produced these frantic pulsing electronic Middle Eastern rhythms on his synthesizer. With this brand of "Jihadi techno," the duo worked the young crowd into a dancing scarf-twirling frenzy, hoisting their friends up and bouncing them on their shoulders.
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