I'd been buried deep in Snorri's Prose Edda during the day, but in the evening, at the Soho Theatre, just as night was falling...TUUP's irresistible voice, wirf box shaped accordion and mischeivious smile snatched me away to the woods and plains of the southern USA, when slavery was just about still ok. A boy escapes a massacre and becomes a shaman, and just...well, just lives, I guess. Not much to separate this story from lots of others except that the way TUUP told it had me laughing and crying and hurting and flying like some sort of puppet. Grandfather Grizzly Bear was there - then he was gone. The sight of the moon through the leaves of the trees when you're lying on a stretcher mortally wounded was there - then gone. I could go on.
Afterwards, in the bar, I needed (needed!) two glasses of wine before I sounded like myself, and not some starstruck 15 year old. Loki made an appearance, for a second. Anansi fixed to fight him.
No comments:
Post a Comment