Posting while sleepy

    Tamara had tickets for Arturo Sandoval in Charleston and the friend she was going with got sick, so I stepped in. She had never been to Charleston, so I also played tour guide in a small way and also took flowers to my mom's grave, which is always nice. It wasn't snowy but it was fairly grey and windy, so we just walked about the Battery a bit and South of Broad, ate not-very-good Lowcountry Boil on Shem Creek, and then found our way to the auditorium.
    Diane Schuur was opening. Neither of us knew much about her, but she absolutely slayed. Particularly memorable was her encore, a capella Amazing Grace, dedicated to the Mother Bethel 9. Sandoval also put on a very entertaining show, singing, scatting, playing piano, percussion and synth, and yeah, some trumpet here and there. I'm not sure he ever picked up the flueghel horn, but it was a delightful show as well. Both seemed a little high; they may have had a little too much fun in Charleston. His encore was A Night In Tunisia, which burned the house down. Pity; it was newly renovated.
    Somebody with a better ear can pass a more intelligent opinion, but I thought the Gaillard Center (formerly Gaillard Auditorium) still needs a lot of work. While very beautiful, a pink La Scala, it struck me as acoustically very very poor. It worked when Diane sung solo; any more voices than that, somebody always got lost. Just an unprofessional opinion of course. Hope I'm wrong and everybody else loves it. Regardless, the show was great.
    Dreams last night were the usual sort of odd. I was in some Philadelphia-like place up north, missing meals and responsibilities to hang out by a railroad track, waiting for somebody to come up from the south. It seemed also that I wanted to go south myself, much unlike my real life experience in Philadelphia. Admittedly, I did tend to gravitate toward 30th Street Station with the idea of wanting to go some place any place, but with the caveat any place but south. Making peace finally? Well maybe.