Midnight Runner

After experiencing the blissful rush of finally coming upon a piso, I was left in a perpetual state of limbo. Everyday I moved a little bit more of my things to my new, cozy (ie: closet-size) bedroom, staying in an increasingly sparse dorm room in the meantime. Growing restless with the room all to myself (Zander left to spend the weekend with his Spanish grandmother, who lives in the Basque country), I said goodbye to the comfortably aloof confines of the dorms. With my intensive language classes coming to (overdue) end and all the EAP students splitting up to live on their own, I couldn't escape a sense of finality about the situation. It felt as if my Barcelona experience was just beginning.

In a sense, I still feel like that. I have finally met all of my roommates (there are only five, not six) and while they're all refreshingly friendly, they aren't/haven't been at home very much for me to get to know them, or for me to figure out what kind of relationship they have with each other and what kind of relationship they expect from me. Magalee, the exceedingly sweet and beautiful girl who first showed me around the apartment, is visiting her family in France. Ruth, a kindly English girl who I became acquainted with via Spanish, began speaking to me in English yesterday (I'm going to have to do something about that) before quickly vanishing into the night. Her soft-spoken, Catalan boyfriend, Pablo, showed me how to use the internet before doing pretty much the same. I don't really know what to say about Juliana other than she's Peruvian and I met her on my way to the bathroom yesterday and haven't seen her since.



I don't mean to make it sound impersonal - I think it's more that, living in such close quarters, my roommates don't spend much time at home, and when they are here, they appreciate their privacy. Also, Spain is a much more quiet country than Mexico, where barking dogs and garish soundsystems effectively negate the entire ciesta concept in the afternoons. Partly because they stay up so damn late at night (more on that later), Barcelonans like their mornings and evenings quiet. Even though you can hear pretty much everything that happens in this apartment complex through it's paper thin walls, it's an eerily silent place at certain hours of the day.

However, once you get them talking they're as friendly as anyone I've ever encountered. Just today I met the last of my mystery roommates, Elena, a mature, pretty Italian girl (read: noticeably older than me), and ended up talking with her for felt like an hour while she ate her pasta and I stood in the kitchen doorway awkwardly fretting because I had left Hüsker Dü's Zen Arcade blaring from my room. She's actually an English teacher (how do I keep living with those?) stuck teaching Italian, and though I know she was just being nice she insisted that my Spanish is actually really good.



But if this was to be my introduction to the "real" Barcelona, I couldn't have gotten a much better introduction than Cut/Copy's sweltering performance at Razzmatazz on Saturday Morning. Although it may read awkwardly, that time description is completely apt: the doors opened at 1, and the boys didn't hit the stage until 3:15. Thanks to the magic potion that is Vodka and Redbull, I managed to stay up for the entirety of this raucous spectacle while dancing the entire time - and I wasn't the only one, either. It seemed like the entire room - a dancefloor the size of a concert hall - was locked into the same pulsating groove, with each new melodic element or incitement from one of the band members just adding to the frenzy. The above montage of live footage (set to the group's "Hearts On Fire") and the below live clip of them playing "Lights and Music" should give some indication of how effectively these stylish Australians can stir up a crowd.

Cut/Copy were perhaps the most perfect fit imaginable for a dance club that just happens to feature the occasional rock band (the room they played in was just one of three different rooms within the club, each with different music and atmosphere). They sit comfortably on the fence between the physicality of rock and the unifying functionalism of dance music, fusing disco and electronica with chart pop and arena rock. Ever since I heard their latest album In Ghost Colours earlier this year, I've listened to it compulsively, imagining what it's explosive songs would be like live. Not only did it live up to my overactive imagination, it completely reset my standards for how much fun a concert can be. I had heard that Barcelona concert crowds were particularly responsive, but I doubt I'll ever again be in a mob that crazed unless I participate in some kind of violent uprising.