I got to see Agnes sing a number of times in Dublin. First was at the Olympia in 1990, support act on the night was Marc Almond, it was his first piano and voice only retrospective. I invited the girl I really fancied along. We sat third row, center stage. She translated the German parts for me, whispering the strange dark story of revenge and mass murder into my ear, then in the same breath asked me never to call her again.
The last show was upstairs in Slattery’s on Capel Street, north side of Dublin, no man lands. There were six people there including the promoter Mr. Smiley Bolger, Agnes and a pianist. That show has danced around my head ever since. Teetering on the edge of such a high stool dangling her Tootsies. Greater than any high wire act. Trapeze Artists have nothing on you. Wall of Death motorcycle drivers at least have Centripetal Force on their side. Agnes had gravity conspiring against her. We watched from a great height. We ate our nails. That was the edge. We were the fringe. This was happening and we were present and no one else even cared, over and over and over again. In the course of an evening we became fluent, but our translations would be lost in thought.
Drogen lachen “don’t listen to the words”.
I play my three albums to death, the radio shows too, I know every breath.
Anything for more please. Anything?