It starts a little earlier. You go out in the evening, then a difficult night follows. In the morning you find yourself alone, you put on some music to have some company. And then, that song comes, the song you have never heard before, it strikes you down, simply, it deprives you of your strength, listening to it, you can’t help but sit on the couch, doing nothing, crying.
Chapter 2 – Berlin
We are in Berlin for three days, doing the coverage of The MichelBerger Mystery Music Festival. Shara is there, along with her husband and son. They arrived a few days ago, they will stay here a little longer, too. Relaxed and carefree, spending more time eating breakfast than necessary, they are open to discussion. We talk about the movies she did with Derrick in New York, about her fear that she’s tired of, we talk about the concert she is going to play, for which she spent hours and hours rehearsing alone on her piano and which will prove to be astounding. I measure my words.
After the concert I finally dared to ask her what I wanted to ask her that morning, to sing us this lullaby that struck me down. It’s Sunday morning, a morning of hangovers. The whole hotel seems suspended in the air. We ask her to get to the bar, to make it sing for her, to sing for her son (for whom she had written this song). We erase ourselves. She, she doesn’t. After we’re done filming, I cry. She cries too.
Chapter 1 – NYC
It is the end of the blighting summer heat in New York, and a thunderstorm looms large over Battery Park.
An ensemble assembles piece by piece… an oboe is wandering down by the war memorial, a piccolo finds its way through the open gates of Castle Clinton, a trumpet stops for a Campari on the covered patio. They all lead to a masked form, decorated in technicolor grandeur, leading a child around the former stronghold of Lower Manhattan. Shara Worden appears as a mute and we communicate through body language, symptomatic of a nasty virus she has imported from Detroit. We briefly consider rescheduling, but she gathers her courage and carries on through the impediment.
We gather up the players and discover a grassy field leading to the Financial District. The clouds continue to gather as they serenade the few bold enough to draw near to us.
We continue down to the harbour. Lady Liberty looks on from across the water as yMusic surprises the crowd with their considerable skill. Shara looks on, resting tortured vocal chords, preparing for a concert in the castle in only an hour’s time.
Our time is short, but the music is dynamic and pronounced, the spectacle assured. From a struggle with pain and rush, My Brightest Diamond and yMusic bring undeniable gifts and are kind to share them.
Translation: David Sádovský