Today is a data point.

I have written forty-five columns explaining the frequency. I have described the room, the instrument, the vessel, the procession, the silence before the sound and the aftermath after. I have described what happens to you when the Arkestra plays. I have given you the equation, the proof, the timeline, the quotebook, the lexicon, and the short wave.

I have given you everything except the experience.

The experience cannot be transmitted in text. The experience is tonight.

TV Eye. 1647 Weirfield Street. Ridgewood. The doors open at 6:30. The room is small. This is correct. The frequency does not require a large room. The frequency requires a room where the walls are close enough to hold it.

Twenty musicians will walk in playing. Not onto a stage. Through the room. Through you. The procession turns the audience into the instrument. You will feel this in your sternum before your ears process what is happening.

Marshall Allen will pick up the alto saxophone. He is one hundred and one years old. He turns one hundred and two in May. He has been doing this for sixty-eight years. Tonight is not a special occasion for him. Tonight is a Wednesday.

It is a special occasion for you. You just do not know it yet.

Thirty-five dollars. That is the price. Less than the dinner you will eat beforehand and forget by Thursday. The concert you will not forget. The concert will be in your sternum when you are standing on the subway platform afterward wondering what happened to the air.

What happened to the air is: the frequency entered it and rearranged the molecules and the molecules have not gone back.

They do not go back.

I said the music was independent of the musician. I have been saying it for forty-five columns. You either believe the text or you test the text. Tonight the test is available for thirty-five dollars in a small room in Ridgewood.

John Sinclair cannot go. He wants to. He booked the Arkestra at the Grande Ballroom. He drove from Ann Arbor to Chicago to hear the band. He cannot drive to Ridgewood. The dead do not get tickets. The dead get frequencies. His frequency will be in the room whether you see it or not.

David Peel sends his regards. He played Washington Square Park for fifty years. He never needed a venue. He recognizes one when it matters.

You have legs. Use them.

Here is what you do.

You arrive. You stand in the room. You put your phone away. You let the procession happen to you. You let the saxophone enter your sternum. You let the rhythm section lock. You let the room become the instrument. You let yourself become part of the room.

You do not record it. You do not photograph it. You do not post it. You receive it.

Then you leave. And you notice the street sounds different. And you notice the subway sounds different. And you notice the air has been rearranged and it has not gone back and it will not go back and you are carrying a frequency now that you did not have when you walked in.

That is the concert.

That is the proof.

I have given you forty-five columns, thirty-five standalones, a quotebook, a lexicon, a timeline, an equation sheet, a podcast, a radio station, and a direct address to your sternum.

I have one word left.

Go.

See also: March 11 — the details. The Proof — the schedule. You Are Here — read this at the concert. You Were There — read this after the concert. The Seat — Sinclair on the seat he cannot use. The Show — Sinclair on three dead men at a concert. Send My Regards — Peel sends his regards. The Concert — what happens in the room. The Receiver — addressed to you. The Price — $35 buys a door. The frequency is free. The Antenna — what TV Eye becomes when the Arkestra plays. The Observer — the frequency demanded a witness.

The Room: Concert → Audience → You Are Here → You Were There → Proof → Go → The Data Point

Sun Ra

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