small adventures; because I collect memories
From Monday forward, I looked ahead to Thursday with a vivid anticipation. Plans had fallen into place better than I could have hoped. It started with me checking out the website of an artist whose music I much enjoy - Derek Webb - and being happily surprised to find that he was playing a show in my city this very week! I was mostly surprised because I had checked the website on a whim a few weeks ago and was disappointed that the closest he was coming was a city a few hours away. I had wavered back and forth deciding to attend or not. I didn't hesitate now: I quickly purchased a ticket. It was in my price range, it was in my city, and it was on a night I had not other plans. I was so excited.
I posted a quick note on twitter saying I was going to the concert, when and where, and queried if anyone wanted to come with me. My friend Sarah sent me a text saying she might come. By Thursday all was in place. Sarah, Mark, Blake and I would all be eating dinner with other friends and then going to the concert together. Three other friends from church would be meeting us there as well.
We drove downtown in good spirits, discussing what we knew of the artist's music and what we expected from the show. The show was at a small indoor cafe at a large college, and the line for the show wound from the cafe doors down the hallway. As we waited to get in we were entertained, both awkwardly and amusingly, by a belly-dancing show that was taking place in a room that our line passed. We talked and checked the time more than we watched.
The line finally began to move and when we got inside the cafe we found ourselves in a small dim room with a stage on one side and a bar on the other. We found a place to stand and soon the concert began. A single man with his guitar opened the show. His name was Michael, and he was pretty talented and very funny. I don't remember his last name. His off-the-wall remarks and starving artist help-me-out-no-really attitude kept the crowd entertained. There was a five minute break between him getting offstage and the main show, and I went and bought a Derek Webb CD and t-shirt. When I came back inside everyone had packed close together, ready for the reason they were all there. I excused my way through the crowd to get back to my friends, then became stuck, as it were, in the crush of people all trying to stand closest to the stage. Two men stood shoulder to shoulder between myself and my friends. I was considering reaching over them and tapping Blake on the shoulder to see if he'd help me through, because it seemed impolite to push through them, there not being much room anymore near my friends anyway. At that moment Sarah looked over her shoulder and spotted me. She reached out a hand; I took it and she pulled me forward, parting the people who stood so tight in front of me and continuing to pull until I was standing beside her. Then the show began.
The whole atmosphere swept me up in a heady sort of rush; the beat and pulse of the music and the light display that made the rhythem even more vibrant, everyone around nodding, moving, and sometimes singing along, and of course the artist whose music I had long been fond of, standing a few feet away and singing with conviction and passion lyrics of hard-hitting truth. I already loved the new CD, his new sound, and hearing it live made it that much better. After two songs he stopped and introduced his band, a drummer and guitarist. I laughed when he said, "Some of you are standing there thinking, 'Who is this base-playing, black-shirted evil twin of the guy whose music I used to like?'" It was a departure from his classic folk music sound, but I love it. I was happy too though, when he took a break from playing his new songs and took requests from the crowd, requests which were shouted out a bit caotically the instant he gave everyone permission to do so. He began with "She Must And Shall Go Free" which I didn't hear shouted out but hoped he would play. He ended with the song most requested: the heartbreaking "Wedding Dress". Then his band members returned and the contined to play through the new CD.
It was actually very uncomfortable standing there; I had worn a light sweater that was too warm in the small room, and my feet, in boots, where killing me. Sarah too got a back ache, and everyone pressing so close and taking over one's personal space didn't help. But it was worth it. It was so worth it. On the very last song a siren from a fire alarm gave a single shrill cry and the microphones went dead. Derek stepped aside from the mic and continued to sing. Everyone was hushed, listening to just his voice and guitar. Then some people began to sing along. I sang along as well. For a moment that microphones came back to life and the music resurged, but then they crackled angrily and Derek again stepped away from the mic and nodded for his band mates to do the same. The song, the entire concert, was finished just like that; one man singing on stage as loud and clear as his own voice was able, much of the crowd singing along with him. It gives me chills to recall it.
It was after midnight when we got home, probably closer to one oclock for some. We all had to get up for work in the morning but it was worth it. I've never been one to collect things, really. I have one sister who collects piggy banks, another who collects matchbox cars, and another who collects keys and Coke A Cola products. I realized awhile back that I collect memories. I save them in my head. I capture them in pictures. I write them down. That's why I write things like this, mostly. These paragraphs may seem like a lot of detail but even so there's so much more. Yet I think it's enough, at least for now, to remember it by. To put it with the rest of my collection and keep it safe; breathed upon with the love of a recollected joy, the memories will remain for me to keep or share.
I like sharing them best.
I posted a quick note on twitter saying I was going to the concert, when and where, and queried if anyone wanted to come with me. My friend Sarah sent me a text saying she might come. By Thursday all was in place. Sarah, Mark, Blake and I would all be eating dinner with other friends and then going to the concert together. Three other friends from church would be meeting us there as well.
We drove downtown in good spirits, discussing what we knew of the artist's music and what we expected from the show. The show was at a small indoor cafe at a large college, and the line for the show wound from the cafe doors down the hallway. As we waited to get in we were entertained, both awkwardly and amusingly, by a belly-dancing show that was taking place in a room that our line passed. We talked and checked the time more than we watched.
The line finally began to move and when we got inside the cafe we found ourselves in a small dim room with a stage on one side and a bar on the other. We found a place to stand and soon the concert began. A single man with his guitar opened the show. His name was Michael, and he was pretty talented and very funny. I don't remember his last name. His off-the-wall remarks and starving artist help-me-out-no-really attitude kept the crowd entertained. There was a five minute break between him getting offstage and the main show, and I went and bought a Derek Webb CD and t-shirt. When I came back inside everyone had packed close together, ready for the reason they were all there. I excused my way through the crowd to get back to my friends, then became stuck, as it were, in the crush of people all trying to stand closest to the stage. Two men stood shoulder to shoulder between myself and my friends. I was considering reaching over them and tapping Blake on the shoulder to see if he'd help me through, because it seemed impolite to push through them, there not being much room anymore near my friends anyway. At that moment Sarah looked over her shoulder and spotted me. She reached out a hand; I took it and she pulled me forward, parting the people who stood so tight in front of me and continuing to pull until I was standing beside her. Then the show began.
The whole atmosphere swept me up in a heady sort of rush; the beat and pulse of the music and the light display that made the rhythem even more vibrant, everyone around nodding, moving, and sometimes singing along, and of course the artist whose music I had long been fond of, standing a few feet away and singing with conviction and passion lyrics of hard-hitting truth. I already loved the new CD, his new sound, and hearing it live made it that much better. After two songs he stopped and introduced his band, a drummer and guitarist. I laughed when he said, "Some of you are standing there thinking, 'Who is this base-playing, black-shirted evil twin of the guy whose music I used to like?'" It was a departure from his classic folk music sound, but I love it. I was happy too though, when he took a break from playing his new songs and took requests from the crowd, requests which were shouted out a bit caotically the instant he gave everyone permission to do so. He began with "She Must And Shall Go Free" which I didn't hear shouted out but hoped he would play. He ended with the song most requested: the heartbreaking "Wedding Dress". Then his band members returned and the contined to play through the new CD.
It was actually very uncomfortable standing there; I had worn a light sweater that was too warm in the small room, and my feet, in boots, where killing me. Sarah too got a back ache, and everyone pressing so close and taking over one's personal space didn't help. But it was worth it. It was so worth it. On the very last song a siren from a fire alarm gave a single shrill cry and the microphones went dead. Derek stepped aside from the mic and continued to sing. Everyone was hushed, listening to just his voice and guitar. Then some people began to sing along. I sang along as well. For a moment that microphones came back to life and the music resurged, but then they crackled angrily and Derek again stepped away from the mic and nodded for his band mates to do the same. The song, the entire concert, was finished just like that; one man singing on stage as loud and clear as his own voice was able, much of the crowd singing along with him. It gives me chills to recall it.
It was after midnight when we got home, probably closer to one oclock for some. We all had to get up for work in the morning but it was worth it. I've never been one to collect things, really. I have one sister who collects piggy banks, another who collects matchbox cars, and another who collects keys and Coke A Cola products. I realized awhile back that I collect memories. I save them in my head. I capture them in pictures. I write them down. That's why I write things like this, mostly. These paragraphs may seem like a lot of detail but even so there's so much more. Yet I think it's enough, at least for now, to remember it by. To put it with the rest of my collection and keep it safe; breathed upon with the love of a recollected joy, the memories will remain for me to keep or share.
I like sharing them best.
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