A Live Music Retrospective

I’m pretty sure my first concert was Stryper. I know. See, at the time, my parents had instituted a “Christian Music on Sundays Only” rule, and if there was good music being made by Christians at the time, I was clueless. I guess I heard Stryper on KSBJ and thought, Cool – rock ‘n’ roll! And, if I was going to any concert at a young age, it was with my parents, and it would be “Christian.” To my parents’ credit, they probably didn’t like the band any more than I do now, but they took me to that show regardless.

Even though I now shudder at the thought of that glam metal band, I must admit that something important happened during my first concert. The band I once listened to on the radio or cassette was playing live, right in front of me. I was bit by the magic of live music – yes, even by Stryper.

Thankfully, years later, I met some friends in college who introduced me to really good live music. Little did they know they had changed my life for the better, forever. I heard Ellis Paul at Mucky Duck at least four times because he’s an amazing songwriter (and a friend had a crush on him). The venue was so small we nearly sat at his feet, and she said hi to him afterward, nearly swooning. I also heard Buddy & Julie Miller, which were my first exposure to alt-country, which is awesome. Julie was quirky, funny, brilliant, and right in the middle of her set, she gave her conversion testimony to a crowd of beer drinkers so naturally as if to say, Here’s what I believe. He changed my life. Make of it what you will. And yet, she spoke with sincerity and gentleness – as opposed to the overpowering tactics of Stryper. The room was quiet with awe, then the rowdy music started up again. I sat very close to the stage that night, too, and that combination of artistry and honesty make me admire the Millers’ music to this very day.

A few years ago, my husband took me to a Sigur Rós show, and Jonsí’s voice sounded like a dream as he bowed his guitar like a violin. My Aunt Denise and I saw Sufjan Stevens at the Paramount in Austin, TX; he and his entire orchestra wore butterfly wings while he furtively tucked truthful lyrics into hipsters’ hearts (mine included). My aunt and I also watched Ryan Adams storm on and off stage in Stubb’s backyard. I’ve seen several great shows with my aunt; we bond over words both in music and books. Once at a Kasey Chambers show, the artist covered a classic song, “If I Needed You.” Denise turned to me and said, “Who wrote this song?” Quick as a whip I replied, “Townes Van Zandt.” She beamed and said, “We ARE related!”

You might’ve read here and there that health has not been my forte the past few years; I sit here awaiting a second surgery that should fix my body. But you know what? Live music is literally healing for me. It puts my head in the right place. For instance, recently I heard Waterdeep at Ecclesia/Taft St. Coffee. It was a fantastic show, and during the last song, a rat scampered straight down the wall behind the duo. There was a communal gasp, and everyone looked around their feet, trying to pay attention to the great song that is “Good Good End.” Now that’s live music. We also heard Derek Webb play a Haiti benefit there. Thankfully, no rats that time. The only surprise was Danielle Young (of Caedmon’s Call) joining him on stage. I sipped my usual from the coffee shop: Monk’s Prayer tea (chamomile + peppermint).

In April, I noticed on Twitter that Andrew Osenga would play a free set on Ecclesia’s patio one Sunday. Houston had good weather for once, and as the sky darkened, bulb lights strung from the roof lit up. I sipped Monk’s Prayer (again). And right before his first song, Andrew looked straight at me and Johnny and said, “Hey, don’t I know y’all from Facebook?” We looked behind our seats, and to our left and right before we realized he was talking to us. Truly, the wonders of Facebook/Twitter never cease to amaze me.

Andrew was wearing casual, outdoorsy clothes with sandals, and in between songs he mentioned his toes were unusual, unique – we could ask him about them afterward. He played many of his greats with just his guitar, including crowd favorites “Canada” and “Anna and the Aliens.” He is such a great songwriter and guitarist – a master of melody, story, and humor.

So, I had to ask about the toes. He said, “Look at them.”

I counted 1, 2, 3 . . . 7, 8, 9 toes. I looked up, “You were born with only nine toes?”

“No,” he said, “I accidentally mowed one off.”

(Me, horrified) “Did it hurt?!”

He said something to the effect of, “Hell, yes! That’s how I met all of my new neighbors – writhing and screaming in pain on our front lawn.”

Now I ask you, would you hear a story like that just listening to a CD? I think not.

We went inside to buy an Andrew Osenga pint glass (wouldn’t you?) and to sponsor his favorite charity, Ellie’s Run. He said, “If you’re bored, I’m doing this taping thing somewhere next – y’all are welcome to come.” Seeing as my health was behaving, we accepted the invitation and drove over to an old warehouse where Andrew filmed for a music webcast called The Serial Box.

We walked up the stairs around the coolest old freight elevator, knocked on a door, and entered a small room with old brown brick walls, a few folks, a scattering of chairs, and big cameras looming overhead. I tried to scribble down the set list accurately, but I was too fascinated by the whole filming process, not to mention Andrew’s songs. I’m fairly certain he sang “Memory” and “Swing Wide the Glimmering Gates” – two of my favorites. (Be sure and look up “Memory.” It’ll make you want to cry and go hug your spouse, but in a beautiful way.) All in all, it was a night of good health, great music, and meeting a talented, kind, and funny guy.

On Wednesday of that week, we returned to Ecclesia, this time to hear Jake Armerding and Kevin Gosa for a Provision of Hope benefit show, helping Liberian war-afflicted orphans, widows, and refugees. This was exciting on three counts: helping those in need, hearing Jake for the first time, and meeting Kevin – a fellow Curator writer & editor – my first of these New Yorkers to meet in the flesh! (I’m so proud to report that Houston is Kevin’s favorite city in Texas.)

We sat indoors this time near a stage softly lit by tall candelabras. Yes, I drank Monk’s Prayer tea again, but I think it has a lot to do with the poetic name. The music began, and I’d never heard anything like it. It was folk music, but without that Southern country flavor. Jake is from Boston and Kevin is from the Midwest by way of New Jersey, so I wondered if geography played into the difference – perhaps more of a Celtic, Old World influence. I’d (badly) describe it as jazz-tinged Northern folk. Whatever you call it, I loved it.

Jake played acoustic guitar, mandolin, and fiddle; Kevin played the soprano and tenor saxophones; and a friend named Matt Davis played bass on a few songs. I never knew a saxophone and fiddle could sound so good together, but the chemistry between Jake and Kevin is amazing – they could really jam instrumentally, and Kevin killed it on the sax. Jake also sang songs about backpacking, a few love songs, a song about the devil, and a protest song about airport security. Can I get an amen? It was a wonderful night of meeting a virtual friend, and hearing a brand new genre.

The next day, we drove through a sea of bluebonnets to Dallas to see my parents, and to go to a Patty Griffin & Buddy Miller show at The House of Blues. As I mentioned above, I have a serious musical crush on Buddy & Julie Miller. I’ve also been a drooling fan of Patty Griffin ever since I was hypnotized by her very first record, Living with Ghosts, on the radio in Austin, TX. So you can imagine my excitement when Buddy Miller walked out on stage, that crazy white hair under his hat. I believe he opened with “Chalk,” which undoes me to the core. Then Patty walked out with her beautiful, crazy red hair, and the crowd went nuts. But she just stood there, very demure, obviously as in awe of Buddy as I was. She simply backed him to greats like “Gasoline and Matches,” a song that his wife, Julie, used to get him to stay home one night. She grabbed her guitar, yelled out the song, and he stayed (Patty played spoons on that one). He also played “All My Tears” (written by Julie), which is my funeral song. Weird, I know, but what could be a better song to celebrate the end of a good life?

When I go, don’t cry for me
in my Father’s arms I’ll be.
The wounds this world left on my soul
will all be healed and I’ll be whole.
The sun and moon will be replaced
with the light of Jesus’ face.
. . . It don’t matter where you bury me,
I’ll be home and I’ll be free . . .
all of my tears be washed away.

Next was Patty’s main set, and she sang a wide spectrum of songs from her records. She informed us that “Heavenly Day” is a love song to her dog, which I found quite charming. And then she sang several gems from her latest album, Downtown Church, which she did in fact record in a Presbyterian church in downtown Nashville (and Buddy produced). She sang with soul, grit, Truth, rock, and blues. I sipped Chardonnay from a plastic cup and watched the patchwork curtains bleed red, purple, and blue light. I don’t think Patty is a regular church-goer, but I’m here to tell you, the Gospel breathed on every person in that dark club. My health began to fail me a bit, but I listened and swayed with the worship of the weary. Before we waded through the crowd to our car, Buddy announced that they’d partnered with World Vision for this tour – yet more great musicians giving to those in dire need.

We drove back home through the Texas countryside and I thought to myself, We just traveled to another city for live music. Good grief. And here’s why. A CD or digital file becomes “incarnate.” The musicians are there in the flesh, their songs taking on a whole new being – real, live, and breathing. Instead of endlessly consuming both free and paid-for music, we should migrate to an artful space and see, listen, and ingest the songs – let the volume pummel us for a bit, for the good. Oh, and be sure and document your experience with bad iPhone photography. It’s all the rage, you know.

We even need to venture out to hear unknown artists – you’ll never find the good unless you seek. The musicians need to see their fans, too, not just record sales. No matter if they are your favorite songwriter in the whole world and you’re very geeked up – they are just regular, hardworking people. And yet, you might get a chance to shake their hand and thank them for their many sacrifices to bring you good music; to commune with you.

When we go hear live music, we do join a community – so important in these days of isolation. Money is tight in our economy, but let us go and support live music together as patrons, and if it be a benefit show, even better. Music often rouses our hearts to give to those around the world, and paints music & lyric of people living in horrific conditions we can’t even imagine. Music can help save the world.