Mike and Dani's Infinite Playlist =)

It was 7 years ago today, that I met my husband for the first time.

August 23rd, 2008.

After meeting online, discovering several mutual friends, messaging back and forth for over a month, and me chickening out on an open dinner invitation from him for several weeks. . . I finally screwed my courage to the sticking place, and agreed to meet him in Birmingham for drinks and dinner.

August 23rd, 2008, I stood on the corner of 23rd street, holding my umbrella against a misting rain, and gazing in the windows of What's On Second?, while I waited for my date to arrive.

He only lived one block away, and the area was one that, unbeknownst to me at the time, would become emotionally significant to me for the rest of my life.

This is one of the first photos I ever saw of him:

Handsome, I know, right?  =)

. . . but also recently divorced, and with a 12 year old son, and a toddler.

(I'm sure you can imagine that, not knowing him, and only being concerned for my well-being, many people warned me to be cautious.  It turned out to be a baseless fear.)

But there was something about THIS photo.  Others, too. . . after all, for the first month or so we only communicated online.  No phone calls (I was chicken, as I stated earlier, and have always hated talking on the phone anyway), we just sent letters.  Electronic letters, but letters nonetheless.  Long, rambling letters that went on and on and on, about everything from what we had eaten for lunch that day, to what song was currently at the top of our respective current playlists, to our political and social views, and, of course, our taste in comedy.  

One day, he started a letter off with:

". . . I was born a poor black child. . . "

=D

And I freaked OUT.

Because that is the first line from The Jerk, which happens to be one of my favorite comedies of all time.  =D

And of course we saw all the photos that the other had posted. . .

This photo of him holding Young Padawan is the one that really got to me, though.  Of course he was handsome, and, from what I could glean from our interactions, was also funny, smart, hard-working, and devoted to his family.

But it was the look on his face, in this photo, that hit me.

His face is that of a man in pain.

Not an "ouch"; not a depression.  It is the face of a man that has been gut-punched by life, but is pushing on.  It is a face that comes from days upon days upon days of fighting, and setting your resolve to stubbornly keep putting one foot in front of the other one, even though you're still reeling from the sucker-punch Life snuck in on you, and you're just hoping that at some point you get your breath back.

It was a face, or a mask, or a mindset, or whatever you want to call it. . . that I knew very well.  

I saw it every time I looked in the mirror.

We had talked, of course, through these many rambling letters, about the "curve balls" in life that we were each, respectively, recovering from.

We had talked about how we were both not just ready, but hungry, for someone that we could actually RESPECT.

And in this picture. . . I saw a man that knew pain.  This was the man I had been corresponding with.  The guy that loved music, the guy that was so funny, and wonderfully odd, and always seemed to be looking for his next belly-laugh.

But what *I* saw. . . was a fighter.

I saw strength, and determination, a healthy sense of "Screw you, world, I'm gonna keep going", and yes, courage.

And so I decided I would meet him.  =)

. . . . . . . . .

It was the best first date I ever had.  My cheeks literally HURT from laughing so much.  And the next day, I could NOT stop smiling.

So we went out again for lunch and a movie the next day, and just. . . kind of never stopped dating.  =)

From the moment we met. . . there was never anyone else.  

My eye has never wandered, I've never looked at another with longing. . . because, since then, there have BEEN no others.  Other men enter my line of vision, and my life, as potential friends, and nothing else.  It is not something I have to work on, or try very hard to enact.  It is just something that happened when I found him, and discovered that HE was The One for me.

Yes, yes, I know.

Norman Reedus exists.

=)

But he exists in a very intangible way, not quite real to ME, and though he is fabulous and wonderful, and I have actually sworn to Thor's Mighty Hammer that I would one day MEET him (constituting a moral obligation to one day do so) . . . he is not the one for me, and I am wise enough to know it.  =)

I was his.  And I've never been one to put much effort (or any at all) into playing games, so I'm sure he knew it fairly quickly.

This song pretty much sums it up:

In the early days of our relationship, we went to a lot of bars.  Not because we were drunks (though I am partial to a White Russian when the mood strikes me, I more often find myself in the role of the girl at the bar who orders a Coke, thus annoying bartenders everywhere), but because he lived Downtown, there were lots of bars, and those bars were usually playing live music.

And we both loved music.

. . . One of the songs that was on constant repeat in my head at the time was this one, and it always made me think of him:

From his profile online, one of the first things I noticed about him was that he loved The Flaming Lips.  Who just HAPPENED to be one of my favorite bands at the time (and, honestly, still is). 

We spent a lot of time listening to Yoshimi.  =)

We spent several days at a time together.  (My mom joked, a little worriedly at the time, about our "3-day dates.")

We lived like we were in perpetual recess.  =)

We hung out in all of the parks Downtown, and I learned that just about every person that worked at a hot dog joint in Downtown Birmingham knew him by face, and usually by name.

We spent a lot of time walking around Downtown, talking, and taking pictures.

We stayed up late, we saw all SORTS of live music.

He revealed that one of the things that first attracted him to me was that, under my "Who I'd Like To Meet" on myspace, before Ghandi, John Lennon, Cookie Monster, and Yoda, I'd put:  "Nigel Tufnel."

(LOVE me some Nigel!!!)

And, as he was a Spinal Tap fan too, I felt I could trust him.  =) 

. . . AND his taste in movies.

We did cheap things, like hang out at his place and giggle and cook, and curl up and watch movies.  (And giggle some more.  . . . Seriously.  We giggled a lot.)

(How could I NOT fall for THAT??)  =D

He sent me this song, and told me it made him think of me:

. . . .Which, I think you will have to admit, is pretty effing romantic.  =)

Or maybe it was just romantic for us, and different things are romantic to different people.

For my part, at the time, I was wearing out a Dashboard Confessional Live album every time I was in the car.  (Do not judge me.  I love them.)  =)  

And it seemed like every time I was in the car, I was on my way to see Michael. . .  so this song was playing in my head for pretty much the first 2 or 3 months that we were together:

I met his sons, one at a time, and quickly grew to love each of their own unique and fabulous personalities.

We saw more music:

We did a lot of talking.  And a lot of giggling.

I introduced him to Arrested Development.

He introduced me to Indian food.  =)

We spent time with the kids.

His lease with his roommate was up.

So we moved in together.  In a little loft Downtown.

We went to work, I picked Padawan up from school every other Friday, Spawn came when he could, we celebrated birthdays, and Halloween, and Christmas together.

And a year, to the day, after we met on that street corner. . . we walked down from our loft hand-in-hand, with my Uncle Crant (the pastor) in tow, to that same spot to say our vows.

And what came next. . . is what generally comes next.  =)

We were married, we were working, we were getting the boys whenever we could, and then. . . A BABY was coming!!!

Shock.

We left our loft, and moved into a house.

We had two cats, a back yard, and, soon, three sons.  =)

And it is at this point. . . that I start to tear up.

I think one of the first things that attracted my husband and I to each other was that we had both known great pain.  And had both (somehow), found the fortitude to keep going, keep smiling, keep trying to "find the funny" in any situation.  I personally believe it is THIS, this knowledge that all those things that people usually take for granted. . . a home, a spouse, kids, a job. . . all those things don't HAVE to happen.

It doesn't always work out that way.

Before we found each other, we were each. . . broken, in our own ways.

All those seemingly mundane things, that "normal old life" that so many people have, and often take for granted, are things to be TREASURED.

A family, a home, a spouse, and a life that you love. . . . has GOT to be one of the rarest gifts that can be bestowed upon man.

And suddenly. . . we had it.

And we did NOT take it for granted.

========================

Slowly, for the most part, the nightmares that have plagued my sleep for years. . . went away.

I. . . I had everything I had ever wanted.

"For once, there was nothing up my sleeve.
Just some scars from a life that used to trouble me.
I used to run at first sight of the sun. . .
Now I lay here waiting for you to wake up."

Now I look at these faces.

And I don't see the repressed fear.

I don't see the tension.  Or the weariness.

I think of all the adventures that we've taken on, together.

All the countries and places we have left to travel to, and all the music we have waiting for us.

I see his face, and I see the even grander adventure we've signed up for, and I know that we're going to struggle, and laugh, roll our eyes and roll up our sleeves, and get through it together.

I see this face. . .

And I see YEARS spent in the kitchen, talking and laughing, listening to Justin Townes Earle, John Prine and Johnny Cash, and making dinner.

I see Christmases, and birthdays, and family get-togethers.

I see my back yard.

Aside from when I lived with my parents, I never had a back yard before I met him.

And now it is my favorite place to be.

This modest little garden/oasis that he has created for us, with his own two hands.  Where flowers and babies grow, music is almost always playing, and a plastic sword is never far from hand.

I see this face. . .

And I see my best friend.

The one I love.

The one I trust, and cherish, and protect, above all others.

I look at this man. . . and sometimes, yeah.  It is with frustration.  =)

But mostly, mainly. . . I look at this man and I see my home.

I see my safe place, and my funny place, and my place-I-MOST-like-to-be.

I see my back yard, where my babies have grown from Cozy Coupes to Big Boy bikes, and he has been there beside me the entire time. 

I see my FAMILY.

He gave me both of those things.

I look in his eyes, and I see my sons.  All three of them.

He gave me them, too.  =)

I, for once, have no words left to describe what I feel for him.

Nothing that comes close to describing. . . .

The only word that pops to mind is:  Gratitude.

Not to him, but to the Universe in general, or God, or whatever you choose to call it.

I needed him.

I needed him SO badly, and I didn't even know it.

And he needed me, too.

And we found each other.  And there is nothing that will ever convince me that it was accidental.

I see this:

. . . and I'm actually kind of surprised to find that it has been 7 years.

Seven years that I've been loving him, and I'm still every bit as crazy about him as I was when we first met.

We are each other's teachers, and each other's students.  We are confidants, and partners in crime, and sharers of secrets and inside jokes.

I see him. . . and I just see. . . my LIFE.

He has made my life.  =')

I would take a bullet for him, and I've got his back in any battle.

I honestly believe we would survive a zombie apocalypse, as long as we were together.

I love this man.  

With every bit of gratitude, and warmth, and joy and magic and grace that has been given me.

Every bit of my heart, every day.

". . .We've got 50 good years left
to spend out in the garden.
I don't care to beg your pardon,

We should live. . .
Until we die."

". . . You're the love of my life, you know that I

I will never leave your side."

My McCalla Walla Article =)

So there's something that's happening this Saturday. . . and it's a pretty big deal to me.
If you know me through facebook, you know that our household, friends, and family, are pretty freaking excited about the first EVER McCalla Walla, which will take place this Saturday, August 1st, at Tannehill State Park!!!!!

It is something that I have watched rapidly evolve over the course of 7 months, and, knowing the subject so closely, it is naturally very near and dear to my heart.

Sooooo, I was just thinking. . .

Why have I not seen an article about this yet?

It is happening THIS WEEKEND.

???

And yet I haven't seen a single article about it. . . not even a blurb stating time and place. . . from any of the online news outlets in our area.

So I found out that the thing is. . . 

They say they don't have enough room to cover it.

o.0

Ummmmmmmmmm.

????

They know it's the friggin internet, right?  There is literally nothing BUT room.

All you have to do is the Who, What, When, Where, How and Why.

(And proofread.)

It's happening in your area.

It's going to be awesome.

You can bring your KIDS.

You can bring your DOGS.

And people need to know about it!!!

So. . . I mulled this over for a bit. . .  

And I considered ALL the typo-riddled articles that I had read time after time after TIME on these sites, times where I OFTEN thought to myself:  ". . . Good Lord, does NOBODY proofread this??"

And. . .

And I just decided that I'd write the damned article myself.

=D

So here it is:


What:  McCalla Walla Music, Art and Animal Rescue Festival

When:  August 1st, 2015, from 9 a.m. to 8 p.m.

Where:  Tannehill State Park                    
Admission:  $10 adults, $5 kids 5 - 12, under 5 free                    
Pay at the gate, or buy tickets online at www.mccallawalla.com

Why:  Because we like you.  =)

Who:  Michael Turberville and John-Mark Taylor's production company Turbo Taylor Productions, and the McCalla Event Planning Committee.

How:  . . . . . . 

. . . this is where it gets interesting.

=)

As I said, I've watched McCalla Walla evolve over the course of the last 7 months.  I know it pretty well.

I should.  It started in my house.

It started as an idea.  

My husband was thinking about our area, which is McCalla/kind of Bessemer, Alabama.

It is an area that we've come to love, and one that has seen a lot of growth over the course of the last decade or so.

And the thing that troubled him about this was simply that we didn't seem to have an EVENT, some kind of happening. . . with music and kids and family. . . to kind of glue us together.  

Something to cement us, to introduce us to each other, maybe share a song, and help us to foster a stronger sense of community.

We didn't have that.

And you know what?  

. . . he WANTED that.

So he talked to some of his friends and neighbors about it.

Nobody fancy.  Nobody wealthy.

They all work regular jobs, lead regular lives, love their kids and their pets.

Just your friends and neighbors.

And they LIKED the idea.

They got on board.

They all donated their time, and their energy, and any contacts or knowledge that they had, and they just. . . just wanted to give back to their community.

And dammit if they didn't MAKE THIS THING COME TOGETHER.


It started happening quickly, accelerating. . . picking up speed.

People wanted to help.

First things first, they wanted the festival to help a worthy organization in the area.  A nonprofit.

They wanted to help an animal rescue organization, and quickly landed on the Sugarbelle Foundation.  They're a nonprofit animal organization "whose mission is to keep pets and people together."  
They work all over Alabama, promote spaying and neutering, and do a lot of work through foster care.

They are great people.

=)

You can find more about them on facebook, or at sugarbellefoundation.weebly.com

So they had decided what organization was to benefit from the festival.

Next up:  music.

This one came together almost like magic.

With many of the prominent members of the planning committee being musicians themselves, and even more being avid music-lovers, the music turned out to, miraculously, be no problem.

They knew they wanted local talent.

And they GOT IT.

First off, they got Rollin In the Hay.

**If you're from Alabama. . . you KNOW Rollin In the Hay.  Odds are you've seen them perform.  Odds are even better that it was a great show.  They've been doing this for years, and are, if you are a betting person, pretty much a full-fledged guarantee of a really good time.

So the newly-formed planning committee put a LOT of care and consideration into the planning of this lineup.

And let me just tell you, speaking as a music-lover myself:

They know what they're about.


They've got country-- Brad Shirley

They've got "Newgrass"-- Rollin' In the Hay

They've got country-punk, and "Southern-fried alt-law country", with Mandi Rae, and Caddle.

They've got the gritty, soulful, sounds of Heath Green and the Makeshifters.  (Seriously.  Check these guys OUT.)

They've got veteran Birmingham musicians like Michael Leon, and Nathan Peek and The New Thread.

Ashley and the Keepers, The Old Paints, and Kyle Kimbrell round out the lineup, adding everything from jazz-fusion to blues to rock to folk to soul.

Actually. . . they're bands that all have their own distinct sound and allure.

. . . It's kind of something that you're really going to need to see.

So.

The music was down.

What next?

ART.

They wanted local artists, and any and every weird and wonderful thing their twisted little hearts could produce.

. . . and they ended up getting that, too.

With over 25 local artists signing on to display and sell their own unique creations, the Art Walk promises to be an interesting (and fun!) part of the festival.

=)

Finally, there was really only one thing left to talk about:

The kids.

At this point. . . I'm going to have to break off for a moment, just to once again identity myself as a veteran concert-goer, and music festival camper/enthusiast.

There's not much that I love more than seeing good live music. The way it feels to be a part of the crowd.  The way it feels to share in that with everyone around you.

I am not over-stating here when I say that music is an important part of life in our home.  We appreciate it.  We sing it, we dance to it, and much of our time spent together, whether in the back yard, or the kitchen, is spent with music in the back ground (or foreground, as is often the case).

I want my kids to love music.  (And they DO.)

I want my kids to HEAR live music.

Ahhhhh.

And there's the rub.

See, I've SEEN live music.  I've spent many years chasing it, in fact.

I've seen it performed in tiny bars, larger bars, grand theaters, symphonies, the beach, city sidewalks, and literal mountaintops.

But the thing is, unfortunately, most of those places aren't really places that I would feel comfortable taking my young children.

So the McCalla Walla planning committee decided that THAT'S what they would do.

They would create a festival where you could go and enjoy a day FULL of music-- really, really, GOOD music-- WITH your family.

You can even bring your dog.

. . .

Seriously.

You can even bring your dog.

=)

And they planned a kid's area, complete with a bounce-house, inflatable slides, face-painting, and a sensory-play area, for kids with special needs.

Seriously.

Ohhhh.

But it's gonna be hot.

Misting fans set up throughout the park.

Boom.  =)


Also, since admission to the festival includes park admission. . . you could also take some time to wander off the path, and enjoy your lunch while dipping your feet in a bubbling creek.

SERIOUSLY.

Oh, wait.  You didn't pack a lunch?

I think they might have SOMEONE selling food. . .

Let's see. . . 

What will food vendors be selling there. . . .

How about:

Roasted Corn
Turkey Legs
Fried Porkchop Sandwiches
Hamburgers
Hot dogs
Nachos
Fresh Fruit
Taco Truck
Island Ices
Cookies 
Cakes
Buffalo Rock refreshments
Full Moon Barbecue (VIP Sponsor)

and

Chik-Fil-A (begins serving at breakfast)


Now. . . I am a person that loves carnival/street food.  And I am almost as excited about the food lineup as I am about the music.

=D

=D

=D

Soooooo. . . basically, that's it.  That's the article.

The Who, What, When, Where, How, and Why are all there.

And, if you're in the area, from the area, or plan on being anywhere AROUND the area that day. . . I highly suggest you come.

Have a turkey leg.

Check out some art.  (I'll have a booth-- swing by and say hi!)

Listen to some great music.

Bring your kids.

Let them play.

Boogie.

Seriously. . .

Get down with your bad self.

It's something that your kids need to see.

=)

Let THEM boogie.

Come on out and spend the day with us.

Yeah, because it'll be fun.

Yes, because it's supporting a great cause.

OKAY, because there are gonna be some REALLY great bands there, and you feel like your dog needs to be introduced to rock and roll and soul.

But, if none of those reasons are enough for you?

Do it because of what it is.

And what it IS. . . is about as grass-roots as you could possibly GET.

Your neighbors put this together.

With sacrifice, and laughter, and pure determination. . . your friends and your neighbors decided that they WANTED this.

A day of music.  Family.  Creativity.  

Play.

A day of living it up, while giving back.

A day to smile with the sun, shake what you got, and add your own voice to the chorus.

They wanted it for their own families. . . and they wanted it for yours, too.

How many sunny, art and song-filled days do YOU want to spend with your family?

Seriously.

???

So. . . you know.

I'll be there.

. . . Because the answer is, of course:  

ALL of them.

=)

The Sounds of the Saints

So I accidentally called myself out on my own bullshit regarding this blog two nights ago.

Mister and I were on a date night, and had followed some good Indian food up with some live music at The Nick.

After the show, we were sitting outside chatting it up (because date nights are RARE, and the nights when they coincide with our friends' date nights are rarer still), and I remarked about how much I had enjoyed the show, and that I was thinking maybe I wanted to write something about it.  And our friend piped up with "And then you'll do what you always do, which is--"

". . .Make it religious?" I interjected.

Which is NOT what she was going to say, but I realized was kind of true, nonetheless.

And so, as it goes with me, this one concept/idea/interaction has been floating around in my head since then, gathering speed, and occasionally picking up other random ideas and inviting them to the party, too.

I do that.

. . . I totally do that.

And so I started analyzing myself, and my thought process.  Because I am not (as has been firmly established in this blog), a particularly religious person.**

**Right here, I feel that I should add something about how, while I am not "religious", that does not mean that I lead an unexamined life.  I am spiritual.  Maybe even a little mystical.  But not religious.  I was going to give an explanation of all these things, and then I thought. . . nah.  People that know me, know me.  People that don't, don't care.  And I'm perfectly happy to leave it at that.**

Anyhoo.  The point is that I was thinking on it.

And the fact that I unintentionally called myself out on this means that I have at least noticed it.  And so I started to call lots of things into question.

Am I over-stating when I write?

. . . I try really hard not to exaggerate, but perhaps I am over-stating sometimes.  And, since I am trying really hard for honesty here, that would not necessarily be a good thing.

And so I guess this post is going to be an exercise in keeping it honest.

 . . . why DO I always seem to bring religion into it?

First and foremost, I guess because spirituality is important to me. And a lot of that can probably just boil down to what I said a moment ago, about not living an unexamined life.

But the second reason I think I do this is. . . possibly a bit more complex.

And I think it is because I am a product of my environment, as we all are, to varying degrees.

I believe it was Mark Twain that said that every writer has a complicated relationship with the place where they grew up.

. . . I *believe* it was Mark Twain.  And yet I cannot find any evidence to support this belief.  So it could've been anybody.  Hell, it could've been ME.  . . . but I think it was Twain.

Anyway, I remembered this line because the first time I read it, it rang very true to me.

This is, of course, supposing that I can even call myself "a writer."  Because, unfortunately for my ego, while looking for the source of this quote, I came across this one, which sadly seems to be more applicable:

So I write sometimes.  I also bake sometimes, but I am not toying with the idea of whether or not to refer to myself as "a baker."

We'll just say that I'm maintaining my amateur status.

For tax purposes.

And that'll be fine.  Just fine.

Anyway.  Where was I?

Oh yeah.

Trying to figure out why I always seem to bring religion into my posts.

And then I realized:  The answer was right in front of me.

==============================

We did, as I mentioned, see some live music Friday night.

Really GOOD live music.

Live music that, coincidentally, happens to bring up religion as a theme from time to time.

As seen here, in If You Ain't Got God:

A powerful song, to be sure.

Actually, I think the way I described it a couple of nights ago was:
"Some really get-down, seriously funky shit."

Sooooo. . . take that song.  Listen to it.

Now listen to it again.

And you'll find one of the great things about living in Alabama.

Which is:  Just because this is an awesome song about God, and belief versus non-belief, does NOT necessarily mean that the musician who wrote it is a religious person.

It just means that they grew up here, with their days as deeply steeped in religion as they were in sweet tea.

And that is essentially what I'm talking about today.

This is the music of Heath Green and the Makeshifters.  (I'm not one hundred percent sure about the rest of the band, but I know that Heath Green was born and raised here in Alabama.)

And, if YOU were born and raised here, YOU know that just because he wrote a song saying that "If you ain't got God, you ain't got nothing." does NOT mean that he is necessarily a church-going person.

Let me explain.

================================

You grow up in Alabama -- you know about The Church.

You grow up going to it.

Or your granny takes you.

Or the kids in your class go to Youth Group every week.

You probably spent summers of your childhood at Vacation Bible School, learning about Jesus, making noodle art, and drinking watered-down grape kool-aid.

You act up?  Make a big mistake?  Make your neighbors call how you were raised into question?

You're GONNA get told that "You need some Jesus."

(How MUCH Jesus is really up to you.  But at least a little bit.)

There is simply no way around it.

Go out to the country. . . there's at least one church for roughly every 6 miles of shredded country blacktop.

Your granny was religious.

I know she was, because EVERYBODY'S granny was religious.

It's as much a part of growing up here as playing in the red clay when you were a kid.

If you grow up in Alabama, you know about the church.

You know.  

Because it is a vital part of life and death here.

It is part of your childhood.  It is sewn into your memory.  It is indistinguishable from you, because it is a part of you.  It is one of the major threads that has been used to sew the fabric of your life.  And you can't remove it without the whole tapestry unraveling.

You KNOW how you're supposed to behave in church.  You know because, at some point in time, you did NOT behave in church.  And it was probably the first time your granny, or other family member or church member, spoke to you between clenched teeth, and threatened you with bodily harm if you did not STOP acting a fool RIGHT.  FREAKING.  NOW.

You KNOW the way your granny's church fellowship hall smells.  (Because that's where the best food you've ever eaten in your LIFE was served.)

You know what a church feels like in the middle of August, just as well as you know that a church program makes a really inadequate fan.

You know that, as a kid, if you weren't behaving at church, it didn't matter if your granny or any other family member was around or not.  Because ANY ADULT THERE had the right to reprimand you if you needed it.  It was not questioned, and no explanation was required.

You know what the church cemetery looks like.  Because that's where all your people are buried.  And you spent what feels like countless hours of your childhood taking flowers, and paying your respects.

You were there for your own wedding, or your brother's wedding, or your cousin's wedding.  

You know the almost indescribably wonderful feeling of getting home from church on a hot summer Sunday, and trading your church clothes for shorts and bare feet.

At one time or another, you have literally kicked off your Sunday shoes.

You grow up in Alabama, you know The Church.

And, if you're me, you know it very well.

You remember every crumbling brick, and every hymn.

You remember your granny's favorite bible verses.

You remember your family's eyes closed in prayer before every big meal.

You have, either literally or figuratively, been baptised in muddy waters.

It is part of our heritage.

And, even if you don't share the same beliefs as an adult, you still pay your respects.

Oh yes, you DO.

=================================

So back to my original train of thought.

Yeah.  I seem to bring religion into a lot of my posts.

And I guess the reason I do that is. . . because I simply cannot help it.

It is where I'm from.  It is who I am.

It is a complicated relationship, to be sure.  But you can't deny the history there.

So. . . we saw some great music Friday night.

It was some deeply soulful stuff.

And as I was standing there, while the band was playing, I knew that I was going to write about it.

What was I going to say??

. . .I've gotta keep it honest.

And the most honest thing I came away with was this:


A few weeks ago, my husband and I were in the kitchen, listening to music and giggling and just generally enjoying each other's company.  And then we turned on Heath Green, and I just stopped dead in my tracks.

And I sat down to listen.  To give it my full attention.

"It feels familiar," I said.  "It feels like I've heard this before, but I know I never have."

And as I said that, I realized something MAJOR (major for ME.  It's all relative).

That's what ALL good music has in common, for me.

I still remember the first time I ever heard The Grateful Dead.

Or The Beatles.

Or Elvis Presley.

Jimi Hendrix.

The Band.

CCR.

Ray Charles.

The list goes on and on and on.

But each time I heard these different types of music -- it stopped me.

Because I felt like I already knew it.  Like I'd heard it somewhere before.

And I'd stop, and listen really hard.  Trying to commit every note and line to memory, and also kind of feeling like bits of it were already there.

So I'm not going to over-state here.

I'm not going to say that seeing Heath Green and the Makeshifters changed my life on Friday night.

I'm not going to tell you that listening to them will change YOUR life.

I'm just going to say that it was a really great show, and if you like funky, soulful, bluesy music with a beat. . . you should probably check them out.  They obviously had a great time performing, and they obviously wanted YOU to have a great time, too.

As for the religious aspect. . . yeah.  I can't remove it.

I can't remove it from the songs themselves, and I can't remove it from my interpretation.

My epiphany was that good music always feels familiar.

But. . . why is THAT??

Is is because music was with us in the beginning?  Is it because music, as an audible expression of joy and pain, is where we come from?  And also where we're going?

Hell, I don't know.  Those are big questions.

I'm not a music critic.

I don't WANT to be.  I love music with too much of my heart to go around criticizing the folks that make it.

But I'm gonna tell you right now:

If you are a music lover, you NEED to listen to this music.

And, just in case you don't want to take my word for it, I'll go on and give you my credentials:

I can pick out the mournful note in a joyful noise.

I know that when it really moves you, you close your eyes, and the crowd disappears.

I've known great joy, and I've known great loss, and I know that sometimes your voice breaks when you sing about them.

I was raised in the clay, I've been washed in the blood, and I've got muddy water running through my veins.

. . .

I KNOW the sounds of the saints, when I hear 'em.

***I honestly have no idea if this post is worth a damn, because somebody was talking to me the ENTIRE TIME I was writing it.
But thanks for reading to the end.  =)