Showing posts with label Dave Matthews Band. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Dave Matthews Band. Show all posts

Monday, September 20, 2021

Steady As We Go (Dave Matthews Band)

Full disclosure:  The below is text that I've tweaked/adapted and posted, in some form or another, every year on my blog and/or Facebook.  Despite  my husband's ability to drive me crazy more often than not, he also drives me crazy in the good kinda way, which you will understand if you're able to machete through my missive below (sorry/not sorry it's so long!).

I love him dearly, and I can't imagine being with anyone else for a lifetime; he truly is My Person... 💓

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Tell the story of your marriage,” my young friend Niki says to me. “Write down how it is you have a happy marriage.” But the story of my marriage, which is the great joy and astonishment of my life, is too much like a fairy tale, the German kind, unsweetened by Disney.” ~ Ann Patchett, from her book of essays, The Story of a Happy Marriage

September 18, 2021 (this past Saturday) marked our 45th wedding anniversary.  It's been a long-standing joke of mine that, like the famous 12-step program, we do our marriage One Day at a Time (that would be 16,425 days, but who's counting?... 😃 )

Chico (given name Robert) and I met when he was a senior and I was a sophomore in college (Fall 1974).  One Sunday a group of my friends had been challenged to an impromptu football game by another group on campus, and I went along to watch. I was recruited to be one of the holders of the down-markers (two pointed brooms with string tied between).  Chico flirted with me all day, but saw me leaving with my "gang" and assumed I was dating one of them (I wasn't). The next day I was in my usual spot/routine in The Student Center, drinking coffee/reading a book/smoking cigarettes (gave up that bad habit when I found out I was pregnant with our daughter Sarah, over 38 years ago).  He came up, introduced himself to me and asked permission to sit down.

I was impressed by his good manners, among other things, and we were "an item" for the remainder of the year.  He graduated with a degree in Latin American Studies and got a job in Ft. Campbell, Kentucky with the Red Cross, counseling servicemen. I stayed to finish my degree and we carried on a long-distance relationship for the remaining two years, writing, calling, and visiting when we could.  The April of my senior year, during one of his visits, he asked me to marry him… and we rolled out of bed to call our parents to share the good news.  I graduated in June and we were married the following September.

An aside: During my last two years of school, I worked at a clothing boutique not far from the college.  I would walk there directly after classes, putting in about 30 hours a week and getting a 30% discount.  Chico and I had only been dating a few months when a beautiful dress came into the store.  I knew then I had to have it, whether to be married or buried (whichever came first) in such elegance, and I put it on layaway immediately. It was an off-white muslin with long, crocheted-lace sleeves and an empire bodice (very Guinevere-ish).  The big joke in my family is that, with my discount, I paid $28. When my wedding day was finally announced, my mom tried hard to talk me into something more traditional but I would not be swayed.  I still think it was the perfect dress… 💖

We stayed in our small college town for the next 8 years, moving temporarily to Atlanta en route to Puerto Rico for a company transfer (where we put in 4 1/2 years).  Back to Atlanta for almost three years and then to South Florida, where we've resided for the last 29. 

During the first twenty-five years of our marriage, Chico traveled quite a bit (twice a month, a week or more at a time). I've always been a strong and spirited soul and when the children were younger, we talked about the time he was away, not as better or worse but just different.  I belonged to AAA (although AA seemed more appropriate some days... 😉), I learned to fix small household items, I became responsible for my own entertainment.  When it had to be done, I did it. The worst were his two-week trips, when I didn't want to relax and appreciate having him home the weekend in-between, because it just meant giving him up again.  I learned various coping mechanisms, but I missed him.

Career moves found Chico home more, and the rest of us having to readjust, awkwardly at first, but happily.  He and I have always had separate interests (my music, his soccer), meeting in the middle more often than not for conversation, intimacy and intensity. 

My husband is of Brazilian descent and I am of Italian/Native American heritage... so emotions run high most of the time.  We pendulum between pondering what to name our wished-for houseboat when we retire... to me threatening to run away with the Renaissance Festival each February. 

My husband makes me crazy... and he makes me feel adored.  He is frustrating... and he is flattering. He is honest, even when I don't want to hear it... and I know I can trust his words and his actions (how many people in our lives can we say that about?!?).  He is intuitive, which is sometimes annoying but mostly a blessing. 

I wholeheartedly cherish our ongoing flare-ups, passions, commitment, disconnects, conversations, silences. It has never been easy; it has always been worthwhile.  As Brian Joseph sings in Cal’s Chevy:  “it ain’t easy… but it’s ours.”
I vowed that *happy* and *marriage* didn't have to be mutually exclusive.  My parents divorced after 29 years so I learned early on that one is never safe, and I try not to take it for granted.

Chico and I have made a conscious decision to stay together in this hectic and unsettling world (especially now during the pandemic). I crave and cherish my independence, but I don't worry any more that I'll have to "give in" (reminds me of a Dar Williams' song, In Love But Not at Peace: "I still need the beauty of words sung and spoken and I live with the fear that my spirit will be broken").  We seem to have forged a wonderful agreement where we both manage to get our own way a good bit of the time, but we haven't forgotten the art of the happy medium.

When we got married in 1976, a popular reading to include in weddings was “On Marriage” by Kahlil Gibran.  I loved it at the time, but even more so now.  The concept was, and remains, groundbreaking.  Remember these lines?

“You were born together, and together you shall be forevermore. 
You shall be together when the white wings of death scatter your days
Ay, you shall be together even in the silent memory of God
But let there be spaces in your togetherness
And let the winds of the heavens dance between you.
Love one another, but make not a bond of love:
Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls.
Fill each other's cup but drink not from one cup.
Give one another of your bread but eat not from the same loaf
Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each one of you be alone,
Even as the strings of a lute are alone though they quiver with the same music.
Give your hearts, but not into each other's keeping.
For only the hand of Life can contain your hearts.
And stand together yet not too near together:
For the pillars of the temple stand apart,
And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other's shadow.”

I've spent the last few weeks re-evaluating what's kept us going these 4+ decades.  We have had just as many troubles as everyone else, but the risk is the reward, and the leap of faith is the longevity... and, to quote Jackson Browne, we just keep getting up and doing it again... amen... 🌅

I have always hated the term soulmate which, in my mind, used to conjure up images of Hallmark movies with couples joined-at-the-hip in that "you-complete-me" kinda way. Ugh. Many years ago, a dear friend (who is also a therapist) offered up her definition of soulmate:  someone who challenges you to be the best person you can be. Chico does that for me and, I'd like to think, I for him. We have "a head and a heart marriage" (a phrase I heard on a TV show recently). It suits us... ♥

When it comes to troubleshooting, I am in constant awe of Chico’s ability to stay calm, to let go and to move forward, in all aspects of his life.  His oft-repeated phrase is "let's not worry about how something got to be a problem; let's just figure out how to fix it". Wow.  With my tendency to finger-point, internalize and dramatize, he sets a wonderful example.

Chico loves me unconditionally, a status I am always trying to achieve but come up short.  I love him no less, but my family history includes strings attached, a very difficult pattern to break.

He is the calm to my storm, the ground to my clouds, the 33 1/3 to my 45, the waltz to my polka, the reason to my emotion, the carousel to my rollercoaster, the string to my kite, the balance to my spinning.  He supports but never suffocates, respects but never expects.

In an anniversary card one year, Chico thanked me for my enduring love and patience with his failings.  I can say the same.

Ups and downs, ins and outs, betters and worses go with the territory.  We've lived to tell about it ("fairy tales and diaper pails" indeed, as Amy Rigby sings).  My marriage has endured for many reasons (one of which is just good old-fashioned luck).  Cheers to the two of us for our perseverance, patience and passion with each other.  Tomorrow is another day!

SONGSteady As We Go by Dave Matthews Band (thanks to Sarah for sending this "just a love song" in our direction... 💕 )


for Willem

My love,
you are water upon water
upon water until it turns
azure, mountainous.

The horizon fills like sand
between glass marbles. So much
has passed between us—

last night you told me
to press your hand
harder and harder as I pained.

The sunset was at its last
embers. The dark was stealing
the blue light from our room.

I was falling into you.

~ ~

Compress water and it turns to ice— compress beauty
and it loses breath. Gaze at it too long, and even the wide
mirror of the ocean will shatter.

~ ~

My Willem,
between us, God has descended in all His atoms.
We have not yet learned to hold Him.

QUOTE:  "Wasn’t marriage, like life, unstimulating and unprofitable and somewhat empty when *too* well-ordered and protected and guarded. Wasn’t it finer, more splendid, more nourishing when it was, like life itself, a mixture of the sordid and the magnificent; of mud and stars; of earth and flowers; of love and hate and laughter and tears and ugliness and beauty and hurt." ~ Edna Ferber

Wednesday, July 1, 2020

Too Much (Dave Matthews Band)

[This is not my house, I promise... although in a few more months, if the library continues to feed my addiction, it could be...  ;-) ]


Confession Time:  I have hoarding tendencies.  If my children and friends are reading this, they won't be the least bit surprised.  The rest of you may be horrified.  Life has always seemed to run at warp speed, and I could never catch up or, if I got close, stay caught up.  Traveling husband, active children, full-time job, social justice activism, outings with friends, my passion for music:  14 years of coordinating a folk concert series, house concerts in my living room, crossing county and even state lines for concerts and festivals.  There seemed barely enough time for sleeping, much less organization and filing.  If I was having company, I had a tendency to pile paperwork and To Do items in laundry baskets, which I then shoved into the utility room (out of sight, out of mind), intending to unearth and deal with afterward, but never quite getting around to it.  Oops!

When we moved two years ago from our suburban home to our condo complex, with half the square footage, I realized just how many laundry baskets I owned... ;-)  Downsizing forced me to sort into Keep or Trash, winnowing my stacks considerably and now, finally, my life is much more orderly than before.  Liberating.

Now though, during this pandemic, I seem to have fallen back into my old habits, with food and books .  I have been Instacarting (yes, I turned it into a verb!) entirely too often with Publix, Whole Foods and, more recently Costco, all delivered directly to my doorstep.  My fridge, freezer, and pantry are overflowing, plus I have a few large Rubbermaid containers in my guest room closet set aside for (as if the pandemic isn't bad enough) non-perishable items for hurricane season (June 1 through November 30).  I have now gone a week since my last order, and have vowed that only when we are close to running out of coconut creamer for my coffee will I reach out to Johan or Brittany or Xavier for help.

I also am trigger-happy with the Place Hold button on my Broward County Library app.  If a novel, memoir, or essay collection piques my interest:  click!  The only problem is, I currently have 41 books checked out, with another 15 on reserve.  I do not suffer from Abibliophobia (the fear of running out of reading material).  I am just lured to discover as well as motivated to escape, always wanting the Next Write Thing (apologies to Glennon) at my fingertips (or on my optical horizon, as the case may be).  This is all ridiculous, because I have close to 100 books that I own which I haven't yet read.  But no... look, something shiny/NYT bestseller/Readers-with-Attitude recommendation!  And don't even get me started on the sure-to-be-cancelled Miami Book Fair this coming November.  Sob... 😢


My life now seems to be a mash-up of The Grapes of Wrath meets Farenheit 451... and I am ready for whatever happens, well-fed and well-read!


SONGToo Much by Dave Matthews Band

BOOK:  
Too much, Not enough: A guide to decreasing anxiety and creating balance through intentional choices by Tara Sanderon

POEM:  
Who Hoards Rain Clouds in the Desert? by Rajani Radhakrishnan

Who hoards rain clouds in the desert?

There the universe stores vats of virgin happiness, doling
it out like a grim faced Scrooge, while we wait, bowl in

hand, wanting more. Always wanting more. We are made
of longing and hunger. And everywhere we look, is a giant

supermarket feeding that emptiness. Everything in excess,
marked down, on luscious display, the seed of the first apple

feverishly multiplying on every shelf of every aisle and our
hands reaching constantly to fill the ever growing void. Except

for happiness. For that, there is a line and a quota and a price.
We pretend not to see each other. Who will admit to such

privation? We study the signs from a distance. Perhaps, it
is another sorrow, another wound, another word that brings

you here. Does my skin turn transparent as I stand? Do you know
the scars inside? You will not turn your head. I will not call. How

much longer? Who hoards rain clouds in the desert? No one
warned me to save my smile. To save the light in your eyes.

QUOTE:  
“At the end, all that's left of you are your possessions. Perhaps that's why I've never been able to throw anything away. Perhaps that's why I hoarded the world: with the hope that when I died, the sum total of my things would suggest a life larger than the one I lived.” ~ Nicole Krauss

Friday, June 26, 2020

Take Me to Tomorrow (John Denver)

Another "interesting" week.  Trump's approval rating continues to go down although, sadly, Florida's confirmed cases of coronavirus are on the rise, substantially.  We've edged up the last few weeks from 3,000 to 4,000 to 5,000 (daily!), and today registered almost 9,000.  Yikes.  Masks, people.  It's not that hard.  As Leonard Pitts said in his 6/25/20 column, "...listen to the experts. After all, they don't know who you voted for.  And the virus doesn't care."

Two Zoom calls this past Tuesday, in the morning with Nancy and Judi, and the evening with Brian, Robby, Reba, Dave, Nancy, and myself.  A patio visit with Reba Wednesday afternoon, followed by our regular Parlour Vegan trip (at this rate, I am working my way, happily, through their menu...  :-)  Another visit with Nancy to SusanP's place at the beach.  thankyoujesus, the water was calmer, but there was lots of seaweed plus a heat advisory (felt like 105!), which motivated me to order some watershoes for the next time (thanks for the idea, Nance!).  Heavily immersed in the novel American Dirt, which has had its share of controversy but is stunningly written and deeply engrossing.  Leftovers for dinner tonight.  Same old, same old.  So close to finishing the clearing/organization of the guest room closet.  Entertaining or having company would provide the impetus to just get it done, but no guests on the horizon, obviously.  Just the two of us since March 13.  As long as we can get Instacart groceries, a weekly meal (Chinese or Italian), and the occasional Amazon need-du-jour delivered, I'm okay with the limited face-to-face company.

As is tradition, five items below of beauty, interest, and humor to brighten your day/weekend/week.  Enjoy! 


Padma Lakshmi Finds a New Voice, Amplifying the Voices of Others:  “Taste the Nation” is her new series on Hulu, with 10 episodes that collectively expand and redefine the meaning of American food.


Rhinestone masks and $9 hand sanitizer: A COVID-19 store just opened at Aventura Mall:  Welcome to the COVID-19 pop-up store. May we take your temperature?


Who’s in the Running to Be Joe Biden’s Vice President?:  Here are 13 women who have been under consideration by Mr. Biden, and why each might be chosen — and might not be.


~ Although James Corden, Reggie Watts and The Muppets can't be together in a studio, the group comes together on video chat to sing The Beatles classic "With a Little Help from My Friends." Sing along with Kermit, Fozzie, Miss Piggy, Swedish Chef, Animal, Gonzo and so many more.


Virtual benefit concert to assist Academy of Music Theatre:  Some of the Pioneer Valley’s most notable musicians will virtually gather to perform songs that celebrate summer and raise funds for Northampton’s oldest performing arts venue.  “Summer Songs: A Virtual Benefit Concert for Northampton’s Academy of Music Theatre” will take place on July 1 at 8 p.m. and be live-streamed through the theater’s Facebook and YouTube pages.  The concert will feature performances from Valley favorites such as Dar Williams, Martin Sexton, Mark Mulcahy, Heather Maloney, Winterpills, and more.


P.S.  Confession Time.  Yes, I consider myself a folkie, not quite going as far back as The Kingston Trio and The Limeliters, but definitely a fan of Peter, Paul, and Mary... then on to Joni, Joan, Crosby Stills and Nash, etc. (speaking of, I highly recommend Laurel Canyon, the two-part documentary on the Epix channel).  Weirdly, I never felt drawn to John Denver, who I considered too pop/syrupy for my taste.  Only just discovered today's post-titled song when I watched Banding Together:  A Concert for the Colorado Music Relief Fund, when Dave Matthews covered it.  Apologies to John Denver for underestimating his songwriting abilities.  Mind blown.


SONG:  Take Me to Tomorrow by John Denver (cover by Dave Matthews Band)

BOOK:  Tomorrow: Adventures in an Uncertain World by Bradley Trevor Greive

POEM:  
Weather by Claudia Rankine

On a scrap of paper in the archive is written
I have forgotten my umbrella. Turns out
in a pandemic everyone, not just the philosopher,
is without. We scramble in the drought of information
held back by inside traders. Drop by drop. Face
covering? No, yes. Social distancing? Six feet
under for underlying conditions. Black.
Just us and the blues kneeling on a neck
with the full weight of a man in blue.
Eight minutes and forty-six seconds.
In extremis, I can’t breathe gives way
to asphyxiation, to giving up this world,
and then mama, called to, a call
to protest, fire, glass, say their names, say
their names, white silence equals violence,
the violence of again, a militarized police
force teargassing, bullets ricochet, and civil
unrest taking it, burning it down. Whatever
contracts keep us social compel us now
to disorder the disorder. Peace. We’re out
to repair the future. There’s an umbrella
by the door, not for yesterday but for the weather
that’s here. I say weather but I mean
a form of governing that deals out death
and names it living. I say weather but I mean
a November that won’t be held off. This time
nothing, no one forgotten. We are here for the storm
that’s storming because what’s taken matters.

QUOTE:  
“That is the whole thing with the future. You don’t know. At some point you have to accept that you don’t know. You have to stop flicking ahead and just concentrate on the page you are on.” ~ Matt Haig

Thursday, April 23, 2020

#41 (Dave Matthews Band)

Today is Day 41 of Self-Isolation/Shelter-in-Place/Stay-at-Home, and we have left this house less than a double-handful of times, for short periods.  This is all so surreal!

Getting ready to go out for my daily walk, especially after my husband regaled me with details of the three phases of the Pandemic of 1918.  Just what I need to hear... more gloom and doom, glass not only half-empty but shattered into a bazillion pieces.  Maybe the title of this blog post should be Murder in the City (The Avett Brothers).  I would most certainly be acquitted, right?...  :-)


P.S.  Today is also Day 1 of *not* popping an Aleve as soon as I got out of bed.  More stretching, more yoga, and introducing a wellness shot twice a day (like my friend Nina makes).  Turmeric is a natural way to reduce inflammation, in addition to many other health benefits... 💓 


SONG:  #41 by Dave Matthews Band

BOOK:  A month and a day, meet April Thursday by Britney Harris

POEM:  
April Inventory by W. D. Snodgrass

The green catalpa tree has turned
All white; the cherry blooms once more.   
In one whole year I haven’t learned   
A blessed thing they pay you for.   
The blossoms snow down in my hair;   
The trees and I will soon be bare.

The trees have more than I to spare.   
The sleek, expensive girls I teach,   
Younger and pinker every year,   
Bloom gradually out of reach.
The pear tree lets its petals drop   
Like dandruff on a tabletop.

The girls have grown so young by now   
I have to nudge myself to stare.
This year they smile and mind me how   
My teeth are falling with my hair.   
In thirty years I may not get
Younger, shrewder, or out of debt.

The tenth time, just a year ago,   
I made myself a little list
Of all the things I’d ought to know,   
Then told my parents, analyst,   
And everyone who’s trusted me   
I’d be substantial, presently.

I haven’t read one book about
A book or memorized one plot.   
Or found a mind I did not doubt.
I learned one date. And then forgot.   
And one by one the solid scholars   
Get the degrees, the jobs, the dollars.

And smile above their starchy collars.
I taught my classes Whitehead’s notions;   
One lovely girl, a song of Mahler’s.   
Lacking a source-book or promotions,   
I showed one child the colors of   
A luna moth and how to love.

I taught myself to name my name,
To bark back, loosen love and crying;   
To ease my woman so she came,   
To ease an old man who was dying.   
I have not learned how often I
Can win, can love, but choose to die.

I have not learned there is a lie
Love shall be blonder, slimmer, younger;   
That my equivocating eye
Loves only by my body’s hunger;
That I have forces, true to feel,
Or that the lovely world is real.

While scholars speak authority
And wear their ulcers on their sleeves,   
My eyes in spectacles shall see
These trees procure and spend their leaves.   
There is a value underneath
The gold and silver in my teeth.

Though trees turn bare and girls turn wives,   
We shall afford our costly seasons;
There is a gentleness survives
That will outspeak and has its reasons.   
There is a loveliness exists,
Preserves us, not for specialists.

QUOTE(S):  "
The first of April is the day we remember what we are the other 364 days of the year." ~ Mark Twain

"
These days cry out, as never before, for us to pay attention, so we can move through them and get our joy and pride back." ~ Anne Lamott

Friday, August 22, 2008

Everyday (Dave Matthews Band)

Dave Matthews Band is my daughter Sarah's favorite musical group (major understatement) - such sad news for so many followers of their music and spirit...


I saw the Dave Matthews Band open for Phish at the Santa Monica Civic.

I do what Chip tells me. He'd told me I had to come see Phish at the Variety Arts Center and I'd watched them blow up. The DMB was his new band.

I didn't know that the Santa Monica Civic had a false floor, that it was suspended in such a way that when they started playing "Ants Marching" and the college-aged audience dressed in the same exact clothing as the band members themselves erupted and started moving up and down that the floor would too. I'd never heard the number before, I haven't forgotten it since.

During the break, before the headliner took the stage, I went with Chip to a side room, just east of the auditorium itself, that resembled nothing so much as an elementary school classroom, to hang out. It was there that I met Boyd, Carter and LeRoi. Maybe LeRoi, I can't remember exactly, it was fifteen years ago...

This was before Dave became not only a TV star, but a cultural icon, before his humor became widely known. They were just another band. Who kept getting bigger and bigger, whose fanbase kept growing. I followed them to the Palladium, all the way to Staples and the Hollywood Bowl. And got to know their manager, Coran Capshaw, along the way. Not incredibly well. Which is probably why he wanted to have lunch on Tuesday. To talk in an environment different from backstage.

On the way to the Peninsula, I heard "Where Are You Going" on No Shoes Radio, Kenny Chesney testified not only about Dave, but the band's drummer. I told Coran and Chip this when we sat down. Coran told me Kenny had a place on St. John too. They were buddies.

It was that kind of conversation. Catching up, filling in the little details. Telling me about the status of the band. How they'd mixed it up, how they were playing better than ever before, with Tim Reynolds on the road with them and two replacements for LeRoi.

LeRoi had been in an ATV accident. This I knew. But Coran told me the details. The four-wheeled vehicle flipped over backwards upon him. He broke ribs, had a collapsed lung, his shoulder was hurt, they had him in an induced coma for a week. And three days after he came to, LeRoi checked himself out. Against the will of the doctors.

And after being home, he got an infection. The nurse taking care of him had LeRoi readmitted to the hospital. Where he was on both heart and lung machines. But he pulled through.

The story was told with seriousness, but no drama. There was no question, LeRoi was coming back. Certainly by the first of the year. We started talking about other things. The challenges of maintaining a superstar act in these confusing times, ticketing, Music Today. And an hour later, the phone rang.

Coran carries both a BlackBerry and a Razr. He picked up the Razr. He was listening rather than talking. And after two minutes or so, he flipped the phone closed and became wistful, let us in on his mental soliloquy. That was LeRoi's assistant. They'd called 911. LeRoi's lips had turned blue. They were taking him to the hospital. He had a blood clot.

Coran traced it back to the infection that had put LeRoi back in the hospital weeks before. He'd had a hard time fighting back. And he hadn't gone into the process in the greatest shape, he had diabetes, other health problems.

LeRoi had flown to L.A. for rehab, he was staying at his house here, just miles away. Suddenly the story took on a different feel. Somewhere in the landscape visible from the Peninsula deck, this story was playing out.

Then ten minutes later, the phone rang again.

But this time, the call was longer. Chip and I engaged in conversation. For the better part of ten minutes. And when Coran flipped the phone closed again, he said:

"He died."

A jolt just went through my body, writing this. I've never been in a situation like this before. I might have met this guy, but in a perfunctory way, I don't know him. But he's part of the lifeblood of Coran and Chip's world. And he's a human being, like the rest of us. And he's now gone.

Chip put his head in his hands. Coran stared into space. I was in shock. Trying to decide the best thing to do. Feeling that I needed to excuse myself, that they didn't need an intruder, I was just about to stand when Coran got up, said "I've got to deal.", and walked off.

Chip asked, WHAT NOW?

I realized that I needed to stay. As long as Chip needed to.

I figured this was L.A. LeRoi had probably gone to Cedars. The news would be on the wire, on the Internet, in a matter of minutes. I told Chip that Coran was probably trying to beat the press to the punch, in addition to alerting the rest of the band.

DO THEY PLAY?

I didn't know. It could go either way. Maybe they were too fucked up to play. Or maybe they'd say this is what LeRoi would do.Chip called Dan, founder of the agency. Told him and asked him the question too. The gig scheduled for that night, in Staples Center, only hours away, did it happen? Dan said what I did. Maybe, maybe not.

And then it became that moment in "Almost Famous". The plane crash scene. When suddenly truth passes between human beings. Chip and I have a deep, honest relationship, but we touched on subjects we'd never delved into before.

Then, after about forty minutes, we left.

In the car to Felice's house, the shock truly set in. I realized why you needed the living around you when someone passed. If you were alone, you drifted away.

Felice was on her exercise bike, watching "Oprah". I could barely speak. She realized something was wrong. I ultimately got the story out. It barely registered. How could it? You go to lunch and a band member dies, DURING LUNCH? News like that bounces right off of you, it doesn't stick.

And it seemed that only Coran, Chip and I knew. I kept going online. The band's Website had not changed, there was nothing in the Google News. I was in the loop, but no one else was. This never happens in 2008, where everything is instant, where everybody knows everything all the time.

I spoke with my mother. But I basically listened. I called Chip two hours later, as we'd agreed. He still didn't know whether the band would play. He said he'd call me back. A little after six, he told me to come on down.

By time we got to Staples, the news had just broken. Maybe by going to Hollywood Presbyterian, the vultures had missed the story. Ambrosia had written a press release, the news was now out, Chip's BlackBerry was going berserk.

The halls were almost empty. Dave was talking to a gray-haired gentleman. There were no festivities, there was no buzz, but in less than an hour, the band would take the stage in front of thousands.

Coran's number two said the band had had a meeting, uttered "Back to the van.", their mantra, to remember where they'd come from, their brotherhood.

We went to catering. Coran nodded his head, but stayed glued to his phone. It was positively bizarre.

And twenty minutes after the time on the sheet, the Dave Matthews Band took the stage.

I don't know how you play under those circumstances.

And being in L.A., the roar of the crowd was muted to a degree. L.A.'s jaded, everybody plays L.A., a concert here isn't just enough of an event!

But the band is firing on all cylinders. Coran's checking the set list as we stand behind the lighting board, he tells me they're going to play my favorite, "The Dreaming Tree".

The ten minute number calmed my nerves. Music is a magic carpet loaded with oils and other soothing potions, it's just what you need when you don't know what you need, when you've got more questions than answers.

And they played "Ants Marching", with even more ferocity than they had fifteen years before. Their cover of "Sledgehammer" had more power than Peter Gabriel's. But the highlight of the evening was unexpected, a rendition of Talking Heads' "Burning Down The House".

Only played for the first time live two weeks before, the number is unmistakable. It starts with an ethereal guitar, the drum pounds and then...

"Watch out
You might get what you're after"

Whatever the audience expected, this exceeded it. I'd say the band was a freight train, but it was more like a 747, that had DRIVEN all the way from Charlottesville to Los Angeles and was burning rubber at the airport before finally coming to a rest... THE TIRES WERE SMOKING!

And just like a modern jet, EVERYTHING was working. It has to in order to move. And boy was the band moving. Musically. There were no dance steps, everybody was almost rigid in his place. But Carter's arms were churning, Dave was spitting into the mic like he was seventeen, and he needed to show the bullies, who he was, where he was coming from.

"I'm an ordinary guy
Burning down the house"

This was not the hair band eighties. The members of the DMB were wearing the same clothes that had covered them backstage. They were not stars, they were MUSICIANS!

There was nothing on tape, no loops, no hard drives. This night they'd had to conjure the fire from scratch. They'd had to reach down deep and do it one more time, knowing that their brother was not only gone, but was never coming back.

EVERYDAY

"Pick me up, love, from the bottom
Up on to the top, love, everyday
Pay no mind to taunts or advances
I'm gonna take my chances on everyday"

The video of the hugger played on the hi-def screens. The audience sang along, knowing every word. That's just what we've got, every day. Until we don't.

I don't know what happens when people die. Is this really the end? LeRoi had called his business manager just that morning, left a voice mail before the crisis, did he know this was going to be his last day on this mortal coil? And the recipient of this message, he didn't receive it until after LeRoi expired.

The audience was cascading in a virtual wave, going up and down in place, not the artificial arena exercise, but something inspired by the music. We were in unison.

"Jump in the mud, mud
Get your hands filthy, love
Give it up, love
Everyday"

Get up from that couch! Go out into the bright sunshine. Dial your crush and ask her for a date. It may be messy, but maybe not. Don't be somnambulant, get out of your own way, don't only embrace life, but eat it up. Everyday.



How can it all end,
the moon making foil of the blueblack sea,
at twilight the sandbars holding lavender
among turquoise shadows,
pastels of water lidded by pastels of sky
and, at angle, moon shimmer snaking to the horizon?
By the dockside, a diver kneels at his tank,
to test the regulator, as if taking communion.

***

How can it all end,
the cabbage whites aflutter
like tissue-papers
lofting to Heaven in a Japanese temple,
the yellow roses numbingly fragrant
and even the spiky conifer
whispering scent.

I praise my destroyer.
The sea turtle's revenge
is to dwell at equal measures
from the grave. Our cavernous brains
won't save us in the end,
though, heaven knows, they enhance the drama.
Despite passion's rule, deep play
and wonder, worry hangs
like a curtain of trembling beads
across every doorway.

But there was never a dull torment,
and it was grace to live
among the fruits of summer, to love by design,
and walk the startling Earth
for what seemed
an endless resurrection of days.

I praise life's bright catastrophes,
and all the ceremonies of grief.
I praise our real estate - a shadow and a grave.
I praise my destroyer,
and will continue praising
until hours run like mercury
through my fingers, hope flares a final time
into the last throes of innocence,
and all the coins of sense are spent.

QUOTE: "Whenever you see darkness, there is extraordinary opportunity for the light to burn brighter." ~ Bono

Monday, December 17, 2007

The Christmas Song (Dave Matthews)

SONG: The Christmas Song by Dave Matthews


"It's queer," she said; "I see the light
As plain as I beheld it then,
All silver-like and calm and bright ---
We've not had stars like that again!

"And she was such a gentle thing
To birth a baby in the cold.
The barn was dark and frightening ---
This new one's better than the old.

"I mind my eyes were full of tears,
For I was young, and quick distressed
But she was less than me in years
That held a son against her breast.

"I never saw a sweeter child ---
The little one, the darling one! ---
I mind I told her, when he smiled
You'd know he was his mother's son.

"It's queer that I should see them so ---
The time they came to Bethlehem
Was more than thirty years ago;
I've prayed that all is well with them."

QUOTE: "Fail not to call to mind, in the course of the twenty-fifth of this month, that the Divinest Heart that ever walked the earth was born on that day; and then smile and enjoy yourselves for the rest of it; for mirth is also of Heaven's making." ~ Leigh Hunt