Some friends I might have waited too long to see.
Another Saint Patrick’s season has drawn to a close. I arrived home around midnight after a marathon of 15 shows with Switchback across three states. The High Holy Season is always cathartic in that a lot of joy occurs. Seeing faces that you haven’t seen in a while and sharing texts and messages with friends from all over the map. It was wonderful to connect with friends from Canada to Hawaii--all in the spirit of the Irish extended family that I am so lucky to be a part of.
Today, I can feel the results from all that playing. And it too, is a good feeling, a weariness that has me mixing up words because my mind is on reboot. The calluses on the fingertips that throb while I fall asleep and odd pains here and there from stomping perhaps too hard on the boards. I really don’t mind all of it because it just reminds me that what I do for a living is a working person’s trade. It is physical, it is also skilled, and it also has an element of danger and risk lurking in the background.
There’s also a bit of melancholy that sets in. I always get that way after any holiday or peak experience. The thought of it all gone away and another year passing by. The energy that was expended fully is now replaced by the reality of all that adrenaline gone. With it come those thoughts about the speed of time, and that someday I will be that person that someone will say “do you remember that band that used to play around here? What the hell was their name? What were the names of those guys?”
At one show there was an aspiring singer-songwriter. His name is Honor, and he approached us after we had finished playing. He wanted to know “how do you go about making a living in music?” His desire to perform was evident and Brian and I tried to give him some sort of roadmap in the time we had to talk. Unvarnished truth is what is needed when presenting to a person wanting to go into the working musician’s life. Honor not only understood that it was a calling more than a career, but he got choked up when he heard that it was our second show that day. Not because he felt sorry for us, but because he wanted it that bad. I told him that whatever we could do to help him, we would and that he was on the right path because he was pursuing it for the right reasons. It was great to see a young person willing to go into the unknown of a life of playing. I know he will make it and touch a lot of souls.
At another concert, an older man came up to me after and looked me right in the eyes.
“Are you OK?” he asked.
I was a bit confused having pretty much demonstrated for two hours on stage that I was happy and OK.
“I think I am,” I said.
“But are you, OK?” he said. He pressed a card into my hand and then scurried off.
I had a flash of disappointment as I looked at the card. It was printed with a pitch to “get right by God.” Of course, this person could help you get right by God was what the card said. I had to wrestle briefly with an odd childhood wound of “not being good enough.” I was somehow being chastised for doing something wrong. And it was weird after this fantastic, wonderful show. I was able to dismiss it as I realized this man was the one who was trying hard to get right by God. And I felt bad for him as I think his purpose and mission was a bit misplaced. How lonely he might be--sitting at home with boxes of business cards searching for lost souls. Instead of spreading light, he was going around sowing doubt.
Our last show was at a beautiful old farmstead turned concert venue near Dodgeville, Wisconsin called Folklore Village. That it was a Monday night and a place you had to work at to get to was amazing in that we had friends that came from miles away to be there. Here was one of those rare places where a legacy of music and joy was being created. A pioneer Norwegian log barn, being lovingly restored. A barn turned into a hall for dances, music and study. Everything was simple but so well thought out in its communal approach to the celebration of music. The night was filled with story and song. I could look out from the stage and see the swells and dips of that rolling Wisconsin countryside. And we spent a good while meeting everyone after the concert, some people again, I hadn’t seen in 20 years.
We loaded up the vans. Brian went to Lansing. Takeshi went on to Dubuque. And I drove back to Chicago. But not before I stood out under the stars and stared up at them with a bit of wonder and gratitude for being able to touch so many souls.
READ MARTIN'S OTHER BLOG HERE.