Flightless Bird

I wanted to share with you, an account of an experience I had a few weeks ago at the Iron and Wine concert in downtown L.A.
The show was amazing (big shocker there) and it was so despite the most determined efforts of a group of hipster fuckwads behind me. I won't get into the agonizing details of their vain attempt to sully one of the most moving musical experiences I've had in recent history. Let's just say, it confirmed what I've always thought:

Concerts would be great if it wasn't for the fucking audience.

Anyway, what I wanted to talk about (and not have this spill over into a long, angry diatribe against certain members of the audience) was when Sam Beam and his sister came back onstage for the encore. He ditched his band, it was just him, his sister, and his guitar. He only played one song for the encore, The Trapeze Swinger. Which I would bet dollars to donuts is not one of the, if not THE most beautiful song ever written. On top of that, the room fell silent when he played, allowing each of us to crawl inside our own space and feel as if he was playing that song just for each of us, individually.

What also made it special was that Trapeze Swinger has a certain affiliation to Cinnamon because it was used in a video Nate made for mom and also due to the fact that Nate pointed out how Sam Beam was like the human version of Cinnamon. His head blanketed by hair, his demeanor peaceful, calm, serene, and full of wisdom.

He starts playing the song, the noise in the room drops to zero. And in those 7 or 8 minutes something happened that I've never experienced before in a concert. I felt some kind of merging (again attributed to the fact that it felt like he was playing that song just for me) wherein it felt like the words were leaving Sam Beam's mouth along with the gentle plucking of his guitar and floating out into the air. And in that time they ceased to be concrete things, infusing with my thoughts, memories, and grief. It was as if the words brought Cinnamon back to life for those few brief blissful minutes. They became a part of everything.

I know that sounds vague and quasi dazed but it's hard to explain. But it got me thinking about all of the things we cherish, like the little sense triggers that unleash an onslaught of memories and moments. And how through music, movies, books, conversations, sights, or whatever it may be, through those instances where we are lucky enough to catch ourselves and realize what wonderful things have happened to us. This is how he lives forever.

It's like my man E said...

"There are two kinds of Christmas people, those who like their Christmas lights to stay on solid and those who like them to blink. As a kid, I always had a thing for sitting in the dark and watching the lights blink on and off at random. In the end, what we have are these little, great moments. They come and they go. That's as good as it gets. But, still, isn't that great?"