Austin — I sit through an opening act of barely-controlled, electronically-modulated screaming and loud guitar scrubbing, a solo performance that generously offers me a chance to practice non-judgment, over and over. Fortunately the practice only lasts 30 minutes or so and the musician I’ve come to see takes the stage with his band.
This is a singer whom I saw years ago, by whose soulful plaintiveness I was moved and whose vocal qualities have lingered in my internal jukebox. About halfway into the set he plays one of the songs I remember, a rollicking walking love song. I smile wide and swing to the beat. I can’t stop watching his drummer, around 60, long hair, absolutely immersed in the music and riding its subtle contours with his brushes.
Then I notice a familiar twinge. It’s that point in seeing live music when I have a strong impulse to leave, when my own desire to make music overtakes my interest in sitting and listening. I’ve missed many major portions of shows this way.
Tonight, I head outside, sit on a stone wall and immediately start my Sing 15 session, relieved that the world is back in balance.
Perhaps I should lobby for a law stipulating that the second half of all performances and sports events must include audience participation, so I could stay for the whole time.