Sing

Last night we went to Bimbo's, the North Beach club from the 30's that I have written about before. You know, the one with the bathroom attendants that make you confront the specter of the past and serving classes and slavery, etc. I made sure to use the restroom at home, because I like my live music without a garnish of middle-class guilt.

We were there to listen to a new project by Ben Gibbard from Death Cab For Cutie and Jay Farrar from Son Volt, an album of songs based on Jack Kerouac's novel Big Sur. The show was sold out, so we were randomly seated next to an IT consultant from Tulsa who works four days out of every week in San Francisco, and his wife who had flown in for a weekend visit; the IT consultant told us 90% of the lyrics were taken directly from Kerouac's text. We didn't ask them their names, nor did they ask ours, but we had interesting conversations about bands we had or had not seen, Oklahoma--not as impacted by the Dust Bowl and the Great Depression as you might think, because it was the capital of the oil industry at the time--old Highway 66, and music venues in Tulsa where Marcy Playground fell over backwards and kept playing to much applause.

The opening act was a funny and talented musician from Seattle named John Roderick. I'd never heard of him before, but, true to the beautiful quality of the indie rock circuit, he had enough fans in the crowd to keep him busy with taking requests. He was suffering from a cold, but he dealt with it with poise, turning it into humor by cadging Theraflu from audience members. He played with a great deal of passion, which resulted in broken glasses, which lead to a tech worker named Jesse becoming a hero of the night when he fashioned a hinge for the glasses out of guitar wire before the end of Roderick's set.

Then things really got cranked up with Gibbard and Farrar and their band that had "been a band for about a week," according to Jay. The show was really quite terrific, great lyrics, great singing, great vibe in the crowd. They sang, sometimes together, sometimes with solos, but the songs, "These Roads Don't Move" in particular, really evoked the feel of Big Sur and a lonely drive to nowhere.


How cool must it be to be successful at music and to have the opportunity to find this other musician who shares with you a fascination with Jack Kerouac, and for the two of you to put together a side project that really works?


I want to see more shows. I totally get the addiction to live music that some people acquire. It's vulnerability from the performers, putting these words and notes out in the world, and we all get to ride along.

It's incredibly simple to sing, and simply incredible when someone can sing well, especially when combined with playing an instrument, and when they have the confidence to perform in front of an audience, well, that becomes inspiring, very ceremonial in an age that is becoming less and less ceremonial as religion's influence wanes for more and more people. Festivals, concerts, live performances, these are when we can feel connected to other people, regardless of our position on the existence of a deity, mystical energy, or simple evolutionary process.