An electric night

Last night was a very charged evening and one of those that makes you remember why you are alive, why you love what you love, why you are doing what you are doing. I think these moments are more alive in spring because spring is more alive. It's hard to feel alive and charged in winter. So I was sitting around, writing letters on my new (old) typer when Eli called, wanting to grab some tea or coffee. He was sounding better than he had in a while--a result of having spent five hours in the darkroom previous to calling me. Sometimes it kills me how easy it can be to be happy and at the same time it can be so difficult to actually get your ass in the darkroom or on the stage, etc. It's those pesky jobs we all have. There should be some government funding for people like me that just shouldn't be working full time. I'll work part time, but not full time. My life is full time work. Anyhow, he housed a huge bowl of food and then we sat trying to figure out what coffee shop to go to. Radio BEan had open mic, Muddy's was closed (Monday), Uncommon grounds has a sterile ambiance, I wanted coffee so Dobra was out...so maybe grab a coffee to go and take a walk? Not so. Then the lightening came. This made plenty of sense since it was to be warmer today than it was yesterday. Cold air mass, warm air mass--you know how it works. So we decided to nix the walk we were planning and just sit up on Eli's porch. Third floor, bird's eye view. But we drove to Radio Bean, one block down. Lazy bastards. Anyhow, we get there and there is the Ryan Fauber Band playing. A drummer with a basically a snare, bass drum, and hi hat. A pianist playing very, very, very sparse accompaniment (think two fingers each hand, hands in octave--not that there is anything wrong with that or I am being snobby, just explaining the scene). And Ryan Fauber, spitting amazing poetry in a sort of...well I guess I can't make comparisons. But at one point, a very native Vermonter with a banjo on his lap looked at us and said, "This guy's words have some depth to them. They have some heat." He was right. And the rain kept on falling. If the sky can drop it's weight like that, I wanted to as well. All this self-inflicted pressure. What is the need? It is only proving to stifle, stagnate, strain, stupify, etc. It was during those few short songs and the few that the banjo player turned out after that that helped me remember. To quote Janis Joplin,
"Music is supposed to be different than that. Music is for grooving, not for putting yourself through bad changes. You don't need that shit. So if you're getting more shit than you deserve, then you know what to do about it." I don't think I do. But last night I remembered why I make music, because it is truly an organic manifestation of what we feel inside of ourselves. It is the inexpressable. The words create a meaning in our minds through association, memory, and what we've learned, but the inflection, intonation, breath--that shit can't be defined and we can't explain why music makes our bodies and minds feel so good. We just can't explain it. But it's good that it exists because I don't know if I could exist without it.