Sometimes here, you wander into things with deeper magic than you anticipated. A moment in a song, a stage picture, a phrase of dialogue. And you are thrown into the Gulf of Life that lies just south of the Sea of Time, and long forgotten songs taught to you as a child by the shadows of your room as you lay in the dark reassert themselves, and the next time you look in the mirror, there are ghosts behind you, familiar but changed, just as you yourself are changed.
Went to see A GIANT ON THE BRIDGE yesterday on the advice of Tracy, one of the leads in Banned who is cracking in the show, one of my favorite artists, and great friend. And someone whose ideas on theatre I trust completely. So Lisa and I headed to this really beautiful space inside of what I think was once a church. The set is cleary for a music event of some type, like a rock show- guitars on stands, keys, and microphones all standing in a semi-circle facing the audience.
It's beautiful in it's simplicity, and sets the tone.
You feel a power in the air. Like how it feels before it thunders or after it rains and you are certain there are powers in the world much larger than yourself. The show begins. It's music and atmosphere and a set of songs and stories written between artists and prisoners about to return home after being locked up.
And it's devastating and uplifting and heartbreaking and makes you both happy and sad.
And I stand on metaphorical bridges like ones mentioned in the show with all the giants from my childhood as the show continues. I cry. A lot. Lisa holds my hand. It's hard to speak after.
That's the kind of theatre for me.
I recover, and we head to a walking tour of the city's hidden gems. And on the way, it's official.
We've gotten a four star review from The Scotsman.
This is huge and amazing and none of us know quite how to respond.
So we walk the City of Stone and Stardust and dream.
Then it's the show, a huge crowd, and then Tattoo, a military music parade of sorts at the castle.
And it's spectacular.
I am feeling so much at this moment. Joy and wonder and memory and sorrow and hope.
I am fully alive.
So I get on a zoom call with my playwriting class back in Denver, and from 1:30 to 4:30 in the morning, discuss theatre, listen to new pieces, get and give advice, talk shop, and feel like the luckiest man in the world.
Which of course I am.
I have failed to mention our Indiegogo Campaign lately. We have a campaign. It's still going. If you want to kick in, please do, by going here: INDIEGOGO.
And here's a song.
It's Pale Green Things by The Mountain Goats. Another song that takes me back to the Belvedere Jungle of my youth. Love to you all. Each and every one of you.
And in case you can't get to it:
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