A TRINITY OF LUNATICS

I was on a break at rehearsals the other night down in Parker for The Addams Family, looking for coffee. I walked to the usual spot, this awesome little joint called Fika, which is a Swedish word meaning a time to drink coffee and eat cake while hanging out with friends and strangers. Sadly, they were having plumbing issues, and I had to walk back to the theatre, jump in my car, and venture forth in search of coffee. I got to the Starbucks drive thru at 8:02, and the voice on intercom informed me they had just closed. I shouted Fuck, rather loudly, then asked the voice if it knew of anywhere still open. They pointed me to Dutch Bros. And off I went, found the spot, got the coffee, and headed back to rehearsal. 

Now what was of interest in that little jaunt was the world. First thing I noticed was how clear the sky was, how extraordinarily beautiful the sunset was, how there is still magic in dusk and dawn, in those moments of inbetween when the world takes on a purple pearl kind of color and a stillness seems to permeate everything and everyone.  And I realized it had been a while since I just took a step back and looked at the world I stand on, at the people and places and clouds and just let it be. 

And I wondered, what did we learn during the shut down? Didn't we all find parts of our soul we had misplaced? Didn't we finally figure out what was important? We we not all given the chance to tend to our own gardens? 

And if so, how did we forget it? More to the point, have we forgotten it? Can we? Or have we changed in ways big and small that we don't even realize? 

I think the latter.

So there I was, looking at the sunset, seeking coffee, driving around Parker, Colorado, listening to Spanish Model (the reimagined, Spanish version of Elvis Costello's This Year's Model that is a must listen to kind of thing if you are a human being), filling up with peace, love, and understanding (not on the album but another great Elvis song), wondering what the effects of the past few years have been, still are, and perhaps will be.

I think the big thing we all acknowledge is our sense of time. There is now sort of reason to it anymore. When someone says "a year ago", I have no sense of how long that is, what percentage of my life a year is, or who I was in that other time called "a year ago". 

None.

We are all unhinged from time, floating from dream to dream, song to song, face to face, seeking our home planet where things made more sense. 

But not necessarily in a sad way. There is this cosmic sort of peace at times. Isn't that strange? The world stops, starts again, over heats, has wars and uprisings and floods and inflation and whatever else... 

And there is this beautiful sunset, and Elvis Costello, and coffee.

I am the me I was, and I am the me I am, and I am the me I will be; a trinity of lunatics, each distinct, and each the same.

Here's a song. It's Like I Use To, by Sharon Van Etten and Angel Olson. Enjoy. Watch a sunset. Get some coffee. Reflect on your life. Don't reflect on your life.  

GROOVING LIFE'S DETECTIVES

Some shit never gets old. Case in point: Elvis Costello. Saw him last night at Pier 17 on the East River, under a moon that could not be brighter on a night that could not be sweeter, sweatier, or saltier. I have loved his music since I was in high school, maybe junior high. Some parts of the past melt together like an ice cream cone on a summer's day. He started hitting the airwaves around the same time the first Star wars movie came out. Back when it was called Star Wars. Not Episode Four or A New Hope or anything but Star Wars. Somewhere around when the Sex Pistols came in to prominence, when Punk Rock was something scary and strange. Any way you slice it, he's been in heavy rotation on my life's Pandora station since forever. And I had never seen him play until last night. 

It was worth the wait. 

Not that I don't wish I had seen him often.

But there is something to be said for rarity, for moments that are so spare you realize, as it's happening, just how brief this jaunt is, how precious and shimmering and sad, to paraphrase a line from Into the Woods.

And what was really cool about the concert was how present it was, how visceral and dynamic and of the moment. Yes, he played some tunes we all sang along to, but even as we sang oh so loudly, he was busy interpreting those songs as if he had just written them.  He attacked each song like it was a confession, a diatribe, an exploration of the soul. He wasn't playing the hits, or pandering to our collective nostalgia. He was making music. 

'Twas most groovy.

He did this version of Watching the Detectives that turned into a sort of Beat poem, and man was it cool. He pulled Nick Lowe, his opening act, on stage and they traded verses on Indoor Fireworks, as well as What's So Funny 'Bout Peace, Love, and Understanding? (an excellent question). 

What I dug, what got me excited, was the joy, the danger, and hunger on stage.

The fact that he wasn't fucking around. 

Had a similar experience at Into the Woods at the St. James a few nights ago. Here was a piece I have seen countless times at High Schools and local theatre. The show is easily Sondheim's most accessible. Or so people think. But seeing it the other night, with a cast of geniuses, directed and choreographed to perfection, full of life and humor and sorrow and all those intangibles that make great theatre, I was reminded of how much I love that show. How deep it can hit when done right.

I first listened to Into the Woods shortly after it came out. At the time, my mother was still alive, and I had yet to reconnect with my biological father. Lines like "no more curses you can't undo, left by fathers you never knew" hit me like a ton of bricks.  

Now, mom is dead, I found my father and lost him nine years later. He died right in front of me, as a matter of fact. And so the story of fathers and mothers, of life and death and love and loss, hit harder. And richer. And also elevated me that much higher, helped me that much more on my own journey. 

Life is full of magic and wonder, of magicians and troubadours, put on this Earth to light the path, enlarge our souls, strengthen our empathy, and fill us with wonder.

And that is how it is today, here in the greatest city in the world.

Here's a song. It's Watching the Detectives, live.