In the first row, my boyfriend and I sat directly in front of the largest speaker I’ve ever seen with my own eyes. It was pumping enough bass to keep my heart beating when it inevitably would stop once the music began, once that pure and angelic (yet somehow raspy) voice walked onto the quaint stage before us. We sat lounging in our prime seating, surrounded by 500 or so Christian hipsters with drinks in their hands, who were mingling as if every person in the entire room had always known each other.
It was the only reasonable thing I could get my boyfriend for Christmas really, since he’d been talking about it ever since I met him years ago. It was mostly a good idea because it was also a gift to myself, but I also knew it was his dream. Josh Garrels. Live in concert. We were so devoted, in fact, that we dropped everything we were doing on a Wednesday night (which included studying for my Communications Law test that was coming the following day) to road trip to Birmingham, Alabama.
To be honest, I had never heard of Josh Garrels until my boyfriend introduced me to his music. I was hooked after one song because he is everything good from every genre that’s ever been: A little pop, a little folk, a little rap, a little soul. All of these are tied together by his vocals, comparable to none, but I’ll still attempt it: the range of Beyoncé, the tone of Bear Rinehart (but smoother) and the look of a more lushly haired and bearded Jim Halpert. He was enough to make any girl swoon, but I held it in of course, since my boyfriend was right next to me. I looked over at my date. He was swooning even more than I was.
The first song on Josh Garrels’ set list was “Morning Light,” which is somewhere in my top five favorites of his songs, no doubt. The band picked up, and Josh leaned in to sing. As everyone anticipated that first angelic note, nothing came out. 500 or so Christian hipsters’ jaws dropped as they realized that Josh Garrels’ microphone was indeed muted. The entire room started waving their hands in the air trying to get his attention, but the lights were too blinding for our hands to be seen. A brave woman who was sitting next to me finally decided (after a little coercing from the alcohol in her system) to storm the stage, standing directly in front of him. Josh stops, calm and collected, looking out into the crowd and mouthed the words, “Is my mic on?” and the whole crowd yelled, “no,” back at him. Without another word, the band stopped, the man turned around and he picked up a blue coffee mug, taking a few casual sips without another word.
From that moment on, I was fully intrigued, unable to remove my gaze from the artist before me for the rest of the night, especially the moment he began to sang “Freedom,” one of his earliest songs and arguably still one of his best (actually, feel free to argue with me about that. I will win). As the men of the band moved off stage, Josh Garrels pulled up a chair, setting his acoustic guitar on his lap, picking away at the strings and hitting his guitar pick on the wooden frame, creating a full band experience with just one man. I was weak.
A few hours and two encores later, we were in the car heading back to Jackson. I felt like a revival had sprung up in me somehow, and I couldn’t stop talking about what I had just seen and heard for the entire car ride home, nor did I want to go home at all. I wanted to write every word and inspirational movement I felt within me. I think that’s just what good art does to a person: springs up a well of more art.
Here’s what I believe: it doesn’t have to be Josh Garrels. It doesn’t even have to be a live concert, or a road trip, or music. Passionate people contagiously spread. When someone loves the work that they do, and they do it with their whole being, it shows the sweetness of doing something well.
Among many others, Josh Garrels was (and is) this for me. When I lack inspiration or motivation to create or even to work, I go to him and let him fill my ears with the reminder that art is worth making, and therefore art is inevitably hard. No worthwhile beauty in this world was made easily. But the magic that it contains, the soul-level moving that art can cause, is worth it all. All of the difficulty, the confusion, the endless hours and impatience to know where it could all possibly be leading. This is why we write, we sing, we paint, we play our sports and build and do. Because we’ve seen the thing, that little spark of life contained inside of our doing, and we want to see where it lands, what it ignites, when we share it.
