As I walked in the doorway, it felt like I was entering a sacred space. The couches that are normally set strategically around the room had been moved into rows in front of the stage. Bea Troxel was finishing her set, all those seated in front of her fixed on the lullaby floating out of her mouth.
The room was dark. The stage was lit. I was late, as usual. My friend, Madison, and I moved next to the merch table in the back near the door, as this was one of the few available spaces. When Bea finished, we all clapped. I think I was in a bit of a shock. The space that had been created by the gentleness of her music was like walking in an empty field in the quiet of dawn, full of life, solace, wonder.
The lights were turned back on. Everyone started talking. Friends everywhere, and strangers. I love strangers, especially knowing that we are all in this same sacred space to experience the delicacy of music.
I had bought a ticket to see Birdtalker in Memphis before I knew they were coming to Union. Some mornings when I sit down to do homework or something of the sort, I end up on sites to buy tickets for my favorite bands. I don’t know how it happens. It’s just me, and my homework, listening to good tunes. And then all of the sudden it’s me and a list of tour dates of the band I’m listening to.
When I found out they were coming to Union, I was driving home from work, and I started screaming. Screamed all the way home. My windows were rolled down in my car, so I screamed out the window too. The smile on my face parted my lips and opened my mouth wide. I’ve been asked before why I open my mouth when I smile. But, I guess that’s just when you know it’s a real smile, the product of consuming happiness.
Friday night, before they played, I was looking at their merch (as I was still conveniently occupying the space next to it), and I saw the song “Graveclothes” on their album. I was taken back to two years ago, maybe three, when I first heard that song, before I paid a bit of attention to song titles or band names. I was overwhelmed. This band has taken me through some rough patches, and here I am, and here they are, in my city and in my school’s coffee shop. The irony of it all made me feel like laughing and crying at the same time.
I’m sure my relationship with the song “Graveclothes” is like many of those that were in the room with me, but still, when the band walked on stage and began playing the song, it felt like it was for me, and I’m always going to believe it was. Madison and I, after having mingled a bit in the crowd, resumed our places in the back. She had only listened to them some before the concert, having not previously heard of them, and when I looked at her with the excitement of a child on Christmas day, she looked back at me the same way. As they played, I unconsciously released any weight that I was carrying with me, just letting the music frolick into my ears and paint my brain with electrifying colors. Bright blues and yellows and reds and greens composing a dance in the millions of streets that make up my mind, rising and falling to the voices of lead singers Zack and Dani Green.
They’re unlike any couple I’ve heard sing before. Dani, with her short tan hair and denim jacket and straight khaki pants and Zack, with his long beard and high-top brown leather boots, were both so casual on the stage. They were completely unafraid of the vulnerability that each song embraces, and as they sang each one, they were just, themselves. It was as if the whole crowd were old friends, and we all just got together to recount the stories of our lives over the past few years. They let their story of song-writing and forming the band become our story. They invited us into their living room where they wrote “Autodomesticated Animal,” shared with us how their relationship struggled as it became entangled in their business and their band. They played “My Lover,” and the crowd began to snap their fingers. In the middle of the song, Dani said, “This has never happened before,” and we all laughed. After, she joked about not knowing how romantic snapping could be. Their next song was “Blue Healer.” Zack introduced it by saying something like, “I’m sad a lot.” It was a song to sadness.
The last song they played was “Heavy,” probably their most popular. Madison and I danced freely. Having set down our bags and drinks, we cut the invisible string that seems to tie arms to sides and let the lyrics take us by the hands and invite us to lift off the ground, jump, twirl, move. A song to lovers, a song to sadness, and a song to leave what’s heavy behind.
Leave what’s heavy behind.
It was over so quickly. Madison and I stared at each other and sighed deep breaths. “That was so good,” we said together. “So good” carries such unseen depth.
I walked over to the merch table again. I had to buy something. As I talked with Bea and Rita Pfeiffer, violinist in Bea’s band, all I could think was, “these are two beautiful souls.” I bought a shirt from their table and a vinyl of Birdtalker’s latest album, “One.”
Finally, when most everyone had left, Madison and I walked to where Dani and Zack were standing. Zack had his hands together in a prayer-like way and bowed to us in greeting, acknowledging the sacredness of our time together that evening, the time that was coming to an end. I told Dani I would see them again in Memphis, secretly thanking myself for doing things like buying concert tickets instead of homework.
As we exited, I felt like I had actually left what’s heavy behind, had let it be replaced with a healing love.
I can’t wait to experience it again.
Photo by Nikki Grim
