As the above lyrics might evidence, the only thing that I love as much as writing is music- and this is probably because they are kind of fraternal twins. Ever since I got good at poising my finger on the record button during radio song breaks, I’ve probably placed way too much importance on musical arrangements and potential lyrical meanings. Honestly, this is a habit that I’ve never managed to outgrow.
Growing up, I remember conserving the long cardboard CD packaging so I could trim the thin edges and fashion free posters for my bedroom wall. Indeed, I had cover art of Jane’s Addiction’s “
Nothing’s Shocking” tacked up next to my bed- and I didn’t bother to take it down when my grandparents visited for Thanksgiving (yes, they stayed in my room). Come to think of it, I also had a massive black and white poster depicting an almost nude group photo of my favorite band- with lettering across the top that read, “
Pull your socks up, the Chilis are coming!” I thought this was fantastic, and to this day I can tell you that “Blood Sugar Sex Magik” was a key album during my formative years.
I spy a tour bus and a long line. This can only mean one thing…
My worship of music did not stop at the mix tapes and Holy Bible known as my Case Logic; it of course extended to any opportunity I could get to see live performances. Unfortunately for this young teenager, it took attending a lot of bad shows (and permanent hearing loss) before I learned how to spot a worthwhile concert from a bad one. If it’s Veruca Salt playing at Lupo’s Heartbreak Hotel in Providence- where they make a pre-show announcement that someone’s car is on fire- then it might not be the most acoustically-pleasing show.
In case you’re wondering, it wasn’t my car that was on fire that night. Thank God. But that was a fun concert.
I’m older now, and while my catalog of musical tastes has expanded, I still treasure a performer who sounds as great on record as they do
en live. But now I’m old, and this means that an artist’s gotta be really special if I’m gonna head out for a show. Especially if the concert is general admission and has a hazy start time- which is code for I have to stand all night and endure at least one crappy act before the main attraction takes the stage close to midnight. What can I say? I get sleepy and I like having my own seat…
Having said all of that, about two months ago I found out that one of my favorite artists was coming to town. Among other great artists, I first discovered Ryan Adams courtesy of my ex-husband (yes, he did show me lots of cool stuff). The marriage might not have lasted, but I was never able to excommunicate this catalog of music from my repertoire. To me, Ryan Adams has writing and musical chops that are just too damn good to relinquish- bittersweet memories be damned.
So without much hesitation I went online and bought a single ticket for myself to attend to this one night only performance. The ticket offered no seat assignment, but I have seen this guy perform before. Even if I was forced to stand in the back of a room and stay up wicked late, this would be a night that would water my creative cactus of a right brain.
I get inside, and here I am,
seated inside the little theater. Much to my delight, Le Trianon offers an abundance of friendly, open seating. I felt like I was at a high school concert as I walked to the seventh row and just sat where I wanted. The stage setup was composed of two acoustic guitars, some microphones and a piano. A modest arrangement in a modest venue that could not be more perfect.
I didn’t know if French people were really familiar with Ryan Adams, but as it turned out the place was full. This would be my moment to observe the French hipster crowd (and obligatory groupies who are following the tour) up close and personal. They were quite a bunch. From the Ira Glass-looking dude who patiently read his book up in the box seats, to this guy in front of me sporting an Iron Maiden 2011 tour shirt, this was going to be a great show.
You know what? It was a great show- in fact, one of the best performances that I have ever seen- but you aren’t going to get any photographic or video evidence of my evening.
I’m not posting this blog entry because I want to provide a critical review of what turned out to be a highpoint for my calendar year. What do you care what I thought? Music is extremely personal, and we all have our favorite selections that speak to only us– songs that get us through tough periods, ones that instantly transport us to a certain time and place. For me, Ryan Adams took me through a roller coaster of emotions that had me laughing and crying over the course of the two hours. A performance that affirmed my great love of music.
You can’t ask for much more when you’re talking about art.
