Every summer about this time Kathy puts my name on her list. You see, our house isn't air conditioned so it can get pretty uncomfortable when the dog days of summer settle in. Well, this year the dog days have been settling pretty hard on both of us. So in an effort to get off Kathy's list, I took her on a special date last Saturday to an outdoor concert in Springfield to hear Judy Collins.
Let me say right up front that I hate concerts. Paying $50 for a seat so far up in the bleachers that all I can see of the performance is a blurry object that I can only assume is the person I am shelling out a small fortune to hear. And speaking of hearing, concert music is always so loud that my ears are ringing for two weeks afterward. And let's not even talk about getting out of the parking lot for three hours after the concert ends.
But this concert was different. First of all, it was free. And it was held outside at the Veteran's Amphitheatre Park on Buck Creek. No auditorium, no jumbo screen, no bleacher seats in the nosebleed section. In fact, there were no seats at all. Kathy and I spent the evening laying on a blanket on a hillside about 100 feet from the stage, staring up at the stars.
And the music was different, too. For those too young to remember anything before rock and roll, there was a time when music was more about melody than beat, when the words were more about caring for one another, not sex, when musicians were more interested in social activism, not profits. I'm talking about musical poetry, the folk music of Bob Dylan, Joni Mitchell, Peter, Paul and Mary, and mostly Judy Collins.
So last Saturday as I lay on the blanket on that hillside for a couple hours, I put aside all my worries about paying bills, about my kids, about all the work still undone with my house, about dealing with homeless people and their never-ending struggles, and I just let my mind wander back gently, sweetly, melodiously over my life.
When she sang "Someday Soon" I was a 25 years old again, single and lonely because I spent most of my time hitch-hiking around the country trying to see and experience all that I could, but never putting down roots anywhere. But there's also a cost with being a traveler. Or as Judy Collins sang, "Hey, when I visit, her pa ain't got a good word to say, but I can't help thinkin' he was just as wild in his day. And I love that damned old rodeo as much as I love her. Someday soon, she's going with me, some day soon."
When I heard "Bird on a wire" I was 35 years old and traveling with my family to Texas to make my fortune. After I married Kathy I had several opportunities to work in an office and "make something of myself in business" I was told, but I never could settle down to that sort of life. So when she sang, "Like a bird on a wire, like a drunk in a midnight choir, I have tried in my own way to be free," I could sing along from my heart.
And now at 58 as I look back over my life, all the ups and downs, the good times and the bad, I can understand all too well what she meant when she sang, "Across the morning sky, all the birds are leaving. Ah, how can they know it's time for them to go? Who knows where the time goes?"
But most of all, I can understand what she was saying about peace and hope and second chances that can allow us to overcome all the regret that too often comes with age when she finished her concert with, "Amazing grace, how sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me. I once was lost, but now I'm found, was blind, but now I see."
Music is more than a catchy beat and it's more than a melody that you can hum. It's poetry that allows you to share all the pains and pleasures of life with another. It is a primal sound that comes from deep within our souls. It is a sound that I haven't heard for a long time. That is, until last Saturday laying on blanket beside a creek in Springfield.
John Graham is an Advocate Columnist. His column appears each Sunday in the Advocate. He can be reached at jgraham19@woh.rr.com.
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