Hopeful

Every heart is a package, Tangled up in knots someone else tied*

I saw Josh Ritter and his band play tonight at the Southern Theatre. The night was beautiful. The venue beautiful (I do have a soft spot for vintage theaters.) Tina, Julie, and I walked to pizza beforehand, then to the venue, then back to my house at the end. Living near downtown has its perks. Warm spring nights do too.

Long time readers might remember that I'm a fan of his. Tonight wasn't my favorite of his shows, though I did enjoy it quite a lot. I adore his new album. Since I have seen him play last, he's moved on from his divorce, found a new partner, had a baby. His newest album, The Beast in its Tracks, is full of the most hopeful, redemptive songs about failures in love. There are barbs in there too, but over all it is not bitter. Listen to "Joy to You Baby" over on his website. It's beautiful.

I realized tonight that I have been going to see Josh play his music for almost ten years. I just searched this space for old blog posts, and let me tell you, I am somewhat embarrassed by my 24 year old self. But I also kind of miss that zeal. I was telling this to Tina and Julie on our walk home. I have seen him play so many times, but now it's like I'm catching up with an old friend. His music was so important to me in my mid-20s, when I felt so at sea about so much. You cling to music when you are young in a way that you do not as you age. Music is still deeply important to me and something I want to share with people I love, but it is just not the same as it was. I am not the same.

I think about this especially because of a song he sang, just him, towards the middle of his set. He asked for all of the lights to come down and stepped out in front of the microphone, in the dark to sing "Thin Blue Flame." Now, I'll get to why this song is important to me in a minute, but you have to understand what a ballsy move this was. This is a long song. Powerful, but LONG. And he had the entire audience silent, listening. I closed my eyes and just let it wash over me. (You can hear it here. Scroll down, it's the second to last song on the album.)

This song brought me back to 24 again. Back then I was part of the community on his message board and got some preview copy of this song. I used to listen to it on repeat as I would drive around Chicago. When I hear it, I see a specific place on Western Ave, nearing my old apartment where I lived with Natasha and my brother. If I was up at a friend's house north of us, I could get through the song twice as I made my way south, home. After I had fully absorbed the record version, I heard it live, with two drummers, blasting at the big crescendo. I was floored.

Tonight it was stripped down and spare. And as I listened I thought about how a musician's relationship with his or her songs must change as they change and age. I thought I was hearing more emphasis in different places than before. It made me happy to have been able to listen in a little on his journey. That is what being a long time fan feels like. Like I said above, like I'm checking in on a friend, and finding him well and strong and full of hope. Thank you.

 

*From an old song of his, "Kathleen," that he plays live a lot and has become a rollicking anthem to young love. The lyric got stuck in my head and I felt it fit.

Comments

[Hannah]

I love this. There is something about the intensity of my feelings for music in college and my earliest twenties that is almost embarrassing and yet still really moving. I never hear music and I feel so strongly about now, that I feel gets to very much to the heart of me.