The Miracle Of Music
About that one time Sturgill Simpson and his band reminded me of all things I forgot I wanted in my life one night while I watched Saturday Night Live.
They say the world started with a bang.
I think that’s pretty cool. I won’t pretend to know much about anything, the least of which is the history of the universe or of this planet, the origins of language, or, the most mind-bending to me personally - where music came from. Music is a miracle that I just can’t wrap my head around.
When I do try to imagine the origins of music, this is how I think it went.
After the big bang, a long long time ago, a bajillion gazillion fradgilion billion million microscopic pieces of whatever floated around the universe (whatever the universe is), and the dinosaurs were kinda all like, “sure, whatever, we’re cool unless it gets super cold,” then, it DID get super cold so they died then two people named Adam and Eve had sex then Jesus was born, and twelve dudes, they ended up being big fans of his, well, they walked around with him everywhere until these big wooden boats took a few tens of thousands of their mates over to Turtle Island (North America for those not in the know) then colonization happened and ruined everything and now I stream playlists on Apple Music.
That’s probably what happened, right?
Well.
Somewhere in between the dinosaurs and Adam and Eve’s one-night stand, someone somewhere was banging a stick on another stick then they thought to themselves, “Huh, that sounds pretty good.”
Then someone else was like, “Hey, Fred. You should tie this piece of raw moose hide to both ends of that stick, then pluck away at it in rhythm.”
And Fred was like, “Sure, Glen, but only if you do it too.”
A few friends of Fred and Glen were sitting around, and they liked what they heard and started clapping along. And that sounded pretty good.
Well, wouldn’t ya know, everyone sitting around the fire that night felt pretty damn good and were smiling and laughing.
Soon the laughter turned to chatter and that sounded pretty good.
Frank caught the attention of the crowd.
“Ugh, shut up. Repeat what you just said, Glen,” Frank ordered.
“This is the greatest night of our lives,” Glen said through a confused smile.
“Say it again, slower this time,” Frank said while intently plucking away on his stick and moose hide instrument.
Glen was confused. “What are you doing, Frank?”
“I’m writing a song,” Frank said, obviously.
“What is a song,” Glen asked while staring blankly across the fire.
This was the world’s first open mic.
(*and for the record, fuck the ukelele)
It was 2017, I think. Looking back, I think I was pretty fucking depressed. Stuck. Miserable.
In a lot of ways, my personal life was a fucking mess, and I didn’t know how to fix it. Days and weeks and months of feeling helpless and lost and scared trapped me in place. I was holding on but just barely. I put all of my good spirit and attention into work and as a result, saved nothing good for myself or the people I loved the most, my children.
I was a shell of myself.
Then I saw Sturgill Simpson on SNL.
I usually would have skipped SNL. I’d watch once in a while but usually only when a comic I liked was hosting. I wasn’t into watching The Rock host, or anything. I’m not that guy, but I grew up a fanboy of the show. Actually, I was far more than a fanboy; I auditioned for SNL through the NBC Diversity Program back in 2001.
But I hadn’t watched SNL regularly in years.
For some reason, this night, I turned it on. I don’t know why I turned it on. Sturgill Simpson is an old-school country artist (who is also fucking brilliant and fearless etc etc etc, but I didn’t know or care about any of this) and I’m not really into country music so wouldn’t have known that not ALL country musicians are Budweiser drinking fuckboys with big trucks. Suffice to say, I just wasn’t a fan of his (yet).
This band and their performance shook my spirit to its core.
It still shakes me to the core.
I think it probably saved my life in some ways.
I can’t explain it. I’m having a hard time articulating here.
Around the 2:30 second mark of the above video, the band locks into a magical, almost spiritual space that defies definition or measure.
It’s just pure magic.
And it fucks me up in the best way possible.
Simpson almost floats across the stage, his feet sliding beneath him as he jams and plays with his band, each taking a solo. There is a love and a fury in the lyrics combined with joy and freedom of playing that found me in this performance.
The song's energy transcended outward to the universe, finding me, shaking the limits of my spirit that I had placed on myself for my shortcomings and mistakes.
The band, locked into that moment in that way, reminded me to live.
This magical moment in time didn’t guilt me or blame me or judge me. It just gently nudged me back to who I was.
It reminded me to live with love and fury and joy and freedom.
Something I’m still working on today.
Today I’m looking for the love, the fury, the joy, and the freedom of being alive, of being me.
My musical Bang! happened when I listened to a recording of Mingus doing 'Black Saint and the Sinner Lady'. It scared the shit out of me. I literally couldn't keep the record and brought it back to the store for awhile until I could try it again. (Those were the days....) I was unhappy in law school and Mingus was shaking me up bad. Maybe that's what helped me jump the tracks and become an anti-law lawyer.
Sturgill Simpson is amazing. Many of my farmboy friends from my youth love him, too. He has won the hearts of the old country fans, too. He's got that Waylon/George Jones edge.