lay your body down (& gig tonight)
in which music heals and you are invited to come hear some
Hey Hartlist,
There’s really nothing as effective as death1 for a shift in perspective.
(I mean, when it happens to someone in your life, not to you. I’m not sure you would need something called “perspective” at that point.)
JUST THE GIG
FROM THE CHRYSALIS
“The Grim Reaper doesn’t care”, said my cousin Kenny quietly to me as we scooped whitefish salad onto bagels, which is part of the way my family handles loss. I nodded, partly because my mouth was full, and partly because there was nothing more - or more accurate - to be said. His brother Paul, my second cousin and upstairs neighbor, had died very suddenly that morning and we were (are) ‘still processing’, whatever that means. We had all convened very suddenly as soon as it happened, and there was something extremely comforting about watching the whole extended clan swing into action: heading to the hospital to confront the fact, offering hugs/words/awkward standing-by, driving in from outer boroughs, cleaning up a place to convene, and (of course) deciding where the bagels would come from (priorities).
It was also, you know, the opposite of comforting, as life events go. Most of the morning was spent standing extremely still, weeping suddenly, crying again because someone else was crying, or thinking irrelevant things like But I just saw him. Whether or not you believe in an actual scythe-wielding figure, it is true that Death definitely “doesn’t care” about your plans, your scheduled deliveries, your career trajectory, or your unrehearsed set list. It shows up and reminds us of you of your place in the universe, which in case you’ve forgotten, is Not The Boss Of Anything.
If there is a gift, however tiny, in moments like this, I would say it is the Letting Go that we are forced into, the Surrender that has to occur in the face of something inarguably larger than ourselves.
Because this is my life, I headed straight from this experience to Matt’s place to rehearse for our show tomorrow. It was the only time we had been able to find. I had been having a busy week and had allowed myself to become very stressed out about this one tiny show for all the usual reasons - There’s not enough time! I should have written new songs! What are we going to play! Why didn’t I rehearse more? What if no one comes? But I texted him, hey, this is what happened today, I haven’t practiced, I have no set list, I’m barely showered, I’m coming anyway, let’s see what happens. And on the train there I realized I no longer cared about how it went at all.
Not that I didn’t care about it. But maybe I suddenly cared way less about The Gig and way more about… well, let’s say.. Music.
It was a gentle, loose rehearsal where we just kind of played whatever we wanted and a set came together with minimal effort, because I had no effort in me at all. I was playing, not thinking about playing. Experiencing the songs rather than thinking about how someone else would experience them. The only things that mattered were things that actually mattered.
The TL:DR version of this boils down to something like “Music Heals”, which I think I actually texted to a friend afterwards without irony.
This is hardly a eulogy for Paul, but I will say two things. One is that the last time I saw him I asked how he was feeling and he said “You know how on ‘Friends’, Tom Selleck’s character says that thing about getting ‘the sympathetic head tilt’?”
The other is that, as I left the Bagels ‘n Grief Conference I mentioned dedicating a song to Paul. Without a moment’s hesitation, his brother suggested this one.
It came together by itself.
See you out there.
Rebecca
or a birth, i suppose
This post feels somewhat cathartic even for me. Love you honey.