Like Music to My Ears

Over the past year, Justin and I have cracked open our piggy banks several times to invest in some soul-nourishing music.  The first event, for our 3^rd anniversary, we hung out with a bunch of Baby Boomers and listened to Steve Martin and the Steep Canyon Rangers.*  While I was greatly impressed and moved by the lyrics and tunes the band played, I was probably more impressed by how evident it was that all the women present were madly in love with Steve Martin and giggled profusely whenever he opened his mouth to speak.

The second event was spent with my old bakery compatriots, guffawing through our own love/lust relationship with one Elizabeth Cook, our favourite Sirius radio DJ (M-F, 10-2 on Outlaw Country.)  Not sure how you can pack such musical ferocity and salty, Southern wit into a body that small.

The third evening was truly one for my history books – an Australian artist, long a favourite of mine, finally came to tour in the U.S.  I specially purchased a cowgirl hat for the night spent in the shadow of Kasey Chambers, grinning like the Mad Hatter when her country legend father Bill Chambers complimented the hat.

Last evening, perhaps as part of our 4^th anniversary celebration, we set off to hear none other than Emmylou Harris sing for two and a half hours in Belfast, Northern Ireland, where we were taking a quick holiday.  After bemoaning earlier last week that one thing I missed from home was country music, finding out that she was going to be playing at the very place we were going to be was a gem of a find.

Taking pictures was not actually allowed, but I did what I could sans flash.

These nights for me are transformative.  Last night, listening to the music, I remembered the first time I really started to listen to Emmylou.  My mom and I were driving out to Albuquerque after I had graduated from university, and I had gone to the library before leaving to get some new music to play along the way.  That move marked a real transition into “adulthood” (whatever that is…), and the joy and pain of that time flooded back last night when she sang Red Dirt Girl.

Not only has music often marked major events in my life, I find it also inspires me to think more critically about where I draw energy from, and about what thoughts or ideas have been ruminating in my soul, but need to get out.  Particular songs have often helped me put words to my emotions, much like a fine artist might find in looking at another’s artwork, or a reader might find in another’s memoirs.  (Chocolate is also helpful for inspiration.)

Sometimes the monetary expense of such luxurious evenings seems unjustifiable…but, then I remember that Mary Magdalene also poured a year’s worth of wages onto Jesus’ feet.  Moments of true peace and joy and worship can have no price attached, though they are also not for us to hoard. 

We share our music, our art, our food, our words because they are too much for us to contain.

*And so, if you feel so led, links offered as windows into where I find joy...