Trans/Continental pt. 3
Nashville
One of the best aspects of tour is seeing friends who live in other towns. In my case, as an inveterate cosmopolitan, I have way more friends in other cities than where I actually live. So a big compensation for having to leave my partner and our sweet little cat-family home to go on tour is getting to see some of the other people I care for when I’m out here. This is one of those situations where the inherent duality of being a traveling musician presents itself as a choice of perception: I can either focus on the loneliness of always missing someone I love, as my closest friends live in different cities and countries, or I can focus on the abundance of loving friends in my life and be grateful that my work allows me to maintain periodic physical connection with them.
Last night in Nashville was one of those show nights where I had an embarrassment of riches in this regard: Three friends from different parts of my life were all there, and I got to catch up a bit with each of them. My heart is full from seeing them all: The previously Emma with her endlessly joyful, grounded energy, who mended the shawl she gave me (which I had worn, torn, in photos for our new record); Mo, so kind and and so solid, who I bonded with on a previous tour and hope to tour with again, took me to the most delicious vegan spot and always inspires me; Mary who I know from a different time in the NYC avant scene, generous and hilarious and whom I hadn’t seen in years, who used to let me stay in her apartment when I didn’t have a place. My heart is full from hanging out with all of them last night, and as always from being around my wonderful bandmates as well. That last part is kind of rare I think, genuinely loving the people I’m living with out here, to the point that I still look forward to seeing them every day even after years of touring together.
From my own perspective, the show had cathartic energy. I am always aware of the backdrop of the scary times we are in; the decline in decency and humanity we are facing feels both personal and political, and it affects how I feel and so how I play. And the ghosts that we carry with us, memories both beautiful and painful that the music evokes, are more present some nights than others. Last night I started crying towards the end of the set (both I Want You Here and Fading Beauty can bring up grief for me). Crying on stage is fine for the first few poignantly elegant tears, but it gets messy and embarrassing pretty quickly. There’s a fine line between goth and gross, I guess. I try to stay on the prettier side of the veil, but what can you do when the spirit literally taps you on the shoulder and says “hey, ‘mom!’ ”?
Tonight: Asheville!