I just went to my first show solo-style, running silent, sans friends. May would be very proud indeed. Shes been doing it for a while. My friends, as amazing as they are, have sleep schedules that cannot be sacrificed. I suppose they do not share the desire to indulge their ears into the spectrum of sound that is Tilly and the Wall as much as I do. I cannot hold it against them. Apparently, it was there loss.
Along with all the young folk who were there and my great, lame friends, I am reminded of my former years where going to a show was a social event and an all night adventure that usually ended up waking up half-drunk on the floor of some strangers living room along with a dozen friends. Sometimes, the dawn would catch up with us before we could find a decent place to sleep. I don’t think I really slept around in those days, but affection was passed out freely, heavy petting was frequent, and reservations were thrown to the wind. It was a free time that I have a difficult time locating these days, apart from my memories.
I wonder what happens to youth, to the idea that tomrrow does not really matter until it comes. I hear it subtly on the album, but saw it live and in person on stage known as Tilly and the Wall tonight. They sing songs of young love and teenage inhibition. They perform with huge smiles and carefree candor. They are wild like children, emancipated like seventies, surfer rock, and sort of creepy pop like the Partridge Family.
Since I am mentioning youth, I have to admit I found a schoolboy crush for Jamie. Imagine, if you will, this gorgeous woman with a checkered short, short skirt, with checkered tights, a black, so-tight t-shirt with a scary wolf face on it, and glittery bracers to boot. Now imagine her with a huge smile on her face as she tapped her magnificent feet to make the sound of thunder and cannons; still she is so graceful and gentle like the wind. Then, once you have that, think of the incredible fun she has when she is dancing while she performs, flailing her arms like an albatross.
So, I wonder where my youth has gone. Has it been lost in my motion, my lack of a home? Has it been stolen from me, slowly, from the beautiful, amazing souls I have loved so deeply, but have turned their backs for a new place? Is it hidden in my growing reservations, my new found finiteness? Does it disappear with my precious friends that will not suffer a day lacking alertness? Is it tucked away from the times and the people that cannot sleep outside their own bed?
It is in me, somewhere. It is in my new bike and on the smiles of those wonderful people that love me. I love you too. I find it in the books I read and my thirst for learning and my lack of wisdom. I feel it in my shakey heart and after scrabble games. I hear it in the chords and with each beat. And, oh god, how I pulse with it when I see that sky.
It is an amazing life that is granted to each of us. It is difficult and comes with little instruction. When percieved as a span, life is just really a collection of memories. But if you can look at it as the present, as this moment, it becomes something that language is not adequate for. We just have to get behind the wheel and stay in front of the storm.
I also had another special treat tonight. I was unaware that David Dondero was playing with Tilly and the Wall and was so pleasantly surprised to see him perform. A man and a guitar has been done in so many ways and rarely becomes new. He’s not rewriting history books but he’s solid and fun, heartbroken and angry, and simple and delicate.
Here’s some good resources:
- Tilly and the Wall - Wikipedia entry
- Tilly and the Wall - review by The Las Vegas Mercury
- Tilly and the Wall - review by the Aural Minority
- Tilly and the Wall - webcast from NPR
- Tilly and the Wall - live pictures from SCTAS (with Of Montreal) (as I did not have a camera with me)
- David Dondero - a review by Pop Matters
- David Dondero - a review by Erasing Clouds