Crisis Averted

The past few days I had a bit of a psychological crisis. Tuesday night I went to see Wilco at Tanglewood. I really enjoy their albums and their overall aesthetic. It was my first time seeing them live and at one of my favorite places on a beautiful summer night. A recipe for success, but the show left me underwhelmed. What the hell? They played a lot of their songs that I like, and they played them well. They wore nudie suits. But for some reason I just felt kinda blank about the whole thing. There is definitely a list of possible reasons. I had a disengaged companion (she doesn't like them) and I couldn't really see what the band was doing so I had no visual cues. Most importantly, they didn't stray much from what the recorded versions sound like. And the more I think about it the more I suppose I have to chalk my disappointment up to this factor. I expect some sort of deviation and unpredictability in live performance. I didn't expect Wilco to stretch anything out like Phish or the Dead, but I was not expecting the performance to so closely match the album sonically, energetically and in musical content.

Notwithstanding my love of acts like the Dead, this impulse toward variation in live performance is not something that seems inherent to other artists whom I have enjoyed in a live setting. The last show that I really enjoyed and became absorbed in was the Avett Brothers. And their show did not take their songs to extraordinary lengths. But, there was a ramped up energy that crackled through their set and particularly informed their vocals. And I felt connected to them as performers in a way that I hadn't when previously listening to their records. And now I listen to them in a new light. Sharon Jones was a similar experience with me. And when I've seen Ray Lamontagne there is a bit of play in his vocal articulation, arrangement and mood. I didn't experience any of these things at the Wilco show, and so I remained disconnected.

So this has been dragging on me for the past few days. I found myself wondering whether I'd really enjoyed any concert I'd been to (I certainly have!), and wrestled with an irrational feeling that I couldn't emotionally connect with music as a performer or even a as listener. How could I go see a band that I like, under such good circumstances, and not enjoy it? And if I wasn't feeling anything when I was listening, or playing, why was I doing it anyway? But on the way home I had a moment to remind me the silliness of the whole internal dialog.

"Resurrection Fern" by Iron & Wine. Driving in twilight and here is this song I've listened to many times. From a record I got last fall and played regularly through the winter. And as Sam Beam sang "the black bear claw, that took her dog" I got hit with a slap of emotional recall that took me totally by surprise. It was that pleasant feeling of unwinding melancholy that I often feel driving home on a cold winter evening. This in the middle of August. But it was there, and it was visceral and physical, I could feel my knees tingling. I wanted it to be December or February, and cloudy, with leafless trees, a dusting of snow and curlicues of smoke coming from a chimney. And it was all precipitated by a song.

So I guess that my crisis was pointless. I don't know why the conditions around that listening aroused such a sensation, and the equally fitting conditions of the concert did not. But I know that I can feel a deeply emotional connection with music, and also that I can't assume that it will happen when I expect it. And that's probably what makes it so powerful when it does.