Turn the Page – Auld Lang Syne
July 23rd, 2009 - by Eddie
Jim Morrison once said that he wanted his music to be a gateway between the natural and the transcendent. He, like many artists throughout history, believed that humans could use something natural and manmade (art) to experience some sort of connection or interaction with the divine. Morrison obviously met an untimely end and I’m not sure if he ever succeeded in his goal, but I think that if he did, it would have been in the area of live music. There’s something about experiencing a live performance (especially the kind Jim put on) that makes you wonder if he wasn’t on to something, that there could be an element of music that takes you to a supernatural place, even just for a second. I won’t tell you what I think about all that, but I will say that there is definitely a connection that can be made through musical performance, and it is a human connection. The best shows have been the ones where I as a spectator have somehow connected with the performer; with the music they are playing, the words they are speaking, or even just the general spirit of their performance. Why would people even still go to shows if this weren’t a possibility?
In Auld Lang Syne we have often talked about how playing live can feel like climbing a mountain or running a marathon. I haven’t actually run a marathon and I can’t compare these things from personal experience, but there is an energy and urgency that has to be focused and kept up from start to finish in a live performance, and I’ve never played a good show where I haven’t been exhausted at the finish line. This might be because I haven’t mastered my instrument yet and I’m still at the point where I feel like I have to wrestle with it just to get the right notes out in the midst of all the distractions that come with playing live. But I think it’s more that we as performers owe it to the songs we sing to give a hell of a performance, no matter how the audience is responding. Besides, the rowdiest crowds we have played for have generally also been the most intoxicated, while a seemingly colder reception could come from a crowd who is actually listening and taking some meaning from the songs. Personally, I like a good mix of both.
When I was asked to write about memorable moment from a live show, a kaleidoscope of different memories came to mind, ranging from the humorous to the embarrassing to the profound. Like playing to 4 people in a gay bar in St. Louis, where a girl loudly announced that it was her birthday and we threw together a ramshackle cover of The Beatles song “Birthday.” Or the time our first bass player Timmy got caught up in the moment of an intense song and put his bass guitar through the head of a drum I was playing. Or the honor of getting to open for the Avett Brothers in places like New York’s Fillmore theatre or Ashville’s The Orange Peel. Or the time in Chapel Hill when I tripped and fell off the stage after jumping around a little too much.
These are all things that make a live show a completely new and unique experience every time. But if there was one moment I could go back to and experience again, it would be this:
At the beginning of May we released our album and put on a show in our hometown of Rochester at a club called the Bug Jar. It’s a venue that I’ve probably spent too much of my life in, growing up and going to shows as often as I could, and then being in bands and playing there myself. But on this night it was packed full of a good mix of friends, family, and strangers. The moment I remember was toward the end of our set. As we’re about to play our song Autumn’s Epitaph, Timothy forgoes the usual “1,2,3″ countoff and kick in, and steps back from the mic. “Please don’t let me whore this life!” He sings this refrain from the song. It’s a simple line, but it sums up what we’re trying to do with Auld Lang Syne. Myself and the rest of the band join in and we’re singing it together now. No instruments, no microphones, just 4 guys and a gal shouting out this chorus, this mission statement to what we do. During the course of this impromptu intro I remember wondering why we haven’t always started the song this way. And then I realize that we’re not the only ones singing. The sound of our 5 voices has been joined and overtaken by what sounds like the entire room singing along with us. As I look out over the room I see the faces of people I’ve never even seen before, eyes closed, singing/shouting as if their lives depended on it. Every voice in the room seems to join together as one, “Please don’t let me whore this life — Please don’t let me, Jesus Christ.” It’s a line that I want to wake up thinking about as I start each day. It’s not just a lyric to me, but words that I want to live by longer after my body has grown too old to play rock and roll. We sing it again, louder, stronger. I’m singing to myself, to the rest of the room, to something outside the walls of this club, and I think everyone else is too. After the third time through a capella Timothy finally gives the signal to kick the instruments and start the song. We play the song, finish the set, go home to bed, wake up to our day jobs and families and go on living.
As a musician, you want people to enjoy the music, but also take some truth or meaning from the words. To have that group of people join with us in singing on that night at that particular show was, for me, one of those transcendent connection moments between the performer and the crowd. And there’s nowhere else that sort of thing could happen but in a sweaty rock club like that. I guess that’s why we keep doing this music thing, show after show, city after city. The most meaningful moments of a person’s life are those he can somehow share with someone else, and it’s no different as a musician. We’ll keep playing shows, and the crowds will keep showing up, and hopefully the two will connect somehow every time we get on stage.
Joe Bushen, bass player
Auld Lany Syne – Rusty Prayer
