As a result of working where I do [The Iron Horse], I am exposed, sometimes subjected, to many different types of live music. The result of seeing thousands of shows over a dozen years has left me a bit jaded (Wynton Marsalis again!?! Wasn't he just here?), but moments of transcendence, few and far between, do happen and when they do, it makes me believe in magic.
Over the years I have seen "big names in a small room": Beck, David Byrne, Dave Matthews. I have seen "legends": Odetta, Hot Tuna, Jimmy Smith (he's kind of a dick), Gil Scott Heron. I have loved performers and bands that no one else seems to (shame on all of you for not seeing Josh Rouse! Shame!); and I have seen bands whose popularity assures me that there is no God. Most of them come from New Hampshire. Rarely, though, have I been genuinely moved by a performer, but some nights it just comes together.
Usually when I am at work, it's… well… work. I am concentrating on doing the tasks for which I am paid. Sometimes something just pulls me out of my work trance. It was not just the skill of the performer, though he had an incredible range. It was not the choice of material, though it was a great song he was performing. It was the vulnerability and emotion he put into the song that made it come alive. He felt what he was singing, and somehow a small bit of that emotion was transferred to me. I felt the song. I had never heard of the song or the performer, but when I summon the memory to this day, it still makes me feel. The singer was Jeff Buckley. The song was "Hallelujah." Magic.
