Freedom

Tonight I went to a local pub to hear a friend sing. It was open mike night, and there were a few artists lined up before my friend was up to bat.

The first guy up was hard to take. He chose songs that were at a pitch and fever that insufficiently masked...something. He seemed like he was trying to be someone else, sound like someone else...did he have talent or not? It was sort of hard to bear, sort of funny...I felt sorry for him. He was brave enough to get up to the mike, right? Then, maybe not. We don't have to be brave when we aren't who we are, just numb. Who am I to say. I wasn't playing.

The next guy at the plate began his set by smiling at a couple of folks in the audience while he tuned, then accidentally knocked over one of his monitors. It was useless after that. He smiled, made a joke, and then launched into his song.

He had me.

He sang a song that wasn't his, but he owned it. His body, his instrument, his voice, his presence...he was music. He was himself, and he was every song.

As he sang I couldn't take my eyes off him. I couldn't wait to see or hear the next thing from him. I was amazed that a bar full of people could be completely absorbed in their conversation and laughter and not see what was happening at the mike. The soul that was bare and beautiful before us. Free.

I long to be like him.