Wrinkled Posters

Before you begin reading this post.
Please do not continue unless you are in a quiet place and you have at least 20 minutes to devote to it. Headphones are also recommended.

I also warn you that the part of me that has always wanted to be a hippie shines through in this post. Bear with me.



On Sunday, I was cleaning my kitchen after sleeping in unjustifiably through the morning. I decided to put on some music to aid the process, so I docked my ipod and hit shuffle. That’s when a song played, and my eyes became fixed upon a cheaply made poster on my wall.

If you’ll let me, I would like to tell you the story of this song.

A year ago I called a friend looking for inspiration of some sort. As many of my friends are aware, this is not an uncommon request from me. Often times, this is accomplished through a story, a movie, a book, or a heated debate, and other times, such as this, it is conceived through a song.

I can understand why people don’t have a passion for some of life’s arts that I have come to love, just as I hope that they understand when I am not always enthused about theirs. I am even beginning to accept that there are people that, no matter how hard I try, will never appreciate the game of baseball or be able to describe it as “beautiful”. However, I will never understand how some people can be so nonchalant about music; how they can listen to songs without being caused to feel the specific emotions that are locked away inside of us waiting to be coaxed out by the correct combination of notes and lyrics.

We listen to thousands of songs in our life. Whether we seek them or not, we are surrounded by songs. They are in the car, in the soundtracks to movies, being bastardized by commercials, and even in department stores and elevators. They are all around us. Sometimes we go out of our way to find them, and sometimes--they follow us.

So I called this friend seeking inspiration, and she shared a song from a particular band with me. Some of my favorite bands and songs didn’t resonate with me at first. They had to grow on me. Usually I wasn’t ready for them or their message. From the first song I heard from this band. I was in love. None has ever made me feel like this one did from the very beginning.

I am stubbornly and selfishly protective of songs that I love. I will keep them to myself in order to keep others from tainting the experience the song has caused for me. I will give them to people I trust, but not even them sometimes. I am the same way about books. However, I felt compelled to share this with anyone who would listen. I even remember boldly announcing to my class one morning as I introduced them to a particular song, that their lives would be changed on account of it. I can be a bit dramatic at times, especially when given an audience.

When I heard that they would be playing at a small venue in Portland a few months later, I bought tickets immediately, without even looking at the date. As the day approached, my excitement mounted. A couple weeks prior to the show, I was devastated to learn that the date of this concert was actually on a Monday. Since I lived in Seattle, and that is a weeknight, all seemed lost. But I couldn’t let the opportunity pass. I decided I would simply have to make the journey. I was even able to convince my girlfriend to make the rebellious school night trek with me.

As we waited outside of the classic rustic looking theater with our $9 tickets in hand, my feelings could only be described as “giddy”. From the moment the first song was sung, I knew I was having an experience I would never forget. The crowd reacted as if they were somewhat unsure of how to interpret what they were witnessing. You could tell that many of them had very little knowledge of who they were seeing. But as the night wore on, they seemed to share my belief that this was in fact an experience. A middle-aged woman in front of us, who had come to the concert alone, was even sitting amongst the standing crowd intently punching away at the keys on her laptop. We peered over her shoulder to see what she was writing, and learned that she was keeping a journal of her thoughts throughout the show. I clearly remember a moment in which this woman heard a group of three lines and felt compelled to make a statement, which was only audible due to the silence of the crowd who had long ago suspended all talking and movement in order to hear each word of the lyrics being shared with them. She softly and convincingly said in a voice that carried the weight of the experience it spoke from, “That’s the truth.”

And death is at your doorstep
And it will steal your innocence
But it will not steal your substance


As the band came out for their encore, they asked the crowd if we minded them playing a slower song that they hadn’t played on the tour. The lead singer said that they had been reluctant to play it for previous audiences, but they felt that “Portland gets it.” We all knew what that meant, and we listened as they allowed us to walk a little further with them. When it was over, I headed to the foyer to pull one of the concert posters off the wall. As I arrived, I saw a handful of other people with the same idea as me. We all wanted a piece of tangible evidence to prove that we had been there that night— to hang on our wall to remind us of this moment in hopes that we could recreate a glimpse of it each time our eyes are drawn to it.

We drove back to Seattle that night and arrived with just enough time to salvage an hour or two of sleep before heading to work. The whole way never doubting the worth of the trip.

Months later on a Friday afternoon, I was sitting at my desk in my classroom in Aberdeen. I knew that this same band was playing in Glasgow that night. I also knew that the tickets had been sold out well before I ever moved over here. There weren’t even people willing to part with them for a profit on the internet. I remember sitting there feeling disappointment and angst. In an absurd way, I felt like I was depriving myself of an experience and a chance to have a moment similar to that one back in May. I suppose I could best describe it as a feeling of need. So, I decided that I would not be able to justify not having tried. Therefore, I got in the car and drove the two and a half hours to Glasgow, even if I didn’t have a ticket. I was confident that if I was meant to get in, I would.

Unfortunately a brutal storm made that journey closer to four and a half hours, but that didn’t matter. I was on my way.

When I arrived, I parked my car and walked through the foreign city looking for the concert hall. As I had hoped, it was a small, worn building that looked like it had seen its years of undervalued music. I set up shop on the corner, dropped my pride, and began asking each and every person that walked by if they had an extra ticket. After an hour, my confidence was beginning to fade, and the reality was setting in. Even the scalpers had called it a night. It was just one other man and I desperately competing and leap-frogging over one another to get to the next person first. As the curtain time grew very close and all nearly seemed lost, a man tapped me on the shoulder and asked me if I needed a ticket. I said yes, too excitedly. He asked me to name a price I was willing to pay. Afraid of how much I would be willing to pay, I told him I wouldn’t. I requested that he name a price instead, and he did. Knowing that you never agree to the initial number, I brazenly undercut it. That’s when he walked away and sold it to the other man. I felt my stomach sink. I had blown it. I had come as close as possible, and foolishly let it slip away, all to save 10 pounds. I knew the show was starting, and all hope was officially gone, but I stayed out on that corner anyway, clinging to faith and the depressing fact that I really had no other option. The line was gone, and only a few late-comers straggled in. Each was clearly in a hurry and no one showing up this late is looking to discard a ticket. That’s when a man walked over to me, and asked if I was looking to see the show. I said yes, and he held out a ticket and offered a price. Without asking a single question, I shook his hand. I was in. A rushed inside to beat the curtain. As I stood shoulder to shoulder with strangers, I couldn’t help but smile. And when the band walked on stage, we collectively listened and let ourselves feel. And as the concert came to a close, I whispered what I thought was in my head, but now I am pretty sure I said it out loud, “Glasgow gets it.”

So when I remember convincing a friend to listen to a song with me once, which turned into sitting silently through four, and instead of telling me that I was overdramatic, he asked, “How can anyone not love this?”
or when I remember how silent and still hundreds of people can be when they are fully aware of their emotions,
or I find myself driving through a monsoon with reckless abandon to get to a show I don’t have a ticket for,
or when I get a letter from a former student that confirms my bold statement that the song would change her life,
or I am stopped in my kitchen on a random Sunday by lyrics that sound so truthful they demand I listen,
or when I notice myself staring at a wrinkled concert poster on my wall in hopes that it will keep a memory from fading…I find myself at a loss for those who are not moved by music.





So I challenge you to take the time to listen to these three songs in their entirety. I ask you to truly hear the lyrics. Take a break from your busy day and the routine of daily life to be awakened and to be moved.

If for any reason this audio isn't working, here are the youtube links for the songs:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x2RKb3VNAOo

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kl-VCHzS1So

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EMsTSdHIJds