Bluegrass and blues
Tuesday night I took in a concert by Alison Krauss and Union Station, a concert I’d invited A to join me for, but he had held off making a decision, as he couldn’t really plan that far in advance with the shop. Sometimes I wonder if somewhere, deep down, he knew.
I hadn’t planned to go anyway, but a billboard advertising the concert caught my eye one day recently, and I decided I wanted to go after all, so I bought the ticket. As I headed out last night, I found myself rather emotional (which translates as “crying in the car”), and I wasn’t sure why. I parked, peed, and found my seat, 2nd row off the floor, and chatted up the couple to my right whom I’d just walked over to get to my one seat.
He, of course, had gray hair and a goatee, but was probably in his mid-to-late forties. I have noted, however, that men with this configuration of hair no longer set me to weeping, and that’s a good thing. They told me they’d walked up to the box office, and their great tickets had just opened up. It was meant to be. They joked that the ticket seller had said “You probably don’t want to be on the floor,” to which they answered “Just what are you trying to say?” The implication being that they were too old to want to be on the floor, despite the fact that floor held the same folding chairs we were sitting on in the stands. “He knew that you didn’t want to be on the floor, amongst the bluegrass punks,” I said. You get a lot of toughs at bluegrass concerts, doncha know. Indeed, it was a mellow crowd, and when the speaker came on to ask people to listen and then went on to talk about emergency exits, the crowd hushed to actually listen. The guy to my left commented that they were a pretty compliant bunch. I said I bet they even listen to the safety announcements on planes. (Well, all of them except for me.) When the message was repeated in Spanish, (because this is Tucson, after all), the guy in front of me said “Why are they doing it in Spanish, too? They’re not going to sing in Spanish, are they???” Because people who speak Spanish as a first language and might appreciate safety announcements in their language could not possibly be attending a bluegrass concert in English? Apparently, in this dude’s world, you may only listen to music in your own language.
As soon as Alison Krauss started singing in that sweet voice he and I had discussed more than once, I was crying again, and had to dig out my hankie. I probably cried through the first half hour, on and off. I guess without realizing it, the moment I asked A if he wanted to go to the concert, it was “our” concert, despite us having made no concrete plans, and him not being there was the cause of the tears. He would’ve loved the show. It really was excellent, and not only was Alison a good singer, she’s a great fiddler, and she was funny as hell. They were all masters of their instruments and witty besides. I was very glad I went, tears notwithstanding. I laughed a lot, and the music was wonderful. This is life, with smiles in your sorrow and tears in your happiness and chocolate in your peanut butter. As I was driving home from work that same night, enjoying the unusual clouds now pink with the setting of the sun, I thought “You can only have beautiful sunsets if there are some clouds.” Cheesy, but apt, I think.
Bittersweet. So much of it is these days. But I’m beginning to taste more of the sweet again.