Music takes me places….

The haunting voice of Damien Rice, singing “The Blower’s Daughter”, gives me pause, and conjures images of what might have been.

The flowing give and take of the classically trained takes my breath, as I listen to “The Prayer”.

And the words….

Dave Matthews’ lyrics float erotically over a sensual melody in “Crush”, and the air draws closer, as my body moves in time to the feeling.

And, when Dave Grohl snarls “Best of You” into a microphone, the anthem moves me to raise my hands, stomp my feet, and growl along with him.

This past July, a couple of my favorite bands were scheduled to appear as part of a music festival to be held in a large, outdoor arena.

Knowing that my son, Shane, also loved this music, I decided to make this his first “real” concert. Oh, I had slogged his stroller ahead of my flowing gauze skirt through the mud at “Lilith Fair”, and we once loaned him out to a newly single friend, who took him to a “Three Dog Night” reunion concert as date bait, but he can’t really remember any of that.

We arrived hours before the headliners were scheduled, giving us time to enjoy the entire “music festival experience”. Just outside the gate, a local band blared from a make-shift stage, and as we passed the quaking amplifiers, my son used his hands to cover his ears, leaving his thousand-watt smile showing. His head began to bob, independent of his body, and I knew he was feeling it.

Just inside the gate, we ran into a former baseball coach whose job in the sheriff’s office gave him first pick of security gigs. Two pairs of eyes lit, as they spied each other, and Shane began to babble incessantly. When he mentioned the headliner, our friend stood up and said, “Well, why do you think I’m here? I’ll be there! I can’t wait!” Forevermore, his former baseball coach would be “cool”.

I picked a spot on the lawn near other families and a small group of polite-appearing college students. As we sat in silence, I drank in Shane’s eyes as they grew large; taking in the lights, and the sounds, and the people. After several minutes, he turned.

“Mooom! This is awesome!”

The next hour was spent enjoying our surroundings. Shane studied every image, as though he might be tested next morning. He read the program, from cover to cover, as I volleyed texts with a beloved friend who wished he was there.

A trip to the concession stand afforded more opportunities to mix with the crowd, and I was heartened to see the respect they afforded the newbie. Good manners, all around; and I was not the only one who was impressed. Shane left knowing that caring for others is “cool”.

The lights went down for a final time, as stagehands scurried between the shadows in preparation of the main stage. Darkness had fallen, and we lay sprawled in the grass under the stars, concocting images from cumulus.

The first chords rang out over our heads, prompting us to jump to our feet, just as the lights came up. And, we rocked.

As they opened with one of our favorite songs, I bent down to face my son, and we screamed the lyrics along with the band. Our bodies moved, our hair flew, and our breaths melded as our voices became one…and we danced.

For almost two hours we sang, and screamed, and danced, and sweated…together. And, when it was over, he said it again, a little out of breath.

“Mooom! This is awesome!” And, we made a memory…

An unknown author wrote: “Music is what feelings sound like.”

And, it is.

© Copyright 2007-2008 Stacye Carroll

http://www.thewriterslife.net

>Music takes me places….

The haunting voice of Damien Rice, singing “The Blower’s Daughter”, gives me pause, and conjures images of what might have been.

The flowing give and take of the classically trained takes my breath, as I listen to “The Prayer”.

And the words….

Dave Matthews’ lyrics float erotically over a sensual melody in “Crush”, and the air draws closer, as my body moves in time to the feeling.

And, when Dave Grohl snarls “Best of You” into a microphone, the anthem moves me to raise my hands, stomp my feet, and growl along with him.

This past July, a couple of my favorite bands were scheduled to appear as part of a music festival to be held in a large, outdoor arena.

Knowing that my son, Shane, also loved this music, I decided to make this his first “real” concert. Oh, I had slogged his stroller ahead of my flowing gauze skirt through the mud at “Lilith Fair”, and we once loaned him out to a newly single friend, who took him to a “Three Dog Night” reunion concert as date bait, but he can’t really remember any of that.

We arrived hours before the headliners were scheduled, giving us time to enjoy the entire “music festival experience”. Just outside the gate, a local band blared from a make-shift stage, and as we passed the quaking amplifiers, my son used his hands to cover his ears, leaving his thousand-watt smile showing. His head began to bob, independent of his body, and I knew he was feeling it.

Just inside the gate, we ran into a former baseball coach whose job in the sheriff’s office gave him first pick of security gigs. Two pairs of eyes lit, as they spied each other, and Shane began to babble incessantly. When he mentioned the headliner, our friend stood up and said, “Well, why do you think I’m here? I’ll be there! I can’t wait!” Forevermore, his former baseball coach would be “cool”.

I picked a spot on the lawn near other families and a small group of polite-appearing college students. As we sat in silence, I drank in Shane’s eyes as they grew large; taking in the lights, and the sounds, and the people. After several minutes, he turned.

“Mooom! This is awesome!”

The next hour was spent enjoying our surroundings. Shane studied every image, as though he might be tested next morning. He read the program, from cover to cover, as I volleyed texts with a beloved friend who wished he was there.

A trip to the concession stand afforded more opportunities to mix with the crowd, and I was heartened to see the respect they afforded the newbie. Good manners, all around; and I was not the only one who was impressed. Shane left knowing that caring for others is “cool”.

The lights went down for a final time, as stagehands scurried between the shadows in preparation of the main stage. Darkness had fallen, and we lay sprawled in the grass under the stars, concocting images from cumulus.

The first chords rang out over our heads, prompting us to jump to our feet, just as the lights came up. And, we rocked.

As they opened with one of our favorite songs, I bent down to face my son, and we screamed the lyrics along with the band. Our bodies moved, our hair flew, and our breaths melded as our voices became one…and we danced.

For almost two hours we sang, and screamed, and danced, and sweated…together. And, when it was over, he said it again, a little out of breath.

“Mooom! This is awesome!” And, we made a memory…

An unknown author wrote: “Music is what feelings sound like.”

And, it is.

© Copyright 2007-2008 Stacye Carroll