Recently a certain young fiddler I know took part in a summer concert and I, the driver, came along. We headed to a peaceful, tree lined field that sloped down to a fold out stage-in-a-truck. People trickled in leisurely with camp chairs and blankets. The fiddlers did their thing under the diffused orange glow of a late setting sun. Surprisingly varied tunes and fiddle styles, even for the youngest students.
All this to say that the fiddlers were the opening act for a three piece group called Tillers Folly. New to me. Blue grassish/folk/country style which doesn't cross my path a whole lot. In general I don't get to attend a lot of concerts. Even fewer outdoor ones. This one, thankfully, turned out to be a winner. The lead singer's voice reminded me of Christopher Cross for some reason and I didn't expect such pretty melodies and intricate instrumentals. The mandolin player was also fiddler.
Soon the lounging crowd relaxed into a soothed, timeless trance. It was soul medicine. Soul salve. I let the songs wash over me, carrying off the day and whatever had muddied up my spirit lately. Another part of my consciousness said to myself, "This is what I want to do as long as I'm on the planet and beyond if I may." Let music flow into a collective stream and over whoever will receive it. A solace and echo of sacrament in our fragile days.
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