The rock community

I've been too close to this story to write it for the last few days. That's why this post is late-coming. Every time I sat down at the computer to type it, my brain fogged over and the words wouldn't come.

But now I've had the appropriate time and space and I think I can tackle this thing with the proper perspective.

Here we go:

My band, The American Birdbrains, played Sunday at a benefit show for Planet Rock.

I won't waste your time with a lot of shameless self-promotion, but I do want to make a quick comment about being on the other side of this music thing. There is a very juvenile joy in playing live, if only in front of the couple dozen people who remained when we took the stage. The butterflies before going up, the embarrassment of messing up, the thrill of getting "Jumping Jack Flash" right; all of that makes for a pure kind of high that even the most expensive inebriants can't touch. I would recommend it to anyone.

The main reason I wanted to write this post, however, is to talk about the very strong sense of community that exists amongst Battle Creek musicians and music heads. 

To say it's something like a family is too cliché but also very true. There is a lot of back-slapping, laughter, hugs, applause, unity. The people standing in front of that stage are not only synchronized in their head-banging and stomping, but it's obvious that their hearts are beating in tune to one another. Everyone is pulled into a one puddle of emotion at the sight and sound and vibrations coming off the stage, like being present at creation.  It's not hard to imagine what it's like to stand at the shoulders of gods when you're part of a crowd hearing a new song for the first time.

There's an energy, an aura, that permeates the flesh and courses its way very nimbly up the spine. It wraps around the cortex and then melts from the heat of creativity and seeps back down to the heart  and then, with the right song, down to the loins. It's an elixir; amped-up adrenaline and serotonin combined. It's the perfect drug: the body is soothed but the mind is enlivened, or vice versa, and everything is right.

There's a powerful feeling of protection among the music heads. Protection of each other, yes, but also protection of their world, their scene, their livelihood, their drug of choice. The Sunday show was a benefit so Planet Rock could buy new equipment, put on by Battle Creek's Lykin.

When that band took the stage, nine bands and seven hours after the doors opened, frontman Bhaan spoke like a preacher to the remnants of the crowd about the good they'd done. Their $5 at the door had gone to a good cause, he promised them: the conservation of the Battle Creek music scene, something sacred and dying were it not for them and Planet Rock's A.J. and Jim McNutt.

There was a time when I went to church. I've sat through dozens of sermons and prayed many times to the big wooden cross above the minister's head. But it was a vacuous feeling sitting in those pews.

Standing on that hard-trodden dance floor in front of that worn-down stage near the train tracks, listening to hairy men scream and big-chested woman yowl and amps crackle and beer bottles clang, smelling smoke in the air, I prayed again up into those multicolored lights. And this time, on the thump of a drum, the  hum of a keyboard and the scream of six strings, something  answered.

 

Comments

[Kingpin]

Thanks for your remarkable insight, JH. Once again, I am moved by your writing...

[Justin Hinkley]

Thank you. I was moved by your reading. :)