a day early & a few dollars short
a tyler childers show that was so good i lost all my belongings
Dear Rocka readers,
I should be legally banned from walking around without a bag strapped to me like a bra. That is, of course, when I decide to show up for a concert on the correct date. Not when I get possessed by a wild urge to see a show and drive two hours to an empty parking lot because I refuse to read vital event details.
Thus began my Tyler Childers live experience. When the stars aligned a good 24 hours later, I was tailgating alone in the trunk of my CRV. There are worse places to be in June.
I took my time walking around Pine Knob Music Theatre, a luxury I rarely allow myself. Despite often buying seats, I have this all-encompassing urge to get to where I need to be as quickly as possible and stay planted until the show is over. I only recently have embraced the fact that I am an adult who can pee, eat, and move when she needs to.
I live in a place where some people complain about Childers no longer being an addict. He’s now just a “liberal sellout” who did it better when he was a drunk with a little song in his heart. You can imagine these phrases being spewed onto you by some liquored up lips of a boy who worked one construction job in high school and thinks he understands the plight of The Blue Collar Man.
Yada yada yada. Aside from the fact that I think wishing someone’s addiction was still present so they can make good art is one of the worst things you could possibly say as a person with a soul (presumably), it just wasn’t true.
The second Childers started playing, I couldn’t figure out what these folks were smoking when they said this stuff. Then I realized maybe it’s because they weren’t smoking.
I may have been early to Childers’ show, but I was late to being a fan. I’m a casual listener, and yet it was one of the best shows I’ve seen in a long time. The crowd was respectful, the set design mimicked a homely living room that doubled as a junkyard, and Childers was completely focused.
I enjoyed the show from three separate seats because I also could not figure out which seat was mine. By the third, I had to use the security guard’s portable charger to even prove I had a ticket. Turns out, I had bought a seat about 20 rows from the stage in my craze. I have one picture to prove this since my phone died moments after I found my rightful throne at last. The show had reached that dreaded point.
“If you’re getting that feeling in your stomach like we’re nearing the end of the show, you’re right.”
It’s a bittersweet feeling. Your feet are aching, you’re dehydrated, the town curfew is about to strike, and no matter how much you love the artist on the platform before you: it would be so awesome to lie down.
The truth is, we always know. We know when tones change, when mannerisms cease, when whatever dynamic that was present in a relationship or an environment shifts. In our heart of hearts, we know that the end of something is near. Whether it's in a few songs or a few weeks, we can feel the evening coming to a close.
I’ve learned to hate this feeling, and that hate can spiral into a near psychic prediction of when it might strike. The preoccupation with ending leaks into the waters of what currently is and muddles whatever clarity is left of something.
“We’ve got a couple left, but take the time to turn to your neighbor and introduce yourself because this may be the only time you’ll ever see them.”
The audience turned to each other like a tower of cards folding in on itself. I can only imagine Childers’ perspective from the stage being the best seat in the house, watching hundreds of strangers connect for a brief moment. In a time in which people seem like untuned broken instruments, what a simple symphony he was able to orchestrate— even brief, even with the end in sight.
I decided to leave a song or two early since I had to commute back across the lovely Michigan mitt and it was already nearing midnight. Scurrying through the drunken mass, I gleamed at the thought of escaping the onslaught of F-150s before we reached the highway. I walked half a mile back to my car and at the exact moment my hand wrapped around the handle, I realized I did not have my wallet or my phone on me.
How I have gotten this far in life is surely owed to some mostly benevolent cosmic force. But on the ground level, it’s because many, many people have helped me. Many, many people have chosen to be there when the end was not only implied, but was staring us right in the face.
This includes the entire security staff that night who charged my phone, hiked back up the hill holding my hand, and let me sift through the beer can graveyard that was the pit for my wallet.
The greatest, most profound words of the evening weren’t Childer’s, though. They came out of the walkie talkie on the lead guard’s shoulder.
“Does the wallet have a tiny mouse on it?”
You’re damn right it does.
This month’s mix is called “the end is near” and looks super dramatic because the top four songs happen to have black and white covers. It’s not all doom and gloom, though. These songs are what that gut feeling feels like to me, the understanding that things are coming to a close. It’s got a lot of indie and neo-soul. To my friends who desperately need a smoke to maybe develop some empathy, I’d recommend Common Saints “Idol Eyes.” I’ve got some Palace, some Peach Pit, and even some Lake Street Drive.
The spotlight track for this month is Matt Duncan’s “Northeast.” This song is like capturing lighting bugs in a mason jar. It’s lights flicker, and there’s a delightful ebb and flow of energy rooted by a crazy baseline. Matt Duncan is unbelievable, and I’m mad I’ve only been a casual listener until a few months ago. Learn from my mistakes. I can’t find the lyrics anywhere, so the following is my best shot, but it captures the whole point of this month’s theme.
You were someone I could lean on
in this time of ending.
All things must pass, they say.
Just come on by when you’re out my way.
And we’ll take a trip back in time…