When it came to lyrics, his wit was finely tined. His words were sharp and pointed. He had a rapier mind. When he was at his zenith, his music was sublime. Perfect in its sentiment, exquisite in its rhyme. His tunes were like a river moving words along. All the world’s fine miracles occurred in every song. Each run an apparition that faded out of sight just as the next melodic ghost appeared to take its bite.
His music effervescent, then thundering, then gory, devoured all our senses, flooding us with its glory. He raced us through emotion as though running out of time. Each opus was a mountain, exhausting in the climb. Then when we reached its zenith, he released us from its hold with one brief caesura that freed us from the fold to barrel down the mountain in one euphoric sweep— sliding from the summit down to the deepest deep.
They scribed a single word in stone over his burial mound to describe this musician who married words and sound to take us all on journeys magical and euphoric, and yet the label “Maestro,” just seems too categoric to conjure up this genius who could transport us all to every corner of ourselves within that massive hall. He deserves a finer word. A more distinctive label,
but words fail me as I choose what I’d inscribe if I were able.
From string to string and fret to fret, they draw us into music’s net. They strum and pick and blithely finger notes that make us want to linger, tap the table, move our feet to their infectious strumming beat.
They are my favorite sort of band–– unique and playing their own brand of acoustic, bluesy notes–– a kind of music that denotes connection to a world of hearts. Their music woos and cuts and smarts.
Opening sensibilities. Music that unites and frees our spirits to commune and soar. Notes that journey to our core. Which is what music’s meant to do in dancehall, city street or pew.
Good music sets our hats askew, chases us down and counts a coup. Stirs our hearts and brings a change. Astounds us with its depth and range. Draws us with it, layer on layer, unites us in communal prayer.
Denominationless, it draws us in and gives a place to pause together to survey that place devoid of sex or age or race. That place where we unite in song. Give up ourselves, and sing along.
The wild parade with band that marks the opening of rodeo week was supposed to start at seven but finally passed at 9:30. It was no problem at all as we were at Lora Loka’s listening to these three fabulous musicians/singers. Tamales, chile, sopes, pozole and atole plus excellent company. Ahhhhhh. Mexico is one big celebration. Parties or free dinners sponsored by different politicians, the ejido or private individuals every day and/or night. Guess this isn’t the week I’ll get caught up on my sleep.
I’m still on Prince Edward Island and this is the show that I went to tonight. I cancelled my plane reservations at a penalty of nearly $400 to stay to see it and I must say it was worth it!!! Best show I’ve ever seen. Hard to duplicate the effect of his lyrics, music, story seques and the incredible background projections of his sister’s paintings, but here is one song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0kosu9o5boQ