The Event of People Making Music in a Room

I think I never had a better idea than going to last night's Ani DiFranco concert.

Let's start this story at the beginning. I discovered Ani last year, while cruising iTunes, hoping for some new music that wouldn't bore me, that wasn't the same as every other song. I stumbled upon her then-new album Not a Pretty Girl by happy, happy chance. Listened to the clips. Skipped around the house in joy at finding something worth listening to. Bought the album.

So a few weeks ago I discover that this concert is going to happen. I wasn't sure at first--I don't drive, and neither does my roommate Maria, so I worried about rides, and would the taxi work and would it cost too much, and all of that. But it fell into place; we got a ride, we got tickets, we were on our way.

So last night we arrive at the Pageant, Maria and I in our almost-matching hippie dresses, with our ride Bathsheba, who is 21 and so goes to the other side of the line. Maria and I are not allowed on the floor, but we find that the table closest to the stage is occupied by only two girls, and they have room for us. We are in business. We never learn their names, but they makes us a list of the songs played on a scrap of napkin.

Opening for Ani is the inestimable Buddy Wakefield. He is wigged out. His eyes are wide and he twitches elaborately. He radiates joy. You can feel the audience relaxing. You can feel your shoulder muscles loosening as he speaks. Magic words in rhythm. The diva beat-boxes. We cheer. He introduces Ani, and there is a bit of a wait.

When Ani walks onstage, she is smaller than I expected. Her hair looks unwashed, and she wears loose pants and an army green tank top with no bra. I didn't expect to be better dressed than Ani. She is beautiful. She has a guitar. She plays it like magic, like weaving. Some people sing along. Some people move.

It's cliche to say you've been under a spell, but after two hours of Ani DiFranco's music, this is how I feel. Eating pecan pancakes afterward, the only straight girl at the table, I feel a shimmer behind my brain. The spell lingers now. The knots in my muscles have flown apart. I feel like the breeze is a giant flower petal against my cheek. My concert tee is soft and loose. I have cut off the collar.

Buddy Wakefield signed his CD after the show. He asked my name and then he wrote, "Thank Goodness For Evangeline!" with Spanish upside-down-exclamation-marks. Same to you, Buddy, and Mama DiFranco too.

"Hearts don't break. They bruise and then they heal."

Yours &c,
E. A. Weatherfield