Music is pretty bad-ass.
I was reminded of this last night.
Pressed up against the black felt of a stage, blinded by white light.
Sweaty face, sweaty palm around a sweaty phone,
Hitting each other with each clap, each drum beat accompanied alone.
The flute would hit me in waves, louder, softer, higher and higher.
Lifting me above the crowd, like a cooler, iced tea-flavoured version of fire.
Filling my ears with audible honey, and sonorous saffron mixed in for colour.
Punctuating soft guitar riffs, bass, the up-and-down movement of musical water.
They call them The Raghu Dixit Project, because they project vibes of folk fusion goodness
And here I am, standing there thinking – how have I never listened to this music?
Because that voice is so natural, intuitive rhythm, so familiar –
But maybe that’s because when I've wished to see true live shows, this is what I've been waiting to hear
Music so loud and alive, in real time, that it flows right through me
To the people behind me, then to the parking lot, and finally out to the city
I find out that this is my happy place, my point B, my only constant
Surrounded by familiar faces, and repeatedly struck by musical comets
I’d never thought I’d learn so much in this particular night – here are some things that struck me:
You can be pressed up against a stage and still find the space to jump, dance, you feel free,
Kurta or crop top, once the music plays, nothing else matters to anybody,
How this weird form of liberation makes teachers more like us than we’d ever thought we’d see.
But if there’s one last thing to understand from this quirky stand-up concert experience –
It’s that every genre, every type of music, is beautiful, if you only allow yourself to listen.
That the delicate melody of a flute can indeed make an alternative rock fan lose herself in bliss.
And if that isn't bad-ass, then I don’t know what is.