Last night I shared the stage with a man who lives through a feeding tube to his stomach. At our sit down dinner before the gig, he openly poured his can of Ensure into the plunger connected to his tube. He plays piano and banjo, sings and writes songs. Beautiful songs. He is 60, but looks 75 as a result of the chemo and radiation he has been enduring for a year to treat head and neck cancer. He'll never eat solid food again. He is a certified clown and although, he tells me, he has lost his sense of taste, he won't lose his sense of humor.
During our break from the Songwriters-in-the-Round format we were sharing at a local music venue, he was making colored balloon hats to wear and give away. Particularly, he was making a purple, yellow and red one for the other woman on the bill - a dynamic, talented, street-savvy contralto who could easily be compared with Joan Armatrading - who happens to be completely bald from Alopecia areata. She was born a twin, two months premature, and this predisposed her to a host of autoimmune risk factors which manifested in her later childhood and adulthood. She wears the baldness without shame or melodrama. It's just part of her, along with her overtly wandering eyes, a result of the disease, Strabismus.
So here we are - four songwriters - two of whom have apparent disabilities, who are apparently uninterested in anything resembling self-pity. They want to simply sing.
For all the focus the entertainment culture puts on appearances, I am deeply humbled by the display of 'no appearances' gracing the stage last night. I had dressed simply in a stretchy, black, above the knee skirt with belt and red cotton tee shirt, white sandals, and minimal accessories. My hair, though, was overflowing with waves and a beaded peyote stitch tube at the end of a braid. I always try to look good when I am onstage.
Last night wasn't about this though. Last night was about the human spirit's ability to transcend physical challenges and appearances; to lift the veil and reveal a story.
The fourth songwriter was a handsome, confident, young man in his 20's, with only five years of road-musician experience, but a musical sensibility and prowess which belied his years. He played the pants off that guitar and wrote some very strong melodies. Remarkably free of bravado, he is well on his way to a successful career.
This was one of the most rewarding experiences of a shared bill I can remember. Although the evening was entertaining and the songs well-written, its real treasure was witnessing and holding precious what is most important: the soul's thirst to thrive and simply sing its song.
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