Who Is the Music For?

October 18, 2014 § Leave a comment

Last night, my wife and I had the chance to share some rare adult time (sans offspring). So we took the chance to visit a local brewpub for a bite and a little music. Our main reason for going was another chance to see an amazing local musician, Rebecca Scott, whom we had first seen perform a week earlier in an outdoor event featuring Idaho singer-songwriters.

While Rebecca’s performance did not disappoint, that of the patrons did, at least for me. First, she had to wait for the end of a football game being broadcast on the pub’s televisions, something she did patiently. Then, there were the typical bar conversations that float around a room while the band is on stage. Finally, there was what I guess was the bar’s dishwasher, clanging away in not quite perfect rhythm with the song being performed.

As the performance ended, the first seeds for these lyrics began sprouting in my head. With apologies to Rebecca Scott, I now lay them out there for the rest of you.

Across The Strings

She plays her heart out
For the three or four who hang on every word
As unwanted conversations fill the air

The same familiar faces
Picking them out from the thinning crowd
She is the reason they are even there

The fingers fly across the strings
And in that space the notes are everything –
The sum of all her fears
And hopes and dreams and sweat and tears
The words come from some secret space
Force her to give them some space
As if daring her not to sing

The room’s half empty
Most of those there seem as if they are somewhere else
Nowhere near where the music tries to lead

But still she’s playing
Pouring her soul into each and every note
With or without them, she still has the need

The fingers fly across the strings
And in that space the notes are everything –
The sum of all her fears
And hopes and dreams and sweat and tears
The words come from some secret space
Force her to give them some space
As if daring her not to sing

When the people all go home
She is up there all alone
The echo of the music in the air
In a moment of self-doubt
Catches herself looking out
Does it matter she was even there?

The fingers fly across the strings
And in that space the notes are everything –
The sum of all her fears
And hopes and dreams and sweat and tears
The words come from some secret space
Force her to give them some space
As if daring her not to sing

© 2014 Walt Huntsman. All rights reserved.

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