Written in reply to Clay Aiken's blog about his Summer 2005 tour, saluting fifty years of rock and roll:
"Music is its own reward"
If I could talk to you on the eve of the Jukebox Tour, I would remind you of what Sting said as he accepted the Century Award for lifetime musical achievement at the 2003 Billboard Music Awards. One of his great life lessons is bolded above. (You remember: you were there picking up an award of your own for the best selling single of the year.)
Here's a bit more of his speech:
If you play music with passion and love and honesty, then it will nourish your soul, heal your wounds and make your life worth living.
Sting said it better than I ever could, so I'll place this here as a reminder of what one former teacher learned from his 25 years on the road, with the hope that it will be helpful to another former teacher as he hits the road again.
There is so much that makes your life worth living. It is thrilling to see your passionate work on behalf of children all over the world --- you have spoken about the causes you support eloquently.
Sometimes, just a bit, you speak about music. In seeing you perform, it is obvious how much music means to you, but you have occasionally referred to music as a means to a greater end.
Clay, I believe that music --- indeed, all of the arts --- are a greater end. The arts take us to a transcendent place, they feed and nurture our souls and our imaginations. It is an incredibly important accomplishment to make art well, and it is a gift that you have been given by the same God who gave you the gift of your good and generous heart.
In showing love for your spiritual brothers and sisters, you praise God. In finding the perfect expression of a lyric and using the nuance and the dynamics of your voice, you praise God. Neither is more important than the other, for both are the Mother Father God's gift to you --- and to all of us.
Thank you for sharing so generously of what you are. Now: don't fall over any speakers, make sure your mic is turned on and keep the Random Lyric Generator turned to "low," if it refuses to stay off.
Get out there and have fun! And if you don't see me in the audience for this tour, well, I might not be there, but...
I will be here.
With love to you, as always. Enjoy yourself, stay safe, and Godspeed.
Thursday, September 01, 2005
The Jukebox Tour: An End-of-Tour “Recap” from a fan who saw it only on video
A shadow in dim light.
A voice through a wall.
A glance through a keyhole.
A whisper of music as a door swings shut.
A bright hope, a deep disappointment, a vision of something indescribably wonderful --- retreating from view.
For the last five weeks, I have been two thousand miles or more away from the Jukebox Tour. Due to personal circumstances, I was unable to travel to see a single show. It was a true surprise how deeply sad that made me feel. In contrast, I missed the last tours by Sting and by U2, artists I love, admire, and often feel I grew up with, so long has it been since I fell in love with their music. Other than a few moments of regret that I couldn’t attend those shows, though, I haven’t thought about missing them again.
Why is it so different with Clay?
Perhaps it is because I have “known” him and supported him since his debut on a national stage, and I’ve had the privilege of watching his astonishing growth as a performer; perhaps it is because he is one of those rare public figures who inspire feelings of love, identification and appreciation; perhaps it is because I believe that he is a once-in-a-generation talent. Whatever the reason, missing this tour was a bit hard to take.
I can remember the pang brought by the words “No further dates” when the final tour locations were announced. I have asked myself repeatedly, “Is there any way I can make it? Any way at all?”. Alas, no. For the second summer in a row, Clay pulled a reverse Horace Greeley --- “Go East, young man!” And so the weeks passed, and now Clay and Company will be on stage for the final time in this tour in just over an hour, while I remain here in the West.
But this is not a ”Me miserable!” post: it is one about the process of discovery and the depths of gratitude.
The last two months have been among the busiest and most emotionally difficult of my life, so I’ve heard fewer than half of the cellcert audiostreams from the show and, other than the first show at Toms River, have not even had time to download a dozen videos.
Listening to the first cellcert, I felt far away from the concert experience. I did not know where Clay entered, I couldn’t visualize where the other singers stood, I wasn’t aware of the positions of the musicians. I wanted to turn my head, look at the crowd around me, scan the length and breadth and height of the stage and see where things were. I couldn’t even tell when Clay was on the stage and when he left for costume changes, or for dramatic effect.
In fact, the brilliant conceit of opening and closing the show with Clay pounding the jukebox was lost on me for a very long time, because I hadn’t seen the clack that illustrated this. Heck, for a while I couldn’t even tell why “We Built This City” played on and on and on. It took clack to see that the song was "skipping" on the jukebox, and that Clay entering and pounding it into silence started the show.
But as sometimes happens in life, my awestruck moments came at unexpected times. I followed a link to a photograph, and gasped as a marvelous silhouette of Clay, head down and hand resting on top of the jukebox, showed me that after nearly three hours, both the Singer and the audience were exhausted and fulfilled. Someone would write “don’t miss this!” and in a few minutes I’d find myself in the grinning idiot car, or having my heart do funny things while "beholding" the reluctant sex symbol, or being struck by the beauty of that voice as tears flowed unabated.
Again and again I’ve had these memorable experiences, having seen just a tiny fraction of the videos and photographs that have been linked on message board pages. It’s so exciting to me to know how I’ll spend my free time over the next two months, enjoying my virtual summer road trip until Clay takes the road again for the Joyful Noise Tour II.
I have been very fortunate, and I know it: until now (excepting the six date Jingle Ball 2003 mini-tour), I have found my place in the audience for every tour Clay has been on, two or three times (or even five, for the Independent Tour.)
I am glad that I have always felt very, very blessed to be able to see Clay in concert, that I haven’t taken for granted what a pleasure it is to see him perform and that I have felt sympathy for all those who have missed a tour and, especially, for those who have never seen him. While it has been enough for me to watch Clay’s broadcast appearances when they are televised rather than take the busman's holiday of seeing him on local TV soundstages, it has been essential to see each tour. Along with the CDs, for me the tours are the milestones of his artistic development as a performer and each, for me, has shown substantial and often surprising growth.
I love Clay live.
I have indelible memories of my own of Clay Aiken in concert.
I have seen Clay rising in a mist through the floor of the stage.
I have heard his voice in the darkness, and looked eagerly as the spotlight sought him out and escorted him through the crowd.
I have witnessed him emerge from the Mother Ship, an irresistible alien among us.
I have watched as diaphanous curtains parted, revealing an orchestra, a chorus and, finally, the beaming face of the Singer.
There will be more tours, more memories to make and, God willing, I will be there.
For every previous tour, the context of my participation in the cellcerts was either looking forward to my shows or holding on to the memory of the shows I had already seen. In the first case, I could see how the show was developing as it headed my way and, in the latter, I could relive my favorite moments and remain part of the experience as Clay continued along the road. For this tour, the cellcert streams were the only way I had to be in the moment with singer and audience, and each one I heard held great meaning for me.
Late at night, after the obligations of the day had ended, I found my Jukebox Tour here at the computer. Fans who shared their experiences have given me and others who are tourless a gift beyond measure: they have given me “memories” of Clay’s best tour ever.
Here are my “memories”, and my memories yet to come, in clack yet to be downloaded: the first glimpse of the jukebox, the leather jacket and the brilliant 50s/Elvis set; the snarky, lightning-witted man whose deadpan comic timing is a modern day echo of Benny and Carson; a child who begs Clay not to hit the “juice box,” an older fan so delightful and full of life that he asks her to go on the road with the band, and an audience more diverse and complex than words can capture; the tightrope act that was “Stump the Band” and the delicious tease of “Brown Eyed Girl” and “When A Man Loves A Woman”; the silent audience and the incredible beauty of "I Can't Make You Love Me"; a remarkable women leaving hospice care to enjoy every bit of life with her favorite singer; a tall man who leans and listens, another incarnation of “that little boy smile” and “that slow Southern style”; “Ohhhhhhhhh, Jesus” and “Yeah, I know your words” and “Spandex business suits” and men in the audience being “dragged and bribed and threatened” to attend and an album that will be ready “in four or five years”; a simple, beautiful “O Canada” sung in Toronto --- and the "city of Vermont" night when “… or state” became the two funniest words in the English language.
And most of all, again and again, that voice, that voice, that voice.
I have laughed and swooned and marveled in turn at the sight of that crazed bobble head, the stunningly handsome, mad talented, biggest dork on Planet Earth.
And while the crew was still striking the set, I’ve been able to see what had gone on during that night’s concert, a little over two hours after the show had ended. Remarkable, isn’t it?
That brings me to the next person I have to thank, and that is Clay Aiken.
Clay, did you know how much it would mean to those of us who could not see you live to have this abundance of your performances preserved on video and in photographs? Have you learned that Clack is one of your best promotional tools, as you pull along both the reluctant and the willing like some Carolina Pied Piper? Nothing replaces the experience of you live, but, oh, how I treasure these images.
And, Clay, I am so grateful that you gave us all the gift I cherish above everything on this tour, and that is the glimpse into the creative process as you build your next CD. Along with your executive producer Jaymes Foster Levy (who had the wisdom and the insight to accompany you on the road), you trusted us and let us witness the birth of your music and the growth of your musical identity. "Back for More." "Tears Run Dry." "A Thousand Days." "Just You." You gave us four new songs, four different expressions, and numerous opportunities to watch and listen as you worked on your interpretation and sought out the heart of the song. What a gift that is! Most likely, only one or two will make the final cut, but you gave all of them to us. Those songs are now ours forever, even the ones you chose not to share with the wider world, some months ahead of when your CD is released at last. So thanks, and then thanks again.
No, I didn’t get to see the Jukebox Tour, but many of my favorite “memories” of Clay on tour have been of concerts I attended only in spirit. From the teary-eyed Raleigh homecoming, to Wilkes Barre "Measure of a Man," to Little Humper Boy and The Band That Could Not Stop Playing, to the ear-splitting cheers at the start of the Joyful Noise Tour show at Madison Square Garden, to this tour which will end in a few hours, leaving behind in memory abundant evidence of the wit, versatility and profound talent of this man. Is there any doubt, watching these moments again and again, that Clay has found his calling?
So don’t talk to me about the Jukebox Tour being “over” --- I haven’t even seen the “City” of Vermont's "When Doves Cry" yet, and there are hundreds of videos from 26 stops along the road I have yet to discover.
Look, and listen. S’von has taken the stage, and there are Clarence and Maureen. Here comes Felix and Andy and Daniel, and now there’s Quiana and Angela and Jacob. The anticipation builds as I crane my neck, stand on tiptoe and scan the stage... there he is! There’s Clay!
He reaches out, touches the jukebox, and the music starts. Yes! He’s in great voice tonight! Look at the joy on his face and the gleam in his eye: the sinner/saint, bawdy/innocent, sexy/dorky, jubilant/bossy, heart-full-of-love, one-of-a-kind artist named Clay Aiken. What an evening this is going to be!
Some nights he will forget the words, some nights he’ll act like he thinks he’s in grade school, some nights his voice will be frayed around the edges, some nights he won’t quite find the mood and the show won’t gel completely. It’s live, and it’s real, so even those nights are appreciated.
On other--- many more --- nights, the sheer beauty of his voice will leave me shaken, mouth agape, stunned. He will pull me from my chair, twirl me around and make me dance. I’ll laugh so hard and smile so much my face will ache --- and then I’ll laugh harder still. I’ll be as still and silent as a mountain when he sings of love and loss with heart-wrenching beauty, and I’ll be as buoyant as a cloud in the summer wind when he grabs the mic from its stand, wailing and rocking out, and sings about love and happiness. I will laugh at my favorite redheaded goofball --- and I will feel so much joy and love him so much that it will feel like my body and soul and mind cannot contain it.
The pages of the calendar may turn, but the song does not end.
So whether in person or simply in spirit, put my name on the Representin’ List!
For me, the Jukebox Tour of my imagination plays on and on.
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