Spring is a season of newness and growth. Days are brighter. Moods are sunnier. With spring comes a feeling of joy and energy. We had a long, cool spring last year, filled with crisp days and chilly nights. Many families found new hobbies involving outdoor activities, such as gardening, riding bikes, and backyard fun.
Feeling the need to be outside, Brian and I decided to build a firepit. We picked a cozy spot near his music studio, tucked away and removed. We spent the day moving heavy, busted chunks of concrete and rocks. We stacked each block, forming a circular pattern until the top layer was complete.
Brian and I sat around the new firepit. The final glimpses of day were fading away as night demanded attention. It felt as if the night was cradling us in her hands. She pushed us closer to the fire. Tingling warmth spread across my face and flushed my cheeks. The fire, bright and luminous, hissed and popped. Bursts of sparks danced above the flames. Familiar grey ribbons floated in the air, ashy and smoky.
We were engulfed in that space between darkness and light.
We were caught in this tangible moment, listening to music, hearing every note and chord. We were fascinated with the cleverness of words laced together. We were feeling every verse, every chorus, every measure. It was a lyrical existence in time – poetic, inspired. We didn’t want it to end.
It had been a few months since Brian had played with his band, and almost a year since I had played with mine. We were missing it, and needing it.
Warmed by the vigorous flames, and emboldened by the night, we sought the fulfilment of playing music together. We had a desire that couldn’t be contained, much like those errant sparks.
The music we wanted to create would need a drummer, guitarist, bassist, and singer. I am a keyboard player – a soft, quiet keyboard player. I enjoy playing mild, layered tones in the background. Brian has spent most of his time in a band as a singer and guitarist. If we truly embraced this season of newness and growth, Brian would become a drummer, and I would have to play bass.
I reached out to a couple of friends whom I felt would be essential to this idea. Maybe it was the hopeful days of spring, perhaps it was a longing for brightness and energy, but everyone agreed to this creative endeavor, just as the blossoms agree to be seen.
A few weeks later, cables were run, mics were checked, amps were cranked. We played “No Matter What” by the band Badfinger. It was bright and luminous, warm and familiar.
Something changed in the room the instant we played that song. We were a band. All the pieces fit together, all the heavy, weighted chunks of concrete, were perfectly stacked. Everything was in the right place.
Norwood Writers 