SXSW is here. Here’s what I mean when I invite you…
On Friday night, at our 3TEN ACL show, one of my bandmates' friends came up to me, eyes wide, like he'd seen a UFO. "Oh my god, wow, I had no idea! I had no idea!"
"Hi! Is this your first show with us?"
"Yeah! I'd heard about it, but I get it now. I really get it now."
This happens from time to time, and it’s been on my mind for a while to try to explain it to those of you who haven’t seen my band (or any rock band) lately. Since SXSW is here and we have free shows in the daytime – the magic combo! – I’m going to try.
I’m trying, not to toot our horn (though we work really hard and give a lot for music), but because awe-struck moments like this are why I bother, over and over again, to keep inviting friends to shows.
This “why” is really important to me, and it would mean a lot to me for you to understand.
Unfortunately, it's impossible to explain what it's like to play in a rock band with strangers who become your best friends, to devote yourself to what Andrew (Parker Woodland's guitarist) has called "an impossible quest" and what Keri (our drummer) calls family and “the way.”
I often call it magic or love or freedom. The freedom to be yourself fully, to wail in harmony or roll around on the ground or jump into the crowd, to lean back into your friends, no matter your age or gender or whatever the world has told you means you can’t, it’s too late, it’s not for you.
It's for you.
My goal when I get up onstage is to live that freedom so someone else can see it and seize it for themselves, whatever that may look like for them. (In a time of so much escalating fascism and oppression, I do not take that lightly.)
But ugh, who has it in them to go to a show these days anyway? The world is on fire, we're all tired and working hard to survive. There’s bills and back pain and you could just stay in bed and watch Heated Rivalry again.
OK, I’m talking about me there.
But I truly feel for all my friends who are always telling me they'll come see Parker Woodland and never do. Or they haven’t been in years so they haven’t seen the magic our new lighting director is creating. (This is a guy with a great life who is in no way required to suddenly hitch his wagon to an indie rock band, but the sheer delight on his face at every show, getting to play and create with light and color. It is truly awesome.)
Yesterday, in a TXUUJM fundraising committee meeting, our board chair mentioned how much it meant to him to see Parker Woodland play in Bryan, TX, last summer, a benefit concert during the board retreat. He is a mystic, and he said he understands my energy now. I love that. I know he is right.
In a town like Austin, where seemingly everyone plays music, inviting friends to a show can feel like you’re asking them for a favor. Or worse, being a pest. Those are the risks, I guess.
But here's what I really want you to know: When your musician friends invite you to shows, we’re not just inviting you to do a thing, we are inviting you into our world.
We are sharing our universe with you. Our love, our family, our impossible quest that brings us more joy (and yes, frustration and heartache, too) than we can ever simply tell you about in passing at the gym or work or HEB. More than you can see on Facebook.
Personally, I'm inviting you to connect with your inner child AND something eternal.
Like a person seeing a UFO, I have experienced something other-worldly, so I want to share it with you, the ones I love, even though I might sound delusional, deranged, or conceited.
Lord knows, it’s not about a perfect show. I had more mistakes than I have in ages at our Mohawk Free Week show – ah, joyful adrenaline – and a friend still told me she cried cathartic tears.
Live music with friends is a chance to heal. To feel more fully alive in a world where so much is dead and death-dealing.
Some of my favorite shows are when friends bring their kids. I especially hope you'll bring your girls and queer teens, so they might imagine themselves up there on stage, if they don’t already. So they might know they can grow up to be a mom and still do whatever they want -- the dishes can wait (or someone else can do them).
Whatever artists you might go see this week, in Austin or wherever you live, I wish for you an "oh my god, wow" moment that makes joy and freedom feel not just possible but required and inevitable for your life. I am so so grateful to have that in my life -- and for the fellow musicians who create that when I'm in the audience -- and I want that for you, too. That’s where I’m coming from when I invite you.
Love and rock horns,
Erin