Last night’s Ray LaMontagne show leads me on a hilarious and exciting adventure of the “yesman” variety.

With my date canceling only an hour before the show, as I’m enjoying happy hour with my friend, John, I have limited time and resources to line up a new concert mate. Unfortunately, my drinking buddy has serious plans for sleep already lined up and the few other folks I can think of last minute are also preoccupied. So I enjoy a final pre-show drink with Mel and Nichole, who have 2 seats on the floor, before I head over to the venue to begin my short lived ticket-selling career.

“If you’re reselling tickets, you must be outside the marquee.” Really? I’m not sure I want to compete with big, silent man selling “$60 for front row” with a sign, so I crouch towards the opposite side of the street. This isn’t too tricky, except suddenly I’m aware of who I don’t want to sit next to. On my 4th day of non-smoking, I bum a cigarette from two girls and it works. I’m suddenly relaxed and a gentleman promises me he’ll buy the ticket … his friend wants one for his girlfriend. Plus, he’s friends with the drummer, so this can be my “in” to an after show party. (They still happen, right?)

“Oh, that’s ok.” I hear myself say after he finally gets a hold of his friend and his friend says he already has a ticket. I find myself looking for the creepy looking guy who wanted the ticket for $22 while I was on hold with the drummer’s friend. Ridiculous!

Ready to eat the cost of the extra ticket, I slink back to the lines near the front doors where I hear a defeated “now if only I could find myself a ticket.” Score! Before I know it, I’m trading my 2 orchestra tickets for 1 seat on the floor. I even ask for an extra $5, after the transaction is complete, so I can get a drink and balance out the 2-for-1 trade. Not only does the trader give me $5, but the gentleman I’m about to sit next to offers to buy me a drink over at the Heathman. What the heck. I don’t even know who’s opening.

It’s at the bar when I realize I’m intoxicated. It’s been so long since I’ve enjoyed conversating with a stranger, so I’m keen on talking and trying my best to ask questions and listen. (Two pats on the back for remembering to ask his name.) But it’s a little difficult. I’m not particularly attracted to this man, though I find myself analyzing his athletic build (solid), his smile (has all his teeth) and his financial situation (buying me wine, top-notch sounding job, house on skyline).

Back at the venue, I offer to buy my new date a glass of wine, so I don’t come across as one of those girls who goes around getting free drinks. And I stock up on chocolate, which has never and likely will never, taste as good as it does while drowning in Ray’s soul. The accoustics in these left-front seats are amazing and I remember how rewarding life becomes when I live in the moment. And the next hour it’s impossible to live anywhere else but in the sound. (Maybe Ray’s eyes. Sometimes I close my eyes and imagine it.)

This is the second time I leave the Schnitz high from the music. Luckily, my friend Mel spots me, or I don’t know how I’d make it back to earth in time to find my car or a ride home.

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Top Alive Moments, free-write list:

1. This concert
2. Train bridge jump, Traverse City
3. Moments in love: cloves in winter, falling in love is like trees, midnight picnic, waterfront chatter, rooftop escapades
4. Fluting in world premier of new composition, NE All-State Band
5. Music… Andrew Bird, SF shows, Austin, my musical in my car, late night jam sessions, …

It’s true. As I search for those moments of overwhelming passion and aliveness, love and music dominate. And with music, it can be watching and listening, like the recent shows and festivals, and it can be the active participation and exercising of my vocal chords, arms, legs and whole spirit and soul. What’s even better is that music is cheaper than drugs (and I won’t even go into the health pro-cons) and won’t break my heart or drive me to crazy land.

There is the urge to weep. There is the force of creative vision. This pain? This isn’t a heart breaking; it’s a heart waking. The waking world is this one, where our senses clear and we feel the power of transformation, we see that the doors along the corridor of possibility are not, after all, closed to us, though they may be far away and heavy and frightening. We can face them and walk through them nonetheless.

– Luciana Lope, the Oregonian

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Time confuses me. After 3 days of energetic music, I can barely remember who I’ve seen. (Luckily, I snapped some photos.) My legs are jello and my eyelids are locked. A dream already, fragments of the music float by, in no particular order. You can also check out more acts and photos over at StereoGum, where my cousin’s old collage mate, Heather, snapped some amazing photos. (Note to self: work on getting a photo pass to the next festival!)

• Bon Iver
  Delicate, remote, curious, alive. Their Jeff Buckly voices ignite our souls and the pendulum people soon sway. We roll their purposefully misspelled French name over our tongues, as if to find extra meaning. And at the end of a much-too-short set, the Wisconsin born singer trains us to sing, first quietly and then with all our might. “It’s all you against this P.A.” He promises we’ll all be able to then “let loose” and that it’ll be lots of fun. From the cries and howls, the crowd agrees and I can’t wait to hear a recording. [Portland Show @ Aladdin, 8/29]
• Regina Spektor
  Coming from Kaki King, where the vocals are muddy, tinny and painfully off-key, Regina Spektor turns the universe upside down with her voice. Her fiery hair and omniscient body fill the stage. I’m glued in my binoculars to catch her drumming the chair with one hand while playing the guitar with the other – and still singing, of course. I’m happy she throws in a few “oldies” and closes with my sappy fave named after my lost kitty, Samson.
• Kaki King
  I’m disappointed with the sound system. I don’t know why the vocals are off, and I wish she’d stop singing and play the guitars. I fall in love with an electric-accoustic she makes impossible music on and want to reassure the crowd that she’s much better than the sound. [Portland Show @ Wonder Ballroom, 10/21]
• Cake
  I won’t laugh like this until we play “catch phrase” later in the night. Cake cracks me up and I love them for it. They play gem after gem and I’m so happy to have decided to wander over to their stage. I may not pop in their CD on the way home, but I can die a little happier.
• Andrew Bird
  Nope. I didn’t know he played with the Squirrel Nut Zippers. And I have no idea he will be this beautiful and charismatic on stage. Andrew (we’re on a first name basis now) creates timeless music by capturing sound, sending it through a time machine and elegantly infusing it back into the “live” sound waves. Colorful phonographs and a victrola, an antique amp, grey suit … I lose myself in space and time and let myself be carried through the universe, back to when we painted my kitchen, when I first saw the Portland Rose Garden, when I first ran out to catch a bird. When it’s all done, I still want to check w/my binoculars, as I’m skeptical on what to believe. I see him whistling, but I hear a crying violin. I see him walk off the stage, but I hear the music loop, feel the pulse of the rotating phonographs and don’t know when it fades away.
• Rodrigo y Gabriela
• Jack Johnson
• Devandra Banhart
• M. Ward
• Tom Petty and the Heart Breakers
• Manu Chao
• Radiohead

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Personally, I’ve never been a big fan of Tom Morello, but he won me over last night with his charisma and fantastic arrangement of Woodie Guthrie’s “This Land is Your Land.” Aside from Ben Harper, who went missing for the grand finale, everyone who played earlier joined in, including Billy Bragg, Serj Tankian and Mason Jennings. Every fantastic show is not without it’s climax. And so this tribute concert ended with an entire see of people as waves of jumping bodies, all bellowing the final and potent refrain.

I didn’t think the day could get any better, until I decided to catch Billy Bragg’s solo show. Always a fan, but never a fanatic, I wasn’t sure what to expect. And I certainly didn’t expect to find a chatty and witty man looking much younger than his folk wisdom and baritone voice let on. With quips in between each song, my favorite segment started with a vote of which artist he would cover: Bob Dylan or the Carpenters. Ah, democracy.

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