Music is how I know there is a God. Bear with me here...
Those of you who know me are often painfully aware that since I got back from New York I haven't exactly been a bundle of fun to be around.
I've been looking a little too hard for everything that's wrong in my life and and not seeing everything that's right.
A small example: a couple of nights ago, at the end of what had otherwise been a "good" day, I was - for want of another description - politely mugged.
Pretty insignificant, I guess, and hey, at least he didn't stab me.
But suddenly, my apologetic thief came to embody all of London's - and my own - faults. I was unaccountably furious. I yelled at my wife for no other reason than I needed someome to yell at and she happened to be there. I couldn't see past the fact that if London had done this to me while I was trying to help someone, I was ready to dump its sorry ass there and then.
Then there was today.
A really beautiful, beautiful day. I'd just had a very enjoyable lunch with a Canadian friend near the British Museum, so I walked back down Tottenham Court Road to Denmark Street.
I needed to buy a guitar tuner, so I stopped into a couple of music stores.
Just before the last one, a Japanese tourist stopped me on the sidewalk, looking for directions. I took a minute or so to help her look at her map and find the address she needed, then I stepped into the store.
Tiny place; two rooms, maybe a hundred guitars hanging from the ceiling; a few amps arranged round the floor.
There's just me, two guys behind the counter, and Jackson Browne.
My God! Jackson Browne! I'm standing face to face with someone who's responsible for a huge part of the soundtrack to my adult life.
We shake hands and start talking about his recent shows. And about one two decades ago. We talk about London, New York, the guitars in the store, some other singers we know and where he's playing next. He's incredibly good natured, relaxed, and just looked like he was having a day off, hanging out.
We'd chatted for maybe ten minutes and I didn't like to bother him for too long, so we say "be well" and I ask him for an autograph.
Graciously, he writes "Steve - now and then; thanks for listening".
I step back out into the sunshine and can't stop smiling.
The greatest thing was that I got a chance to tell someone how much genuine pleasure they'd given me over the years.
And even if they hear it a million times, that still means something.
Yesterday, the song Sleep's Dark and Silent Gate seemed to pretty much sum up my life. Today, I just happen to have The Barricades of Heaven on my iPod. I listen to it all the way home.
If I hadn't stopped to give that tourist directions, think what I might have missed... so, hey, maybe it's ok to help people after all.
This all sounds unbelievably corny, I know. But I really don't care.
posted by Steve at 6:14 PM
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