I...I don't even feel like I have the right words to convey my numbness. Others might do a better job of it than I.
I offer up a story of a show in midtown Sacramento about...hmm...six years ago at this point. (Can't believe it's been that long).
The venue had all the glamour of a garage, albeit roomier. A nondescript basement in a building next to an Old Spaghetti Factory. Turnout was lean, maybe twenty or so, maybe thirty...I forget exactly how many.
Then the opening act finished up, followed by the brief soundcheck music...and then...
An hour of haunting, beautiful, eloquent sound pictures...almost as if that room was suddenly a thousand times larger. The weight of so much living and so much pain had borne itself out in every song, every journey.
That night is when and where I finally understood what spoke to me about being a musician: not fame, not adoration, but the unspoken connection between artist and audience that transcends praise...something greater than the applause.
And for him to remember who I was, two years later in Fair Oaks...I cannot convey how much I will always appreciate that.
Godspeed, Jason. Thank you for your graciousness both times I met you, and I only wish that there could have been many more times too.
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