January 15, 2004
Forgive me if I go all angst on you here


I wish there was an antibiotic I could take to shield me from these episodes. But there's no medication for this condition. And each new attack hurts a little more. I don't know how much more I can take. I'm only mortal.

Having a crush must be the most painful thing in the world.

The most stunning thing about my crushes is how predictable they are! Here's how it usually works:

• Head out to the club with a couple of friends for a live band. Sit next to husband during performance. Soak up a few songs.
  
• Notice the particular talents of, say, the guitarist, his perfect harmonic pitch, his fantastically high cheekbones that catch the dull stage lights just so.
• Mentally fast-forward to potential future conversation with guitarist after the show. Rehearse a few clever lines to toss out at him. Continue mental conversation with guitarist to the inevitable exchange of contact information. Keep going, all the way through our deep, pure friendship, our friendship that somehow anchors him through months of lonely, dark nights on the road. Preview to a passionate exchange of soulful, meaningful, heart-felt letters. Dash to the mailbox to find another thick, heavy envelope from him, postmarked Chicago, postmarked Seattle, postmarked Denmark. Consider meeting up for a long weekend in Paris — croissants for breakfast —
  

At this point, I usually jerk myself back to real life, lean over to my husband, and whisper urgently, "Sweetie, I think I have a crush on the guitar player."

This sequence plays itself out so frequently that I think Tom hardly notices it anymore. For him, it's like being stung by a gnat.

Last night I leaned over to him and whispered, "Sweetie, I think I have a crush on Andrew Bird."

He looked at me with a mixture of frustration, understanding, and pity, and whispered back, "Sweetie, you have a crush on everybody."

And I just wanted to say, oh, you don't understand! This crush is different!

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Andrew Bird, who played last night in East Atlanta, is pretty much a perfect crush in a petrie dish. He is the perfect candidate for my affection. My crush victim is generally:

• Gifted with unusual emotional perspicacity: an endlessly sensitive, intuitive gentleman. "Knows and sees all and says nothing." Understands everything, carries a touch of a wry smile at his lips at all time, as if enjoying a little secret joke that only he understands
• Extraordinarily talented in terms of music, art or writing (sometimes, all three)
• Given to a certain physical prototype: generally, a bookish, slender lad with pale skin, dark hair, and big eyes. (Being British helps.)
• Apparently incapable of inflicting the slightest physical harm on another person. (Naturally, the weapon wielded by my crush is much more diabolical.)
  

Andrew Bird: Check, check, check, check.

---

I knew that Andrew Bird had a reputation for great live shows. So I was a little concerned when he climbed onto the bare stage alone last night. (Incidentally, I always find it a little tragic when musicians that are as good as he is end up playing in shabby little clubs like this one, where they feel obliged to carry their personal effects on stage, because maybe someone will steal their wallet if they leave it backstage. I'll hold your wallet for you, Andrew.)

I was wondering how he was going to get through this whole set by himself, with an electric guitar, a little glockenspiel, and a violin. But I didn't need to worry. He picked up his violin, lifted his bow, and knocked over everybody in the room.

It was such beautiful music, pouring out bright and whimsical one minute, and then turning melancholy and mournful the next, held together brilliantly in one little song. Using an electronic sampler, he'd record and play back violin loops at the beginning of a song. Then he'd add a new layer on top, and then another, whistling, singing, again and again, building slowly, until the whole room was wrapped up in swirling waves of harmony — the most sympathetic sound you've ever heard.

I'd never before seen Andrew Bird play live. And now I can't wait to see him again. I really didn't want the set to end. It was an incredible set of music. Incredible is a word you hear too often these days, but here it really seems to apply. Not to be believed.


Of course, as I sit and think about it, I realize that this entry is not really about having a crush on Andrew Bird.

I don't know if I can express this without going all angst on you, but I guess I can sum it up by saying that Andrew Bird and his music have a great effect on me because they point me to something larger.

I mean, here's this 30-year-old kid genius who's composing these miraculous songs, living the life of a true artist. Doing the work, disciplining himself, practicing ten hours a day. He's laying himself bare when he gets on that stage and performs for us.

It makes me wonder, what am I doing with myself?

I continue to struggle with this disconnection between my "ideal" life, an artistic life, a life that isn't bothered by mundane worries — and my true life, which is pretty much filled to the brim with mundane worries. I mean, I spent the entire day today designing a bookmark for one of our clients. I listened to to AM radio on the way home from work. I got frustrated in traffic.

This beautiful music calls to me, begs me: let go of that disconnection. Put those mundane worries in their place, and find that path to the deeper life.

It's OK if that deeper life doesn't involve something glorious or obvious, like singing a breathtaking song or writing the Great American Novel. But the music begs me to do something. Fill up an audience or fill up a blank notebook. Fill it with a beautiful song, or a beautiful poem, or a beautiful question. Just do something.