Jim Streisel (and Amos Lee) made me cry this morning
My buddy Jim Streisel is a musician. Well, he’s also a journalism teacher, one of the best in the field. But he plays in a band, The Dead Squirrels. He’s made a couple Facebook Live videos in the past that I’d tuned into in the past.
He had one last night (click to watch), but the family and I were watching the seminal ‘80’s film “Clue” last night, so I didn’t tune in live.
I was the first one up this morning — that’s getting to be a trend — and went downstairs and did my yoga right away. Feeling good, I made a cup of coffee, fired up the Xbox and hit play on Jim’s performance last night. He was covering songs by Amos Lee, whose music I enjoy quite a lot.
Jim started with one of my favorites, “Keep It Loose, Keep It Tight.” As the Xbox continued to boot and “Call of Duty: Modern Warfare” continued to load — great way to start the day, right? — I just kind of noticed a stirring. I wasn’t really listening, ya know? But Jim’s singing started to call my mind to focus. And before I realized it, tears. Brimming in my eyes.
Now, this wasn’t ugly crying. My WJMC friends will know I save that for each summer when I view Carol Guzy’s work and cry unabashedly.
As I said, just a stirring. And eyes filled with tears. And I paused and reflected on it a bit. And then went back to blowing shit up in “Call of Duty.”
Jim continued to burn through his show and then finished with “Windows Are Rolled Down,” which is probably my favorite song of Amos’ (with one exception, keep reading). And, well, more tears.
So this time, I actually stopped playing mid-game. And when Jim got here in the song, man, it was rough:
“This rocky road and this steering wheel
Who do you call to ease your pain
I hope for you to get through this rain.”
And I started to think, like really think, about those lyrics and this moment.
And then I thought about March 12. Which seems like about 8 years ago. My wife, son and I were supposed to see the Zac Brown Band on March 12. And Amos was to open for them.
Canceling was the absolute right decision. The absolute right one. But this was to be Noah’s first concert. We’d gotten pit tickets thanks to a friend’s connection and we were all pretty pumped for the concert. It was to kick off our spring break.
“Day That I Die” is one of my favorite songs. Ever. I love the interplay between Zac and Amos’ voices. But the lyrics just speak to me.
The chorus closes “hope they find me in my home, guitar in my hands.”
Now, to be clear, I’ve never played a note on a guitar. I don’t (can’t) play music. But the lyrics just speak to me as an anthem about doing what it is you love, listening to your heart and following it.
I was really hoping to hear them play that song on March 12. I was hoping to hear it with my wife and son. And then I couldn’t. I think that was one of the sources of my emotions.
More than that though, I was upset about my son missing the experience of his first concert. There will be more of them, I’m sure. But as he and my daughter get older, there are fewer firsts. Since all these coronavirus-related shutdowns have begun, my wife has lamented things the kids are missing out on. Soccer tournaments. Baseball tournaments. Swim practice. And I’d kind of shrugged it off.
But here was something, selfishly, that affected me as well. I guess that was sort of what brought this morning and this COVID-19 experience together. I’d visualized what it’d be like to see my son experiencing his first concert and to have that image and moment and memory taken away just connected with me and touched me in a deep way.
So it was equal parts shame and being moved by Amos’ lyrics and Jim’s singing and missing out on an experience with my son that I sat in my basement at 8a on a Saturday morning and cried while listening to my friend sing.
And it was medicine for the soul.
