2021: Backwards Down The Number Line: A Spiritual and Musical Journey Through One Of The Oddest Years In Memory

I chose this singular photo as representative of the whole year because this is how I want to feel forever. Thanks to Em Walis for the extraordinary capture; my relationship with this outstanding photograhper summarizes all that was good and right in 2021, as well as my hope for the future.

I’m anticipating a year of risk and change, achievement sprinkled with opportunities for growth. I’ll be sure to enjoy the victories just as I learn from the struggles, treating both myself and others with kindness, empathy, and lack of judgment along the way. But before I look ahead, I want to look back and remember 2021 because there’s a lot worth celebrating. Quality family time, friendships new and old that continually reached new heights, spiritual journeys, and lots of music. End of the day, I believe I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be and I’m grateful for it all, even (especially?) the lessons. But gratitude is an action word so there is work yet to do.

TL;DR: It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. Period. Stop.

Remember 2020? Let’s take a quick look back just for context.

January 1 saw me recovering from a four-night YEMSG run. January 2 found me at a triple-header of shows, three different ticketed events in three different venues. In what turned out to be a COVID-truncated first quarter of 2020, I saw multi-night runs of the Trey Anastasio Band, Goose, Joe Russo’s Almost Dead, and Widespread Panic before seeing what felt like the last concert ever, The Brothers at MSG on March 10. Twenty-three shows in those first seventy days before the world went black. In addition to obliterating live entertainment, a global pandemic on the heels of the Coronavirus shuttered doors, stalled the economy, and took upwards of five million lives and counting. After four months of absolute nothingness, live music would trickle back over the remainder of the year, exclusively outdoor events that ran the gamut from house concerts (yay Marckomitoville!) to drive-in shows and pod-style seated events. Social distance was more than just an industry buzzword and creativity remained the order of the day, live music swooping in to do what it does best: reinstate sanity and restore souls. Then a COVID winter spike followed by more of the same…the terrifying sound of silence.

The destruction and the divisiveness have been covered ad nauseum and I’m not here to rehash those, just simply looking to provide context for the barren landscape that was the early winter of 2021. In addition to monumental craters in the live music calendar, the Coronavirus pandemic thrust mental health into the spotlight, forcing many to confront issues that had otherwise lain long dormant. I’m speaking from experience and embrace my vulnerability while also remaining purposefully vague because, well, this is the internet, but if you want to know, just ask, I have no secrets.

Three steps forward and two steps back.

Ironically–or not– 2021’s live music calendar mimicked my spiritual journey. Emptiness, followed by difficult work, creativity, growth, passion, fullness, soaring highs, the quasi-return of complacency followed by a big kick in the dick and here we are again. The arts were taken from us, slowly to return, only to be taken once more. While it doesn’t really matter what I think, Omicron finally feels like the end game. We’ll all get it, those of us who are vaccinated won’t die, we’ll reach herd immunity, and then we can finally move on. COVID will likely never be gone, but we’ll learn to live either with it or in spite of it, hopefully with love for our neighbor and a conspicuous absence of judgment present in equal proportions to self-care and self-love.

For me personally, 2021 was a year of great healing and personal triumph over long-standing demons and I’ve truly never been happier or more fulfilled and that can be verified clear as day by the state of my interpersonal relationships. But growth is never linear and 2021 was no exception. Self-work is like those Russian nesting dolls–there’s a seemingly infinite supply of “one more”– and it isn’t always necessarily comfortable. In fact, it rarely is. That being said, I feel like 2021 was a Golden Age of sorts, the beginning of a Renaissance both cultural and personal, with new levels of appreciation for a life that for the longest time felt like it may never return. Strikeouts on my live music calendar notwithstanding, here’s to hoping hugs never appear as another casualty of war against science or anyone else.

Winter is coming

I squeezed the live music tree in early 2021 for all it was worth, deepening relationships with local artists and seeing shows everywhere from backyards to local pizza shops willing to host an amp in return for selling a few extra slices. My cup remained moderately full with a modest nineteen shows through early spring, some of them awkward AF with mandatory mask compliance and a ban on all forms of physical expression like dancing; others still were spiritual affairs of the highest order amongst the very best of friends, carrying us over until spring rolled around and with it, A Tuesday Triple On The Highest of Holidaze, the first of its kind since the aforementioned January 1 of the year prior. Three shows on 4/20, ranging from jazz in Central Park to a Scott Metzger-led meditative affair in an NYC church to a rock n roll trio called the Subtonics returning to a local residency at a dive bar in Astoria, Queens. It certainly felt like the beginning of a return to normalcy.

April showers bring May ~~flowers~~ showers

Spring had sprung and national acts started their slow return. My first *major* shows of the year were a pair of Goose shows at Showtime at The Drive-In in Frederick, MD. As if science weren’t a formidable enough foe, the band, crew, and the rest of us had to outlast tornado warnings and almost knee-deep flooding for a rain-shortened set on night one that made up for in intensity what it lacked in length and it was worth every.fucking.second. Those shows were pure magic and the relationships formed that weekend stand up as some of the best and brightest. An excerpt from a review of night two summarizes my feelings about Goose in a single sentence: “Goose doesn’t lay eggs and every show is the best show since the last show.” Also, this happened …

Lots of Summerfeet, plenty of Dogs In A Pile (those Otherwise Useless Children fast achieving regional if not national prominence), and an epic private party with Pink Talking Fish kept the cup super full while the national scene continued to get sorted. The emergence of a new premium venue in New Haven, CT made that somewhat easier, welcoming the jam scene with open arms. Westville Music Bowl, a 12,000-cap converted tennis center that sold only a quarter that many seats in the name of social distance, replete with a plush turf field, perfect sight lines from everywhere and A+ sound to match, Westville is a music lover’s dream. Joe Russo’s Almost Dead would play nine shows there over the course of the summer, kicking off with a rain drenched three-pack over Memorial Day weekend. Though Memorial Day weekend is typically associated with beaches, pools, and barbecues, it was still 2021 so no surprise that Cold Rain & (almost) Snow were the order of the day, if not the weekend.

Music has long formed the backbone of my spirituality and this was a highly spiritual affair. An excerpt from a review that I wrote about these shows for Live For Live Music explains the sentiment that I felt in the moment and remember very clearly to this day:

It has been suggested that emotional situations can elicit physiological, behavioral, cognitive, expressive, and subjective changes in individuals and, furthermore, that individuals seek social outlets in an attempt to restore personal homeostatic balance. In the proposed emotional stages of social sharing, directly after emotional effects, the emotions are shared. Through sharing, there is a reciprocal stimulation of emotions and emotional communion, leading to a renewed trust in life, strength, and self-confidence.

Upon the scaffolding of live music, we come together to heal. Experiencing these moments live and reliving them through the written word are the sum total of both my renewal and my restoration.

Summer, oh, oh, oh

Returning to Westville for a weekend of Goose was a lifetime highlight. Two magical shows, each better than the last–I told ya, “every show is the best show since the last show until the next show!”–and the weather finally cooperating with a pair of temperate show days of the barefoot, shorts, and no shirt variety. As for the shows themselves, read about them here and here, and for the purpose of this piece allow me to simply say, “Factory Fiction”.

I would return to Westville just once more for a single third of the next JRAD three-pack, another special night indeed but more of the celebratory and less of the spiritual variety. I was also lucky to be twenty rows dead center to see the Foo Fighters’ triumphant return to The Garden on 6/20/21 in what was the first show at MSG since The Brothers fifteen months and ten days prior. It had been January 2020 when I had last seen Trey Anastasio perform live and a duo of shows at the Beacon Theatre (also the first in that room since the before times) would have to hold me over until mid-August as my summer employment and a seven-week contract at Camp Westmont awaited.

I’m not normally a prisoner at camp, but the emergence of the Delta variant not only reinstated fear but made necessary a COVID bubble that made it all but impossible for me to leave camp (except for the time I came home and busted my face on the diving board trying most unsuccessfully to do a backflip). It was a challenging summer, but rewarding in so many ways as I disconnected from social media (more on that later) and was able to provide real value to children who needed nothing more than to be out of their homes having a good time with their friends. We gave them that hand over fist, and any difficulties we endured were rendered moot by the smiles on their young faces. For all of our adult toils over the course of the pandemic, either real or perceived, none compare IMO to the lost innocence of children forced to grow up too quickly.

oh, oh, oh, summertime rolls

The FOMO was real and it was definitely not spectacular. Seven weeks, many missed festivals, and multiple handfuls of Phish streams later, I broke free from my COVID bubble and literally drove straight to Atlantic City for the last two of three Phish shows. Serious culture shock going from a COVID bubble to the lawless boards of the city by the sea, but livemusic’n is like riding a bike–after shows and all–and I was so ready and a bag of chips. You can read about that weekend here.

The very next weekend I hopped in the car and drove south to Arrington, VA, home to Infinity Farms and LOCK’N for Fred The Festival, a Goose-curated and headlined event. More magic of the musical and interpersonal variety rank this weekend amongst my all-timers. There’s a lot to tell, and you can relive it all here, if ya wish.

Making up for lost time rather quickly, I hunkered down for a week to reengage with the family before hopping on a flight to Denver for my maiden voyage to Phish Dicks. More magic, more people, so.much.spirit. #IYKYK. ‘Nuff said.

Summer was winding down and school now was amping up, but if anything my livemusic’n only gained steam. My Morning Jacket at Forest Hills and then the Foo Fighters in a major underplay at Coney Island Amphitheatre, which sandwiched a special day with the NYC Freaks in Valentino Park along with an acoustic set from Scott Metzger (w/s/g Katie Jacoby) and the debut of Strummerfeet (again, iykyk).

Three months late but right on time, it’s festival time for yours truly

Sea.Hear.Now. is always a favorite time of year and seeing two of my favorites on the same bill was as good as it gets. Goose got the spiritual juices flowing with a monster early evening set just an hour before Pearl Jam played their first show in over two years (9/2/18; iw@ts). OMFG. It was almost–but not quite–too much to handle.

Planning on resting the following week, I carpe’d the diem instead, seeing one of very few Trey Anastasio Band shows with full horns (before COVID hit the band hard) at the Met Philly and then The Fugees with Ms. Lauryn Hill (yep, you read that right) who played a free popup show–their first in fifteen years!–on a rooftop at Pier 17.

Transcontinental Pearl Jam shows on back to back weekends on opposite stretches of beach…yes, please! So just three weeks into a new school year, I cashed in my (only) two personal days at work for a long awaited trip to the promised land: Ohana Festival on the beach in Dana Point, CA. Quite literally paradise on earth, you can read the review here, but here’s an excerpt if clicking feels like too much for you.

Nestled between stately palm trees and majestic white sand beaches, Ohana Festival takes place on grounds of Doheny State Beach in Dana Point, CA. A bucket-list destination for music lovers, surfers, and Pearl Jam fans alike, the combination of cool Pacific breezes and salty ocean air add an indescribable feeling of California cool to the already heady festival vibes.

With adjacent stages and performances timed within minutes of one another, there is an economy of motion to Ohana that makes attendance almost effortless. Throw in the gentle slope that forms a natural amphitheater with perfect sound and sightlines from everywhere, then factor in the masterful design of the festival grounds, and this furtively massive event had the feel of upscale class and comfortability synonymous with its Orange County zip code. Ohana is, in a word, magic.

Curated by Eddie Vedder who always puts his money where his mouth is, this year’s festival was a conspicuous celebration of both femininity and diversity. Superstars like Brandi Carlile, Maggie Rogers, and Yola positively shone in front of big crowds along with many others, too, like rising stars Sharon Van Etten, Jade Bird, Mon Laferte, and Celisse Henderson. Pearl Jam and Eddie Vedder may have been the draw, but these women are the story.

No rest for the weary, October was a monster month with sixteen shows. Highlights included Trey Anastasio’s Almost Phish x2 (Jon Fishman’s Almost Trey Anastasio Band? Most Of The Forest? The Trey Anastasio Quintet?), Goose x 4 (including their first three set show ever and an Austin Powers-themed Halloween spectacular, and Dogs In A Pile x 3 (including their headlining debut at the Stone Pony and a visit to Garcia’s at The Cap in support of Neighbor and PPPP). Then there was my favorite show of the year for bands not named Phish, Goose, or Dogs In A Pile: The Record Company at Irving Plaza. Whew, I’m tired. Jk, not really, but it felt like the right thing to say.

November’s output was reduced by half though some of the year’s favorite memories rise to the top of the pile. The grand opening of Brooklyn Bowl Philly was special and a half, Bowlive with Soulive reincarnated on a straight shot down I95. An intimate night with Beck, the best party ever (!) at Nublu with all the right friends and all the right tunes with Host of Ghosts, and LCD Soundsystem x 2 highlighted an otherwise quiet month.

I had big plans for December but Omicron had other ideas, wiping at least seven ticketed shows including YEMSG and numerous after-shows from the calendar. Still, memories abound, with a highly personal local birthday show with Jimmy Law and members of DIAP, Orebolo at Tarrytown Music Hall, a three-and-a-half hour seamless Sunday night affair at Nublu with Subtonics, Summerfeet, & Flight 467, the return of Wayne Krantz to 55 Bar, and a local dance party for the ages with Waiting On Mongo and Abandoned Outkasts. Then Omicron struck and I reordered my priorities, realizing I’d better lay low for a minute because nothing else was worth risking YEMSG. As science usually does, Omicron had the last laugh –arggghhhhh enough already!!!– but when served lemons, we make lemonade. As such, my final show of the year was a glorious rager in a private room full of friends, filling our cups with live music and each other’s company one last time in 2021 with–you guessed it– the sounds of Phish as supplied en vivo by cover band Uncle Ebeneezer. Upon final analysis, it was a fitting end to a fucked up year, no further explanation necessary.