The "Holy Shit" Moment

It doesn't happen as much as it should, but occasionally I go somewhere or do something that forces me to pause and actively think to myself, "you know - this is pretty damn awesome."

For my money, those are the best moments that you can have in life. That instant when you realize that you're witnessing something amazing or doing something incredible. You see yourself in context - as if you're watching your own life as an outside observer. Something that forces you to recognize your place in the universe and makes you realize your own insignificance, which, in turn, forces you to also acknowledge your own significance, as well. You know that your life and your perceptions will be forever altered by what you experience in that incredible split second. This is the "holy shit" moment.

For me, those little flashes of inspiration - or realization - are usually reserved for experiences directly involved with nature. Driving through the redwoods of northern California. Witnessing a moose and calf swimming directly toward you in a pond in Baxter State Park in Maine. Climbing onto a receding glacier at 7,000 feet on the slopes of Mount Rainier. Watching mud pots bubble and pop at Yellowstone. Watching a flock of bald eagles swoop and soar around a cannery on the northern Canadian Pacific coast. It goes without saying that nature is filled with thousands upon thousands of these instants of immediate realization. Those "holy shit" moments are continuous and unending in nature.

For me, however, it is less and less often that I experience this feeling when the situation involves human beings. For the past several years, I have had the tendency to be cynical about people and usually find myself more annoyed than energized by my fellow man. Now listen - before you judge me, know this - I agree that this is a problem. I completely recognize that this is my own fault and realize that it not a perspective that I should be proud to hold. And, truth be told, that's probably not really my overriding feeling - just an irritating phase that I'm going through. Inherently, I know that people are amazing creatures and do things that should illicit the "holy shit" moment all of the time...but for whatever the reason, I just haven't felt it lately.

I think that I've had probably about 5 of these people-related moments in the past 3+ years (I told you that I've been a cynical prick lately...there are probably more if I really think about it, but these 5 are really the ones that stand out more than anything else...). I could elaborate greatly on all of them, but this blog is focusing on the last one, so I'm going to run through the first 4 pretty quickly. Here they are:

1) Number one would absolutely be my wedding - or more accurately, one specific moment during the wedding. September 11, 2004.

Standing on that altar waiting for my future wife to be led down the aisle by her father was the A-1, Blue-Ribbon, Gold-Star, Prime-cut, Award-winning "holy shit" moment in my life so far. The ceremony itself was life-altering, but there was one split second while I was standing there, alone and nervous on the altar, when I saw Kerry for the first time in her wedding gown. I really had no preconceived notions of how I'd feel. But at that second, I realized - "I am about to get married to this woman and that makes me very happy." It was one of those stomach-tightening, tear-inducing, breathtaking moments that changed my perception of reality forever.

2) The birth of my brother's daughter. June 1, 2004.

I saw her when she was a couple of weeks old. Very surreal - and even though we were 26 and 24, respectively - to me, the second that I held her truly marked the end of my (and my brother's) childhood. It forced me to look at him in a completely different light - as a parent, as a caregiver, and as a man.

(...Three of these moments deal directly with music - which has always been important to me, but hadn't been the focus of my life until somewhat recently. In the past few years, music has taken on the mantel of being the most important pastime/hobby in my life. This is probably the case because it was something to fill the gaping void that I felt while living in Seattle. And also probably because Seattle is a kickass town for music...)

3) Josh Ritter's The Animal Years and his performance at The Triple Door in Seattle on 6/4/2006.

Ritter's 2006 album and his tour in support of it forced me to rethink what I liked about music. This show partially rekindled my love of music and writing. I was completely amazed by his ability to manipulate the English language and develop lyrics that are both socially poignant and fit the melody.

4) The Hold Steady at the Crocodile Cafe in Seattle on October 21, 2006. If Josh Ritter had only partially rekindled my love of music and especially live music - then this show dumped about a half gallon of lighter fluid on that sumbitch. Just incredible - and made me start to seriously delve into what other good music is out there. As it turns out, there's quite a lot. And that's a good thing.

And the last (and most recent) one:

5) Levon Helm plays at Gill's Farmstand in Hurley, NY on 10/28/2007.

It's not often that you get to see a Rock and Roll Hall of Famer play anywhere. There aren't that many of them. And they don't play all that often. And when they do, tickets to their shows usually cost an exorbitant amount of money and even if you can afford them, they generally sell out pretty damn fast.

Well, on this specific Sunday, this was not the case. On this particular Sunday, the drummer and lead singer of The Band played a free show to an utterly enraptured crowd of approximately 250 people on a 15 x 15 tent-covered stage next to a produce stand just off a remote highway in the approximate middle of nowhere in upstate New York.

The setting was about as unassuming as you could possibly imagine. Just regular folks milling around drinking hot cider, eating $75 corn on the cob, picking out pumpkins to be carved into jack-o-lanterns for Halloween a few days later. People of literally all ages (babies to seniors) scattered around a small patch of grass waiting to see a legendary musician take the stage. Somehow, it completely fit into my preconceived notion of what The Band - and by default, Levon Helm - represent. You always got the sense that they were just regular guys living regular lives - aside from the fact that they were ridiculously impressive musicians and songwriters.

The stage was set up between the farm stand's greenhouse and a self-constructed "pumpkin cannon" that was about 40 feet long. This cannon would intermittently fire gourds and pumpkins into the fields and trees (and whatever else happens to be over there) about 3/4 of a mile away. In most instances, the fact that I was watching pumpkins get shot nearly a mile out of a cannon would be the highlight of the event. But not when Rock royalty is playing the drums about 15 feet from you.

It should be noted that Levon has not had the best time of it in recent years. His studio in Woodstock, NY burned down some years ago. He was diagnosed with throat cancer in the late 1990's - about the worst medical ailment possible for someone who makes their living with their voice. After successful surgery and many radiation treatments, the cancer was gone - but unfortunately, so was his voice. That once golden - yet fractured - tenor made famous on dozens of The Band releases was now replaced with a quiet, rasping speaking voice. He couldn't sing at all for years.

In 2004, he sang again publicly for the first time at one of the Midnight Ramble sessions that he hosts at his home/studio in Woodstock. The release of his first solo album in 25 years - Dirt Farmer - on October 30 of this year marks a comeback on multiple levels. Personal and musical, vocal and familial.

Although Levon didn't sing during his free show (he had sung late into the night the night before at another Midnight Ramble and it was pretty obvious that he was battling a pretty nasty cold), his voice was replaced by several people - Little Sammy Davis, Larry Campbell, and most impressively by his own daugther, Amy Helm, who is quite impressive in her own right. As was expected, Levon's drumming was impeccable, the band was tight, and the unfaltering smile on his face seemed to say it all - he's back and he's truly loving what he's doing.

I stood there on stage right with my wife and my friend Dan watching this show for approximately an hour and a half. After several blues numbers, a couple of instrumentals, and scattering of roots music, the Levon Helm Band closed the set with one of the better knowna songs of his former and more famous group. As the horns, guitar, harmonic vocals, and drums of "Chest Fever" by The Band rang out across the surrounding hayfields, I looked out over this crowd of strangers united through music. I looked up at the pumpkin cannon lurching menacingly over the crowd. I noticed the kids in the small parking lot tossing a football around. I looked down at my wife. I looked over at Dan - who seemed to be noticing just how amazing this situation was, as well. I felt the breeze on my face and the chill in the air. I watched a living legend bang away on the drums with a huge smile on his face while his family and friends surrounded him.

And I only had once internal response.

You guessed it. "Holy shit."

Holy shit, indeed.