One of the reasons we deify musicians is because of the disconnect between album material and live stage show and us, the faceless audience at-large. It's that gulf between artist and listener that actually benefits both producer and consumer. The idea that these avatars of melody seem untouchable almost, well, makes the word-and-song dance about everyday thoughts, feelings, experiences and emotions all the more deep and powerful. It's as if once an instrument is in play, a song penned, a voice unleashed, the artist is somehow outside of the human experience, able to observe and report back as an objective party.
Of course, most of that is bullshit. We love our music, we want it to matter, and for those of us who choose to devote large portions of time and income (your humble author included) on the material, we want some fucking validation. We want it to mean something. So that wall between performer and fan is very necessary. It helps with the whole myth and romanticism thing. But no matter how devoted to your craft you are, you still have bills to pay. Often we forget that not everyone is making U2 money. Your favorite rising indie band or coffee shop Jack Johnson wannabe isn't exactly rolling 'round in a Phantom or appearing on Sofia Coppola's latest soundtrack.
So OK, what does this have to do with anything? Well, reader, be patient, writing short is not a skill I possess. Anyway, on Sunday afternoon I stroll into a local coffee shop. Waiting in line, I notice one of the servers behind the counter looks vaguely familiar. Then it hits me. I turn to my friend Cassie and whisper "Isn't that Sera Cahoone?" Yes, turns out it is. Some background for those not familiar with the local music scene. Sera Cahoone is a singer-songwriter originally from Colorado. Her self-titled debut album was released earlier this spring. It's fantastic stuff. Her voice is a deep southern, gothic timbre, haunting and melodious all at once. She sounds like the love child of Cat Power and one of those old-time country and bluegrass singers from the middle of last century. Anyway, it's one of the better local releases I've heard in a long while and one of my favorite albums right now.
As I wait to order, it strikes me. Even though she is super talented, a good songwriter with a knack for making topics that would be cliché in the hands of lesser performers (unrequited love, horrible relationships, loneliness) into something original and refreshing, she is about to serve me a tall, $4 iced coffee on a muggy Sunday afternoon. I didn't feel sad for her exactly, but part of me wondered how many other musicians I've liked are in similar predicaments. I forget sometimes that just because I pay $10 to see her open at Neumo's or shell out the $12 for her album, she isn't getting mainstream radio play and only music nerds like me really have any idea who she is at the moment. She likely has credit card debt, maybe a student loan, a light bill to pay and groceries to buy just like me. So if being a barista is paying the bills while she continues to pursue her passion, who am I to judge? At least she's doing something she loves. And the funny thing? It didn't erase the myth or make me think any less of her. Instead, as I sit here and listen to her record while I type this, I've gained a new appreciation. You can hear the hunger in her voice, the songs taking on a whole new perspective. She's being shaped by real experiences and her music reflects that. That whole thing about myth and romanticism? Fuck it. Sometimes reality is the best way to connect. That and making sure to tip 100 percent.
