Days ago, on a Saturday night after 10:30, I waited for the G train to take me home. A persistent, pounding headache cut my night short, and I had just missed a departure. Resigned to sit and wait on the bench, the arrival of musicians, setting up to play a set on the platform, caused me to cringe. “If they’re loud, I’ll have to move.” Headphones will only make this throbbing worse.
They started to play, and the mood around me changed. When you hear something good, so undeniably special, people take notice. Eyes shift, ears perk, and people walk towards the show. Not in that gawking tourist fashion or with the self-contratulatory hipster smirk, but with a genuine openness to listen. I cracked a smile to no one, felt goosebumps, and blinked back tears. “Damn, I like them.”
As their first song ended, the train arrived, and I found the last dollar in my wallet to drop in their case. I picked up their card, and riding the train south, I regretted not buying a CD.
Bird Courage plays The Wayland on Tuesdays in June. Join me?