One week ago, I found myself holding a bearded Nebraskan while he sang about his failings.
He was Tim Kasher of Cursive, an Omaha, Neb., post-punk band. I attended their show at the Rhythm Room, fully expecting yet another emotionally draining/empowering extravaganza. I was not disappointed.
During the last two songs, Kasher decided to venture out into the audience for an impromptu “get to know an artist” session. I, standing directly in front of him, was silently enlisted to be his aide in such an endeavor. Kasher handed me the microphone stand and proceeded to join us.
I suspect he was inebriated. There were two main tip-offs; first, I had to literally hold him up to prevent his 5-foot-8-inch frame from wobbling to the ground. Also, when I asked him if he wanted help getting back on stage, he leaned in an inch from my ear, and said, “I just want in, man.”
Sober people simply do not say such things. Clearly, Kasher was on a mission.
If his mission was to cause emotional chaos, he succeeded. By the end of the show, we were all belting out lyrics like it was the last day of our lives. I looked at the faces around me — Kasher, the kids, the adults — and saw nothing but reckless emotional abandon. It was humanity at its best.
The next day was the Monday after spring break. I was in a surly mood; under any circumstances, returning to work or school after extended time off is an unpleasant business. In light of the transcendence of my Sunday night, it was particularly disappointing.
After some contemplation, I found the root problem-life does not always allow for such outpouring of emotion. If everyone had such a good time at that show, why not live as much of life as possible in a similar fashion?
Or, simply put, why can’t we always be so jazzed to be alive and around our fellow human beings?
There are many answers to this, but I think, generally, we spend many of our days on autopilot. We see the same people, have the same conversations, buy the same things, etc.; there’s seemingly very little to be jazzed about. Much of life is a safe repetition, and our emotional states reflect that.
In all the times I’ve seen Cursive, Tim Kasher has never done anything remotely like what he did on Sunday night. But, for whatever his reasons, his gesture gave an already energized crowd permission to connect with the music, and to connect with the universal human desire to feel deeply.
While it would be exhausting to constantly feel so intensely, I’d wager that most of the audience leaving the Cursive show was thoroughly satisfied, and also perhaps a bit disappointed that they don’t get to experience such connectivity more often.
But life doesn’t have to be a dull grey line with brief splashes of color; choose your battles, but always expect the magic. We can have dinner with friends, spend time with our families and seek out new experiences. Ultimately, life is as meaningful as we allow it to be.
Try to be someone’s bearded Nebraskan, because when we ask life to let us in, it usually does.
Alex is no gentleman caller, and can be reached at alexander.petrusek@asu.edu.
