Last night I went to an intimate David Bazan Concert hosted by Empty Frames and organized by Tim Haydock. Johanna Chase opened, rocking our bras off with powerful and playful anthems of sex-spirit-uality. Then Bazan . . .
The small venue was packed to its 220 person maximum occupancy and Bazan played for over two hours. It was’t that he had the most interesting guitar parts or that he never messed up. It wasn’t even that he sporadically invited the audience to ask him questions and that his answers were equal parts charming and awkward. [BTW he is stoked out of his mind about the election and he thinks that the 2000 and 2004 elections were rigged].
It was the fact that he played on the edge–the line between faith and doubt–turning his back to the Christianity of his parents, but not quite turning all the way away. That’s what captivated me. I have so many friends on the edge. I find myself on the edge so often. It’s liberating to have a poet give words to the experience of not quite fitting in with those going to heaven or those going to hell.
“You were too busy steering the conversation toward the Lord
to hear the voice of the spirit saying, “Shut the fuck up.”
You thought it must be the devil trying to make you go astray
Besides, it couldn’t have been the Lord
because you don’t believe he talks that way.”