“If you like-a da marijuana, make some noise!!!  If you smoke-a da marijuana, make some noise!!! I shit da marijuana shits!!!” –Collie Buddz

West Beach Music Festival…Ah! A two-day gathering in Santa Barbara of reggae bands, four-drink maximum restrictions to the beer garden, occasional whiffs of pot clouds from  lucky attendees who somehow snuck it in through maximum security, and the Jose Cuervo games, sponsored by Cuervo, despite the “no hard alcohol allowed on the premises” policy. I could end this story right here, with “enough said” because I didn’t leave fulfilled musically, but will instead enlighten you on my questionable contraction of black lung, an almost broken neck and my mission to rekindle a childhood crush on the lead singer from UB40…while of course sprinkling in the musical experience, too.

Friday night, I will admit that Katchafire, a band out of New Zealand held my attention their entire set.  Unlike most of the other bands, they had the crowd not just swaying, but skankin’ enthusiastically.  I love them and will commit to purchasing their music.

Collie Buddz, who shits marijuana shits and who could be compared to Shaggy, also impressed and had me thoroughly intrigued.  The headliner from Friday, Rebelution, dragged on and on so much, I abandoned ship early and slumped out of the venue with a slight tickle in my throat from the dirt dust floating around the festival.

Saturday, I knew that at 4:00pm I had to participate in the Jose Cuervo games.  Waking up with a black lung-esque cough, I couldn’t be less excited if I tried.  However, my three teammates and I trekked to Santa Barbara in hopes to hear decent music and to win a trip to Vegas through Cuervo.  I also anticipated running into UB40 (side note: according to Wikipedia, “UB40” stands for “Unemployment Benefits form # 40″…really?).  We arrived and bands including Passafire, Loomis and The Lust, Tyrone Wells, and Giant Panda, were less than impressive.  The crowd had been sparse all day and I will blame that on the lackluster energy on stage.

Finally, the time arrived that led my team and me to the Cuervo tent to prepare for our event.  We signed our lives away and chose “The Situation” as our team name.  I cut my sleeves off, ripped the crew neck to a v-neck, strapped on a helmet, knee and elbow pads, and made my way to the Waterfall Climb event.  “The Situation” strapped into its harnesses, one by one, on opposite sides of the rock climbing wall.  We had 45 seconds to climb to the top and ring the bell.  I had this!!!  Forty seconds after the gun shot, three of four bells had rang, mine NOT included.  I reached a point of the wall, with a monsoon amount of water violently gushing down onto my face, that stopped me dead in my tracks.  I failed.

The second event, a Barrel Roll relay, had us climbing an inflated Mayan pyramid to retrieve a flag while Donkey Kong barrels were thrown at us.  If you creatively dismounted from the top, your team would receive extra points.  I reached the flag with stealthy speed but dismounted with a high-jump-bounce-halfway-down-flip and inappropriately landed on my neck.  I could’ve died.  I didn’t receive creative points and our team lost by a hair.  I failed, once again.

The third, Margarita Madness, made one teammate balance an oversized glass on his/her head, dipping it in salt, filling it with margarita mix, catching limes in it thrown by the teammates, walking across (glass full) the stage and finally dumping the cocktail into a measuring cup.  I made three limes but we somehow lost that event too.  I did not fail, but our team did as a whole.

"Your team did not win, but we hope you had a legendary experience."

“The Situation” did not advance to the Vegas championship, but as far as I’m concerned we were successful in missing more mediocre bands in exchange for good times and death risks. Victory!

Once changed from our soppy clothes, we sat through Still Time.  The bassist had a handsome demeanor to him, so I watched fixated until the John Popper look-a-like lead singer spoke. His accent sounded like a southern man moved to England, moved to Compton and then relocated to Amarillo.  I later asked the band his origin and they answered, “San Louis Obispo.”

Handsome Man, Bad Band

After two days of this festival, UB40 arrived to the venue.  As a child, I made eye contact with the singer as his limo passed me as they departed from a concert; I felt a spark then and wondered what I would feel as an adult.  I made myself available in their area in hopes of a run-in.  After my friend told my man to wait behind him in the bathroom line, I bailed and took position in the field for viewing their performance. No eye contact, no spark.  I failed.

They sang three old songs including “Red Red Wine,” “Fools Rush In” and “Here I Am” …Other than that, I would not recommend buying their newest album “Labour of Love IV,” which holds every other song they sang; not notable.

Could've Been a Contender

Soja closed the night (for me at least…my black lung led to an early departure).  Although I didn’t dig the music, the crowd’s excitement infected me and I would consider it the highlight of the musical journey.

Over all, I hated the West Beach Music Festival but concluded that with good company and Cuervo (not the liquor, but the sponsor), a dusty atmosphere, boring bands and a near death experience can be overlooked- even with the contraction of a stiff neck and a black lung.

Soja

Please allow me to change the meaning of girls and cups:

The sound of a Univision commentator yelling “Goooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooal!” while basking on my couch alone when USA “scored” against England during the group round, tickled me immensely. I knew immediately this method of viewing the games during Copa Mundial 2010, although charming, would not suffice. For me, the World Cup wouldn’t be about the delicious, finely-sculpted players (for the most part…but if it were about those men, I choose David Villa from Spain, not Cristiano Ronaldo from Portugal) it would be about embracing the sport the way other countries do! I grew up playing soccer – most of us did, didn’t we? But some inexplicable disconnect has me and everyone else in this country hoarding around the tube only during World Cup like some partially-devoted Catholics on Easter.

Mr. and Mrs. David Villa

For example, I heard an interview with Quinton Jackson from “A-Team” the day before the first game, South Africa vs Mexico. He concentrated more on World Cup discussion than the movie and mentioned that the studios refused to release the film abroad until after the tournament because in every other country, no one will watch anything aside from fútbol. In America, would that conflict even be questioned? Nil!

All of my friends have steady day jobs and no one could commit to 7am games. And although I wanted to dive in and experience passionate crowds at their finest, I knew it meant diving in –gasp!- alone….One girl….

Mexico vs. France
Destination: Ye Olde Kind’s Head, Santa Monica

I scurried there solo like a giddy schoolgirl, not knowing what really to expect (except for a jolly laugh with my dear friend and bartender, Vanessa and perhaps an adrenaline rush from the packed pub).

Parking: $7.00

I settled in at the bar, ordered a cider and fish & chips and shook the hand of Cesar, a fully-devoted fan from Mazatlan. Cesar knew each Mexico player by name; he knew their every move; he knew how they prefer their coffee. The game started and no one ordered drinks for the duration of the 45-minute half; the patrons’ eyes were glued to the TVs. They chanted in Spanish things I didn’t understand, but heck, I chanted along anyway…everyone completely engaged, fixated, obsessed. “Culero! Culero! Culero!,” they yelled in unison. I kept asking Cesar questions:

“Cesar, that was fun! What does Culero mean?”

“Cesar, does Cuauhtémoc Blanco run strangely or is that just me? Why?”

“Cesar, what should I drink next?”

“Cesar…? Cesar?”

Bless his heart, he kept answering. He shared my French fries and had a picture of himself in front of the Eiffel Tower as his default on his phone. At this discovery, he blushed and demanded I not tell a soul that he secretly loves France (the country, not the team). Fortunately for him and his hush-hush Francophile alter-ego, Mexico won. Someone painted my face with Mexican flags that day; heck, why not?! We celebrated until the Lakers vs. Celtics game ended (count: 10 hours later) and agreed to meet again, same place the next morning.

Queen Fish and Chips: $10.95
…and later, Happy Hour Nachos: $5.95
Pints of Cider: $24.00

7am: USA vs. Slovania
11:30am: England vs. Algeria
Destination: Ye Olde King’s Head, wooden bar stool, far right corner. This time, I dragged my friend Meredith along.

Parking: $7

USA fans differ greatly…no one sang the national anthem; they only chanted a simple “USA! USA! USA!;” people ordered drinks during the game and discussed the Lakers, who won the “World Championship” (why “world??”) the night before. We clearly lack FIFA focus. But when USA tied, only after a botched call by the referee regarding an offside play, even Cesar, who clearly did NOT want to see team USA win, simply bowed his head with disagreement. But damn it all to hell, we gained some respect after that call and people felt for our straggly little team who has only minimal support from its own country.

Egg and Sausage Sandwich: $5.95
Coffee: $2.50

England vs. Algeria-The fervent, eager, wholehearted crowd flooded in as I gazed with wonder. An English game, at an English pub, surrounded by English accents and cider- dreams do come true, ladies (not the ones with you and Ronaldo though, please). The scene made my jaw drop. Brits like Kate Beckinsale and Nigel Lithgoe also joined in for the event at separate tables in the restaurant area – this game, I knew, would surely be a spectacle! I sat next to Dave, an older gentleman who welcomed me with cheers while, yes, I sat alone in the corner stool (Meredith, the friend with a day job, had to leave…pity). The national anthem chimed on and everyone, EVERYONE, jubilantly belted “God, Save Our Queen.” The words are not difficult to remember, so, yet again, I followed suit. The game itself did not tickle our fancy, in fact it was a bore and England tied…but as I left, I knew this had become an addiction.

Mimosa: $8.00

7am: USA vs Algeria and England vs Slovania
Destination: Corner Stool, again

I am troubled to say that words to describe this day are intangible, but I shall try. Basically, both teams had to tie or win to advance. I arrived at 6:15am to grab hold of my corner stool, while the line outside wrapped around the block with a mix and mash of USA and England fans. Both groups sang their national anthem (I stuck to “God, Save Our Queen” only because it is easier to yell—and secretly I fell in love with England) simultaneously, and then the games commenced. I suffered from whip lash near the end of the first half due to the speedy bi-locating of my head from one screen to the next. The sound of “ooos” and “ahhhs” (that’s what he said) and “yes!” and “no!” (that’s what she said) blistered from every direction.

Each game concurrently had their moments and when it became clear that USA would lose, mostly everyone counted down the final seconds to the England win and began jumping, screaming, embracing, high-fiving, and kissing. Then, instantly, Landon Donovan miraculously scored a goal that would secure team USA a spot in the next round- a moment I will never forget. Every single person in that building screamed with a ballistic enthusiasm I had yet to witness in my life. I actually became so overwhelmed with emotion that two celebratory tears happily danced down my face. England and USA would advance. Imagine that!

After the game, I could not catch my breath or a mere moment to reflect on what had just occurred when a news reporter approached me and another new friend, Stacy. He asked how I felt about “World Cup Fever” and only a portion of my response made the morning news. For some inconceivable reason, they chopped “There’s a sleeping bag underneath the bar for me…I can’t get enough of this place. Hi Mom!” Hmmm…wonder why.

Chicken Sandwich: $10.95

USA vs. Ghana, Destination: Snake Pit, Hollywood
I’ll admit, I needed a break and wanted to be in a more subdued atmosphere. Plus, the food specials at this place are awesome: $5 for anything from 12pm – close. I tried bringing the “pub culture” to this dive bar by attempting to sing the national anthem and perhaps throw in a fun cheer here and there. A sprinkling of folks played along, but not many. USA lost and we all returned home with “Welp, we won’t be hearing the word ‘soccer’ for the next four years” attitudes.

England vs. Germany, Destination: Ye Olde King’s Head, wooden bar stool, far right corner (duh)
This game fell on a Sunday so the working class attended. I arrived at 5:45am and took my seat among a group of belligerent Brits- aww, home sweet home. You know, I probably could’ve been on the field that game and produced better plays than the English players, but when I stopped and looked around at all the pissed off fans, ordering beer frantically and screaming English obscenities at the screens and each other, I cracked a smile and thought, “This is brilliant…This is what World Cup is all about.” Cheers!

Brazil vs. Netherlands, Destination: My apartment
Can you believe Brazil lost? My jaw sat on the floor for the duration of the second half plus ten minutes after the game had concluded. I compose this portion with disbelief…still.

Ghana vs. Uruguay, Destination: Client’s House
I had to involuntarily take a break from the pub because, sigh, I had to work. I’m a private chef and cook at the homes of my clients, therefore I politely requested that the TV be on while I chop, slice and stir. During this particular game, the cleaning lady, Patty, also had established her interest and we both took a break to watch the second half…I learned “Mucho presión” (meaning, “very stressful”) as I screamed at Uruguay for hand-balling Ghana’s winning goal OUT of the box. I don’t think I’ve ever watched a game so stressful… I deeply wished I had viewed it at the pub.

Sidebar:
Up to this point, when mentioning World Cup, people from every street corner wanted to discuss. I made friends with the produce men at the Whole Foods in Beverly Hills; the man at Radioshack who kept me for a half hour chit-chattin’; a random guy named John, wearing a Brazil shirt getting into his car after their loss to the Netherlands (poor chap); the ticket guy at the parking lot at traffic court who, ouch, rooted for Mexico.  World Cup unites.  It’s incredible and it’s a shame it is once every four years.

Espana vs. Germany, Destination: Same Place, Same Stool, Santa Monica
I thoroughly anticipated this game because I liked both teams (all my other teams had been eliminated, and I hated Uruguay for that hand-ball moveagainst Ghana, and the Netherlands roll around like big ol’ babies more than anyone I had seen- well except for the Italians, but I’m Italian so I only yellow-carded their actions—once). I brought my eldest sister to the pub and she became deeply enthralled in the “Ole! Ole! Ole! Ole! Ole! Ole!” chanting and wished she had participated earlier in the cup. I pity the fool.

Parking: $3.00
Two Mimosas: $16

Final Game: Espana vs. Netherlands, Destination: Same Place, Same Stool, Santa Monica
A rush of bittersweet emotion ran through me the morning of the final game as I threw on Spain colors. Thrill, joy, sorrow, loss, confusion, nervousness, glee, love, fear…

I arrived three hours early with my two sisters and my friends Kejal and Meredith in tow and I introduced them, once again to my corner seat. We ordered mimosas and Guinness and watched the game squished between fans from both Netherlands and Spain…Although, most of these people did not derive from these countries- I notice the Brits wearing both colors, the Mexicans wearing Red, the bartenders mixed, my party David Villa…But we all gathered, and screamed and heckled and cheered and boo’d, while all along laughing and rejoicing through joint camaraderie for the sport.

Paul, the psychic octopus, picked correctly and Spain took victory of Copa Mundial 2010…one cup…

The experience as a whole brought me to a dimension of sports culture that I had never participated in, and I became accustomed to my early morning viewings and surrounding myself with such an addictive energy. I honestly wondered what would become of me when the whole thing concluded. It became a ritual, a drug, a way of life…It became a friend…Thank you everyone at Ye Olde King’s Head for making this experience so special.

World Cup 2010: Priceless

Old Hymns of a New Age

With vocalist Bobby Hoerner; guitarists Jack Miele and David Philastre; and drummer Woody Dantagnan, (after recording they added bassist, Graham Robinson) a reflection of a rawness shaped in the early nineties ascends, along with a taste of classic Led Zeppelin and Pink Floyd and a newer lick of Radiohead and Stone Temple Pilots. The album engages the listener through various realms of music, while at the same time rises to a unique collection of songs that set TML on their own.    Tracks flow together into a unified story of sound, setting a mood and an atmosphere.  If you’re not a lyric person, you can still close your eyes to hear and feel an exploration through TML’s fine musicianship. 

The album begins with Holy Water, a dark track uplifted by intense vocals and guitar with an end leading right into the next track, Die Lullabye, a tune reminiscent of Pink Floyd: slow, haunting and subtly depressing. 

Intermittent instrumental tracks embed the album, delicately linking each song together.  For example, Wake, a 1:32 minute finger-picking melody, transitions smoothly into Heaven Hail.   These two are perfectly married to support the album’s whole connection and if I had a lighter and a friend I would sway dutifully to both.  Track seven, Dublin, a more explosive tune compared to the rest, wakes the listener from a tranquil journey then is followed by a haunting duo of Moment’s Gone and So Far Gone, which gradually evolves back to something more subdued. 

Eleven Plus, track nine, offers a bouncy tone to the mix and Bella, another interlude, which foreplays Terribly Vacant (my personal favorite), reminds me kindly of the era of Radiohead’s album, “The Bends.”  TML’s comes full circle by wrapping the collection with another calmingly eerie melody, Everlasting. 

No George Clooney's, but they sound GREAT

Overall, this album embraces a quality that some of today’s popular music lacks- an experience that immerses the listener through a diverse, yet related chain of songs.  It’s a lot of what I hope for while discovering a new band of today: a breath of a fresh air that slyly transports me back to yesterday. 

The album itself is cleverly bonded to hinder that familiar temptation of fast forwarding from one song to the next.  I can only imagine how it would sound on vinyl!  Aw, enhancing the rawness, the pureness that The Morning Life explores…wouldn’t that be nice?  Vinyl.  

Since that isn’t an option, settle for modern technology and visit www.themorninglife.com for a gander and a listen. 

Lifehouse released their fifth studio album, titled “Smoke & Mirrors,” on March 2.  It is a predictable twelve-song collection sending the listener through a sullen tale of a love once cherished, but now quickly fading… or “Halfway Gone,” the first release to this album.   

 Since releasing their first song, “Hanging by a Moment” in 2001, the two remaining original band members, lead singer/guitarist Jason Wade and drummer Rick Woolstenhulme Jr., have successfully remained afloat via movie and television soundtracks but have yet to reach the level of their first album, “No Name Face.”

Lifehouse Smoke & Mirrors

 Experimenting with a more raw and live sound yet staying with the commercial catchy rock ballads that keep them thriving, Lifehouse has sprinkled “Smoke & Mirrors” with tracks that radio stations and fans will surely cling to.  And although this album has not dramatically sent them to a different level or sound, it is clear that 10 years later, a more mature band has ascended.

 The powerful opener “All In” – a perfect foreshadowing for most of the songs that follow – instantly triggered memories of “Hanging by a Moment,” which includes lyrics “nothing left to lose, nothing left to hide.”  “All In” says, “all in, nothing left to hide I’m falling harder than a landslide.”   This same theme lingers throughout their past and this album. 

Track two, “By Your Side,” is mysterious, with a taste of Silverchair and a Johnny Lang bluesy instrumental bridge; unique for Lifehouse, exciting for me.  In true Lifehouse fashion, “Falling In,” “From Where You Are,” “In Your Skin” and “It Is What It Is” are all very similar to one another, with an upbeat depiction of love going wrong.

 “Had Enough” (featuring Chris Daughtry) and “Halfway Gone” are slower songs with ripping choruses about missing and denying what will never be.  The title track, “Smoke & Mirrors,” is more or less like the others… of a relationship fading away, despite the fact that they remain the same.

Lifehouse

 “Nerve Damage” stands out from the rest (albeit negatively) because, unfortunately, I’m reminded of Britney Spears with its electronic beats and strange effects.  It’s about giving power back to men that don’t want to be played by women game players.  Sorry, not working. 

Listening to this album sent me through a pop rock journey of today, and with the exception of “Nerve Damage,” it is quite easy to listen to, as it is cohesive, clean and for the band, a little edgy.  Sounds of Nickelback, One Republic and The Frey are heard throughout. But for someone without a keen liking to this band, I did feel like I was hanging by the moment, swinging back and forth, searching and waiting for something different and challenging.  It felt like the love they kept crying about – halfway gone, but still too fresh to be given up on.  Lifehouse has yet to hook me completely, but through this new album, I do see a progression into a more mature band.  Until they start singing about new subject matters, however, I’m not sure I can jump on it.

Since 1984, Bon Jovi has graced the music world with songs that make women tear off their clothes, jump like fools and pump their fists.   Since 1984…

With 26 years and an extensive discography under their southerly clad belts, one would hope a Bon Jovi set list would be filled with these exciting, fist pumping songs. Oh, on contrary my friends.

Dashboard Confessional opened and the people behind me demanded that I sit down before I actually arrived to my seat.  I didn’t want to break it to them, but once Bon Jovi got on stage, I had no intentions to sit down. NONE!  I used to listen to Dashboard during my lonely and depressed high school years; so taking my seat for them would be fine.  Sadly though, this incident AND the band foreshadowed the actions AND feelings the rest of the night would bring.  But at the time, I had high expectations for Bon Jovi and knew/thought they would lift my spirits.

However, opening with “Blood on Blood” and “We Weren’t Born to Follow” brought only a scattered bunch to their feet.  Until “Bad Name” started, finally the soccer moms stood up and screamed desperately for Richie Sambora‘s flat-ironed hair and plastic face to play to them.  I felt elated and just knew that things would continue with the upbeat pace.

But then they quickly reverted with six new songs in a row (sit down) then “It’s My Life” (stand up) and a cover of “Hallelujah” (sit down) originally sung by Leonard Cohen.  If you don’t know that song, pour yourself a bottle of wine, download the Jeff Buckley version and brace yourself for tears.  Why Bon Jovi decided to sing that at a 20k person venue that wasn’t there to raise money for Haiti is beyond me.

It felt like Catholic Church. And after a fistful of acoustic hymn-type tunes and Jon Bon jumping up and down with a tambourine, my friends and I chose to flee.

Forty five minutes after our departure while discussing not the concert but our daily sins at a nearby Denny’s, a friend posted on Twitter that they finally sang “Wanted Dead or Alive” and “Livin’ on a Prayer” for the encore.  The charm of an encore has clearly been forgotten, Mr. Jovi.  You don’t make people stay for the encore.  You make them stay because they WANT TO STAY through the blessed joys of unison praise to hits, one after another. The encore is for shock value, leaving a surprise for the end.  NOT YOUR TWO BIGGEST HITS, YOU PRICKS.

As we walked out, I took note of a snippet of lyrics that  summarized my emotional and physical feelings: Give something for the pain, something for the blues, something to get me through the night.

A turkey melt, seasoned fries and a prayer before bedtime did that for me.  Not Bon Jovi, and not the nostalgia that utterly lacked at HP Pavilion.

My thoughts exactly!

Attending the Snoop Dogg concert in the hot-boxed Club Nokia is experience enough to die content…or complete…or at least with a unique feeling that my mind and body had yet to indulge in at any rock concert I ever attended.   Well, with the exception of the opening act Vixzens who, bless their amateur hearts, performed for their first time that night..so amateur in fact, that laughter added as a background beat to the gibberish they spewed into the mics.

Nipsey Hussle accompanied by a full band with a horn section and a white guy in reading glasses literally lit the stage and every blunt in the arena.  Having never heard them before, I came to appreciate the marriage between trombone and rap.   Dj Quik followed, and after whipping out Lets Get Down, everyone did just that, quickly jump starting the old school parade that shuffled out with the D-O-double-G.

Dj Quik opening for Snoop

Snoop, laid back in his handkerchief-style onesie and backed by a multi-ethnic group of booty droppers, c-walked his way through a two-hour plus set of old and new school goodness.  Joined by Kurupt and a massive on-stage posse (Bishop Don Magic Juan included) and an audience up in smoke, we all rapped every word to his plethora of hits such as Nuthin’ but a ‘G’ Thang, Gin and Juice, Who Am I (Whats My Name), Blow the Whistle, and Drop it Like it’s Hot.

Snoop, his diamond encrusted mic, and onesie

The night truly threw me straight to the early 90s, not just with the songs but with the cameos of such legends like Xzibit, Lady of Rage, Too $hort and Nate Dogg’s cousin, Butch Cassidy (if you can’t get the real thing, why not bring in the cuz?!). A very relaxed Snoop simply bobbed about in the background while they took the stage one after another.  At one point, a Tupac tribute encouraged a dance of lighters, a chant by the audience, “We all miss Tupac” (or something of the sort, my memory has been fogged of such details) and a rendition of America’s Most Wanted.

Although Snoop Dogg may not be a quintessential gangsta anymore, I respect him as one. Who else can pull off a onesie at his age while bringing the West as one under a single cloudy roof? The boisterous and eclectic mix of a crowd emphasized that his journey is far from over.  And although he no longer regulates in the LBC, he does grab girls by the butt, an action that in his new song Gangsta Luv, self proclaims him as a gangsta…still.  If he is too old and rich to regulate, than why not redefine the meaning?

Gangsta Luv on the West Coast

I didn’t know what to expect from my first Snoop Dogg concert, and quite frankly I still feel a bit speechless (and lightheaded just thinking about it) regarding the experience.  And after much thought, I know that if I don’t die content, Snoop and friends would at least hope that I die high.  Perhaps that’s what that different/new feeling was: the contact high hangover that slammed me in the face the next morning.

Despite the fact that my favorite bands include Led Zeppelin, Radiohead and Muse there is something about Jason Mraz that really tickles my soul.  He carries with him an impeccably poignant voice, diverse range and lyrics with a message that can change a life.   Coupled with this live show, he might’ve done just that.

After arriving at the outdoor Cricket Wireless Amphitheatre, I purchased a beer that cost more than my $1 seat and indulged in Brett Dennan who, like Mraz, shares the same approachable vibe, basing his songs on social justice, spirituality and embracing love to enhance your life.

When Mraz came to the stage he explained the inspiration for The Gratitude Tour and how it derived from The Gratitude Café in San Francisco, where patrons pay what they can afford, allowing all to partake in the café experience.  He expressed that each show would do the same, permitting fans to participate in not just a concert but a bonding soiree of sorts, getting to know each other and enjoying the music not just as fans, but as friends.   At first, more concerned with the level of my beer, I simply sipped away and listened.

As the concert progressed, he performed songs including What Would Love Do, a play off of “What Would Jesus Do” inviting the boisterous Voices of Praise choir to join him, fully captivating the audience with their collective strength and passion.  For his recent single, I’m Yours he taught the audience choreography; every individual shimmying in unison all suddenly became one.

New friends quickly formed and my beer became a side thought…

“For this next song, I want you to turn to someone you don’t know and sing to him or her,” he persuaded.  The crowd did just that, swaying not to the beat of the song but to the eye contact and formed camaraderie, knowing we all migrated here because he invited us.  It undoubtedly felt like that…like he wanted us there to embrace life and love.  This sounds contrived and corny, yes, but I had never before been to a concert so interactive and moving.

I left with butterflies in my stomach and a crack in my heart knowing that I had just witnessed a unique experience that could not be repeated.  I felt connected with humanity and the deep sense that love and music can greatly lift a spirit.  And for the first time, I noticed that the night passed with a beer almost unscathed and ignored. A rarity.  I think Jason would be proud of the mission he had accomplished.

Yes, I call him Jason now; after that show I know we are on a first name basis.