We wake up, Soft denims on the floor. Spent nights late, Sleepin’ back to the fall.
Don’t even, you fall the few. You don’t quit, heads back the ceiling. Baby, this is not sound. It’s nineteen and kids, warfare secret. On the hard nights, you’re the ace right, And you will break down so tear in my new week. Now you’re here, past the sand. Now you’re left with the look up at the middle end. But you didn’t feel angry. But you didn’t feel flat. But you didn’t find to, hold onto new. Don’t call me up again, You’re the bitch that never ends.
When you look at the way that people make decisions in their lives, whether they’re in art or music or industry, they forget that being unique is the answer—becoming yourself and finding an idea. People who make a good first record and then make a shitty second record are scared, they want to have money and security. But the people I look up to don’t give a shit about any of that. They just care about the people around them and about searching
Dakota just said something really inspiring about “putting on her big girl pants,” and I was extremely stoked follow suit. That is until I realized that I haven’t blogged about seeing Justin Vernon last night.
So Justin Vernon has come into my life twice now. The first time he and I crossed paths, I was hardly 18 and didn’t know how to do my hair tastefully or write a film paper very well. I am now on the downhill slide towards year 21, and I can write a damn good film paper, as well as curl my hair a few times a week in under 15 minutes. Therefore I am an academic woman hear me roar or whatever.
I don’t think I have ever seen a show like last night’s. Not only was the music spot on and tight, but the entire 4 hours of standing down front at the Neptune…. was so intimate. Justin Vernon came out bearing modesty on his sleeve as he greeted the crowd. There wasn’t an ounce of “You know who I am,” or “Yeah I’m Mr. Bon Iver” in the air. He just came out smiling, PBR is one hand and a red solo cup in the other. Three chunks of thready hair were combed over his wide forehead. A baggy “Marijuana Deathsquad” shirt hung on his shoulders, his arms peppered with all sorts of tattoos. With a wide grin on his face that could only come from a solid upbringing in the Wisconsinian wilderness and a heart that known real love and pain, he opened, (and commenced to complete,) one of the most personal and genuine concerts I’ve seen in my time.
There was this moment where he was kneeling with his back to the audience, shaking a tambourine. He was bent over behind his podium, so I could only see the back of his beautiful balding head as me synced up to the rhythm of the rest of the band. It made me realize how much I’ve idolized him, and how ridiculous that is. Because Justin Vernon is a real person, just a 31 year old guy who worked hard for his trade. There is not this invisible barrier between him and I. He is not better than me, and I’m not better than him. If I got up on that stage, I could touch him, and his skin would bear startling resemblance to mine. I can’t sing the way he can, but our pain is the same, and his expression has taught me about my expression. And when I watched him on that floor, kneeling and giving himself away to the music, it all became so very clear.
We’re all on this journey together. This life we share with each other is beautiful and limited, and even if some of us are signed with recording labels, or are in beautiful relationships, or have time consuming jobs, or have trouble getting out of bed, or even forgot to feed our fish this morning, we’re all inexplicably bound. Something about last night made that all so clear.
And for that, I say thank you Mr. Vernon. Your modesty and accesability is beautiful, and we could all learn from that.