I wrote the previous post about Music Midtown many moons ago. Then I forgot to post it and it was lost in the blagosphere. Until now. It's timely. You'll see.
It really is no secret that I love concerts. In fact, this past Sunday I might have gone to my very favorite one yet. But I wouldn't put any stake into those words, if I were you, because I think every concert I go to is my very favorite one yet.
It's also no secret that I love Twitter. It's probably my very favorite form of social media. This Sunday, for all of the humor, wit, charm, and facetiousness I've poured into the outlet, it gave back to me in a huge way. I happened to read "Highway to Atlanta" from William Fitzsimmons on Sunday afternoon, Bing searched it, and discovered he was playing literally down the street from me on Sunday night. For $18. In a small, cozy venue. Yes ma'am, thank you. I jumped on that and bought a ticket without so much as a second thought. Then I tried to spread the word, but couldn't find any lovers to accompany me, so independent, big city Molly flew solo for a breathtaking adventure.
The venue was the upstairs of an "olde" bar. It was a William Fitzsimmons concert. [read: everyone of age and their mother was drinking PBR. it was a hipster fest. meanwhile, I was in a cardigan and Gap jeans.] I got there right when the doors opened, landing a front row slightly to the left spot, which I kept and no one pushed me or rubbed against me or anything. (Folksy concerts = perfect for people who don't like to be touched.) The opening act was the brother/sister duo Noah and Abby Gundersen. They were quite enjoyable. He played guitar and sang, while she played violin and provided vocal harmonies. After their set, I noticed one of Noah's guitar picks left on the stage. I caught the attention of the set-up man and asked for it. Score. And then it was William. He was positively affable. It felt like he was just your uncle's cool, weirdo friend who invites everyone over to listen to a folk jam sesh. It was brilliant. His music was wonderful, his presence was gracious and humble, his wit was sharp, his beard was luxurious, his commentary kept me in stitches. It was just all around a great experience. For his last song, he tuned up, then pointed out into the middle of the crowd. "I'm just going to come out right in the middle there, and everyone can gather around. Like a campfire." Yeah, right, he'd been cracking jokes all night, this was just another....then his face was right next to mine as he dismounted the stage immediately in front of me and walked past me right into the throng, playing his last song in the middle of the floor while we gathered round him like a campfire. Wondrous.
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| William Fitzsimmons |
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| The Courage |
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| Campfire time |
After the show, I hung around with a few other people, hoping for the chance to meet the artists. I talked to Abby first. She was delightful. Only 19 and touring the country with her brother in a band. Then I talked to Noah, and asked about the tattoo I'd been trying to read all the while he was onstage. Turns out it's a Peter Pan quote. And then it was William. I snagged a set list from the stage, and he autographed it for me, talked to me for a little bit, demurred at my compliments, and laughed when I rejoiced over being in such close proximity to the beard. Quality people, quality night, and well worth leaving the confines of my routine-based comfort zone.
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| Abby Gundersen |
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| Noah Gundersen |
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| Please note my awkward hand, on the left. |
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| The man. The beard. |
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