By Kerri Havnen Gordon
The Living Experiment
“Oh goodie. We get to be frisked,” I overheard someone say as we waited in a long line to enter a James Taylor concert. Signs informed the concertgoers that increased security measures were in place “in light of recent events” - a euphemism for the horrors of Sept. 11, just weeks before. One by one each person, handbag and backpack was searched on the way into the amphitheater.
Most Americans are not used to being frisked and I was impressed with how well the crowd handled it. There wasn’t a word of complaint and no trace of impatience in the air. Once inside, vendors were surprisingly polite, and people excused themselves when they bumped each other. I couldn’t decide if this was a result of the tragedy or due to the relative maturity of the crowd, as most people were in their 40s and 50s.
As James Taylor is my favorite recording artist, I knew the concert would be great and that I would love the music. What I didn’t realize was that being there would be a salve to the soul, after a harrowing month of September for our country.
The common thread of Taylor’s music is love, acceptance, tolerance, appreciating life and loved ones and expressing it unabashedly. Songs like “How Sweet It Is,” “Shower the People” and “You’ve Got a Friend” resonated more than ever. A hush came over the crowd when Taylor and his backup singers sang a cappella “Shed a Little Light,” which begins with the lyrics, “Let us turn our thoughts today to Martin Luther King and recognize that there are ties between us, all men and women, living on the Earth, ties of hope and love, sister and brotherhood, that we are bound together, in our desire to see the world become a place in which our children can grow free and strong.” The whole audience was moved by this beautiful and timely message.
Taylor’s voice was every bit as clear and true as it was 30 years ago. He sang with his well-known smile that makes his music soulful and joyous. He sang with passion, humor, grace and humility. He sang in a way that reminded us that we are good, kind and compassionate, and that we are at our best when we take care of each other. He sang, and we were grateful.
During “Carolina in My Mind,” his voice filled the hushed amphitheater. “There ain’t no doubt in no one’s mind that love’s the finest thing around. Whisper something soft and kind.”
I reached for my husband’s hand and looked around and saw countless people arm in arm or holding hands and I felt comforted and happy. There was James Taylor, up on stage, singing and smiling, and I was convinced that music does heal.
In these weeks following the tragedy, we each do what we can to help and understand. We wave flags. We write checks and we give blood. We stitch quilts and send letters of sympathy.
We follow the news to stay informed. We try to have faith in the people who are making the key political decisions. We go to sleep with hearts heavier than before and awaken with an uneasy awareness of global instability.
In the end we look for comfort in the smallest of things: a sleeping baby, a freshly-baked brownie, a child’s hug, a warm evening, a homegrown tomato, a Sunday nap.
Comfort comes in many forms, it seems. For me, that night in late September, it came ever so gently in the form of James Taylor’s soothing voice.
