In 2008 it was necessary to see BRMC in June in at the Ink ‘n Iron Festival in Long Beach, CA (that show where Robert did that thing with rail) and on tour with Stone Temple Pilots in July at Qualcomm Stadium, San Diego, CA and in August at Jones Beach, NY.
That same August it became necessary to rearrange certain flight plans because BRMC decided to add a headlining show at Irving Plaza in Manhattan a few days prior to the Jones Beach gig. Arriving at JFK airport that evening, my luggage and I hauled ass to the venue in order to make the show. Mission accomplished. My luggage enjoyed the show as much as I did.
In October of 2010 I had the strangest urge to ditch work and fly to Atlanta for BRMC at the Masquerade, so I did. After the show near the back bar I heard someone call my name. Having no idea who the hell in Atlanta would know me, I turned around to find Julian Dorio of the Athens, GA band the Whigs, staring at me. Our conversation went exactly like this:
Julian: “What are you doing here???”
Me: “What are YOU doing here?”
Julian: (cocked his head, gave me a “Really?” look): “I live here. What’s your excuse?”
Fuck. Black Rebel Motorcycle Club.
So technically I have gone a few thousand extra miles, but I well know that I’m not alone. This disturbing pattern has repeated itself and as prophet of truth iAN Ottaway has keenly divined, this is a thing, a condition that may require treatment. Meetings. A withdrawal program, even. Or not as I honestly believe that we are all safe within this particular realm of dependence.
Earlier this year I reviewed Specter At The Feast and called the song "Sometimes The Light" a pause in the album’s aggression to "genuflect, soul search and spirit-chase." It’s a beautiful and typically atypical moment of grace from the band that feels like a hymnal on the ears and a warm balm to the soul. Yesterday iAN decided to gift us with visual accompaniment to the song; something iridescent and reflective, cherry blossomed and almost too pristine to bear. So when you watch this video (when, not if) should you feel something akin to your heart squeezing itself a little too tight within the confines of its containment or a certain shaft of pure clarity, almost absolute in its ability to make you believe in the God that you swear doesn’t exist, feel that. Pause and feel yourself as Hayes’ voice, part beacon, spins gossamer threads of web to keep you safe. Now revel in it for just a moment.
Felt good, didn’t it? Of course it did and that feeling, my friend, is also a gift. Because, whether or not you knew it or perhaps you just needed a reminder, sometimes the light turns out to shine with everyone. In everyone…including you.