You're Not Crazy for Wanting to be Friends with the Songwriter

By Julie Simmons

All the vignettes below are actual encounters. The names of the fans and songwriters have been changed to protect identities and to frustrate the reader.

Part 1: Never Reaching the Bottom

Mandy's eyes flutter shut as she releases a caged memory.

"A few years ago," she begins. "I didn't want to...be here anymore. When things got really bad, I started listening to his music. And it's not like he saved my life, but hearing his songs put me back down on Earth again. So, after last week's show, when I walked up to him and he opened his arms and gave me a hug like he knew who I was. It was like a warm blanket wrapped around me. I have to see him again."

Mandy removes her smart phone enthusiastically from her hip pocket like a prized pistol from a tight holster. Without telling me his name, she shows me selfies of herself and the man who grounded her through music.

"I get it," I nod, validating her experience of wanting to, needing to reconnect with musicians. I get how a song can be a life preserver that pulls you back to shore. And I get how a singer's voice can feel like a mystical navigator.

My favorite songwriters dazzle me with words. They also compose rhythms I didn't realize my fingers needed to pluck out on the steering wheel.

How did they know?

Mandy resets her glasses atop the bridge of her nose and confesses, "My mom thinks I'm crazy because I love music so much. She doesn't get it. She thinks I'm totally crazy for wanting to travel 400 miles to go see his New Year's Eve show."

"Why do you want to see him again? What would you do this time?" I ask.

"Because I want...I want to have a cup of coffee with him and pick his brain and just thank him for being there for me even though he wasn't actually there. I want to thank him for being vulnerable and confident in his lyrics. I don't know how he does it."

"Yeah, I hear ya." I sigh, "But you won't be satisfied."

She looks confused but I'm speaking from the experience of having spent quality time with a few of my favorite songwriters. Sometimes, after an interview, the artist and I would find ourselves coordinating their touring schedule with my out-of-town travel for work so we could meet for coffee or a drink. Then I'd think, what's the point? Where can it go? Two different lives. We're committed to other people...

The urge to reconnect eventually fades until the next lyricist comes along to coach me through another existential crisis. I request an interview. The cycle of longing begins again and ends with frustration again.

For Mandy, I imagine that even if she got to know this songwriter, it would probably be like jumping off a high dive and never being able to touch the bottom. If he gave her permission to swim inside his soul, there would be nothing tangible to grasp. She would just drown from having gone too deep.

At least she'd have a receipt for two cups of coffee.

In his book, A New Earth, author and spiritual philosopher, Eckhart Tolle, writes, "This is why it is hard for a famous person to be in a genuine relationship with others. A genuine relationship is one that is not dominated by the ego with its image-making and self-seeking. In a genuine relationship, there is an outward flow of open, alert attention toward the other person in which there is no wanting whatsoever."

We always want something from our heroes.

Part 2: Finding Your Tribe through the Songwriter

Heather is a fan of a different songwriter.

She sets a square of Asiago cheese onto a round, Trader Joe's rice cracker.

"If I actually met her," she holds the stacked cracker between two fingers as if she might smoke it. She continues, "it would be so easy because it would be like meeting myself. The first time I ever heard one of her songs, it was like I was hearing myself. I was saying to myself, That's me. You represent how I want to live my life. This is how we should treat people."

Heather speaks to how we were all born complete and somehow, life cleaved each one of us. Most are on a hunt to reclaim the dispersed treasure pieces of ourselves. In addition to collecting ourselves, we also embark on a mission to gather "our people."

Those who have a deep appreciation for music are like members of an ancient tribe that disbanded thousands of years ago and are trying to reassemble. When fans of the same artist find one another, the connection is strong. Oftentimes a common language is spoken. Speaking the same language and wearing the same symbols is part of what holds these tribes together.

She continues, "When I went to her show this spring, everyone there was connected. The entire audience was singing along to every song and wearing different concert tees from her career. It was so unifying. Every T-shirt a fan wears has a story, you know? So, I was telling strangers hanging around the merch booth, 'Yeah! You need that shirt! Go buy it!' If I'm still alive when she dies, I will be in total mourning. I've been a fan of hers for decades and I still wake up every day for her art."

As in seed dispersal, a songwriter's sound can be disseminated across the planet. They plant their seeds in us.

Part 3: Friends 'til the End

"It was a bit of a surprise when Christine invited me to attend her wedding a few years ago," Evan writes me late one night about getting to know one of his favorite songwriters. "Of course, I went and I had a blast."

Since the age of 22, Evan has attended approximately 1,000 concerts. Good attendance, proper social graces and being helpful has awarded him solid friendships with several musicians. In some cases, he's helped artists organize their tours. Others crashed on his floor. And, in return, they'd put on a free acoustic performance. But there was one songwriter, in particular, that offered friendship and then invited him to her wedding.

It's 3:33 am and I can't sleep, as usual. So, I message Evan: Does a long distance relationship with a songwriter look or feel any different than a long distance relationship with anyone else?

Evan replies, "This is interesting, because I might plan a trip around that musician's performance schedule. So, I'm more inclined to look up a musician friend than another friend."

I message him again: What do you think you offered her to reinforce this friendship over the years?

He responds, "Christine's made a few comments about some of her weird fans and implied that our friendship wasn't weird. I think there have been exchanges between us that instilled her trust in me. She'd share unreleased music with me, knowing she could trust me not to further distribute it. Really, she's such a nice person. The friendship seemed to happen so organically and wasn't impeded by her fame."

Years later, when Evan passed away, Christine not only attended his memorial service, she performed at it too.

Part 4: Ignoring the Urge

"So, what's his name?" I'm surprised it's taken me this long to ask Mandy.

(She tells me).

I'd heard of him but never listened to his work. So, the next day, I watched his live performances on YouTube.

I'm not in the mood to be moved. But he repeats a line in a song that cuts through me as I hemorrhage with emotion. I take out my phone to text Mandy. I see a premonition unfolding:

I imagine myself in the passenger seat, next to Mandy. We're driving 400 miles to see this guy play a New Year's Eve show. We're having coffee with him. I'm signing a check for three cups of coffee.

But wait, this is her fantasy, not mine. It's not a premonition.

A momentary ache overcomes me. I return my phone into its holster and start writing in an attempt to connect with my tribe.

***

Do you like to talk about music in a way that's intellectual, civil and collaborative? Ask to join the Facebook Group, Music Makes You Think.