Roger Clyne and the Peacemakers. In Seattle. Awesome.
I just got back from the show. Roger’s grown a goatee – little bit jarring, him looking like Johnny Depp as Captain Jack. P.H. Naffah now has a head of hair – apparently, our “Let the ‘fro grow, bro!” chant a few shows back worked. And Stevie and Nick – I’ve never seen them more on.
Now I’m fucking homesick. The great thing about living in Arizona was getting to see them a half dozen times a year, including two trips to Mexico. I miss Mexico. I miss the Sea of Cortez, and hours of music with three thousand fans pressed around me, and fireworks, and tequila, and just the feeling of it all.
Other folks can have their religion. I have my Peacemakers. And I can tell you that there’s a spirit at those shows that beats anything I ever felt in a church. Life is given a meaning beyond words. The whole is greater than the sum of its parts. I come out of those shows renewed. And I’d yammer your ears off about it, but if you’ve never been, you won’t understand. So all I’m going to say is, when they’re in your town next, drop in. Get acquainted. I can’t promise you’ll get the same boost I do, but there’s no denying you’ll have a good time. I’ve never seen a band that makes a concert more fun.
I came away with the new Turbo Ocho CD, a gorgeous shirt made just for writers (I’m Kissing the Muse), and the most important thing of all: hope.
They always leave me with the hope that enough of us can come together, cross the divides and mingle, that the world will become a finer place. Some of us will never reach that common ground, love each other enough to let each other just be who we are, but enough of us will.
Roger talked about the lot of us moving down to Mexico. You know something? I can think of far worse fates than spending the rest of my life lazing around on the beach with a bunch of Peacemakers fans and a ton of good tequila.