are you a federalist?

In my life, I can't remember a time when I have been more happy to see a low battery symbol flash up on my camera screen.  I haven't been to many non-classical/traditional concerts, but I have attended my fair share of figure skating events, and most of the time, that little 2x2.5" LCD screen is the bane of my experience.  I'm so caught up in capturing the moment that I forget to live in the moment.  You can't live life through a camera lens.  It has no depth perception.  So at the Josh Ritter concert when my camera pulled a Mercutio, leaned against the staircase and said, "Bring me into some house, Benvolio, or I shall faint," I was actually overjoyed.  It meant I could turn off that little purple box of mine and clap my hands and scream as loud as I damn well pleased.

Of course, I still took pictures.  We were in the front row.  I had to take pictures!

Anyway, the concert was absolutely brilliant.  Like I mentioned, we were in the front row, so close I could admire the little red accents on his back pockets (among other things, heh heh) that matched the red in his shirt.  Really, there aren't many words to describe how incredible it is to see him live and how much that enhances the listening experience afterward.  For one, he smiles the whole time (unless the song calls for a more somber expression) and you can just feel his joy and energy washing over you.  I had stayed up late the night before watching James Corden on A League of Their Own.  I woke up early on Saturday to pack and catch a 9:30am bus to Dublin, got to Dublin around 12:45pm, and I did not stop walking until we ate dinner around 6pm.  The lads that accompanied me to the concert were no better off than myself (and I'd argue even worse), but as soon as Josh Ritter stepped onto that stage, flashed that contagious grin of his, and strummed the first chord on his guitar we were bubbling-over with pure ecstasy.  It's hard to describe, really, but if you could see me writing it about it right now, two days later, I'm still grinning like an absolute loon.  That's how good Josh Ritter is.

She asked, "Are you cursed?"  He said, "I think that I'm cured," then he kissed her and hoped she'd forget that question.

He had the most fantastic set list, the perfect mix of bounce-around-screaming and sit-back-and-think music, which he played with the most infectious charm I've ever heard.  I said earlier that his voice was nostalgic, and it's really true.  When I closed my eyes at Vicar Street, the sun was setting on the golden Ohio cornfields painted on the insides of my eyelids and I was in dad's car with the top down driving home from dance practice.  Or the sky was blue filled with big fluffy clouds and I was rolling around the grass in front of Tank, but I could hear the trains that ran behind my neighborhood growing up as well, and the little babbling brook that may or may not have had leeches.  I was on playgrounds with creaky swing sets, digging in the mulch, or in my old room dancing and singing in front of the mirror in nothing but my underwear.  So, really, nostalgic is the best way to describe his voice, like a picture book full of memories all out of order.  It was beautiful and unforgettable.

Oh, yeah, and, no big deal, but we got to meet him too!  We were weak and exhausted to the point that we probably would have fallen on the floor if not for the strength of the walls and railings along the queue, but damned if we were going to miss this opportunity to show our appreciation.  The closer we got, the more nervous I became.  I really only had one goal coming into the concert and that was to inform him in any way possible that I go to Oberlin.  But the closer we got and the more he smiled, the more words seemed to fail me.  They were replaced by an unflatteringly freakish happy-wail that escaped in short bursts and increased in frequency as the distance between us and our man got smaller and smaller.  And that smile!  Guys, I am telling you.  He played for almost two hours straight without opening the water by his mic, and then he came out and met person after person, and that smile did not fade.

And then, suddenly, almost out of nowhere, he was smiling at us, and we were smiling back.  He asked us about ourselves, genuinely interested, and that's when I told him that I'm an Obie.  Before I knew it, I was in his arms, and, let me tell you, his hugs are just about as brilliant as his smile.  He asked me what I was studying and I answered that I'm a history major big into the American Revolution and the early republic, to which he responded with the four words that you see in the title there.  "Are you a Federalist?"  I mean... how is he even real!  Somehow, I had my wits about me enough to respond that out of loyalty to my boys James Madison and Alexander Hamilton, I would have to answer in the affirmative, but that my girl Mercy Otis Warren probably wouldn't have been too pleased with that answer, especially after she broke off her friendship with the Adams family over the issue.  He laughed and hugged me again and then told me about this great historical library in New York as he signed my ticket for me.  He told me I would freak out with joy when I visited this library because there were letters from, like, Washington to Lafayette, and I agreed and admitted that I sometimes go to Mudd just to finger some primary source documents.  It was like I was talking to an old friend, and everything in the world was going to be okay.

Well, the boys got their time, which was just as full of conversation as my time, and we were being shooed on by the end of it by the guys who were running the shindig, but not before we got some amazing pictures with him.  Before we left, he hugged me again (I swear, he hugged me about a thousand times) and told me to pass on his love to the Obie family.  So, Obie family, consider yourselves loved, and by an amazing human being to boot!  How lucky we all are!  

What can I say?  Boy loves his exclamation marks!  He's just ha happy person!