This must be the place: Ode to the Futurebirds, ode to the ‘Heavy Weights’ of life
Futurebirds at The Orange Peel. Garret K. Woodward photo
Last Thursday evening was a pure and present justification of why music (especially when performed live) has such an extremely deep and intricately intrinsic (and lifelong) hold on my heart and soul.
My brothers from another, the Futurebirds, rocked and rolled through The Orange Peel in downtown Asheville. And there I was, front row along the railing, all the way to the left side. It was in this effort to not only be as close to the stage as possible, but also observe the entire scope of the sacred, ancient two-way interaction between an artist and its audience.
To preface, the holidays tend to be a rough spot for me and have been for many years. But, it’s been especially hard this go-round and for a myriad of reasons as we all have in life: missing loved ones six feet under, yearning for loved ones thousands of miles away, things I could have said and done this past year (or years prior) that didn’t come to pass.
No regrets, just lessons learned, for good or ill. Hold steady and keep trying to be a better person than you were the day before. It’s not easy, but it is a goal to aspire toward each morning. I do know I’m loved by friends and family, this extended web of faces from around the country and beyond. And I do sincerely love what I do for a living, spending my days wandering and pondering with other folks — the gratitude is never, ever lost on that front.
But, as the Christmas lights and trees go up, the holly-jolly songs of yesteryear playing throughout seemingly every damn room I walk into this time of year, things seem to creep into my mind and pose a threat to my mental wellbeing. Luckily, I’m equipped with enough sense of self and of actual reality — enough personal resolve and spiritual transcendence to push ahead, come hell or high water.
It’s not easy sometimes, but I try to keep my emotions and actions above the waterline that is the abyss of the soul. And yet, 2024, for many obvious reasons, felt (and still feels) much heavier than past calendars on the wall of my small apartment kitchen and or along the vast corridors of my subconscious.
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Thus, I found myself once again in the presence of the ‘Birds. This group I’ve known, loved and befriended since that fateful St. Patrick’s Day in 2010 when I wandered into a long-gone dive bar and discovered my favorite band by total happenstance. The Jinx in Savannah, Georgia. I was 25 and the ensemble itself all fresh out of college at the University of Georgia in Athens. At that time, the indie-rock/alt-country outfit had only been around less than a year.
Since then, I’ve crossed paths with the ‘Birds all over America. Kentucky. Wyoming. Tennessee. Colorado. South Carolina. Onward and upward. Those intersections of time and place remain a joyous occasion to reconnect and spend quality time with a slew of incredible souls traversing this great big ol’ world in the name of truth, adventure, passion and purpose. I concur in solidarity within my own ethos.
In truth, the ‘Birds represent the entire gamut of the human condition: joy, sadness, grief, confusion, chaos, happiness, redemption, etc. All of which pushed through this wildly colorful melodic kaleidoscope meant to make your heart beat a little faster, your legs bounce a little higher, your soul vibrate mightily that you exist and you are worthy.
On this current holiday tour, the ‘Birds switched it up and decided to do two different sets. One acoustic, intimate and poignant. The other electric, full-throttle, this frenzy of tone and talent. No opener, either. Just the ‘Birds, you, and me. Just the way God intended.
During the acoustic set, guitarist Daniel Womack went into one of the ‘Birds rarer numbers, “Heavy Weights.” To me, I think it’s one of the group’s most haunting songs. It’s also my favorite ‘Birds tune. So, as you can imagine, a jolt ran through my body when the ‘Birds went into “Heavy Weight,” my eyes slightly watering from the emotion of the song, this slow release of heaviness from within me, somewhere way down in there.
“Quick to speak your mind/It’s all the same when you die/When you die/It’s in the night/It’s no surprise,” Womack howled, words that have ricocheted around my physical and emotional life since it was first released some 12 years ago — those songs immortal that echo out and ripple across the endless, infinite universe.
When the song ended, Womack stood behind the microphone and said, “That song is for our good friend, Garret Woodward, who’s out there somewhere.” I raised my plastic cup of Miller Lite from way over on the left side of the rail, first row. The band spotted me, with smiles and waves. It meant a lot, more so than anyone around me perhaps even realized.
As the ‘Birds exited the stage, I yelled over to Womack. He smiled, trotted over and gave me a big hug. A true embrace of friendship. Countless miles traveled in pursuit of long-held dreams coming to fruition in our creative lives, unfolding in real time, in ways you couldn’t even comprehend those many years ago at the starting line of your intent.
“It really means a lot that you played that song,” I said in a humble, more so somber tone. “It’s been a pretty rough holiday season on my end and that really meant a lot to hear.”
“Well, I’m sorry to hear that, brother,” he replied with a sincere expression of compassion and understanding. “All the love, always, my friend.”
I shook my head in agreement. Another hug, this time the ole “until next time” one. Continue on our respective paths, only to run across each other again at some point down the road of life. And for that, I’m grateful — for genuine friendships amid the whirlwind sands of time, the ebb and flow of a rollercoaster existence we hold to with every ounce of our being.
I remain. And you do, too. We all do. And we will persevere, only to rise up again in our own time, once again claiming what it is that resides in every single one of us — that spark of light, imagination, connection and camaraderie we tend to ignore or forget about from time to time, especially in the here and now of the holidays.
Life is beautiful, grasp for it, y’all.
