
In all times, when I think of music, it is live. What is a song without a listener? All of my memories take place in smoky pubs, or university stages, outdoor fairs, festivals. Even in our own garage where we fashioned a venue, called "The Bloomfield." Songs without audiences can feel like self-talk, vents, some kind of emotional release. And it is ironic that the songwriting process is so private. Yet without public performance, what is a song worth? How now, Coronavirus, do we DO LIVE without really being there? We are coccooning, pretending, projecting toward togetherness again. We are going to ache for that, because no amount of YouTubing will take us to that moment of "You had to be there" show. Everything feels a little too virtual. Already. And so, some introspection. And, I hope, connection. Until we meet again. Face to face. Now that will be a butterfly moment.
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