We were, we determined, very different men 8 years ago when we were last in the Austin venue, the town’s first opera hall taken over by the Masons at some point. At the time, our appearance there was the second gig we had played together and we’ve since repeated the climb hundreds of times. It was sold out then, and it was sold out last night, too, thanks to Nathalie and those that put their hand up to bring us back.
In the green room last night we were trying to find our way to the base of the mountain we had to build then climb. We’ve long since done away with any cocky fist pumping before we go out to the mics, and we’ve also learned not to be undone by nerves…the benefit, I guess, of the aforementioned doing this hundreds of times. But we also know there are no guarantees, so we have to know who we are before we start. Sounds simple, but you know and I know that kind of knowing is elusive.
In the space of a few private minutes in the green room, we swam silently in the unimaginable everything that had happened to each of us in the last eight years—some of it good, some of it awful. Then the Older Us invited the Younger Us to come out to play because we had to admit: we admired their pluck, their willingness to court the unexpected, their capacity to say “I’m in” to a crazy idea with no possible chance of success.
It was a good move, I think. In the aftermath of the Night, there were so many people who tenderly stood in front of me with soft eyes locked on mine (a gesture I’ve learned to receive with more grace over these last 8 years) and gingerly found their way to not having any words (that tired compliment that can –at times– be such a cop out) and letting some other kind of gratitude fill the space.
The feeling was mutual. Thank you Austin. Would that we see you in another eight years.
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Photo: The stage at the Scottish Rite Theatre, Austin, Texas, July 11, 2023
Gregory Hoskins 