Music | Magic | Chris Velan
I was the host last night, so it was my job to be attentive, make sure people were happy, comfortable, had what they needed. Part of the job description is wandering around, taking things in from different angles, scanning the room, looking for cues of satisfaction and dissatisfaction. Looking around last night, two images struck me, two stories written on faces. One story was common: shining eyes, lips turned upwards at their corners, focus extended completely towards the man at the front of the room, with the guitar slung from his shoulder. I try not to get my cheques issued by Hallmark, but the best word I have for what I saw on those faces is love. On another face, one in particular, I witnessed something else, something inward-focused: eyes closed, head slightly up-turned, rocking slightly to the music, a giving away to the music. Abandon. Bliss. And yes, likely, though differently expressed, love.
I can’t explain my deep love for music, the place it holds in my life. Heredity certainly provides no explanation. My parents, god love them, didn’t set me on this path. My musical recollections of my mother are of her walking around the house with a Walkman on, singing along to Rita McNeil or Cher, no music for the rest of us to hear, just mum’s vocals, volume set to 10. She may well be tone deaf. And then, of my dad, I have no musical memories at all - given the alternative perhaps it’s better than way. To my parents’ enduring credit, mind you, they did make a point of ensuring both my brother and I received as many music lessons as we wanted, though that number regularly exceeded the number my instructors were willing to give to their hellion musical charges.
But perhaps I’m missing the point, perhaps we don’t need to rationalize or find expression to explain our musical passions.
After silence, that which comes nearest to expressing the inexpressible is music.
~ Aldous Huxley
Perhaps it’s better just to close our eyes and open our ears to the music washing over us.
Notwithstanding the hosting duties last night, I found moments for that last night, letting Chris Velan’s talent and passion come slowly barreling over me from the front of the my living room. And even when on-task (or unable to help myself and taking a few photographs), Chris’ music is the kind that no matter your degree of focus it somehow has the osmotic ability to permeate your skin and keep you itching to pay better attention. My senses was constantly being drawn forward, into his lyrics.
The night raced on in that way, forty friends who almost uniformly had never before heard Chris play, sitting enraptured by the beauty belting from the small fuzzy package with his back to the Sooke Hills outside the window. It was a privilege to bring these two things together - talent and appreciation - to play some small role in the promotion of a deserving artist’s craft. And just desserts in the hugs and handshakes at the end of the night, the heartfelt thank-yous through lips and still-sparkling eyes.
Not thank you for things given by me and the friend who helped me put this night on. Thank you for things shared. For passion. For art. For a little magic. For Chris.
Yes, thank you, Chris.
More photos on Flickr. And, though it goes without saying at this point, if you have a chance to see Chris Velan in concert, take it.
