tidal pull
uptown theater, minneapolis
I hate crowds, hate the sweaty closeness, but against a stage barrier, they become sacred. Profound. The moon has achieved an unusal orbit—do you see him?—and ahead we surge, and all I can feel is bodies, and I don't hate it, I can't, how could I? We are all one great shrieking wave, jam-packed, and it's the closest to our sonic heavens we'll ever get.
The moon has rivers, you can see them; he sweats like all of us. And if you look closely, if you reach out a hand and feel with your soul, not your brain, there are craters on him: echoes of unspeakable existence. He's used to my imagination, but there's no imagination here. Just cold fact, a whole history in the form of flesh and strings, and he's cutting us all in with a gesture. A musical idol. An ink-worshipped god.
This is a highly over-the-top dramatization of an experience I had seeing Jerry Cantrell recently, but also I’m not hyperbolizing THAT much. He has this incredible presence that I’ve honestly never experienced from any other musician I’ve seen—there was a distinctive gravity about his performance, which I’m sure has NOTHING to do with the fact that he’s one of my favorite artists of all time and a founding member of (in my humble opinion) one of the greatest bands ever. It was the best concert I’ve ever attended, and as someone with Alice In Chains inked onto my body for life, this is what it felt like: transcendent.
