raiding windmills: a concert review...but not really

last night, as becky and i sat in the basement environs of club passim in lovely cambridge, listening to a stellar opening act followed by a tremendous set by the one and only glen phillips...my mind wandered.

many times throughout the evening, i tried to spin an angle or conjure a device to be able to preserve, after the fact, the experience here in this, my own little corner of cyberspace.

did i want to talk about the pleasant surprise of mr. kingham busting out a fantastic folk-rock tribute to bobby brown, complete with an improvised, "shout-out" laced, well-rhymed and scary-good "rap" interlude?

did i want to focus on the fact that here was one of the (if not THE) most iconic voices in my life soaring out of this unassuming and sometimes awkward man who was no more different than you or me than...you or me?

was it the fortune of experiencing one of my musical heroes standing no more than 15 feet away from our table and having him, despite his numerous lyrical gaffes, connect both in song and in spirit with every person in the room?

or was it simply trying to figure out how to express the impact on my heart of the nearly perfect playlist as he rattled off beautiful song after beautiful song with stunning and powerful affect?

the answer, i found, to all of these was no.

i realized about halfway through the set that i wouldn't be able to capture it...let alone express it appropriately. so, i just sat back and relished the one, truly amazing part about the entire night:

that i don't HAVE to tell anyone about it. because the most important person in my life was sitting right next to me soaking in every moment as well. and as long as she remembers that night, then it is something we can always share...even without words if necessary.

yep. it was our experience. our little secret. and, for me, that is all that i needs it to be.