This piece has been a long time coming. Way too long. See, I’ve been referring to myself as a professional writer for the better part of almost three decades now. Fact is though, I’ve never really written anything for myself. And I’ve certainly never written anything because I felt I had to – other than for the paycheque. You know, just for the sake of getting it out of my own damn head. 

But after nearly six months of being on the sidelines, feeling lost about where I am in my career as a writer, it’s time to put that all to rest and just get on with it. Which, for me, has never been an easy thing. But I’m gonna try. No choice now.

What changed? Well, desperation has a funny way of offering up just the right amount of clarity and motivation. Boredom fills in a good portion of the rest. And finally, inspiration. Inspiration in the form of a timely song choice and band on fire.

Last night, I went to a show at the Budweiser "You'll Always be the Molson Amphitheatre to Me" Stage. Between the pandemic and a run of bad timing and luck with tickets I had in hand but couldn't use, it was one of the first big show I’ve managed to get to in a long time. And what a show. If you’ve never seen or heard the Tedeschi Trucks Band live, they are not to be missed. 

Sonic details and setlist breakdown aside, did I ever need this show. I won’t pretend to be unique in this respect, but I’ve always used music to help centre me. To help my mind wander when it needs to wander, or find tranquillity when it just won’t shut the fuck up. Or in this case, shake me out of the depression I've been dealing with for, well, a while.

The last six months have been difficult to say the least. Lost job. Lost confidence. Lost identity. Lost drive. Lost passion. Call it a mid-life crisis if you have to, but I’d argue the baggage that comes wrapped up with that term, somewhat belittles the actual real-life crises I've been dealing with on a day-to-day basis.

And then you go to a concert. Your friends are there. You dance. You smile. You see your wife smile. You wonder if your busted hip is going to survice the night. You drink another beer. You dance some more.

And then the band plays a song or two or three that help you see. You're not sure what exactly, but you know what it means anyway. That it’s enough woe-is-me already and time to get the fuck out of your own way. Write god damn it. You keep saying that's all you know how to do and yet, you've never really done it.

So here we are. Do I know music? Maybe. I dunno. Doesn’t matter. I’m just gonna write what I feel about it and hopefully you all might agree I have a half-assed sense about it sometimes. Or you at least find enough interest in how I say what I say to keep reading anyway.

Which brings us back to last night and the incredible virtuosity of the Tedeschi Truck Band and the reminder I was gifted from their performance that everyone has shit to go through. And that’s okay. There’s power and resilience to be found in the muck. It's just the blues man. Sometimes life sucks, but you can sing about it anyway.

Did they plan their set to speak directly to me? Of course not. Did my mind find its way to the truth I needed to hear for some time now all on its own? Probably, mostly, not really, yes. Did Derek’s raging slide guitar and Susan’s sweet, sultry, southern growl, layered over 2+ hours of the tightest of tight jams including the set closing The Storm > Whipping Post get my synapses moving toward the place they needed to go? You fucking bet they did.

Where will those synapses take me from here? A good question to which I have no bloody answer yet. But they will go. And I can’t wait to hear the soundtrack. I hope you’ll listen too. 

Stay tuned.