The Chris Botti Concert at Cain Park

Last Friday night my friend Bill treated me to a concert for my birthday (early).  I happen to adore Chris Botti, and for any of you who aren't familiar with him, click his name and listen to a tune or two - he is an exquisite trumpeter, and here he was, coming to this intimate little venue practically in my neighborhood!


Cain Park has a covered stage and a grassy area, and we opted for the lawn tickets.  I'd pulled together a rather wonderful picnic (if I do say so myself), as I love dining outdoors, and it was a gorgeous evening.  We settled in on the blanket and started noshing away, catching up on each others' lives and anticipating a lovely concert.


It went so far beyond lovely that I'm struggling to find words to capture the magic of the evening.  First, of course, is simply the pleasure of hearing LIVE music that heretofore we'd only heard recorded.  No matter how sophisticated equipment becomes, nothing can compare with being in the presence of the musician. There is an ineffable Presence that comes through when you are actually, well, present, that simply isn't there when you're not there.  That sounds obvious, but if you're like me, and you listen to a lot of recorded music, and enjoy that, and are grateful to live in a time of recorded music (ah!  the freedom to listen to music that YOU choose when you choose it is a gift we modern folk often take for granted), it comes as a revelation each and every time that live music has MORE.  You get to feel the energy as it's being created;  it's a birth of sorts.


Next was the delight of Chris' introductions of the musicians he'd gathered for this concert;  he introduced them at different times and highlighted their astonishing abilities in ways that were generous and humorous and said, quite clearly, that he recognized how fortunate he was to have this ensemble. I won't take time here to name each one, as that deserves a lot of space on its own. 


Then he spotted a boy in the front row and asked if he played an instrument;  "Yes, cello."  "Do you practice every day?"  I couldn't hear the reply, but it must have been no, because laughter erupted.  This boy was 9, and toward the end of the evening, Chris invited him up on stage to help play a piece;  do you think that little boy will ever forget that?  Chris said that when he was 11 or 12  he heard Miles Davis and Herbie Hancock play "My Funny Valentine" for the first time, and within a few notes, knew he wanted to be a trumpeter.  What a journey:  this last January he was asked to play trumpet at the White House for the Obamas, the Clintons and the Carters, and got to play that same song with Herbie Hancock and Barbara Streisand. 


What was extra fun for me is watching the energy.  Everybody senses energy, often a lot more than we realize, and I also see it.  First I noticed Bill's energy;  he'd been relaxing ever since we got there, and now it stayed relaxed and yet the music energized him.  His colors got stronger and more vibrant, yet in a totally relaxed way.  I looked around and the colors all around got more beautiful. . .


And on stage!  Wow, these folks really know that to make great music requires head and heart.  The vibrant cords that I could see zipping and zooming between their hearts was quite astonishing, and their auras swam in beauty. . .


Even the grass all around us lit up and got more vibrant (I swear I was not on psychedelics!) and the fireflies seemed to pulse with the rhythm of whatever music was being played, whether hot jazz or quiet romantic melody.  


The colors all around us were fantastic, and somehow coherent, not random or jumpy or anything but, well, wonderfully orchestrated. I leaned into Bill and felt the magic of the aliveness of it all, and how everyone there was unique and individual, and yet all were participating in this creation, we listeners in our own way, too. 


After, Chris generously gave autographs and allowed pics with him, and I acted like the total adolescent I can be at times, and got both.  Bill was not just willing;  he encouraged me.  I thanked him, and Chris, and felt like this birthday gift was a gift I would be recognizing in deeper and deeper ways for a long time to come. For now, I'll wrap up with these understandings:


When we create anything with skill and heart and put ourselves into it passionately, we unleash something magnificent into the world and energy is released that is loving and healing and joyous.
And we don't have to be world-renowned musicians to do that:  everything counts. Make a sandwich passionately with as much skill and heart as you can muster, and that sandwich, I promise you, will be a better sandwich, an enhanced sandwich if you will.  And you will enjoy the time it takes to make it!  Try that with everything you do, and see what happens.


After the concert, I could see plainly that Chris was tired - for pete's sake, he'd just flown in from Australia and then done this concert, and stuck around for autographs and pictures.  I couldn't understand how he was even functioning, much less doing it with grace and goodwill.  Then I remembered a quote by Brother David Steindl-Rast, which goes something like "Sometimes the antidote to exhaustion isn't rest;  sometimes it's wholeheartedness."  Chris and his ensemble did what they did wholeheartedly, and now I'm inviting you and me to do the same with everything we do.  Let's see what we unleash.