Personal

Last Saturday, as part of the birthday celebration for Prairie, myself, Prairie, her sisters H and K, and H’s boyfriend P went to see local artist Jason Webley‘s final concert of the year. I first discovered Jason during Bumbershoot the first year I was here, and have been a fan ever since. I managed to talk Prairie into going to his last show with me, and she got everyone else to go along as well. Made me a bit nervous, as everyone was going just on my word, but I wasn’t too worried.

While I’d not yet been able to make it to any of Jason’s big shows, I’d been captivated by Karen Olsen’s writeup of his Halloween 2001 performance.

At last, the Last Song (still my absolute favorite of all Jasons songs) began to play, and the band members and other cronies brought the giant puppet to a standing position, its arms looming over Jasons head, while flanking him with two candelabras of small homemade candles and the cardboard signs. People linked arms and held up joined hands and a few cigarette lighters as the house lights went down, and Jason began to sing the song that has held many of us together during the recent times of crisis:

And we say that the world isnt dying, And we pray that the world isnt dying, And just maybe the world isnt dying Maybe shes heavy with child.

The chorus rang out with hundreds of voices, clapping hands and stomping feet, while noisemaker bottles were tossed out to us by Ishan who dragged a plastic sack of them forward at the last moment. Harmonies broke out all over, and were taken up by the band members as well. At the end came the chant of Igga-di igga-di igga-digga-dup which went on and on, growing into six- or eight-part harmonies as we began to follow Jason up the aisles and process out of the theater en masse, and it was the sweetest thing youd ever want to hear. I rushed as quickly as possible to grab my sweatshirt, trenchcoat, cloth bag and bodhrn (I can never seem to learn to travel light), and exit along with the rest of the crowd, fearing that I might miss something if I didnt hurry.

After reading that (and the rest of the review), I was determined not to miss this year’s final show, and the added benefit of being able to introduce some more people to Jason at the same time just made it all the better.

Suffice to say, the show was incredible. Jason’s bigger shows are generally somewhere between performance and performance art, and involve a lot of crowd participation, sometimes blurring the line between performer and audience. Absolutely incredible stuff, we all enjoyed the show, and it was most definitely well worth the time. As with last year, Karen has written a wonderful recap of the night’s events…

The last line is taken up by the crowd, with one harmony line over another over another, just as we did at the May Day concert, only with many more voices this time. We sing it on and on as if to make the moment stand still and last as long as possible, and that one line, We row the boat ashore, Hallelujah interlaces our hearts together like Celtic knotwork, with Jason and with each other. Jason stands back and listens, grinning rapturously at what he has helped to create and nurture. What music has joined together, let no one put asunder As the boat chorus goes on, Maureen and another woman, now both in white satin gowns, pilot small boats topped with candles, and feathers hanging over the side, through the crowd; people eventually figure out that they are to take the feathers joined with cards and connected with soft twine that looks and feels like fake hair. Finally, Last Song breaks in, with the crowd and band joining in on the verses as well as the chorus. Jason attacks the song with his entire being; by now, hes been singing his heart and soul out for at least two and a half hours. A box above the hanging knife begins to sprinkle feathers like snow on Jasons head as he sings, One day, the snow began to fall

People are singing so joyously, many arm in arm, that they are not prepared for what happens when the song finally ends. Jasons attendants remove his hat with a feather stuck in it, his kimono, shoes and socks, and finally the loose orange trousers. All he is wearing now is the burlap loincloth from May Day. He drinks a glass of red wine that has been handed him. The knife begins to be lowered toward him, and the two ghosts raise a white screen in front of him, showing Jason in silhouette with the knife slowly descending closer and closer. As the knife reaches his head, fake blood is splashed on the screen, and someone yells, NO! Jason’s silhouetted hand slaps against the blood-drenched sheet.

When the screen is removed, the nearly naked Jason stands alone, looking stricken and speechless, as if all the musical energy has gone out of him. Three women in white tie ropes about his chest and arms, connected to ropes anchored to the speakers on either side of the stage, as incidental music drones louder and louder from the band. Jason is raised into the air and hangs suspended, in a posture of crucifixion, several feet above the stage. One of the women loops another rope about his knees, which is connected somewhere near the back of the theater, and he is raised higher, in a horizontal prone position, and drawn off the stage and above the aisle, as several people, including Josh, carry a narrow, rectangular beam toward him. He is lowered onto the beam on his back, nearly falls off of it, and is secured to it with numerous ropes before being carried out of the theater and into the frigid night air. The music is crashing down on us in a pitiless monotone, in the mood of a death march. I grab everything I brought with me, not bothering to put on my jacket and sweatshirt, which I removed when it began to get crowded and hot in the theater. Thus I end up outside in just teeshirt and jeans, after the long push by the crowd to exit for the procession. Not everyone joins in. Not everyone has left alive. Once outside, I look north and can just see the main procession disappearing up University Way. Feeling exhilarated in the cold, fresh air, I run into the street with dozens of others who are trying to catch up, wondering what drivers and others in the vicinity must be thinking about this spectacle.

Incredible stuff. Even without the theatrics, the music itself is wonderful, amazing, stuff. You really should get your own copies. Trust me on this. You won’t regret it.