Hi. Welcome. Press PLAY above and please share this with a friend. ❤️ Hal
The Front Row
For about 10 years before the pandemic, I was the host of a live music venue in Kent called the Cuyahoga River Concert Series. It was in the summer of 2011 that I got a call from a Michigan folk singer who’d recently moved into town. As the story goes, Matt Watroba had heard from several trustworthy sources that he needed to get in touch with a potential kindred spirit named Hal Walker. Matt and I met for the first time on my back porch to drink tea and swap songs. With guitars in hand, we discovered that between the two of us, we held the potential for a concert series made in heaven. I had a key for the sanctuary of the UU Church of Kent, a room with the finest acoustics of any room in Ohio and Matt had connections with top quality touring folk acts from all around the country. Together, we conjured up a big idea to bring concerts and community singing to that old space built in 1868 on the bedrock of the Cuyahoga River.
The series got off to a good start. With the combination of affordable tickets, my new found agility with Adobe InDesign and a relatively new promotional tool called Facebook, we pulled in good crowds from the beginning. Matt's wife Kim baked guitar shaped cookies to serve at intermission and Matt and I shared the role of emcee with ease and joy. Time after time, artists would show up for their sound check not knowing what to expect and by the end of the evening, they'd be raving. "Wow! What a great venue." Matt and I were proud hosts. We always started the Fall season with a Matt and Hal concert of our own.
When Matt and his wife made the decision to relocate back to Michigan, my friend Kim stepped in with great diligence and made it possible to keep the series going. Kim and I made a good team making those concerts happen. I look back to those Friday nights at the church with great nostalgia. The Cuyahoga River Concert Series was a warm, intimate, affordable venue that lasted until November 2019 when we hosted our last concert. The corona virus put a long pause on the series and my battle with ME/CFS closed it for good. Occasionally, I still receive requests from musicians around the country who’d like to play, but sadly, I have to inform them that the Cuyahoga River Concert Series no longer exists.
Back in 2016, we hosted an award winning band from the East Coast called Ayreheart. Led by Grammy nominated lutenist, Ronn McFarlane, the band had a reputation for dispelling all previous conceptions of the lute’s limitations. This concert promised to be an exciting and powerful night of original music. As usual, I greeted the band at the back door of the church and helped with the load in. Ayreheart then set up their own gear and did a sound check without my assistance. I took the opportunity to go live on Facebook in hopes of rounding up a few last minute patrons to come out for these well travelled musicians.
I opened the show with a musical welcome and a brief introduction of the band. Then I retreated to my usual spot in the rear of the sanctuary. It was there in the back that I had the freedom to kick up my legs or even lie down on the pew to ease the perpetual symptoms of chronic fatigue syndrome. For the first half of the show, I sat alone in the back row -- just me, my smart phone and the critical conversations that have a tendency to go on in my head. “Hm, the drums are too loud and the vocals sound kinda weird… They should have put the vocals through our sound system... In fact, this vocalist is kind of getting on my nerves. You know what, these guys really aren’t all that good after all. Maybe I’ll go check my Facebook…”
As the world class, grammy nominated musicians continued, I found reason to disengage. I reached into my pocket for that electronic block of plastic and glass and I began the all too familiar ritual of flipping through apps in search of some kind of relief. Maybe a mind numbing word game or some stimulating content from the cloud would soothe my existential angst. Hungrily, I searched for something more entertaining than the top notch musicians that were playing real live musical instruments right in front of me.
At the intermission, my friend David Badagnani came up to me and said, “Wow, these guys are incredible, aren’t they!” I nodded and agreed. I didn't have the courage to confess that I’d been paying closer attention to my Facebook feed than to the lute, the drums and the bass. I wasn’t ready for that humbling of a confession. After a quick cup of tea in the social hall, it was time to flash the lights again and get everyone seated for the 2nd half of the show.
Just so you know, David Badagnani has a deep passion for music. He’s an ethnomusicologist, a world music connoisseur and he's willing to travel long distances to seek out unique musical combinations. In the realm of music appreciation, David Badagnani has what I want -- curiosity, a long attention span and a good listening ear.
As the music started up once again, I noticed David sitting in the front row with an empty seat right next to him. It suddenly became clear to me. From that hidden place inside, I heard the still, small voice loud and clear. It said, “Hal, put your phone back in your pocket and move to the front row. Go now... before it’s too late.” Without any delay, I stood up and walked directly to the front and center where I claimed the best seat in the house. Within moments, I watched my experience transform completely.
Suddenly, I was in the presence of great musicians doing amazing things. I was inches away from a passionate drummer with sweat pouring off his brow. His every limb was dancing with the rhythmic sub-divisions of every beat. His eyes were transfixed on the bass player who was tall, relaxed and easy on the eyes. The connection between these two rhythm makers was vibrant and a pleasure to watch. Together, they provided the foundation for a multi-layered musical experience.
Before the show, the drummer had confided in me that two weeks earlier he’d had a heart attack. He shared with me that the exertion of performing a concert was a lot for his body to handle. As a performer who's been living with ME/CFS for many years, I knew just what he was talking about. As I sat in the front row, I was immersed in his humble and powerful energy. As the feeling of compassion for this guy came over me, I felt a sincere hope that he would find a way to continue providing his musical gift to the world for a long time to come.
Sitting over to the left, lutenist Ronn MacFarlane maintained a quiet and masterful presence. His left hand flew over the frets of that ancient instrument with incredible ease. Within minutes of sitting down next to David, it became clear to me that this evening of music was something very special. Face to face with the humanity of these musicians, my thoughts became friendly, even toward the lead vocalist who'd been getting on my nerves for the first half of the show. In the front row, I was free from the distractions that separated me from the experience. The music brought me to the edge of my seat and I became a participant in the concert. The negative conversations in my head faded off into the distance.
From a delighted place of attention, at the next applause break, I turned to David Badagnani with wide eyes, a big smile and an enthusiastic nod. I let out a chuckle of disbelief to confirm my amazement. “Are you seeing this!?” There in the front row, with an old friend by my side, I experienced connection. I’m pretty certain that that’s what I was craving the whole time.
Still today, I notice areas of my life where I’m hiding in the back, crawling into my safe little zone of protection. With a lifelong proclivity toward preoccupation, who knows what kind of beauty I’ve been missing out on. I’m certain these critical conversations that go on in my head are separating me from the people in my life. I can only imagine the extent of connection that might be possible with my full attention. And I’m well aware of the ways that I numb myself to avoid the discomforts of this human experience. I wonder what would happen if I just felt it all. Would I crumble? Possibly so. Or I might just start blooming. Maybe the whole world would open up like a music box.
For real, I wonder what it would be like to move fully into the front row of my life. I have a pretty good feeling that it wouldn’t be easy. I imagine there’ll be some real growing pains along the way. But if it's anything like that Friday night with Ayreheart in 2016, I don’t want to miss out. I'm ready to take the best seat in the house. Won’t you come join me? C'mon. Let’s do it. Let's head up there together. We can sit next to each other and do high fives at the applause. We can stay all the way to end of the show.
Thank you for being here. I appreciate you. Go easy. Easy does it. Take care of that body of yours and enjoy living in it while you got it. It won’t be here forever. Alright… I’m sending all my best. ❤️ Hal
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