William Wild + The Park
I had an experience last night that I knew I needed to write down. I don't know exactly what I need to say about it, but I'm just going to start and we'll see where this takes us. I've been photographing some shows at the Doug Fir Lounge, an intimate concert venue in downtown Portland. The opener last night was a singer/songwriter by the stage name of William Wild. He played his set simply: seated and with a guitar in hand. His voice is a crystal clear tenor, full of emotion. His lyrics are poignant. The moment he started, he put me and my friend Cami, who came with me, in a blissful trance. A few songs in, he started playing some chords that felt so familiar to me, and then his voice followed with lyrics that hit me like a train:
"Why would he come back through the park? You thought that you saw him, but no, you did not."
It's a song by Feist called "The Park." It came out 11 years ago. It's not one of her most popular songs by any means, but from the moment I heard it back in high school, I connected with it and loved it. I loved the complete and utter heartbreak in every line and every note; "the sadness so real." I love her long, drawn out yet subtle belting. I love that the recording sounds like she was singing into a small recorder outside on her back porch. I didn't even think that anyone else cared about this song as much as I did, so when William Wild pulled it out during his set, it caught me entirely off guard.
I lost it. Like, actually lost it. (Ask Cami.) I've cried at many a concert before—that's often how I judge if they're good or not—but this time actually knocked the wind out of me, and I thought I would crumple to the ground. It was like the memories of an old heartbreak combined with all of the heartbreaks since, and I physically could not bear the weight of any of it. Cami legitimately had to support me for a moment while I wept into her shoulder.
He played it so beautifully. It broke me and filled me up, and I was so sad but so grateful for it. He felt every word as he sang it, and took some beautiful liberties with it. I don't think I'll ever forget it.
"Who can be sure of anything through the distance that keeps you from knowing the truth?"
I've listened to this song many times when I knew a relationship was most definitely over, when the book is for sure closed. It's like taking that deep breath before reaching towards the shelf to pull out the next book and start reading. You're lingering because you'll miss the old book. You're afraid to close it because you'll never pick it up again. It makes no sense to keep re-reading.
Maybe I don't want the book to be done? Maybe it's not. Maybe we'll talk again soon.
Maybe that's where I'm at right now. I have never felt so hazy a future as I do right in this very moment. I am scared. It's scary to admit that I'm scared. It's scary to be typing any of this. I have no idea what I'm getting at and I'm not sure I have any real wisdom to impart to any readers.
Mostly I'm just glad to be around musicians and creatives who feel things as hard as I do. I'm glad we can all speak the same language in some way. So thanks, Will.