[...]: July 2011

As I sit typing this, I have incredibly rosy and greasy cheeks. My hair is a frizzled mess, mostly in knots on the top of my head. My voice hoarse from screaming (I got eaten by a whale, after all). My blue t-shirt adorned with a bicycle named Madeline is uncomfortably damp, a mixture of sweat and remnants of water from a canteen that a certain lead singer threw on me from on stage (and please image that in the most sexual way possible-thanks). I have never been so happy.

I came about the Decemberists at Christmas 2006. I had purchased (yes, purchased) Picaresque then, and I often listen to 'Eli the Barrow Boy', a song about lamenting the death of a loved one, and reminisce of Christmas lights. There were several reasons to love this band: I immediately fell in love with Colin Meloy's use of old time language and impeccable vocabulary in his songwriting (with words like, akimbo, odalisque, and palanquin); they're named after a Russian revolution; I was entranced by Carson Ellis' mystical drawings on each album cover (I might be obsessed with her); and I fully believe that 'The Mariner's Revenge Song' is one of the best songs ever written, and I have no shame in saying I would love to get a tattoo of a giant whale in honor of it.

I'd say I'm probably not one of the most emotionally stable human beings (but really, who is?), and I have a very hard time with expressing said feelings, or mostly, the lack there of. Music has always been my outlet for that kind of stuff, which is the same said for most of us. I cannot leave my apartment without my iPod, and as soon as I get to work, the first thing I do is turn on music. I guess I can't stand the silence, or more likely, I can't live without the escape that music gives me. The Decemberists have been filling the void for four and a half years, which is pretty impressive due to my ever changing interests. It's kind of funny as well, because I have never pushed the band onto anybody. Once I like a band I try to make everybody and their mother like it right along with me, but due to Colin's non-traditional (as I like to call it, others would call it "annoying") voice and songwriting, I can understand why a good chunk of my friends wouldn't like them. So, I like keeping them mostly to myself.

It's fun, in a way, to grow with a band. I get to see them develop musically, but also personally. I mean this in the least creepy way possible. But it's hard to really like a band and not know their individual personalities. Colin and Carson had a baby five years ago and named him Henry. I was aware of this fact, but they never talked about him much. Last year, I was reading an article and Colin had mentioned that their son had been diagnosed with autism. He talked about how Henry could never really look at him in the eye, nor could Colin feel like he could connect with him. While reading the article, I felt bad, obviously, but I never really gave it a second thought.

The King is Dead was released in January of this year. There are no songs about rape, murder, double suicide pacts, gang violence, prostitution, or getting pregnant by tiagons in the woods (all of these subjects have been used at least once in the Decemberists' repertoire). Instead, they reverted back to simplicity, emphasizing guitars, fiddles, and harmonicas. I say simplicity in the most beautiful way possible, however. 'Rise to Me' immediately caught my attention. I will admit, I never listen to the lyrics at first. I'll like a song on the melody alone, and after a few listens I'll eventually listen to the words. It took me awhile to realize that this song was a ballad that Colin had written for his son and his wife; a song about the challenges they face as parents to a child with special needs. It's quite possibly the most touching song I've ever heard.

Hey Henry, can you hear me?
Let me see those eyes
This distance between us can seem a mountain size

I feel like I must be rambling, but my point is, I saw this band tonight, and I felt privileged to be there. He felt the need to write this song for his wife and son, but then decided to share it with us. He doesn't have to. I feel as though the band needs us, just as much as we need them. That I'm not merely growing with them through the years, but we're all growing together, as sappy as it might sound. I guess... my life is constantly up in the air at the moment, I have no idea what kind of job I'll be getting, or where I'll be living, or if I'll ever find a career. But the Decemberists will always be a constant. And I'm excited to see where we all go. And hopefully we'll always end with a epic sea shanty, where we all get swallowed up by a whale.

Who knew that this trip home to Gambier would be one of the most cathartic 24 hours of my life? It's funny really, how moving away has changed me. I never really noticed it, but when everyone and everything you once knew doesn't change along with you, it's quite noticeable.

Have you heard the song Tear Down the House by the Avett Brothers? Something tells me that you probably haven't, but I've never felt more connected to it than I do in this moment. I'll make an attempt to get you to listen to it, but in the probable chance that you don't:

Tear down the house
That I grew up in
I'll never be the same again
Take everything that I used to own
And burn it in a pile

And, bulldoze the woods
That I ran through
Carry the pictures of me and you
I have no memory of who I once was
And I don't remember your name