Welcome to part 2 of my travelog documenting my trip back to Boston. Part 1 is over here! Get caught up or you’re going to be completely lost when I reveal which one of the special guest stars turns out to be the murderer. (Hint: Charles Nelson Reilly was a red herring!)
For me, Boston time always means music time. Whenever I head back, I end up spending a large chunk of my time at live music shows, usually with my friends performing. It’s very handy for me - if I want to see as many friends as possible, I just check the listings of who’s playing. Boom. Rock and roll and buddy time. It’s perfect. I know that “the scene” isn’t what it used to be due to closing venues and musicians being priced out of rehearsal spaces, but I’ve got to say - every time I’m in Boston, I attend multiple shows from great artists. It’s not a coincidence - there is still a ton of great original music being performed around town. Despite all the venues closing, little ol’ Boston still has an amazing talent pool that can’t be denied.
Rock and roll was definitely the theme for this trip. I saw a documentary about the Boston music scene called Beautiful Was The Fight at IFF Boston as well as live shows from Mill Pond Falls and Magen Tracy and the Missed Connections.
Magen and I have been good friends and bandmates for over a decade now so it is always a pleasure to watch her and her band rip it up. I fully intended to be a well-behaved audience member, but an unguarded open mic was too much to resist. I jumped up on vocals for a Roy Orbison tune and even got Magen to glare at me Stevie Nicks-style as we harmonized on the chorus of “Silver Springs” by Fleetwood Mac. I always forget how much I love performing until I do it. Being in a band is a giant pain in the ass, but a dormant part of me wakes up whenever I perform live. I feel powerful and free in a way I rarely get in the rest of my day-to-day life. It’s like I unlock this chamber of my personality and let it run wild. Sadly, this is probably the last show I’ll get to see at Toad, another beloved music venue that is likely closing. But at least my buddy/podcast partner Abbie was there to ruin the evening.
But it was time for the main event: the tribute show to Dave Mirabella at the Lizard Lounge in Cambridge. In case you missed it, I wrote a piece about Dave a few weeks ago. This event was put together to commemorate the one year anniversary of his death and celebrate the amazing music he made with the members of his band The Rationales. It was a wonderful event but I’m not going to lie - it was also a tough night for everyone involved. Particularly for Dave’s brother Mike.
The original plan of the show was for the band - with Mike in his usual spot on drums - to back up a cavalcade of rotating guest vocalists singing Dave’s songs. Then, fate stepped in and Mike pinched a nerve in his shoulder. He was unable to drum. In an act that can only be described with the word “courageous,” Mike decided to step out from behind the drums and sing for his brother. Imagine it - you have to mourn the loss of not only your bandmate, but your brother. Then, you’ve got to get up in front of a few hundred people and sing your brother’s songs, most of which are full of mourning and loss. It was just a staggering burden Mike put on himself to honor his brother.
He absolutely nailed it. In addition to singing the shit out of the songs, Mike was funny, charming, generous, and emotional. The perfect front man for this kind of event. He stepped up and absolutely owned the room in a way I’ve never seen him do (and Mike and I go back a ways). Musically, the Rationales were incredible. They poured every emotion they had into the performance. They played all “the hits,” and got us all singing along through our tears. With the family resemblance, Mike’s voice and stage demeanor evoked Dave in a way that no one else could have. There were moments it felt like Dave was being conjured right there in the room with us. It was a magical performance. I’ve never been more proud of my buddy Mike.
Funny Dave stories were told. Songs were dedicated. Balls were busted. I got up on stage to sing harmonies on songs from the first Rationales record that I was lucky enough to sing on. I spent the last three songs in the back of the club, sobbing. Luckily, I was exactly in the right place - among friends. It was an amazing night and I felt fortunate to be a part of it.
Grief is an interesting thing. It is painful. Obviously. But one of the biggest mistakes we can make in life is to shy away from pain. Pain is our greatest teacher. If you think about it, the important lessons you’ve learned in your life probably had some level of pain involved. Grief has a lot to teach us if we let it. I am still sorting out what I learned from this event, but as I cried and hugged and sang and yelled and laughed, I was struck by how much it all… matters. We spend decades making music with each other in stinky rehearsal spaces and small half-filled rock clubs. We don’t make money. There is no acclaim. No one outside our circle generally understands why we’re pouring so much of our energy into it, dismissing it as a “hobby.” In the shadow of capitalism, it can be easy to internalize that.
But in that little club that night, I was struck how fucking important it all is. What Dave spent his life doing was important. He and his music meant something to people. Maybe not in the way that we think of - none of us tend to achieve any fame or conventional success. But the years we spend making music for a small community becomes something bigger. It’s more than just a “scene.” It’s a life. We matter to each other. We have collectively created this incredible life together. That night, Dave once again brought us together to be in each other’s lives. He brought me from the west coast to remind me that creating music and films and art matters not because of the result or the rewards. It is because that’s what we do with the time we have. It is our life. And thanks to Dave and so many others like him, we are very lucky: our life has a hell of a soundtrack.
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