Dublin: Death and Music

A travelogue. "...we sailed into the mystic"

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We were born before the wind
Also younger than the sun
Ere the bonnie boat was won
As we sailed into the mystic

Hark, now hear the sailors cry
Smell the sea and feel the sky
Let your soul and spirit fly
Into the mystic

And when that foghorn blows
I will be coming home

— Van Morrison

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Wet pavement and cigarette smoke. It’s a distinctive scent that I’ll pick up every now and again, telling me two things: that I am in a city, and that I have grown up. The association is distinctly positive. And it’s always a trigger, the way that smell associations are—a cigarette epiphany like tea and madeleine cookies for Proust. Like a tide coming in, it inevitably triggers a wave of memories–memories of Dublin.

I was nineteen and walking on air. We were there to play music, gathered by Wade Williams, a formidable musician and our impresario. We got in on a Sunday morning, and immediately went to Abbey Presbyterian on Parnell Square, where we were scheduled to help lead music. It was a beautiful stone building, built in the Nineteenth Century by a wine merchant, notable for having the second-largest pipe organ in the city. The Sunday service was a bit of a gamble, with only a short practice beforehand, really just enough to get a sound check. But our group was an intimidating lineup with a ton of talent, led by a number of wise bards whom I later called mentors and friends.

During the service, halfway through one of the first few songs, I felt something. My ribcage began to vibrate, and it felt like it was lifting me into the air. It was that organ – the organist had arrived late, jumped on, and just started playing with us. I’d never felt anything quite like it.

The next day, we split up into groups to play in different spots on Grafton Street, the busker’s paradise near St. Stephen’s Green. The idea was to pique interest and hand folks fliers inviting them to a concert that evening in the church basement. We were a part of a large group, and within that group I had my band as a kind of anchor for the whole thing. At church the previous morning I’d felt secure, surrounded by skill. But when we split up, I didn’t have all my people. Ok. Just needed to play a little differently. I couldn’t lean on Elise to carry it with a deft violin solo, or Ben to bring the accordion party. I think there were just three of us; we had Noah on cello, which just might help draw a crowd. We made it work. It wasn’t a big sound, but we found our groove.