Night at the Cactus

I saw a great show at the Cactus this evening, performed by Richard Shindell, a folk songwriter who's obscure enough that my seats were spectacular. I was literally spitting distance away.

There's a connection you can have with an artist, when he's that close, that you can never have in a rock concert. Rock concerts are about a group feeling, about that rush that you get for being part of something so much bigger than you, part of some synergistic crowd whose hearts beat in time. And that's a great thing, a great expression of emotion to have. But in a tiny venue, one where the worst seats in the house are 30 feet away from whoever is on stage, there's something very personal, very vulnerable between the artist and the audience.

When I go to see a show at the Cactus, I'm always reminded of the minstrels and bards of centuries past, who were gifted with a story to tell, which they told in song. And it's always seemed magical to me, the way music and phrasing can create something far more powerful than the story itself might ever have been.

I love the Cactus. It's by far the best way to be introduced to an artist you aren't familiar with. The audience is friendly, the beer is good, and you learn something from the musician that you could never have known just by listening to a CD.

And I found three or four upcoming shows that I fully intend to attend.