One man’s search for eudaimonia.

I recently saw my first truly great show at a small venue (huzzah for Schuba’s!). This isn’t meant to denigrate Okkerville River, Blue Merle, Phospherescent, LP, Pernice Brothers, Magnolia Electric Co., Destroyer, Sunset Rubdown, or any of the other bands I’ve seen over the past few years, but they just could not compare to Pela. Many thanks to the Johnson brothers for finding them, and to last.fm for keeping track of how many times Dane & Ryan listened to Pela. Pela is a lot of what is great about rock and roll. They remind me a bit of The National, but with a little more “pop” polish a la Bloc Party or U2. I think this must be one of the first tours they are headlining. They have all of the talent of a major band, and are still struggling to make it. This makes them hungry. And, because they are relatively obscure, it seems that they don’t often have good crowds to perform for. Not so in Chicago. Schuba’s was alive. After Pela’s first song, the energy was unbelievable. And, how could it not be? Billy McCarthy pours himself into his songs. You can feel it on the CD. You can see it in the sweat dripping off of him. After hearing that they are small town kids trying to make it big, you can’t help rooting for the band and enjoying the show even more. An introspective slow slong gives a pause, allowing us (and the band) to recharge before the next explosion of passion – leaping on speakers, breaking guitar strings, sweat spraying the stage. All this is going on four feet away. A somewhat intoxicated first cousin who can’t help beaming with pride shakes my hand. Pela’s energy infuses the crowd, the crowd energizes the band, and nobody wants it to stop. They don’t take our adulation lightly. They play every song on their lone full length album, plus nearly dozen more. After his guitar string breaks, Billy unplugs the guitar, and for whatever reason, hands it to me to hold as he goes to get another one. I hold on to it throughout the finale, impressed that the strap is drenched. I’m officially a fan for life.

In stark contrast to my $10 Pela show is Mr. Michael Bublé. Talk a bout a classy operation. He puts on a slick show. He’s the modern incarnation of Frank Sinatra. Seeing old footage of the “rat pack”, I never understood the screaming girls. I lumped it into the naiveté of a “simpler” time. I put it in the same category as getting married to your high school sweetheart, single income families, and belief that the government has your best interests at heart, and other rosy ideas that went out of fashion sometime during my grandparent’s youth. Well, ladies and gentleman, Michael Buble makes me understand – or rather, I’ve seen something similar in the 21^st century. He’s every bit as passionate as Pela’s McCarthy, but comes a much more sophisticated package. Black suit and tie, slick dance moves, a 15 piece jazz band, pure, pure, pure singing voice, keen sense of humor, unbelievable charm, and boyish good looks. All in all, your typical Canadian dream boat. I’m sure by now, you’re wondering what in God’s name I was doing at the show. I mean, it’s not like a have a girlfriend to impress these days. So, why would a straight, indie-rock loving male attend? Honestly, he’s good enough that seeing the performance would be reason enough. But in this case it was another reason. Gratitude, and the desire to bring joy to loved ones. A few years ago, I stumbled upon the following quotation by Cicero: “Gratitude is not only the greatest of virtues, but the parent of all others.” As with so many other things that I have learned from, I initially disagreed with the statement. I had never considered gratitude a “capital v” Virtue. But the more I thought about it, the more it seemed true. While there are sure to be some virtues that are possible without gratitude (courage, perhaps), gratitude, to me, implies self-awareness, appreciating the good things in life, and a generally positive attitude. Life without gratitude seems bitter indeed, and it is hard to imagine virtue and arrogance/bitterness cohabitating with each other. I try to keep gratitude in my heart.

For many years, throughout my childhood, my grandparents served as an auxiliary set of parents. I spent a month living with them most summers. They would invariably schedule a vacation during that time and drag me all across the country with them. Many of my fondest childhood memories revolve around time spent with my grandparents. Playing cards, watching the cubs, playing miniature golf, swimming in lake Michigan, all surrounded by love. I am sure I would not be the person I am today without their steadying, loving, compassionate influence.

So, when an event comes up that allows me to share my gratitude, to share a perfect experience with the people that have given me so much, and that I treasure and adore, I do my best to take advantage of it. And what better to share with my grandparent’s a concert given by a man who reminds me of the seemingly romantic ideas of my grandparent’s youth? That night was one of those all too rare moments in life. It was brilliant music heightened by the sweet satisfaction arising from expressing gratitude and love. In short, it was perfect.