Sometimes a coffeeshop concert can have as much power as a packed venue. Photo by Courtesy Cardinal Sons
The immediacy of music is one of the things that I find captivating about living in a city instead of the countryside or, say, a deserted island where the closest thing to a dance beat is a coconut thumping against a rock. While shows and concerts are viewed as weekend-only events for some, the trained eye of a Jacksonian knows where to find premium entertainment every night of the week. That is to say, Jackson's music scene has plenty going for it. (A smaller number of coconuts and rocks, for one.)
A few weeks ago, my girlfriend, Jeana, and I made plans to join a friend to meet for drinks and catch up at Sneaky Beans on your basic, listless Thursday night. As I said, an adept denizen of Jackson is aware of the day-to-day events that slip through the fingers of so many others. Sadly, I think that Thursday I fit comfortably into the "many others" category, as the sheer quantity of concert-going coffee drinkers left me decidedly surprised.
Set unassertively to the side of the wooden patio out front was a single guitarist, clanging the coiled strings of an acoustic and singing sweetly over the conversations of patrons and dog walkers who shuffled back and forth to make a path for each other on the asphalt. My initial thought was that this singer-songwriter must be someone I should know, or at least related to someone I should know. Perhaps a shorthaired cousin of Sam Beam from Iron & Wine or, based on his whistling abilities, a long lost brother of Andrew Bird. If all of those people were willing to play "awkward sidewalk Twister" just to stay near the sound, I thought, he must be somebody.
I remember overhearing a conversation that got me thinking differently about the singer (who honestly was excellent regardless of my thought process). Two college students were talking about a house show the same night, discussing whether they would have time to make it an appearance at both. And even though that's a common enough circumstance, as I listened to the guitarist whistle in between lyrics about politics and television, realized that I could walk into just about every coffee shop or bar or restaurant in Jackson on a typical Thursday night and still consume local music culture.
My dad worked as a youth minister all through my childhood and high school years, and we moved three times just inside of Mississippi. I lived in Brandon for much of that time, and despite the proximity, travelling into Jackson was discussed as if it was an Antarctic expedition, long and tedious. But nights like I had on that Thursday, where I could walk up to a coffeehouse by happenstance and have an experience instead of an espresso, I realize how many times I sat perennially bored at friends' houses on school nights, assuming weeknights would always look this way.
Unfortunately, I know myself too well to believe that this reminder will fundamentally change my life Monday through Thursday. I'm sure many of you have been in similar situations and swore to dust off the mind-numbing workday and get out to those marginalized shows. But while it's likely I'll slip back into the mindset that the week is one long wait for Friday night, maybe this will be a prompt for someone else to walk into whatever concert you happen across and just enjoy the benefits of being in a city that breeds great music.
Email Micah Smith at [email protected].
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