TIME TO GET OUT OF THE CAVE AND CLIMB EVERY MOUNTAIN
Let the arts blast sunlight through the COVID-19 clouds, writes Ryan Garner.
“Life is short. Break the rules, forgive quickly, kiss slowly, love truly, laugh uncontrollably and never regret anything that makes you smile.”
Those are the opening lines of Aerosmith lead singer Steven Tyler’s memoir, Does the Noise in My Head Bother You? Of course, amid the good advice he also offers a surefire recipe for hefty fines, drug abuse and/or a lengthy prison sentence. Typically, rock ’n’ roll frontmen don’t represent healthy living; David Lee Roth once said “I choose to sail the seas of consequence,” and your mileage may vary.
However, Tyler’s words hit home these days. Beset by social distancing and the socially distanced recently, it was nice to see May Long fall precisely two months to the days of our initial pandemic uncertainty. The weather also co-operated. Thank Trevor Robb.
And while the perpetual finger-waggers would surely sigh at the unmasked hugs, beer pong battles or billiard matches I witnessed last weekend, it offered some much-needed social sunlight after the drudgery of weeks spent bottled up at home.
During that time, I hope you’ve avoided falling into too many discussions about influenza’s fatality rate or wild conspiracy theories. And despite what you might have read, hopefully you’ve avoided taking up smoking as a way to stave off COVID-19.
Between tinkering with toy trains or practising yoga (I attempted practising the trombone and received a noise complaint from one neighbour, while another remarked that
“the volume isn’t the issue, it just sounds really depressing”), I hope isolation has increased your gratitude for simple hobbies, green spaces and lingering sunsets.
In your wanderings around town, I hope you’ve taken the time to boost your institutional knowledge of the City of Champions, drifting into unfamiliar neighbourhoods, reading the placards and statues reflecting the history of this place. Edmonton has some tales to tell.
I hope the time has also helped you identify and embrace both personal acquaintances and the personally acquainted. Family and friends, sure, but also digging into your music catalogues or expanding them with Led Zeppelin or Neil Young, the Real Sickies or 100 mile house. Maybe revisiting Aerosmith’s 1976 album Rocks or embracing Marlaena Moore’s Pay Attention, Be Amazed!
Whether you favour books, comedy, dance, music, theatre, or anything else under art’s ever-expanding umbrella, I hope it’s helped sustain and strengthen you during isolation, shining some sunlight through the COVID -19 clouds. Personally, a Briston Maroney song called Freakin’ Out on the Interstate has fuelled my fire this week, serving as a reminder of art’s redeeming impact. Give it a listen if you’d like.
Hopefully, isolation has also forced us to realize how fragile our ecosystems are, and the support required to maintain our cultural touchstones.
This should always go without saying, but if you experience something that touches a nerve, please support the artists who created it.
Then spread the word for others to enjoy. Times were tough enough for the arts community before COVID-19. They’re downright dreadful at the moment.
“One old bourbon drinker told me that a man’s life is all a matter of mountains and caves,” wrote Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist J.R. Moehringer in his own memoir, The Tender Bar, “mountains we must climb, caves where we hide when we can’t face our mountains.”
COVID -19 is an imposing mountain, and each of us has been forced into our own personal caves at one point or another during the last two months, gearing up for the steep climb ahead.
But isolation has magnified those little moments of triumph in the face of adversity.
I’ve written about the Dockside Pub before, much to the chagrin of the regulars who prefer to keep the place quiet and avoid seeing it fill up with local tourists. I found myself down at the old spot Wednesday night, four years to the day since writing a column paying tribute to Fort Mcmurray and the evacuees of the Horse River fire.
Revisiting the column, one line in particular stands out: “Weeks of waiting and wondering have taken a toll on Fort Mcmurray’s evacuees — because when everyday routines disappear and life devolves into a series of casual distractions it parches out the pleasure.”
All friends feel like old friends these days. A steady stream of them arrived Wednesday, either to commiserate with familiar company or simply get out of the house and enjoy a drink under someone’s roof other than their own. Ironically, social distancing has helped bridge the gap between friends and strangers alike. Each conversation rippled with laughter, and every patron seemed grateful for a listening ear.
An Alberta Gaming, Liquor and Cannabis mandate prevents people from sitting at their regular posts at the bar. The pool table sits abandoned in the dark and there isn’t any karaoke being sung yet, but I saw and heard something far better on Wednesday evening.
If you had walked into the place around six o’clock, you would have seen a dozen folks affected by Wine Wednesday and the Beatles, singing and dancing to Ob-la-di, Ob-la-da.
It was as joyous a scene as I’ve seen in a long time. Not a rebellious or irresponsible celebration, simply people taking pleasure in a song they might have heard a hundred times before, listening to it with fresh ears and new-found appreciation.
At the end of it everyone clapped for the jukebox, and one another.
Life is short. Life goes on.