Thoughts from My First Derek Webb Concert

I walked 2.5 miles to see a Derek Webb concert and then 2.5 miles back.

Now, before you think I’m a huge fan, let me remind you that I take these walks all the time anyway, and also, don’t forget, it’s downhill both ways.

I don’t at all mean that I’d be ashamed to be a huge fan…On the contrary, I feel like I’m on my way to becoming one. I just haven’t listened to him all that much.

In fact, I had the chance to tell him afterward (all too honestly, probably) that being at this concert literally doubled how much I’ve listened to him.

And (I didn’t tell him this) the other time I listened to him I was playing darts against a worthy opponent, which, as you probably know, requires the utmost concentration. So, basically, this was my first time hearing Derek Webb.

And it was good.

He is an icon in a substantial subculture of Christianity—a subculture that enjoys laughing at the idea of Jesus being a Republican and who knows who Bebo Norman is.

I am not a part of this subculture, not because I think Jesus was a Republican, but because I thought Bebo Norman was black until two weeks ago.

I spent the first few songs peering up at the smoke as it variegated between white and purple and green and red in the stage lights and wondering who this Derek Webb sounded like. I couldn’t quite place his voice…

Pretty much all musicians you’re unfamiliar with sound like someone else you’re more familiar with, right?

Right off the bat, I heard Jeff Buckley in his voice, but that wasn’t enough. I only heard Buckley in the tight, strained high notes when Webb’s mouth was wide but not open and he was leaning away from the microphone.

There was someone else I knew that I could hear the rest of the time, when he was singing quieter, during the beginnings of songs and middles of verses, when he was right up on the mic, tasting it.

Then it dawned on me as he played a very seventhy song, a new one called “God’s Hometown”: He sounds like Joe Henry.

Now, I only know two things about Joe Henry. One, he has a song featured in the TV show Felicity, which I’ve never seen, and, two, he has an album with a picture of a monkey on his shoulder that I used to own.

I guess I know three things about him now: he sings like Derek Webb. (Or vice versa depending on who’s been around longer. I suppose I could wiki it…)

Regardless, after I figured out who Webb sounded like to me, I was able to relax with my Summit and enjoy the rest of the show fully at ease, mentally speaking. So it’s a good thing the two songs I liked the best came in the second half of his set.

He played a song from his Caedmon days about getting lost in San Francisco, if I remember correctly. I perked up for this one—not that I was feeling particularly torpid before—because he said that on the road, during days off, he used to walk into strange towns and get lost. Now that’s right up my alley—and not just figuratively.

Then he closed with Nick Lowe’s song “(What’s So Funny ‘Bout) Peace, Love, and Understanding,” that you’ve probably heard Elvis Costello do. If he’d played the whole show with the energy he played this song with, he’d probably have toppled over, but that doesn’t keep lowly audience members like me from wishing.

In the end, the specific songs were not the highlights for me. It was the small things that no one meant to be a highlight:

  • The antique-looking, electric-candle-lit chandelier hanging over Webb’s head, just behind him, offering sharp-but-weak light amid nebulous, hazy stage lights.
  • People laughing about whatever he said because they love him so much.
  • That he took requests throughout the show.
  • That the only reason he was able to play these requests was because he had a big, old book of lyrics to remind him how to play his repertoire. (I’ve only seen this before from the Magnetic Fields, and let me tell you right now: It gives hope!—You don’t have to have a memory in order to write and play great songs.)
  • Then there was the 3-year-old behind me…at an “18-plus” show. That was funny.

And—I’m not sure why—my favorite thing—so favorite, in fact, that I’m not putting it in the bulleted list above—was the ending to most every song:

The arpeggios of slowly-played, resolving chords, sounding out resolutely, yet raggedly from an acoustic guitar with a nice-but-nearly-inadequate pickup.

It’s a beautiful thing.

Walking home, I felt an odd sense of levity, like hope wrapped up in amusement. It might have been the music, the venue, the company, the Summit, the slight winter warmth that allowed me to walk home breathing unfiltered air instead of burying my face in my scarf. But I’m not going to attribute it to anything in particular lest I get all post-hoc-ergo-propter-hoc and begin to think I’ve found some key to happiness.

It was good. That’s enough.

Thanks a lot to Derek Webb for the ticket. And now, please excuse me while I go confirm what color Mr. Bebo Norman is before I post this…