I remember the very first time I heard Mason Jennings. I was in grad school in Flagstaff, and my girlfriend Lena and I were at her apartment, hanging out with her brother. Jay is a fantastic guitarist and was as passionate about good music as I am (but often with different tastes), had just discovered Mason a few days ago while walking crossing campus. He had already shared the music with Lena, and they both loved it and wanted to share it with me.
We were all disappointed to find that I didn’t like it. It wasn’t that it was bad music, I just didn’t enjoy the way his voice scooped up to so many notes. It reminded me a little of Tom Petty, except with more scooping and less polish. They played three songs, trying to convince me. I don’t remember what the first two songs were, but the third one was Big Sur, in which the harmony gets “stuck” on a chord that builds tension for over a minute and then accelerates toward a climax. That was fun, but it wasn’t a particularly clever trick—it was just a dominant seventh chord. Any musician who knew their music theory would recognize it. And the vocal scooping still grated on my nerves. We were all frustrated that I didn’t love it like they did. Lena and I may have even fought about it. I don’t remember for sure. Fights were becoming increasingly common between us then and sprawled into every imaginable subject. We often couldn’t remember how they started. Luckily for me, Lena continued to play Mason’s music while I was around, and Jay set to learning several of his songs on the guitar. The scooping stopped grating on me, then it became something to teasingly mimic, and eventually I was surprised to find it had become familiar and almost intimate. At that time, my relationship with Lena was in the process of falling apart, and I felt a resonance with the darkness underlying his music. It became a comfort to me—there was someone else out there who understood what it was like to feel sadness and beauty at the same time. By the time Lena and I finally split up two years later, Mason Jennings had earned himself a place in the pantheon of my favorite musicians. Mason is a folk musician and balladeer. His songs are simple—Ulysses and Jackson Square, for example, both have three chords repeated in the same pattern for the entire song—and yet his songs don’t feel tedious, repetitive, or simplistic: in Jackson Square the narrator falls in love with a woman and tries to care for her as her mind falls apart; Ulysses is a pensive and thoughtful search for wisdom in a world that doesn’t make sense. So often in Mason’s music, the music itself takes a back seat to the lyrics. He has technique to spare, but he uses it to create a mood for his poetry, never to show off. The music provides a cushion for emotional truths that would be too hard to bear without it, or sometimes to give an undertone that changes the meaning of the lyrics. I need to pause here for a moment, for fear that the reader will presume it is all sadness and darkness. Here there is also joy and love, and even humor. What sadness he brings to bear is based in empathy, but that empathy is also joyful, as in Lemon Grove Avenue (which happens to bear the same name as the street where I spent my childhood). It is hopeful, as in California Part II. It is tender, as in Ballad For My One True Love or Grow Old With Me. Above all, Mason’s music is human. It seeks. It desires. It reaches out to connect with other humans and reminds us that we are all part of one experience. *** from Ulysses: Loose green tea and a bonsai tree, underground apartment, Check my email, wash my clothes, while my rice is cooking, Oh jesus christ, how I hate making phone calls, So I lead a lonely life. (this song is a great example of utilitarian lyrics completely transformed by the underlying music) from California Part II: I tell you what I’m gonna do, I’m gonna lighten up, I’m gonna throw a box of books and my beloved guitar into the back of my truck, and try my luck in California. from California part I: California, I hope that it wakes you, from all of the darkness that I couldn’t break through, ‘cause I’m gonna miss you, like I miss the ocean when I go to sleep. from Darkness Between the Fireflies: Honey I’m sure, you’ve been in love before, Many other men have held high places in your eyes, But jealousy has got no use for me, The past is beautiful like the darkness between the fireflies. from Grow old with me: I met an old man who was not quite an old man, said he was an old boy, And I will make a toast, and believe and bet you, that I will be the same old man, Not the kind with a lost soul, who can’t put down his toys, Honey there’ll be absolute peace in my heart and resolution in my soul. from Crown: (about an affair) I don’t want to be together, I don’t want to be apart, I don’t want none of this love for you honey, deep deep down in my heart. from If you ain’t got love: Someday soon, you and I will both be gone, But lately I can’t help but think that the love we feel will live on. I wrote those lyrics down from memory. His songs have sunk into me deeply. *** On the ten-year anniversary of 9/11, Lindsey and I went to see Mason Jennings at Yoshi’s in San Francisco. It’s a small venue, usually used for jazz and dinner, and there were only about 20 tall tables in two arcs next to the stage, so the atmosphere was intimate. The Iraqi insurgency was at its height after eight years of war in that country and ten years in Afghanistan. Much of the news at that time was about the increasing casualties and endless tours of service. Near the end of the concert Mason sang The Field. The narrator is a mother who has lost her son in war. Here are the complete lyrics: Every step I take takes me farther from you Every move I make reminds me that I'll always love you Since you were a child we built our lives around you How am I supposed to live in this world we made without you? Sometimes late at night I go the field Is that where you are? Are you a shooting star? Can you say my name? Darling can you hear me? Tell me where's your heart now that it stopped beating? It's right here, it's right here, it's right here When you joined the war we were so proud of you You seemed so grown up, living life the way we taught you Then your first letter came, it sounded nothing like you It took all my strength to keep myself from running to you Sometimes late at night I go the field Is that where you are? Are you a shooting star? Can you say my name? Darling can you hear me? Tell me where's your heart now that it stopped beating? It's right here, it's right here, it's right here And it will always be until the sun dries the ocean And you will always be my little one If I was the President, if I was that man I would walk out with those kids, out across the sand If I was the President, if I was that brave I would take a shovel then dig each child their grave If I was the President and my world turned black I would want no victory, I'd just want you back I don't want no victory, I just want you back *** I’ve been going to Mason Jennings concerts for about 15 years now. Sometimes his shows are packed, other times they are nearly empty. When they are nearly empty, there are always many of us who know the words to nearly every song. I tend to prefer his earlier songs, but sometimes one of his newer songs finds its way into the list that I consider his classics. He has dealt with agoraphobia, depression, and anxiety, and for a while he considered quitting his music career altogether. I am grateful that he didn’t.
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Nick is a teacher, writer, and amateur adventurer. Archives
June 2020
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