Memory of a Performance.

“…and that was AMAZING!” the d.j. seemed as if he forgot why he was there. What record could he possible play after something so incomparable? After the lighting, the engineer, the dj, and the crowd came back from the tantalizing high that only the most raw and original composition could give a room of 650 people, the dj finally put on the “The What” and went to the side of the stage.

I stood motionless still overwhelmed by the performance and the artist. I haven’t felt this feeling in a long time…way too long for someone who is always around a venue.

I just had a conversation with this man who secretly and humbly contained a perfect talent. He’s voice; the tonality, melodic but conversational. He’s words detailed accounts from our experiences, each carefully chosen word punctured everyone’s mind and will hold a personal memory for everyone that was in the room.

After taking everyone on this experience, the unrecognizable face walks away. He left the venue without a second look back on the faces that gave him their full attention.  As if he wanted our last moment to only be of he’s talent not an image. An image of a what could be any man in the crowd, no jewelry, no overpriced t-shirt and jeans, no customized sneakers or an image to uphold. A plain, average, young black man that wore a white clean shirt, nameless jeans and regular Nikes, that left everyone to only remember he’s voice, the sway of he’s body with every texture of he's words, and the music.

We, I wanted more of this artist.