42 Dreams of Arizona Bay

A strong, free, funky voice accompanied by guitar fills a posh old theater. A tiny little folksinger jumps to her music, holding tight to her guitar almost like a dance partner. She’s got so much energy, has so much to say about voices, feminism, choices, politics, love and freedom.

I went to see Ani DiFranco, again, this time in Los Angeles. There are a number of bands I would like to see, and I haven’t seen them. Probably won’t see them. But Ani is a demon on tour, constantly working, always sharing her stories.

Part of the fun of a concert is feeling a part of the music in the way you can’t get listening to an album, or even a live album. Even if the tiny folksinger is an even tinier figure on stage, she’s singing to each one of us. She’s sharing her 36th birthday with us, her jokes, her thoughts, her heartbreak from albums ago.

And maybe we sing back. But there’s a problem when the only accompaniment besides guitar is a string bass. It’s unusual, but good. Her acoustic guitar is amplified, but the music is never heart-stoppingly loud.

At a rock concert, or anything amplified superloud, it’s OK to sing along. Even shout along. Nobody will ever hear you.

So when I can hear the girl behind me singing to all the songs, a portion of the pleasure of going to the concert is lost.
It was my consciousness of her voice that kept me from singing myself, and kept me gritting my teeth every time I could hear her.

It’s not OK to sing when it’s quiet. A coworker told me I should have turned around and asked her about her own albums, or where I could hear her in concert. Her voice wasn’t unpleasant, but neither was it pleasant. I spent a lot of money to see this show, and spent a lot of time and money on a 4-hour drive.

What was more unforgiveable with her stupid male companion.

Anyone going to an Ani show should know a few things. There are a lot of women there. A lot. Very few men. Most of them are unwillingly accompanying their girlfriends. Most of the concertgoers are young, independently dressed, and insanely devoted to the folksinger.

Ani is very vocal on subjects like politics and war. She’d piss off any redblooded conservative. The only reason she’s not in bad odor with all the Dixie Chicks haters is because she’s not mainstream enough.
And she’s a folksinger. Folksingers have a great tradition of pissing the establishment off.

Ani herself did not provoke the ire of the oaf behind me. Instead, it was her opening act, Buddy Wakefield, a humorous poet, with his piece My Town.

The well-gelled, out-of-place guy behind me started droning about how he thought the poet had gone too far in attacking our troops. I guess he has his right to freedom of speech, the guy says, but I think he just about crossed the line. I don’t like it when people attack our troops. I don’t want to see them treated like the troops were treated after Vietnam. This guy can talk about not supporting the troops all he wants, but I don’t see him going out and dying for anybody. He’s got very little chance of dying for his words.

I could only catch bits and pieces but immediately, I felt him as a hostile presence burning behind my neck, about to mar my enjoyment of the concert. He kept hitting the same point over and over again. I wanted to turn around and tell him he completely missed the poet’s point. But then such conservatives always do. They like to hear the sound of their own voice. He annoyed the people sitting next to him enough that they moved.

I couldn’t tell why that woman was with that man. She clearly knew all the words to all the Ani songs, and surely must know how Ani feels about blind, patriotic faith in a broken government, or fighting an unjustified war. That the poet was aligned with her beliefs was no surprise to anyone except the one conservative in the whole theater.

Maybe she thought she could convert him. But some people will never listen. They just like the sound of their own voice.