Black Coffee, White Christmas

Sometimes it is a simple instance, a single frame in the reel of our lives that makes us look at the world differently. Often, the greatest moments in our lives occur by chance. My life changing revelation came to me one evening in the bitter winter of 2004. That night, I began to look at music differently, valuing its artistic qualities over the catchy phrases of the upbeat melodies.

It was another Saturday when Student Activities arranged for a concert on an open weekend at Boarding School. Most of my friends were off campus so I took the opportunity to relax and listen to my favorite music on repeat for the entire night. While I was rocking out to 'N sync's, "Pop" for what was probably the fourth time that night, my friend came over and asked me if I would go to the field house to see the Death of a Day Job Tour. The only concerts I had attended had been large-scale events, compete with fireworks, several costume changes, and at least a few thousand fans. Close-minded, I simply replied "No" and replaced her obnoxious pleas with my headphones, hoping that she would take the cue and leave. To my dismay, she did not budge, and finally convinced me to go to the concert on the condition that I would only stay for a maximum of thirty minutes.

When we arrived, we were greeted by an audience of eight people, three of whom were faculty children under the age of eight. Needless to say, I had low expectation for this concert and I wanted to go back to my room and listen to some more 'N sync. But judging by the big turn out, I decided it would be rude to leave so I sat down to listen, unprepared for my musical metamorphosis which was about to occur. When we first arrived at the concert Matt Hopper was performing his set which consisted of more jokes than music. It was clear that he had spent too much of his career playing the bar scene and perhaps even directly contributing to the income of the bar. When he finally left the stage, a rather mysterious artist introduced himself as Andrew Norsworthy. He seemed like the shy, friendly, introvert- the kind of person that you see reading Faulkner in the corner of a small coffee shop. However, when he opened his mouth, I knew that my predispositions had been wrong. He stood beneath red, blue, and green lighting on a threadbare stage singing not about "Sex and Candy," but rather about life and everyday experiences. That night, I reached that awe-inspiring moment when I felt like he was singing directly to me (which may have been the case, due to the small audience). His voice rang out with raw, unadorned, perfection. He sang of familiar situations and events, yet he expressed them in terms of poetic dreams.

"Black Coffee, White Christmas" is the song that still stands out in my memory as a true work of art. It is a song about a person who, after several years, returns to a place that he calls home but does not receive the same comforting welcome. He sings, "I'm lookin' for old neighbors but the neighborhood isn't the same; they don't know my name…I know every bus in this city, by the seatback graffiti, I could show you so much." Who has not had this feeling? I remember returning to my elementary school, knowing all of the teachers and all of the back routes to certain classes, but to my surprise there were several new students there who treated me as if I were a stranger in the place that I called home. "Black Coffee, White Christmas" painted the emotions that I felt but could find no way to express. The magic of Norsworthy's music is that it offers something to which everyone can relate. With the poetic lyrics of Springsteen, the beautiful acoustic tunes of Nick Drake, and a voice truly his own, Norsworthy possesses the natural ability to captivate his audience.

When Andrew finished playing, "Black Coffee, White Christmas," I walked over to the merchandise booth and immediately purchased his demo, titled, "Seatback Graffiti." After the concert, I downloaded the CD and proceeded to listen to it aloud for an entire week, much to the dismay of my roommate. I could tell that my addiction had taken its toll when I knew each word, riff, and chord progression within a matter of days. My roommate eventually began to sing along, "I could show you so much more." The Death of a Day Job Tour introduced to me a different genre of music and showed me that there was "so much more" than the music I listened to on the radio. Since then, my taste in music has changed drastically. Instead of listening to the radio, I turn on my iPod in the car. That night, I fell in love, not with Andrew, despite his Alaskan charm, but with music as an art form.

A good artist has the ability to make his audience believe that they can emulate his work. She takes her fans on a once in a lifetime journey to a euphoric destination that can never be reached again. Great music has that quality that makes it indescribable to any review columnist or music fanatic. It possess that magical spark that tugs at the sinews of our hearts, forcing us to release our inhibitions and let our emotions run wild. The Death of a Day Job concert certainly did not change the world, but it definitely changed the way I perceive the artistic elements in the world around me.