JoshuaPaulGreene

Strange ramblings and inquisitive whimsy

To the Edge of the World

This week – these last couple of days – we’ve been through a lot.  We’ve been to the edge of the world, and we’ve opened ourselves like never before to receive the full gift of this divine angel who has been given to us.  We’ve reached out across the void and from it we’ve been given a little  ball of Shakti.  And we’ve been humbled as she gave us the gift of eternal love.

Our journey began many months and many full moons ago.  In a room of love – of steamy, sensual, godly love – we transformed our two energies into one to create a new life.  That life grew and before long, was called back into the universe long before her guardians were able to protect her.  We wept and we mourned the loss of our first child, and though many don’t understand that sort of loss before birth and even fewer discuss it, we felt it as real as the sunrise and as cold as the new moon.

We felt it so deeply because we knew her already.  She had seen us in our dreams and she had entered our consciousness.  She had descended from the massive cluster of stars in our cosmos and had come to bring us our life-light.  But the wise owl – the guardian of that other world – came to bring her home before that home became our arms.  And so it was just the way of the universe, and we accepted that.  Through questions and tears we found smiles and strength in each other.  We grew to accept the difficult and challenging in this life.

But before long we had been given another chance.  We prayed and begged with our eternal God that she not be taken from us again.  We looked within ourselves and, while expelling all our negativity and despair, we sent all our goodness and hope and purity out to meet her in that transitional phase of existence.  And she saw us, and she came to us.  She chose us to bestow her gift, and we were filled with gratitude.  Happiness abounded within our hearts and in our home.

As snow melted and trees turned green we celebrated the love we had for each other.  She was there in those moments, too.  She felt the rush of pure bliss that surged through both of us as we dedicated our individual lives to the higher love we had vowed to nurture.  She smiled from inside her mother’s womb as we gave sweet words to each others’ ears and as her father’s happy tears dripped onto her mother’s chest.  She had seen tears fall from the corners of his eyes before, but these tears meant promise, not grief – hope, not hopelessness.

And while we were away on a trip to spend time with only each other, her soul descended into her body.  Her mother and father felt that magical morning on the coast of our country when her shining, beautiful energy fell slowly and intentionally from the universe and filled the body she had designed with loving precision and careful accuracy.  She had chosen to stay, and we knew that.

As the sounds of waves faded and the heat and long days of June began to wane, she grew inside her mother, and excitement grew within our souls.  The day on which she would enter the world grew closer and closer, and the preparations for her arrival were completed piece by loving, intentional piece.  She had become a regular part of our life with her interactions with her family from within the womb.  She grew and grew and learned the sounds of her brother’s voice, of her mother’s heartbeat, of her father’s energy.  She knew us before she came to us, and she was becoming a part of us.

The day grew nearer and with each night that broke into dawn, her family grew more and more anxious to see the face they’d seen in dreams and meditations.   Several times she began her journey only to postpone again, and many times she proved to her mother that she knew exactly what she was doing.  She demanded our trust and brought our love up from the depths of fear and uncertainty.  This was a plan she had crafted long ago, and we trusted her.

On her day, she began as the earth turned past midnight.  Slowly releasing her energy, dripping it from her heart center, she gave the signal to her mother’s body that now was the time she would come.  Steadily, the energy grew within her mother and by the wee hours of the morning, she had roused us and let us know that we should begin our process of welcoming the sacred gift she would be.

Together, we worked for hour after hour as her own energy opened her mother’s body to allow a safe passage.  And hour after hour her father stood by, offering a kind word, or a gentle touch, or a steady breath to her mother as she underwent the most difficult transition that can be experienced by a living thing.  She held our hands and she led us to the edge of the world, where the living meet the not-yet-born and where the dead of body go to dissolve back into the cosmos.  She led us to the edge and she gave us the courage to reach across.  Her mother pushed as far as her hands could reach and her father stood strong to keep her mother safe.  And then we grasped her.  Finally, we took the hand of the one we’d been waiting our whole lives’ to meet.

We took her in our arms and we held her, and she was perfect.  Utterly perfect.  Except she wasn’t.  Something had kept a piece of her in that other world, and though she was ready to be with us and we were ready to welcome her, something was keeping her just out of our grasp.  She looked to us with eyes that so rawly, and so sincerely asked for help.  Those eyes asked us to please, for her, do anything to keep her in this world with us.  We thought we were going to lose her.

So we did what she asked – we called for help – and before long we were whisked away to a place where some go to keep living and some go to die.  To a place where the veil between worlds is so thin you can feel it in your pores.  As we were transported, we held her tight and we poured our love and our life into her hands so that she might drink of our lifeblood to save her own.  One gasp at a time she stayed with us.  But we were scared – we had never been so scared in our entire lives.

In that bright, noisy place of medical work, a miracle transpired.  A family was born in those walls and a trust and a commitment was forged that will never be broken.  And as the miracle of science and technology helped her cross that gap in the universe where a piece of her still lingered, the love of her parents and her brother kept her safe and gave her the life she needed to continue breathing, one breath at a time.

Those hours were so long as we fought for our right of a natural existence.  We begged and pleaded for her to be left to heal in our arms, and eventually, our purity and truth prevailed and they conceded that we might nurture her while they worked to rescue her.  As a team, the medical world and the spiritual world united to bring an angel into our arms.

As the days passed, we returned home several times to collect some necessary things for our stay as guardians watching over our daughter.  And when we arrived back home for the first time, the fragile stitches of the previous days’ events were ripped out leaving our wounds all gaping and exposed.  We were raw and we were painfully present.  The gentle breath of life carried us through the rooms of that house and showed us that though death had knocked at its door, a beautiful and holy thing had taken place within those walls, and that death had not been allowed to enter.  For it was within those walls that love lived.  This was not a place of sadness but a place of light and of life.  There was no room for death in our house.

Returning to her side, we watched over her night and day, ensuring that she always had our tender hands to grasp – that her ears were always kissed with the familiar sounds of our voices.  She healed and grew strong and before long, she was released to us unconditionally.  Her bounds were cut and her full heart was released and she came flying at us with all her beauty and grace and she told us plain and clear that she would be called Esmé Lucille – to love and be light.

So we brought her home into our house of love.  We dressed her and fed her and sat in the tender bliss of our babymoon.  We were raw, and we were open, and in those moments, we held nothing back because there was nothing to hide.  We opened ourselves fully and received the whole grace of her presence with us.  Each caress of her little hands on our chests served to remind us of the miracle that we had received, and so we held her light with open eyes and we let ourselves be blinded.

And this is where we are now.  We are here, in our home, with our angel and with her warrior brother.  We are tender and raw, and though we’re elated to be back within the gentle comforts of familiarity, we are still so, so vulnerable.  We have defeated death and we have poured our hearts into each other.  Our guard is down and we are saturating ourselves with love and compassion for one another.

If you would like to come bask in the light of our bliss, we welcome you.  However if you cannot leave every single bit of karma our our front door and enter as pure energy, you may not enter.  It is not that we don’t love you, and it is not that we don’t understand that our battle and triumph over death have left you wounded and weak, too.  We have created life, we have created God, and we need simple purity and nothing else.

We hope you understand, but still love you unconditionally if you don’t.  If you come with an open heart, you are welcome in our home.  We require your presence of mind and energy and request that nothing enters your heart space except love for our miracle and for us.  We offer a glorious gift – we offer you a glimpse of God – and look forward to sharing her with you who are pure of heart and mind.

Bliss Derived from Deprivation

Performing in a touring band – making a living by the simple act of playing music – is doubtless among the loftiest dreams of any true-at-heart musician.  The Road beckons a call that, though steeped in illusion and glorified hardship, seldom allows the passage of mere hours before returning to tug at the adventurous sleeves of any musical artists.  The separation from friends and family and the resulting isolation; the brotherhood between band-mates born of repeatedly enduring seemingly insurmountable hardship and solitude; the long hours and myriad miles traveled for reasons of exposure – these things represent the intoxicating challenges to which countless musicians have subjected themselves – whether willingly or otherwise.

In the late summer of this year I found myself manning the helm of a 15-passenger van pulling a gear-filled trailer in the wee hours of the morning.  We – the band and I – had elected to drive through the night in order to return from Mississippi to our home of Nashville as soon as possible.  Cheerfully roused from my bunk by Jason, our unusually sleep-deprived bass player in order to adopt my shift as driver, I stumbled into the 24-hour gas station to pour myself 32 ounces of sludge-black coffee.

Catching a glimpse of the crookedly-hung digital clock on the wall as the attendant rung me up, I shuttered as I read the time:  4:02 am.  Two hours and twenty-one minutes until sunrise.  Though we’d been graced with relatively subdued weather on this leg (not uncommon on our tour dates were hurricane-force winds, impossibly thick rain and imminent tornadoes) I questioned my exhausted mental capacity and its ability to cope with the tribulations involved in safely operating our sorry excuse for a tour bus.

Shoving my insecurities aside I pulled myself up into the driver’s seat and hollered the customary, “Everybody in?”  Upon muffled and groggy “mhmm”‘s I turned the key and pulled out of the parking lot.  After months on the road with this particular band I’d grown accustomed to our compulsorily-shared driving shifts – more importantly I’d discovered the listening material most conducive to driving in the pitch-black night through hundreds of miles of cornfields: This American Life.

Ira Glass’ nasally, monotonic voice notwithstanding, the humor and lunacy unfailingly present in the program’s makeup drastically decreased the gravitational pull on my eyelids and kept my mind sharp and alert.  Any other musical choice seemed, without fail, to eventually precipitate the demise of my efforts to stay awake.

Offering a welcomed change in scenery, our route from Mississippi to Nashville was lined with dense forests, winding roads and beautiful flora that evoked from the band a generally light-hearted mood.  Of course, being that it was 4 am, everyone was asleep so that enthusiasm – or rather lack of dread – wasn’t so enjoyed as my own gratitude at having something other than cornstalks and luminous green highway signs with which to entertain my eyes.

As our Great White Van lumbered through the hills of the south, a dense fog found us somewhere near the Mississippi-Tennessee border.  Growing thicker with each passing minute,  we came upon several cars that had pulled off the shoulder for lack of visibility.  I was well-aware of our unyielding policy stipulating we not pull off to the shoulder unless absolutely necessary, so I slowed to a pace so unbearably slow it seemed at times that we’d actually started moving backwards.  I reluctantly accepted the symptoms of my disorientation.

Any person who’s spent even a modicum of time in the outdoors – especially on or in some sort of vehicle – knows the inescapable and utterly helpless feeling of vertigo.  As your mind loses any semblance of reference, forward becomes backward becomes upside down, and your ability to function comes to a grinding halt.  More so out of necessity than out of preference, I pulled to the shoulder and brought our pale beast to a soft but definite arrest.

|    |   ~I~   |    |

Following a seemingly inordinate expanse of time during which each member of the band awoke briefly, only to fall back asleep, we finally began to regain visibility.  Lifting my foot off the brake, I began willing the gas pedal to depress just enough to begin our crawl towards clearer, less humidified air.

With our adventure through the abyss behind us we pushed forward into the burgeoning light of the Mississippi morning.  We climbed and climbed, rising through the stagnant remnants of darkness desperately clawing at the last moments of the night.  Then, cresting the ridge, I caught sight of something unexpected.  The sun had, in one foul swoop illuminated the air, the trees and the fields of golden grain sprawling for miles on either side of the highway.

One of my favorite things about backpacking lends itself to similar experience.  Hiking in to the campsite after dark, you’re granted visual access only to the minute radius of your headlamp beam.  But then the sun rises, bringing with it a new, often overwhelming wave of ecstasy.  This bliss, the result of your realization that there’s been something just outside your reach – something beautiful and breathtaking – is one of the more grandiose emotions a man is capable of experiencing.

Made all the more fantastical by the fog that had minutes earlier altogether prevented our progress, the scene I now witnessed shook me to a core rarely touched by the shallow gravity of daily experiences.  Things otherwise mundane seemed to adopt a mystical air while colors became at once rich, drab and vibrant.  Save the occasional bird or gust of impossibly faint breeze, the atmosphere  appeared devoid of motion.  But there I was, gliding through the whole marvelous event as all four of my companions slept like infants in their bunks.

Bliss derived from deprivation – a glorious happening, the product of a newly-gained perspective – has adding to its intensity the element of surprise and the weight of contrast.  But more so, it boldly stands to illustrate the benefits of resisting stagnation.  If one could successfully ward off the darkness of night forever, there would be no sunrise.  There would be no moment of realization when it becomes apparent that the evening’s tenebrosity was nothing more than a curtain behind which the universe was preparing an earth-shaking exhibition intended only for those patient enough to bare witness.

Welcome change, and the metamorphosis will be your reward.

Dare to Be Ridiculous

When I first met Marcy, I was at a point in my life where I was fairly open to trying new things.  Having recently escaped the clutches of adolescent reluctance to do anything that might contribute to being deemed ‘uncool’ by my friends, I found myself in more than a few situations which would later yield entertaining, if not slightly self-deprecating dinner-table stories.  It was out of this willingness to try most anything – along with the childish desire to impress my new ladyfriend – that I stumbled into a more-intimate-than-I-expected Paneurhythmy dance circle.

For those out of ‘the know’ – which I’m assuming is most people – paneurhythmy (pronounced pan-eur-ith-mee) is “a science of the harmonious, conscious movements, based upon the laws of the Living Nature.” (thanks for that one, Wikipedia)  Basically, one or more people dressed in white dresses (yep, guys too) dance around in a circle to bulgarian violin music by employing a series of movements that have been practiced in that specific order for some respect-garnering number of years.  Needless to say it must have been quite the sight to see; watching me, in all my foolishness and bumbling good intention attempt to 1, remember the steps, 2, correctly perform said steps and 3, successfully remain upright while walking around in circles for hours on end – something which clearly proved to be quite a dizzying accomplishment.

The way I came to not only experience but participate in this rather preposterous display of song and dance was less by way of Marcy and more by way of her fun-loving and free-spirited mother, Sandra.  We’ve all been in that situation where you realize that a really great way to win a lady’s admiration is to also win the admiration of her mother – assuming they still like each other.  So in my attempt to appeal to Sandra’s new-age sensibilities, I happily – and maybe a bit too hastily –  consented when asked if I would be interested in joining her for some crack-of-dawn dance shenanigans.  She may have put it more eloquently…  then again, maybe not – she was a bit loony.

When I arrived home that night, eager to somehow come by several hours of sleep before heading back at first light for what I would later come to recognize as one of the more ridiculous things I’ve ever done, I had the fantastic idea to look up some information on the dance.  In hindsight, I shouldn’t have done that.  As I scrolled through webpages of pictures, videos and information about the dance and the people who do it, I came to realize that I had agreed to something far beyond silly, bordering on absurd.

The visual stimuli flashing before my eyes on my 13″ laptop screen seemed to physically widen my eyeballs and increase the pull of gravity thereby drawing my jaw closer and closer to the ground.  As I watched and read about the people dressed in all white, dancing in some ridiculous formation on the top of a mountain, I couldn’t help but feel like I’d willingly agreed to join some perpetually-twirling cult of Jesus-loving smilers.  Not that there’s anything wrong with that, of course.  Stunned and strangely a bit nerve-wracked I crawled in to bed and semi-successfully attempted to to pacify my anxiety and fall into restful slumber.

At 5:45 am my alarm clock went off in it’s typical rage-inducing tone and I shuffled out of bed into the shower.  By 6:02 I was out the door, dressed in all white (unfortunately no dress for me) and headed over to what I was certain would be the end of my non-cult-affiliated life.  At this point in Marcy and my relationship – if you could even call it that – I still had only known her mother for a month or two, and though she didn’t seem particularly culty, I was beginning to question her sanity – not to mention mine for agreeing to this.

As I stepped out of the car, Marcy came bouncing down the driveway to greet me, smiling from ear to ear.  She was a morning person – or could be when she wanted to – and seemed perpetually happy, almost unbelievably so.  Together we strolled to the house where her mother was waiting, just as goofy and excited as ever.  Still relative acquaintances, Sandra and I made small talk for a moment or two before she uttered the ever-common, “Alright, are you guys ready to do this?”  And though I answered with a confident and grinning, “Sure!  As ready as I’ll ever be!” my brain was shaking in nervous anticipation.

As we perambulated to the back of the house, I half expected to see a dozen people in white and red robes ready to dunk me in a bucket and dub me “One of Them.”  Though that would have made a great story, I was relieved to find that no such sights were to be had that morning; only a non-threatening, foot-worn, circular dirt path.  As Sandra broke out a glorious 90’s Sears boom box, I grabbed a sip of water in preparation for my impending dance-off with spirituality.

For the next hour and a half or so, we twisted, turned and twirled our way through the hundreds of steps required to properly honor and come into communion with the spirits and natural powers-that-be and, much to my surprise, I actually had a lot of fun!  Augmented, I’m sure, by the fact that Marcy joined in for moral support, I found I honestly enjoyed myself!

Throughout the rest of my time spent with Marcy I engaged in a handful of other silly experiences – laughter yoga included – all of which proved more entertaining and enjoyable than I first expected.  And that first objective – to win the admiration of her mother – didn’t fare too poorly either: Sandra loved me by the end of all this.  But in addition to falling into good favor with her maternal figure, I also learned something else – or rather secured a notion I had previously disregarded with hesitant, ego-induced ignorance:  Life is so much more exciting when you do things in which you know you’ll look like a fool.  Letting go of what’s socially common, normal, you-name-it, can be such an exhilarating rush!  To fail to do something absurd on at least a daily basis may be the reason for your misery and discontentedness with life.

Things between Marcy and I ended poorly about a year later in an unfortunate turn of events involving careless manipulation and disregard for anything remotely relating to human emotions, and to my genuine disappointment, the things said between us have since left a bitter taste in my mouth.  But the lessons her mother taught me by way of example – laugh, smile, experiment and explore – have stuck with me ever since.  If you don’t believe me, find your local paneurhythmy dealer and get your dance on.  You won’t regret it.

The Call of the Wilderness

These last three days I’ve had the rare – unfortunately rare, in fact – opportunity to take a few days removed from the confines of society; utterly unreachable by anyone not in my immediate vicinity; free of the so-called responsibilities demanded in order to remain a ‘contributing member of the community.’  This escape, though not difficult, is a feat accomplished less often than I’m proud of and can be found so simply by transporting the crucial pieces of ones life to the wilderness – food, water, shelter.

It’s a strange and beautiful thing how removal from the ‘daily grind’ can so quickly manifest within the soul a yearning to remain outside of the modern world we’ve so carelessly deemed as ‘better’ than the days of old.  After mere hours of extra-societal existence I found myself drawn to start walking and not stop until I was presented with a reason.  And not any reason, but a reason good enough to halt me in my tracks – to jerk me out of my childish wanderings and pull me back into something meaningful and in one foul swoop, pacify my eagerness to roam.

I’ve been half-heartedly exploring the possibility of a cross-country bike trip followed by months of trekking down one of America’s trails – whether it be the Pacific Coast Trail, the Appalachian Trail or even the small-in-comparison Colorado Trail.  I’m certain at least a modicum of my faith in the ‘journey’ comes from Hollywood’s glorification of the life-changing adventure, but I’m not so sure that it’s complete mumbojumbo.  Being a Buddhist, a massive percentage of my search in life relates to a better understanding of my true self and a search for the compassion necessary to change the world.  Maybe it’s the thought that the search throughout the world for the glory and the wonder it has to offer will help trigger something – get the ball rolling, so to speak.

Stepping out of one’s comfort zone has been a well-accepted method of self-discovery and growth and what better way to do that than leave the only life you’ve ever known to seek an alternate life full of unforeseen circumstances and mystery?  Any marginally practiced buddhist will tell you that life itself is more than enough to lead you to enlightenment – that no search is necessary, only openness to what life brings you – but they will also tell you that you should follow your heart’s path, no matter what.

In the years that have seen the distance between the ‘outdoors’ and ‘society’ grow to previously untouched proportions, so has the debate between natural existence and manufactured quality of life gained potency.  Both sides of the argument offer strong claims, of course.  Naturalists and wilderness enthusiasts will point to the clarity of the skies – skies devoid of airwaves transporting our many facets of technological communication (not to mention audible noise) – as a major contributor to the freedom brought only by the mountains, deserts and oceans.  Conversely, our businesspeople and other city-dwellers will rattle off a list of the many creature comforts that undeniably enable a more leisurely lifestyle (though any true outdoors(wo)man will valiantly defend the position that time spent outside is nothing short of leisure at its finest and that a life lived purely outside – ‘off the land’ as it were – would be altogether leisurely thanks to a greatly-reduced percentage of our daily stresses induced by ‘modern’ living.)

Untouched by either side’s relevancies, the battle between natural life and city life will rage until one of them ceases to exist, but one point will forever stand true regardless of what any flamingly passionate activist spits out:  A lot could be gained if each person dedicated as much effort to catching the sunset each evening as they did to checking their email before hitting the sack.

And this isn’t  just some dreamy notion thought up by a cooky outdoorsman.  In an article from the November 2010 issue of the Mountain Gazette, contributing writer, M. Michael Brady offered the sentiment (based on a 2005 study initiated by Nordic countries to measure the benefits of the outdoors,) “even in small amounts, natural environments are beneficial. Post-operative patients recover quicker if they can see a bit of green nature through the windows of their hospital rooms. Even short walks in natural surrounds have measurable psychological effects. In urban environments, ready access to green spaces helps improve health, lower mortality and reduce social problems.”  You get the point.

As we hiked out of the canyon on our last day of climbing, heading towards camp to break down and drive back into civilization, we all stopped as we stepped from the riverbed underbrush and into the subsequent meadow.  The sun was setting far beyond the mountain ranges to our west casting each range in different shades of blues and purples.  Perfectly complimenting these illustrious hues, the orange-green of the sky cast long and meticulous shadows over the dry, red earth sprawling for miles before us.   The moment required no words, no explanations, no thought.

I believe that’s the bliss found in nature from which countless millions of people have derived their solace:  a simple existence reducing the complexities of humanity to the primal and natural essence of life – just life.  The tools and technologies we’ve developed address the immediate difficulties of our day-to-day lives, but they fail to satisfy or even acknowledge the deep, underlying quest for meaning.  Even the largest of projects taken on for the sake of ‘leaving something behind’ cast a shadow of ever-so-subtle malcontent upon completion.  I don’t wish to imply that the only way to live a fulfilling life is to sacrifice our society’s conveniences for the rough-around-the-edges subsistence offered by our natural surroundings, but rather to urge a more serious investigation on the part of each individual into the benefits of a wilderness-friendly existence.

Mama Lenny and The Remedy Live at the Byllynsgate Ball – Concert Review

As the sun set on a beautiful autumn day in downtown Fort Collins, CO, a relatively new band set up shop on the patio of the now-iconic Lyric Cinema Café.  On any given day the Lyric is simply a thriving independent movie theater augmented by couches in the café and theaters, an impressive selection of local beers and a fun-loving staff catering to film lovers of all shapes and sizes.  On this particular night however, the venue played host to a soon-to-be-monthly celebration of local arts.

The Byllynsgate Ball, the brainchild of owner, Ben Mozer was started to bring together the many facets of Fort Collins’ flourishing artistic community.  The idea is simple: once a month, crowds gather to watch live music, live muraling of the café walls and an independent film (or several shorts) – all locally grown, of course.

The musical guest for this month’s Ball were none other than the fresh, local Mama Lenny and The Remedy.  Comprised of a self-described, “[…] group of musicians who wanted to play some nice music together […]” this 8-piece stunned and ignited the audience with an engaging and admirable take on generations-worth of what the band calls, “Rock, Rhythm, Blues and a whole lotta Soul.”

As patrons and passers-by began to gather around the makeshift stage on the theater’s patio near the corner of Walnut and Mountain, lead vocalist, Laniece Schleicher let out a low and raspy growl that instantaneously grabbed the attention of all within range of the speakers.  With that, the band launched into their set making it immediately apparent to all in attendance that they were a band worth listening to.  With Jeff Blayney’s tasteful and precise drumming setting an infectious backbeat and the band knocked off song after song, pulling the audience deeper and deeper into their sonic playground

Off to the right stands former 12 Cents for Marvin Trumpeter, Greta Cornett adding the occasional brass stab and solo, perfectly complimenting Ken Monk’s exacting and understated guitar work.  Their interplay is at once unpredictable and precise and truly speaks to their individual talent as musicians.  Equally talented and admirably reserved, keyboardist, Thalia Stevensen dances effortlessly on both sides of the line of audible presence; laying back when her additions provide more as subconscious aural warmth and pushing to the front when the right moment comes.

Co-fronting the band alongside Schleicher are two background vocalists, Kelly Keeler and Amanda Ernst.  Projecting diverse yet cohesive vocal style and emphasis, the three voices blended without a trace of miscalculation or false commitment and together, the vocal presence of the group provides possibly one of their most favorable traits.  Adding to the unique sound and accurate reproduction of the music of generations passed is Ben Prytherch’s bass style.  His tone, relaxed yet poignant attack and melodic patterns carried undeniable likeness to bassists of the 60’s, especially those of British Rock fame including The Rolling Stones’ own, Bill Wyman and added a subtly nostalgic air to the overall groove.

Together the band ushered a wave of emotion and excitement over the growing crowd and successfully pulled an entire group of relative strangers into an unforgettable musical coma that left all in attendance hooting and hollering for more long after their last notes died out.  Comprised of a monster lineup, enough musical creativity to power a modern-day magical mystery tour and a refined yet enthusiastic delivery, Mama Lenny and the Remedy gave an awe-inspiring performance that left no doubt whatsoever that Fort Collins can and will stand on the cutting edge of phenomenal musical talent and originality.  Expect to see big things from this group and keep an eye out for future performances and releases.  If you miss it, you’ll kick yourself both now AND later.