Almost a year ago, I was sipping coffee in a tiny little hole in the wall in Midland, TX.
I was brought to this coffee house with the promise of good coffee and live music. Of course, I knew that along with that I'd find countless fashionable college students with their Apple products, skinny jeans and colorful 'hobo' scarves.
It was a Tuesday evening, and my loneliness was full swing. The coffee was mediocre. The place was warm, cozy but full of the yuppies I tend to avoid. They all looked like they were plucked from the latest fashion magazine, and like they couldn't be bothered with this indie music that was TOO indie, even for them.
I sipped my crappy coffee, happy that I'd at least get to listen to two relatively cute guys, in unremarkable clothes, play acoustic sets (my weakness). The first guy came up, a ginger with a gorgeous smile and messy hair covered by a fedora, named Logan Mason. He looked nervous. He wanted to impress. He was good, and sang overall happy go lucky love songs about holding hands and going to the movies. I smiled at the passion he showed for what he did and clapped, along with the 6 other people there.
Second up was a young man named John Davey. He had torn jeans, a faded, wrinkly gray t-shirt and he needed a haircut. The messy look wasn't for him, but it didn't see that's what he was going for either. It just seemed he got too busy driving cross country with a fellow musician playing in small venues and he let his grooming skills go. I saw him hunching around his guitar, big brown eyes and dark hair, reminding me of someone I cared for that I had recently lost out of my life. Same looks. Musician. I shook my head and sipped some more of my mud in a cup, before I let the memories bring me down.
John tuned his guitar, and as soon as his mouth opened my heart exploded into tiny bits of joy and sadness at the same time. He sounded the same as my old friend, and I couldn't help but tear up...the music kept getting happier. He sang lots of Irish folk songs and quirky little tunes that left Jason Mraz behind, eating his dust. Until, in the midst of all the happy songs, the sneaky bard presented us with an old tune he had written years ago. It was simply titled The Process and after hearing the first 3 strums, I knew it would break me. It did. I hid my face slightly with my curly hair and stared at my hands during the whole song. The tears wouldn't stop, and soon I was quietly hiccuping and sobbing. The wound had reopened in my chest and there was nothing I could do but listen to every word and let it sink.
I bought his demo, alas, the song wasn't on it. I shook his hand and he was very polite. I bought Mason's cd too. However, that song haunted me for almost a week before it finally disappeared into my mind. Until 4 days ago, when on John Davey's MySpace page, he had posted The Process for all to hear. No. I still can't buy it. But I hope one day I can. Meanwhile, it's been on a loop in the background playing while I transcribed the lyrics.
Sometimes songs are written for the sake of hits. Other times songs are written to share with the world how you felt, and what your opinion is. Then again, this song was just written to make me both believe in love and realize it does not exist. Not in this form. Not for me. Is it sadder to hear what you want or what you had?
I think I'll learn how to play this song...
I was brought to this coffee house with the promise of good coffee and live music. Of course, I knew that along with that I'd find countless fashionable college students with their Apple products, skinny jeans and colorful 'hobo' scarves.
It was a Tuesday evening, and my loneliness was full swing. The coffee was mediocre. The place was warm, cozy but full of the yuppies I tend to avoid. They all looked like they were plucked from the latest fashion magazine, and like they couldn't be bothered with this indie music that was TOO indie, even for them.
I sipped my crappy coffee, happy that I'd at least get to listen to two relatively cute guys, in unremarkable clothes, play acoustic sets (my weakness). The first guy came up, a ginger with a gorgeous smile and messy hair covered by a fedora, named Logan Mason. He looked nervous. He wanted to impress. He was good, and sang overall happy go lucky love songs about holding hands and going to the movies. I smiled at the passion he showed for what he did and clapped, along with the 6 other people there.
Second up was a young man named John Davey. He had torn jeans, a faded, wrinkly gray t-shirt and he needed a haircut. The messy look wasn't for him, but it didn't see that's what he was going for either. It just seemed he got too busy driving cross country with a fellow musician playing in small venues and he let his grooming skills go. I saw him hunching around his guitar, big brown eyes and dark hair, reminding me of someone I cared for that I had recently lost out of my life. Same looks. Musician. I shook my head and sipped some more of my mud in a cup, before I let the memories bring me down.
John tuned his guitar, and as soon as his mouth opened my heart exploded into tiny bits of joy and sadness at the same time. He sounded the same as my old friend, and I couldn't help but tear up...the music kept getting happier. He sang lots of Irish folk songs and quirky little tunes that left Jason Mraz behind, eating his dust. Until, in the midst of all the happy songs, the sneaky bard presented us with an old tune he had written years ago. It was simply titled The Process and after hearing the first 3 strums, I knew it would break me. It did. I hid my face slightly with my curly hair and stared at my hands during the whole song. The tears wouldn't stop, and soon I was quietly hiccuping and sobbing. The wound had reopened in my chest and there was nothing I could do but listen to every word and let it sink.
I bought his demo, alas, the song wasn't on it. I shook his hand and he was very polite. I bought Mason's cd too. However, that song haunted me for almost a week before it finally disappeared into my mind. Until 4 days ago, when on John Davey's MySpace page, he had posted The Process for all to hear. No. I still can't buy it. But I hope one day I can. Meanwhile, it's been on a loop in the background playing while I transcribed the lyrics.
Sometimes songs are written for the sake of hits. Other times songs are written to share with the world how you felt, and what your opinion is. Then again, this song was just written to make me both believe in love and realize it does not exist. Not in this form. Not for me. Is it sadder to hear what you want or what you had?
I think I'll learn how to play this song...
GO LISTEN: The Process by John Davey
THE PROCESS:
If I were a bird
I would fly to the branch
by your window
Your window.
And I'd watch as you slept
and you breathed in and out
so contently, slow.
And the night would go by and
the sun it would rise
and I'd be there
to tell you 'hello'.
And to sing you that love song
that you have been waiting to hear
that I wrote you last year.
And you'd pat my head
and you'd get out of bed
and yo'ud tell me you loved me the same
And I'd hop through your window
and revert to my shape,
and we'd go on with our day...
And we'd go down to 5th St.,
and buy us some coffee
and talk about all sorts of things.
and the day would pass
and I'd say, "Alas,
I must return to my habitat"
With 3 final words
I change back to the bird
and we start the process again
yes we'd start the process, again.
~John Davey
If I were a bird
I would fly to the branch
by your window
Your window.
And I'd watch as you slept
and you breathed in and out
so contently, slow.
And the night would go by and
the sun it would rise
and I'd be there
to tell you 'hello'.
And to sing you that love song
that you have been waiting to hear
that I wrote you last year.
And you'd pat my head
and you'd get out of bed
and yo'ud tell me you loved me the same
And I'd hop through your window
and revert to my shape,
and we'd go on with our day...
And we'd go down to 5th St.,
and buy us some coffee
and talk about all sorts of things.
and the day would pass
and I'd say, "Alas,
I must return to my habitat"
With 3 final words
I change back to the bird
and we start the process again
yes we'd start the process, again.
~John Davey
sounds like a fairy tale.
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