I was in a plane crash, and to help deal with the PTSD I’d go to the fitness center and ride stationary bikes for too long and listen to Emma Ruth Rundle too loud. Then I’d take a sauna. One day Al walks in, my musical hero, standing there in his towel. We talk about life, about struggle.
Low has been integral to my entire adult life, as important as REM and the Smiths and U2 were to my adolescent self. When I moved to Duluth I lived in the Emerson classroom where Low practiced early on. Then I moved to Starfire’s duplex. Low once performed the entirety of Things We Lost in The Fire for twelve people at Washington Studios where I lived. It was the best musical performance I’d ever seen, anywhere.
I went to Mimi’s vigil at Sacred Heart. People shuffled in silently, hugged each other in the back, sat alone and listened. Real grief. I don’t know Al and didn’t know Mimi, but I do not exist as I’ve existed without them. My city is different now. Tears come. Real grief. I can’t stop listening. Thank god there is so much music. Thank god I have thirty years of Low, of Mimi, to keep me alive.
