Alexi Murdoch, My Mom and a Vacuum
My Mom once told me when I was small, that a good singer should never stretch their vowels too long or cram too many words into one lyric. She said it should sound fluid, melodic and not at all forced. She also told me it drove her crazy when my sisters and I would hum and sing in unison and harmony to the tune of the vacuum as she pushed it around the living room—though I suspect that secretly she smiled after she told us to knock it off and move off the floor.
As I do every year on this day, I reflect on my Mother, her life and who she was. I’m thankful for random memories that pop up now and again, like the vacuum performances of my childhood. More so these days I try to imagine who she might have been as woman, and wish I could have had the opportunity to get to know her as a friend. I try not to have too many regrets when I look back at our past but there is one thing that still bothers me. If I could do things over, I would have pulled her away from the house on a Friday night and taken her out to help her get her mind off the things that troubled her: her health, her age, finances and her bitter husband. I would have taken her to a small venue to hear a local band perform. Last night, if I could have, I would have taken her to see Alexi Murdoch perform at the Biltmore.
Yesterday was the release date for Alexi‘s new album ‘Toward the Sun’, recorded in Vancouver in 2009. The songs are few but thoughtful. Last night for one song he put down his guitar; he picked up a shruti box, a hauntingly beautiful instrument that sends out a constant, wavering hum and began to play The Light. One by one, his bandmates bowed their heads. My mind drifted and suddenly I was back in my living room with my sisters, my Mom and the vacuum cleaner. The shruti box is a therapeutic, meditative instrument and perfectly suited when reminiscing of times with a loved one who is no longer here. In some way the very sounds it emits seem to transport the listener, offering a chance to pay respects. The words Alexi sang were poignant, particularly because it was the eve of the anniversary of my Mom’s passing. His song was achingly beautiful and familiar. I don’t know whether Alexi had lost either of his parents, but the song spoke of loss, and the song suggests he could have lost one or both. My Mom would have appreciated this song, as she too had lost her Mother much too soon. My Dad told me a couple years after my Mom had died, that she never really got over losing her own mother. It had changed her.
Last night as I watched Alexi perform, I was carried away back to a cherished time with my Mom; I thought about how she would have enjoyed the show, swaying and cringing all at once. With a single gasp of air, his abundance of drawn out words sang the most beautiful songs of love and goodbyes and til-we-meet-agains. She would have been o.k. with that, because the rules don’t apply to grief.
And together we would have hummed in unison and harmony with Alexi and the shruti box, annoying everyone around us.
