Where I have been and where I am bound

 As our world spins rapidly into the future of advanced intelligence (artificial, generative, and otherwise), and some new realities (virtual, hybrid, physical, electronic, acoustic, and the like (or not like)), it is refreshing sometimes to step away and feel the breeze for a moment. Remember what it was like to rediscover a missing part of a puzzle, or a pair of shoes or another article of clothing that you wore for just a short period of time (in the longer scheme of things at least), that you hadn't seen for a while. It had gone out of mind and body, and maybe a little bit out of style, but refreshingly and somewhat joyfully it just turned up and reappeared. For me, it turned up one clear and peaceful night as I was looking for something else. And I just had to stop to take in the moment and be mindful that there really is more to our variety to life than all we are experiencing in our usual day-to-day and my hum and my drum moments. There is time to step out and up, up and away from what has maybe become a comfortable routine, and into something bigger and a little different.

That was the feeling I got last night when I heard Tom Paxton and friend-ster, Don Henry easily playing their guitars, and singing and harmonizing a variety of what probably are still characterized and genre-ified as "folk songs." There were both, what had become old standards mixed in with some new (hopefully to be) standards that had been written during the recent COVID and Zoom-fed times. There was the clear and clean guitar playing backup for some satirical and straightforward songs and emotion-filled stories; and there was the whimsical, easy-going stage banter that should be heard more in these often described as anxiety-ridden times. They anchored their songs with an earthy wit and wisdom that filled and sprayed into the cooler and calm night air. Paxton was as softly plugged-in and present as ever, and Henry was a willing and playful companion as they embodied the characters they played in their songs. On a bare regional park Amphitheatre stage nestled comfortably amongst the trees, the audience often sang along and willingly participated in the sense of an easy closeness that beckoned the coming of summer.

Not quite as passionate politically as a Phil Ochs or a Pete Seeger, or as bluesy-real as a Mississippi John Hurt or a Lightnin' Hopkins, or as deeply poetic as a Dylan or a Leonard Cohen, or as profoundly sincere sounding as a Joan Baez, a Joni Mitchell, or a Judy Collins, or as electo-phi-ingly prepared to enter the rock pantheon as a Bruce Springsteen, or a Crosby, Stills, Nash or a Young, Tom was always regarded as a solid first-stringer who sang and wrote songs that seemed like they had always been there and never written at one point in time. For anyone who monitored the Village, the Boston/Cambridge, or the Chicago folk scene or casually followed the collegiate folk boom of the time, Paxton has always been considered one of the humble greats (the Grammys even honored him with a Lifetime Achievement Award). Tom (and his friend Don) still own and hone their homey, unprepossessing voices to spin tales lightly with the easy accompaniment of the guitars that string subtly yet are filled with fun and variety.

Paxton exudes a pleasant aw-shucks informality and endearing casualness even on somewhat life-changing if not sustaining topics such as eternal friendship and the hopefully eternal environment. Whether its hearing or singing along to "Bottle of Wine," "Ramblin' Boy" "The Last Thing on My Mind," or "Can't Help But Wonder Where I'm Bound," I now know a little bit more about where I have been, "and where I am bound."

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31Jean Farkas, Jeffrey Golland and 29 others