On Stage
It’s nearly Thanksgiving, not that you can really tell out here in California. But the year is flying by. My birthday passed nearly a month ago with little more celebration than a half-hearted cake smash and now suddenly I’m realizing that it’s almost time for the real holidays (I’ve been informed that my birthday does not in fact count as a holiday). Even though I want to forget that, I can’t, because my mom keeps calling to invite me home for the annual Hanson family Thanksgiving feast. I don’t want to go, and I feel guilty about that. I feel even guiltier for ignoring some of her phone calls, because I have no good explanation for why I don’t want to return to Tulsa.
At some point, either her guilt trips or Kate’s are going to wear me down, but they haven’t yet.
But right now, I’m not thinking about birthdays or holidays or anything else. Right now, I’m thinking about how this is my first real public appearance with Carrick. It might just be a relatively small concert for him, Austin and their new drummer Trevor, but it’s the first time since my move to LA that he and I have gone somewhere more meaningful than out to eat.
I’m a little nervous.
It isn’t like attending Carrick’s concert officially means coming out of the closet, but it is a big step. I posted a very vague blog full of photos of California on the band’s website a few days ago, and I don’t know if every fan will read between the lines and realize I live here now. The chances of a few of our fans showing up at this show are pretty high, and if they do, they’ll have questions for me… questions that I don’t think I can answer. Not yet. But maybe soon.
I spend most of the concert at the bar with Carrick’s brother Rowan, just admiring the show. It isn’t often that I get to just attend a concert. When I do, I usually find myself critiquing every bit of it, but now, there’s nothing to critique. Carrick makes performing look effortless. He was born to be on stage, and I’m so lucky to get to see him in action. When we toured together, I rarely got to see his set from the front. I was stuck watching through curtains; even then I could tell how great he was, but it was nothing compared to this.
Of course, I know every word to every song the band plays, except for a few of the newer ones. I helped record those, filling in what drum parts they hadn’t already recorded before coming to Tulsa, but I haven’t had time to memorize the lyrics yet. I try not to sing along too much, because I really don’t need to look like that much of a fanboy. When he pulls out his acoustic guitar, though, I know I’m done for.
“So, uhh, I’m gonna play something a little mellower here. And this one is for someone who loves the oldies just as much as I do. Maybe you guys like them, too.”
I don’t have to guess that I’m the person he was referring to. If it wasn’t already obvious, the quick glance he gives me before he begins to play is proof enough. A part of me wants to be angry with him for being so obvious, but so far, I haven’t been accosted by any fans. Maybe I’m paranoid for thinking there are any here. How would they know to look for me here, anyway? Maybe Carrick and I are safe. I hope so, and I hope he understands why I worry. It isn’t shame. It’s just that none of this is easy even for people who didn’t grow up under the limelight.
There were bells on a hill
But I never heard them ringing
No, I never heard them at all
Till there was you
I haven’t heard him sing this song before. Carrick doesn’t do a lot of covers, but when he does, he makes you forget the song ever belonged to anyone else. I don’t even care that he didn’t write this for me. I have a sneaking suspicion he has written other songs for me. There’s one that we wrote together a few years ago, with this battle metaphor. But it’s really about friendship. At least, that was how I saw it at the time. Now, I realize it’s really about love. Love between friends, between family… between lovers.
How did I never see this before? How has it taken five years for me to realize I was in love with him? How could I be so stupid?
But I’m not stupid now. I have him. And I’m never letting him go. Not when I realize I’m capable of making someone feel the way he obviously feels. I don’t deserve him, and I haven’t been nearly as good to him as he deserves, but I want to try. I want to deserve the sort of words he’s singing right now.
There was love all around
But I never heard it singing
No, I never heard it at all
Till there was you
Till there was you
The song ends and the audience claps, but it’s obvious Carrick isn’t finished embarrassing me. His eyes still trained on me, like there’s no one else in the club at all, he speaks again as he switches back to his electric guitar.
“So, I don’t know if you guys have noticed, but there’s this guy here who I wrote some of these songs with. He’s an amazing songwriter, and an amazing person, and I really think he needs to be on this stage with me right now. There’s a song we wrote together a few years ago that we’ve played once before on this stage, and I think it bears repeating. So what do you guys think? You want Zac Hanson to come up here and play a little song for you guys?”
To my shock, the crowd claps and cheers. You never know how a random audience is going to react to the knowledge that there’s a Hanson about to assault their eardrums. But I guess Carrick’s smile and his words are just so infectious, so encouraging, that they all want to see what I can do to cause him such happiness. If they only knew.
I know, without a doubt, which song Carrick is referring to. I’m not sure Austin or Trevor know the song, but it’s very simple, musically. They can figure it out. That’s assuming Carrick and I even remember how it goes, since, as he said, we’ve only played it live once before.
Like a man possessed, I weave my way through the crowd to the stage. It’s like there’s an invisible string pulling me there, toward Carrick, even though I don’t really want to interrupt his concert. I feel like I’m stealing the show, and then I hate myself for having so much ego. It’s still his concert. I’m just a guest, and he wants me there. So I have to go.
Carrick gives me a small smile as I sit down at the piano. It isn’t much, but it’s the encouragement I need. Between his smile and the audience’s cheers, I feel at home again. And I’m no longer worried about what playing this song will mean. I’m just ready to play it.
Have you ever seen the mountains
Out the window of a train
Don’t reject my invitation
You’ll be happy that you came
I don’t wanna see tomorrow
If I cannot see today
We will find our way
And we won’t slow down
We’ll pick up the pace
This is our time now
And the world won’t wait
If you miss that train
It will get there somehow
This is our time now
Have you ever danced with someone
On the rooftop in the rain
Ever stopped on an elevator
Just to have a quiet place
Where I’ll be tomorrow
Is irrelevant today
We will find our way
And we won’t slow down
We’ll pick up the pace
This is our time now
And the world won’t wait
You can miss this train
It will get there somehow
This is our time now
If you play it safe
Why play at all
Sometimes you gotta trip and fall
Before you stand up tall
When you’re at the gate
And the plane’s delayed
There is more to living
Than the destination
We will find our way
And we won’t slow down
We’ll pick up the pace
This is our time now
When the world won’t wait
You can miss this train
And we’ll get there somehow
This is our time now
We will find our way
And we won’t slow down
We’ll pick up the pace
This is our time now
This is our time now
This is our time now
This is our time
This is our time
This is our time now
The song fades out, but the meaning remains. This is our time. When we wrote this song, I had no clue what it truly meant. I thought that I did, but it’s crystal clear now that I had no clue. The desire to live a full life was in me, because I knew then that I wasn’t. I knew what I had, my supposedly perfect little family, didn’t bring me the happiness I craved. I didn’t know then that the key to that bliss was sitting next to me, strumming my guitar and fixing my lyrics.
I know now. I hope the hug I give him before stepping off the stage expresses even half of what I feel right now.
The show ends. I don’t remember the last of Carrick’s set, because I’ve been at the bar, taking my sweet time with a rum and coke. If I drank it any faster, I would be completely trashed, and I don’t think I want to be completely trashed. Just as I sit the glass down, a piece of rum soaked ice rattling around my mouth, I see Carrick walk up, free of his guitar. I don’t know what to say to him. I don’t get the chance to say anything.
“Hey, umm, I really liked that song,” a girl says, suddenly appearing in front of Carrick and me. “I mean, the one you played with him, Zac. I’m a big fan of yours. I had no clue you guys were out here. Are you recording?’
So many words. So many thoughts. It takes me a moment to process it all and realize she has asked a question. When I finally do understand, I shake my head. “No, we’re umm… I mean, I just moved out here. We’re taking a little break… from recording. We’ll get back to it soon.”
The last sentence is tacked on just as a meaningless reassurance. Even though I’m supposed to go home for Thanksgiving, a fact I keep conveniently forgetting, we have made no definite plans to record anything. Not a single song. Definitely not a full album. But my platitudes are enough to make this fan smile, even though her eyes show surprise and confusion at my sudden move to LA.
After signing a bar napkin for her and thanking her for being a fan, I’m finally free. She wanders off, back to a group of giggling girls who I suppose were too shy to approach me. In any group of fans, there’s always the bold one—sometimes too bold. This moment, the first time I had to admit to the move, could have been a lot worse. It feels strangely anticlimactic. I wanted a big scene, I suppose. No, I expected a big scene, because that’s what my life has been for months. Just one shitfest after another.
I turn back to Carrick, my eyes landing on him for just a moment before I pick up the glass and crunch on another piece of semi-alcoholic ice. Carrick’s eyes are trained on me, waiting for me to say something. I know that look. He knows I have something to answer for, even if I don’t yet know what it is.
“Thanks for playing our song with me,” he finally says, more to break the silence than because those words really matter, I suppose.
I shrug. “It’s no big deal.”
“It is,” he says. “You haven’t been onstage without your brothers, what, ever? And you haven’t been on stage at all for almost a month. In your world, that might as well be years.”
A part of me is ready to insist that Carrick is making this into a bigger deal than it really is. The other part of me feels like I’ve just been stabbed in the chest. Not in the heart, but close. Somewhere lower, deeper, even more primal. The soul, maybe? I don’t know. All I know is that I miss music. I don’t miss Tulsa or my brothers, but I miss music. And unless I want to join Everybody Else—who work for my brothers anyway–or become a solo artist, I have to face them.
“I have to go back.”
At first I don’t even realize I’ve said the words out loud, but Carrick’s wide eyes alert me to that fact. He composes himself quickly, giving me a curt nod.
“Not forever,” I add. “I just… we need to work on this album. We need to record. I need to play. Just for the holiday, I promise. Then we’ll come back here.”
Carrick nods again. “If it’s what you need, it’s what you need. I don’t always trust you to make the right decisions about those things, but when you do, I’ll let you know.”
“And when I don’t, you’ll also let me know.”
“It’s what I’m here for,” he replies, cracking a genuine smile.
I crunch another piece of ice, smiling at Carrick around it. I’m not happy to go back. In fact, I dread it. But I have to do it, at least this once. Of that I’m certain.