I got the crazy idea to attend the Noreast’r Music + Arts Festival up north in Mio, Michigan when I saw that my guitar teacher and her husband were among the performers listed. So I rallied up a group of friends and we drove 3 hours north for the weekend, to camp, listen to a whole lot of music, eat some good food, and enjoy myriad other festival merriments.
And we did! It was an ultra-fun weekend, and also deeply meaningful and inspirational for me as a budding songwriter. My teacher introduced me to some fellow women songwriters much more experienced than I, who no doubt will be important connections and friends for me in the future.
But as wonderful as all of that was, none of it happens to be the impetus for this blog post. This is:
In the afternoon on the last day of the festival, one of my songwriting heroes performed, a fellow by the name of Peter Mulvey. I’d first heard him perform as the Master of Ceremonies at The Ann Arbor Folk Festival a few years back and held enormous respect for him as both songwriter and performer ever since. This was my first time getting to hear him play a full set of his music, and I enjoyed it immensely. The man is a master of his craft in all ways: song, lyric, storytelling.
Much later that evening, my friend and I were sitting in our chairs on the lawn listening to one of the last bands of the night. A gentleman passed by, smiling at us as he did. I couldn’t be sure, but after he’d gone I thought it might have been Peter Mulvey. I’d been far enough from the stage that I couldn’t quite recognize his face, but I did recognize his hat – a classic black newsboy-style cap with a short brim in the front.
I turned to my friend and said “I think that was Peter Mulvey…but I’m not sure.” I wanted desperately to go talk to him, tell him how much I appreciated him, but I felt nervous – first, I didn’t know if it was even him, and second, as a longtime musician myself, I knew that after a set you weren’t always in the mood to talk to raving fans.
But I had this feeling. Do you know the one I’m talking about? It’s sort of like a sparkle in the air, the feeling that something magical could be about to happen. In short, I knew if I didn’t jump out of my seat and go catch him I’d regret it for a long time.
So I jumped up, running in the dark in the direction he’d headed, dodging between merchant booths and campers’ tents. I spotted him and called out, “Excuse me!”
He turned around.
“I’m sorry, I might have the wrong person, but did you perform earlier?”
“Yes,” he replied.
“Are you Peter Mulvey?”
“Yes,” he replied.
And so it was. Our conversation lasted probably all of five minutes, but it was a wonderful one indeed. I told him what I appreciated most about his music and performing style and he seemed genuinely touched. He asked about me and I told him that after a long career in jazz, I’d discovered songwriting only a few years earlier and had just released my first album. At the end, he asked my name again, as though he wanted to remember it. Then we parted ways.
What will come of this chance encounter? Who knows, maybe nothing.
But one thing I know for sure is this: if you ever have that feeling – that in the moment there is something you need to do – you’d better heed that call. Because it’s moments like those that maybe, just maybe, can change everything.
