Mumford and The King

In middle school I overheard my mother saying that, Katherine Belding, a former babysitter I absolutely worshiped, was going on tour with the Grateful Dead. I was so jealous I couldn't see straight. I wasn't jealous of seeing Jerry Garcia. I just thought how cool Katherine must be to leave the beautifully appointed house that was afforded her by her orthopedic surgeon of a father and take to the road with nothing more than a hemp knapsack. I imagined her meeting like-minded people all over the country, singing along to songs that suggested some deeper understanding of the world, and using various substances to help them plow even deeper into the meaning of the universe. It was all so romantic. Well, I may be a little late, but I've finally found the spirit of Katherine Belding. And my band of choice? Ah, there is no other. I owe this to first, Adam Whiting and second, to my sister. Many, many months ago Adam posted a clip of a new band that he liked. Sally saw it one time and fell in love, you may even go so far as to say it awakened her soul. It wasn't long before, I too was enlivened and begun singing along to "White Blank Page" and "Winter Winds." In very short order, Sally and I had bought tickets to two Mumford and Sons concerts: one in Boston, one in NYC. We planned and prepared and before we knew it, it was time to get on the plane and head to Boston for our first show.

What happened at those concerts was nothing short of transformitive. We sang, waved our arms, and jigged for two hours straight. I stood there, in The House of Blues in Boston, Massachusetts and began to think about the world differently, much the same way that I'm sure those deadheads felt when humming and swaying to "Friend of the Devil." I know how dramatic that sounds but it's true, and there wasn't even any weed involved. Instead of tye-dye t-shirts and acid bears, there were turtlenecks and PBRs. From the second smattering of people I looked up at that stage and the feelings of romance washed over me. The entire show testified to the fact that we are comprised of divine fibers.

Recently, when I was preparing to speak on Post-modernism to a group of women, my father reminded me of Pierre Teilhard de Chardin's claim that "We are not physical beings having a spiritual experience but spiritual beings having a physical experience." This truth could not have been more evident as we raised our hands, sang in unison, jumped up and down and thought about the beauty of the human spirit as the melody of "Love: it will not betray you, dismay, or enslave you; it will set you free, be more the many you were made to be" danced through the air. The music of Mumford and Sons awakens the soul.

But the real surprise occurred about an hour before my beloved band took the stage. A very strange man waltzed out in tight, white trousers and a navy coat with tails. These details were practically obscure, however, in light of the long dreadlocks that fell from his head. I laughed and raised my eyebrows and then this man opened his mouth and sang, "The Brightest Light..." and the rest of the room went dark. And I fell in love. This was King Charles.

He went on to claim that, when he's in turmoil his Lord is with him, that he loves his homeland of England, and that "love will set your soul on fire" and I couldn't help feeling like I was no longer in the House of Blues but in some 18th century library with a well-read, classically trained fencer/theologian who enjoyed discussing philosophy while drinking espresso. He takes me to another place.

I've always loved and adored music, whether it was New Kids on the Block, Counting Crows, or some good 'ol Black Eyed Peas, but for the first time I think I truly understand why Katherine Belding left home, slept on the ground, and went without showers: true love.