I received a great kindness the other day.
Some months back, my friend Billy commented on one of my posts about David Bowie and we got to talking about his Berlin Trilogy. I mentioned that I had never been able to find a copy of Lodger, the third (and perhaps oddest) in the run and put the conversation out of my mind.
But not Billy.
A few days ago, he showed up at my wife’s shop with a copy for her to give me. That is generous enough, but it went even deeper. As it turns out, many years ago, he had given away his record collection when he came to faith, and when he found out that I was missing this record, he tracked down the friend to whom he had gifted his records so that he could fill the gap in my collection.
That’s a rare gift, and in most cases, the music itself would be overshadowed by that generosity. But Lodger is just as odd and meandering as the tale that brought it to me.
I don’t understand why I keep acquiring live albums from bands I’m not familiar with.
One summer in college, I worked at the Subway inside of a local gas station. The owner told me a story of when he was growing up in Rockford, IL. He and his brother were in a band together. Eventually, he left the band, and they found a replacement. His brother left, and he was replaced.