House Concert
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I inquired about the name, “Meeting Grace,” and she replied, “It was inspired by Jeff Buckley, a singer/songwriter who drowned a few years ago, tragically before his time. His first album was called, “Grace.” I really liked it, and I like the phrase, Meeting Grace, as a phrase to come to a place where you are sort of enveloped in magical-ness.” As for house concerts in general, Berkley said they’re an old tradition, “going back years and years and years, back when Dylan did folk music.” I was quick to pick up on the dynamics of the two men – Berkley is the funny man to Hart’s straight man. This became even more evident when Berkley grabbed a piece of pita bread on which he wrote the evening’s set list, before Hart launched into a lecture about the local press and their assumed responsibilities.

The performance venue was in the backyard, which could be reached through a door at the back of the garage. I stepped outside, and was surprised at how professional everything looked. To my right was an elevated wooden deck, and facing it to my left were rows of chairs. There were 45 seats, most of which were filled before the music began. As with any concert, an opening act preceded the headliners. After the audience had been warmed up, the duo emerged from the green room to be greeted by applause and cheers, the loudest of which was supplied by the proud hosts. In anticipation of the first song, a hush fell over the crowd; this was new to me. I have never been to a concert where the crowd was so quiet, so tame, so… manageable.

When the band launched into their first song, the harmony of their voices drew me in with the rest of the crowd. Before and between songs, Berkley and Hart gave us background on the lyrics, and regaled us with humorous stories about their past, inciting hearty laughs from the gathered fans. Their humor was warm and dry. We learned when each song was written, and the “for whoms” and “whys” they seemed to materialize. With so few people in the audience, all quiet and attentive, occasionally bantering with the band, this felt more like a gathering of friends. This was not the crowded bars and clubs, where people shout to be heard over the band, where the evening out is more about the drinking, the scene, and the hook-ups than the music. This was a kinder, gentler concert.

As the daylight faded, luminaria at the foot of the “stage” cast a dim, romantic glow. The main source of light on the performers was a couple of tiki torches burning to the left of the spectators. Ben and Sue sat to our right, facing sideways so they could see both the audience and the band. Ben sang along, loudly, to every song. But he wasn’t the only member of the crowd to join in. One of the tunes was a clever, interactive piece requiring the help of many. I enjoyed counting to 12 on cue and discovering a hidden pattern in the well-written song. I’d hate to give away the secret and spoil your fun; to hear the code revealed for yourself, you must check out the duo’s third album, entitled Twelve. Some of the tunes were funny, others were poignant – a woman next to me shed tears during the song, Barrel of Rain.

People sang along with their favorite songs. Yelling out song titles between each tune were Ben and Sue. When the band members tried to consult their set list, the wedge of pita was nowhere to be found. (Diva Tip: When you’re in a successful rock band, avoid writing your set list on food.) Berkley Hart appeased the crowd with a few requests, and tried to play those titles that were excitedly screamed out by the hosts, bouncing in their foldout chairs. Like most of the concerts I’ve been to, there was an intermission, but for this one, cake and refreshments were served in the garage. Between sets, the band retired to the green room. According to the list that Lizzie sends to prospective house concert hosts, the green room, or a “private ‘backstage’ area where the artists can relax, rehearse and just ‘be’” is a prerequisite. Lizzie visits the homes before concerts are scheduled, and she is responsible for ensuring the professional, theater-like ambiance. The first item on her list: Hosts must understand that this is “not a party.”

16 items on the list and additional paragraphs further explain the process to any person interested in throwing their own house concert. No detail is too small when crafting the perfect musical event. At the end of the show the audience gave a standing ovation and called for an encore; Berkley Hart obliged. The last song of the evening was sung solo by Berkley – a lullaby written for his 6-year-old daughter, Dakota. The band packed up, and we made our way back to the car – stopping by the table in the garage to purchase all 3 CDs. For the rest of the night, I contemplated opportunities lost, houses unseen, hosts and fans who escaped my analysis, and Monday morning stories missed. From now on, I’m going to pay more attention to those emails.

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