
Last night my wife and I went to see David Gray at the Benedum Center in Pittsburgh. He’s out in support of his wonderful new record, “Draw the Line,” and sounding better than ever. For his first encore, he did a stirring rendition of the lead-off track from his debut, a song called “Shine.” I’m listening to it now, as I type these words, and it’s taking me back to 1993.
I wasn’t married; had no kids. I was still drinking. I had just left one band and was in the process of forming another. I was reading every book I could find by an author from Minnesota named Jon Hassler and losing one love as I found another. I was lugging around a giant book of William Blake poems (annoying, I know) and searching for my own voice as I fell under the spell of David Gray’s.
On a warm, sunny day all these years later I sit in a crowded coffee shop remembering…and listening.
The whole record, and that song in particular, felt, to me, like a heavy, wooden door opening out onto a spacious, starry panorama – in Wales or Ireland or Wyoming. The words stung like sharp shards of sunlight, and challenged me toward MEANING and WEIGHT in my own writing. They were friends who sometimes got drunk and lost their tempers, and clues to the sweet, murky mysteries of flesh, loss and spirit in which I was immersed.
Much has changed since then. I’m married, sober, and the father of four little boys. The band I was forming in 1993 had a great run then ran out of steam. A new band took its place. And for every dream that died a new one came along.
“Shine” plays still, over and over through my small laptop headphones and in my overly caffeinated state I ask myself the hard question: how does it hit you now? The answer is something of a relief.
It hits me exactly as it did in 1993 – a heavy, wooden door opening out onto a spacious, starry panorama…
And that’s why I love music.
To check out ”Shine” click on this iTunes link.
Bill Deasy is an accomplished songwriter, musician and novelist. To learn more about the man and his work visit www.billdeasy.com.


