Seated beside me is the mother of the saxophonist of my favorite band. I am seated in a plush green velvet chair. An array of tea, scones, jam, and clotted cream is laid out in front of me. Outside, on one side, there is a vast park from which music is currently blasting. On the other side, there is a row of charming terraced houses, dumpling shops, and curry houses. British summertime at its fullest. I am at my happiest.
Never in my life had such a series of coincidences ever converged to bring me such joy as at that moment. For two years, I had been dreaming, day and night, of that moment. After so long, it came true. I have listened to the band Black Country, New Road (BCNR), for a long time now. They have been my favorite for just as long. Their music never fails to cheer my spirits, inspire me creatively, or ignite my imagination. My love for them was what drove me to write my inaugural article about them in The Perennial in last year’s issue. The transpiring of such an unlikely story is something I am still coming to terms with.
It all began when I had received a shirt featuring an undeniably bad photo of the saxophonist of BCNR as a gift two years ago.
I found myself in Costa Rica having left the shirt at the bottom of my baggage. It was a winter holiday, and my family had taken a memorable trip. Though it was a garment that would undoubtedly attract stares, I was a shameless 13-year-old; I had decided to pack the shirt and wear it in public under a vest, no less. We headed for the Monteverde Cloud Forest, far removed from the capital of San José, for a hike. Upon arriving, we had met an exceedingly polite British mom and son, with whom we hiked. Suddenly, the sun came out, and the namesake clouds of the forest subsided; these forces drove me to do the natural and unzip my vest, revealing the shirt and the glorious photo to the world.
The mother immediately reacted.
“Is that Lewis Evans?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I’m his mum’s best friend.”
This episode would set up many of my happiest moments over the next two years. That same day, Lewis would send a video greeting to me. Within a few months’ time, I would receive a signed poster, setlist, and a note with Lewis’s mother’s email. The next year, I would see them live, a life-changing experience, and Lewis would tell this exact story to me and an audience of hundreds. Then, this summer, on a visit to Britain, I met his mother in a Cambridge tavern, where we discussed such riveting topics at the train station, Australia, and London (not to mention special information about the band). It would take hours for me to digest the rarity of my opportunity and weeks for me to digest my luck.
The impossibility of such fateful events happening in succession drives me to gratitude. I have been able to remain in contact, realize my dream, and meet so many wonderful people. I had taken an opportunity and made the most of it. That, and a lot of luck, was what drove this unconventional episode and what will continue to drive the next ones.
