I don’t know how they do it, but I’m grateful they do: The Indigo Girls at Shepherd’s Bush
How to describe what was in the atmosphere at the Shepherd’s Bush Empire before the Indigo Girls played the London instalment of their latest tour? There was excitement, admiration, connection, and lots of love, both new and long-standing. In the crowd, there were people who could have belted out every song line-for-line, and sometimes found themselves doing exactly that. There were newbies to the IGs’ work, metaphorically hitching a ride in the Barbie van, or simply brought by a friend who said, “Come to this show — I think you’ll love it.” And they discovered that they do.
Legacy, history, memories, shared struggles, shared joy. The most incredible transcendent song writing and music that I’ve ever known.
There was, as always with the Indigo Girls’ work, the awe-inspiring blend of their creation. The alchemy of their connection. The differences in Amy’s and Emily’s voices and styles, that combine to make the music that has endeared them to loyal fans since the mid 80’s. Lyrics that make me pause, tilt my head in wonder, and bring a finger to my lips as I ponder the meaning. Lyrics that are etched in the deepest parts of my brain, and that touch the deepest part of my soul.
But lyrics that also I can hear as if for the first time. Even today I woke up with the opening lines of “Galileo”, a song I’ve listened to for nearly 30 years, probably hundreds of times.
“Galileo’s head was on the block/His crime was looking up the truth.”
A super slow, penny-drop moment.
Curiosity, truth, seeking…can get you…into trouble…?
Head tilt, finger to lips. Hmm. Of course I know that — but how they put all that meaning in so few words, to paint a scene that is historic and timeless.
Meaning that is even more important in the world of today, with fear keeping people silenced, with abuses of power continuing to go unchecked. Structures and systems that need not to be improved, but torn down and built again to allow a world of more acceptance, inclusion, and compassion.
For me, it’s just another example of remaining a learner with their music, and continuing to listen deeply. And remembering to thank everyone before me who’s fought for equality, for truth, for humanity.
I geeked out on setlist.fm during the week, doing my pre-show prep and reviewing the songs they’d performed in Dublin, Manchester, and Cardiff. A meticulous exploration that revealed to me three songs I’d missed throughout the years and that I instantly fell in love with: “Moment of Forgiveness”, “Fill It Up Again”, and “Share the Moon.” I’ve felt so lucky all week to have met these songs for the first time, years after their initial releases.
As for the show, the Indigo Girls offered a blend of songs from the decades — some of my favourites being from the latest album, Look Long, which was the soundtrack of my daily Covid walks. The opening notes of “Shit Kickin’” take me back to the June sunshine of 2020, the one-foot-in-front-of-the-other nature of life, the calm that the precious daily outdoor time brought. “Howl at the Moon” and “Country Radio”…they all transported me to my walking circuit of that pandemic summer. How small my world was, and still so big.
Three years on, it was all heading toward the finish at the Empire: “Closer to Fine” was the last official song before an encore. We, the audience, sang the bulk of it — and I felt like a triumphant toddler as I watched the smile grow on Amy’s face, as if there was a strange magnetic force of pride being held between us and them.
Look!, we in the crowd seemed to be saying, we know this so well we can do it on our own!
And then Amy and Emily, responding back with permission and encouragement: Sure, go for it — we’ve got you.
We’ve got one another.
It wasn’t until “Galileo”, though, the ultimate finale, that I let all my emotion go. I hadn’t expected a tearful release, but it was ok. I was in good company. In that sweaty little front corner of the stalls, left of the stage, where the security team had been generously handing out small cups of water to keep us all from passing out in the heat, there was so much love and affection and acceptance that any response would have been ok. I believe it goes with being part of the Indigo Girls’ tribe: it’s ok to feel, it’s ok to notice, it’s ok to be just who you are, in this wild experience of being human.
My overriding instruction to myself was: be present. At this concert and in life. Do not take any one moment of this cruel and beautiful and heart-breaking and magical and strange and interesting and wonderful world for granted. Covid taught us that we can never assume we’ll get to travel across country borders, or get in an airplane, or be in a space full of lots of people breathing in the same magical concoction of live music.
It was hard not to wonder if I’d ever see the Indigo Girls again on a stage. Time, age, money — all those realistic constraints. But there I was, on my ride home, looking up their upcoming tour dates and wondering if maybe, just maybe, I could find a way to be in Iowa, or upstate NY, or Georgia in the next few months. We’ll see.
The next morning, as I buttered my toast and reminisced, I again had hot tears flooding my face and leaving salty tracks on my cheeks.
Who can explain where those tears come from?
Well, actually, the Indigo Girls probably can, in a beautiful lyric wrapped in a soul-touching melody and guitar chords.
Last night, as I gazed at my heroines, those pioneers and activists, I realised that truly, being a musician is an act of service. An act of service to perform on stages, to sacrifice some of the aspects of normalcy that most of us who haven’t known fame wouldn’t even know to be grateful for. To work late nights, to be on the road, to be away from home, away from your own bed. To relinquish anonymity, to have people think they know you, because they know your art. To be asked for your picture, your autograph, some physical token of a memory. To stand up as activists and performers, and show up and keep delivering your music with heart, and meaning, and a generous spirit.
A small group of about 25 of us waited after the gig behind a makeshift barrier near the Stage Door, hoping for a few more moments with our sheroes. I said to my friend, what will I do if they come over? Would I want a picture? Why am I waiting?
I decided that what I would really want would be to tell them that I appreciate them and their music. That would be enough.
Emily left soon after the show, and we waved and shouted that we loved her. More people from behind the scenes trickled out of the exit; we applauded the incredible violinist, the bassist, the woman who played the accordion and the incredible flute section in “Closer to Fine.”
Various fans gradually faded away, to get a falafel or a night bus home. A woman from Iceland stayed right ’til the end, another from Scotland held out hope that she could get a CD signed. We chatted to a woman named Stephanie, who was originally from California but had travelled from France with her daughter. She told us of the various shows she’s seen in the past 30 years of following the duo. Just before midnight, she said she was heading to her hotel. “If Amy comes over, just tell her that her biggest fan loves her.”
Finally, the final few people from the IGs’ entourage spilled out of the Stage Door, including Amy. The few of us who were still there waved, shouted down the alley: We love you, Amy. Thank you! A turn, a wave, and then they all headed off into a silver car, off into the night, before doing it all again the next day at a different venue.
To be an Indigo Girls fan feels like a blessing, an inclusion into a way of seeing the world that is beautiful, and raw, and real. Their songs make me feel that I’ve got some clear and direct line to a different place, a different level of knowing myself and my fellow seekers.
How they do what they do, which is to create music that can both break my heart open and then find a way to put it back together — often in the same song — defies my understanding.
I’m grateful for the miracle of it.
My hope is that Emily and Amy know how much the gift of their music means to me and to so many people in the world. I bet they do — we sang our hearts out to them as they have done and continue to do with us, for all these years.
