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By Wes Eichenwald
SPECIAL TO THE AUSTIN AMERICAN-STATESMAN
Saturday, April 26, 2008
Click here for slide show with commentary
It's not a bad crowd at the Hole in the Wall,
considering it's a warm, sunny Friday afternoon in
February, but it's not a typical gathering. The patrons
have obviously come straight from the office, but they
skew older, and some of them, sitting a bit stiffly in
their chairs, don't seem like the sort who frequent the
Drag to hear old-school Texas blues-rock delivered by
the likes of local veteran Van Wilks. A few bemused
regulars take a break from shooting pool in the back
room to take in the event.
Crowd aside, Wilks and his band are here to play a
concert for just one man: Joel Porter, who since 2004
has been living with amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, or
Lou Gehrig's disease. Porter's steadily declining health
has forced him to retire from his job as a computer
programmer at the University of Texas' Office of Student
Financial Affairs; the guests are his co-workers and
friends. A wiry, bearded 58-year-old in a burnt-orange
T-shirt, Porter is animated, but his voice is all but
gone, a feeding tube his constant companion.
The concert for Porter has come about thanks to Swan
Songs, a nonprofit organization co-founded by Austin
singer-songwriter Christine Albert. Swan Songs' raison
d'κtre is "fulfilling musical wishes at the end of
life." The concerts are reserved for those "in a
noncurative phase of treatment," or, put plainly,
terminal illness. Under Swan Songs' wing, musicians have
performed in hospital rooms, nursing homes, hospices and
the patients' own homes (the Wilks concert was unusual
in that it was held in a public place and electric
guitars and amps were used, though the gig wasn't
publicized and the club's marquee bore only the cryptic
slogan "ROCK ON JOEL").
All the musicians who answer Swan Songs' call are
based in Austin and play for Austinites. The patients
choose the musician or style of music they'd like to
hear; Swan Songs does its best to accommodate them and
compensates the performers. (Funding, to date, has come
mainly from private donations, with some corporate
contributions; Swan Songs has also received help from a
hospice and a fundraiser held by a school music
program.)
According to Albert, no musician has turned them down
yet; on the contrary, she said, they feel honored to
have been selected. Past concerts have ranged from Elvis
songs to traditional bagpipes to Christmas carols.
"We usually play when the vampires are out," says
Wilks from the stage, but he seems to be enjoying
himself. Porter works the room, hugging one friend after
another. His co-workers and friends congregate by the
bar.
The concert isn't a lengthy affair at some 40
minutes, it's about as long as Swan Songs' gigs get. The
atmosphere is more charged than you'd find at a typical
gig by Wilks or nearly anyone else, but it's not
anything remotely like a wake or memorial service as
far as most guests are concerned, it's just part of
Porter's retirement festivities (after the concert, the
party will move to a pizza parlor a few blocks away).
Porter, a fan of classic rock, loved the show,
although he wasn't familiar with Wilks until plans were
coming together for the concert (a co-worker of Porter's
also works with Albert and knew Wilks would fit the
bill). Like many in Austin, he was once in a band
himself, a long time ago. Back in 1966 before spending
22 years in the Air Force, including a stint in Vietnam,
and the next 17 years working at UT Porter was a high
school student in Mount Airy, N.C., where he played
saxophone and guitar and sang in a top-40 cover band
called the Ragmen. The year after that, he was in a
larger, more R&B-oriented group called the Royal
Charmers.
"I think many, if not most of us, at one time will
wonder just what they would do if confronted with a
serious, ultimately fatal, illness," Porter wrote in an
e-mail after the concert. "I'm now that person. After I
really came to my senses and faced up to what's going on
and going to happen, my entire perception of what's
really important in my life changed almost immediately.
"I learned from ALS victims who have long passed that
it's all about family and friends," he added. "You may
remember trips you've taken, places you've been. But
you'll never forget the people you shared those times
with. I could easily choose touring Europe at this
moment.
Instead, just give me time with a friend who I can
hold hands with and allow us to just share our moments
with each other. ... I chose to work much longer than I
should have. That decision was because of the friends
I'd share time (with) at UT. It just doesn't get
better."
Albert said Swan Songs works on a request basis.
"Our job is to spread the word to the community so
that people in a support situation know it's available,"
she said. "The people we've gone to do concerts for, we
know they're at the place where they're cherishing and
embracing every moment they have. So by the time we go,
they're receptive and they know what their situation is,
and they've accepted it to a large degree."
Albert, who moved to Austin from Santa Fe, N.M., in
1982, is a familiar presence around area clubs, whether
playing solo or as a duo, Albert and Gage, with her
husband, Chris. In 1992, she was asked to perform on two
separate occasions for people with terminal illnesses.
Albert was moved by both the way they responded and the
way she felt as a performer to be helping people.
With her friend Gaea Logan, a psychotherapist and
teacher involved in hospice care, she started a project
called Music Aid to bring concerts to patients in
hospices Albert providing contacts to friends in
Austin's music community, and Logan to a network of
professional caretakers.
After organizing about a dozen concerts, Music Aid
went onto the back burner while Albert turned her
attention to other projects. In 2005, she and Logan
rebranded the project as Swan Songs (the name inspired
in part by John Swann, who was the first patient Albert
sang for in 1992). Since 2006, there have been 13 Swan
Song concerts, and Albert and her team look forward to
arranging more as word gets out.
"I try not to represent it (as) being a healing
program or therapeutic I just let it be that," she
said. Since such a large number of both musicians and
ardent music fans live here, Albert sees Austin as a
particularly good fit for the organization.
Most of "these fans can no longer go out; we bring
the music to them one more time," she said. "It's set up
so that it's very life-affirming. This is
request-driven, one-on-one. We don't seek out the
patients; they have to find out about us. It's inspiring
to me that people are being courageous and letting
musicians into their home and into their heart and
opening up, and their families want to help them do
that.
"Eliza Gilkyson did a concert for a gentleman in his
early 40s with a brain tumor, and everybody in there was
just cherishing every moment and every note."
Logan speaks in measured cadences that bespeak a
profound inner calm that's most likely a product of her
profession, the Buddhism she follows or maybe even
surviving breast cancer less than two years ago. Logan
is heartened by our society's increasing maturity in
dealing with death which, obviously, begins with
acknowledging it exists.
"Typically, we think of healing as getting physically
cured," she said. "There's a deeper level of healing
when it's not possible to cure the body, but there might
be a way to engage in a process that's deeply
meaningful."
Albert and Logan agree that it's not just about the
music, though; of equal importance is the gathering
itself.
Logan typically briefs participating musicians on
what a bedside or hospice concert might be like.
"Sometimes," she says, "we brought together family
members who hadn't seen each other in quite a while."
She mentioned a young Hispanic man dying of AIDS who
hadn't spoken to his parents in a long time; they had
been alienated by his sexual orientation. "I was able to
call his father and invite him to come to the hospice
setting," Logan said. "The father came and we played
frontera music, and the father and the son had this
incredibly beautiful reconnecting. The son died two days
later. Without that powerful container of the music, I
think (that) would not have happened."
Local cabaret singer Mady Kaye, who also performs as
part of the Beat Divas, would agree. Over the phone,
Kaye is overcome with emotion when she recalls her Swan
Songs experience singing Christmas carols with her
seasonal combo, the Austin Carolers, a bit out of season
last January for an elderly woman in a Cedar Park
nursing home.
"Apparently it was the woman herself who requested
it, and she was aware that she was not going to have any
more Christmases," Kaye recalled. Although the
recipient, who Kaye estimated was in her eighties,
wasn't extremely responsive, she said, her family
members "assured us that she was loving it, and they
gathered around and took pictures."
She added: "Generally, it's hard to sing for a group
of people who are sitting around crying. At the same
time, what a joyful setting in which to celebrate life
and say goodbye." |
