Mommy’s Night Out: Damien Jurado Edition

Last week, almost a decade after seeing him perform live at the Biltmore Cabaret, I had the chance to see Damien Jurado again at the same venue, this time with Jack Dawson of Tenlons Fort. Dawson’s hauntingly melancholic voice evoked Neil Young, adding a tender sorrow to the evening (which I'll be honest, I found endearing and fucking loved). When I first saw Damien live in May 2016, Aussie folk singer Ben Abraham was the opening act, and together they delivered an incredible show. Jurado was in top form then and still is—his voice, rich with ache, and his extensive catalog remain timeless.

I was in a very different stage of life when I saw him last time—married for less than a year and a new mom to my adopted daughter. Now, nine years later, with two more babies and a decade of marriage under my belt, seeing the same artist again brings the passage of time into sharp focus.

Jurado’s voice hits differently when you’re a sleep-deprived mom of three. These days, my musical preferences are often relegated to the background of my family life. When I’m with my kids, I usually find myself listening to the obligatory rap my daughter prefers with its shallow boasts about wealth and status, the Roald Dahl audiobooks my son is into (which, though great, aren’t music), or an endless loop of baby lullabies to comfort my infant daughter. Being able to experience such a gifted, introspective artist live without kids around to kill the vibe is a rare treat.

Jurado’s long career gives me hope that some things endure—good musicians will keep playing, no matter their age. Not that he’s old, but early in the show, he joked about his aching back and said it’d be fine if he sat down. For those of us who weren't able to see him once he did, he quipped, “You don’t need to see me. I look like an old dad.” It’s the kind of self-effacing humor you’d expect, but it's refreshing nonetheless. He also reflected on the notion of being an ‘entertainer' versus a ‘songwriter,’ acknowledging his evolution as an artist and his need to stay true to himself. He shared a funny story about how many people cover his songs online, and how his mother insists he watch them—even though they’re performed differently than he intended.

Indeed, as he performed songs from his 2010 album Saint Bartlett, like the standout “Beacon Hill”—alongside tracks from earlier and later albums, his deep emotional resonance remained unchanged. His delivery of songs like “Sheets” and “Silver Joy” felt just as raw and moving as when I first heard them, reminding me that, despite the years passing, Jurado’s ability to connect with his audience is undiminished.

I truly savour my nights out these days—they are few and far between. I don’t wish to return to the childless nights of years past, but every so often I need to feel something that helps me return to myself. Throughout last week's show, it was evident that everyone in attendance was there because they appreciated this man and his craft. And like me, probably because they want to feel something too. The audience was attuned, but predictably subdued, almost like they’d all been given SSRIs or really hit up the indica prior to the show. Despite the quieter energy and the melancholy tunes, music like this will forever energize my soul, serving as a reminder of why live performances from artists like Damien Jurado are such a rare and precious gift.