Last night, December 4, Charleston was treated to the Blind Boys of Alabama. If you weren't there, then do yourself a favor: hope that they return. I'm not here to do a full review, so if you wish to read about them, go here.
In short, they tore it up. They brought even notoriously sleepy Charleston audiences to their feet time and again, all on a cold Tuesday night.
And what did that was the incredible talent and musical maturity of this ensemble. They needed no fancy lights, no visuals, nothing but singing and playing. The authority and the sheer soul ripping power of the music was nothing less than spectacular.
At times, I felt like I was in a southern church, surrounded by believers, with the Glory Train parked outside waiting for us to board. I am no great believer, but when I hear these guys sing, I need no faith. I am filled with it; flooded even. You can't help it. It was that powerful. Tears flowed easily.
It supports my argument that real music needs no explanation or analysis. It transcends language, all thoughts, all barriers and reaches into those hidden and gaurded parts of our being. The place where humanity resides.
These guys are for reals. Go see them whenever, wherever you can.