Originally published in Toronto Star
Eric Bachmann, one of my husband’s favourite musical artists for the past 30 years, was looking for house concert hosts for his upcoming tour. “Apply right now,” I urged my hubby. “Don’t let this opportunity pass you by.” The last time we saw Bachmann headline was at The Drake Underground, a venue considerably larger than our living room. While Bachmann likely doesn’t need to perform house concerts, he chose to do so in Toronto, opting for two smaller shows on the same day instead of one larger gig. I understand why he might choose this intimate setting: playing in someone’s home offers a special kind of experience.
We were fortunate to be selected as one of two hosts for Bachmann’s shows in Toronto. The day before the concert, we borrowed and bought a bunch of folding chairs, rearranging our living space into a cozy listening room. It would be tight, but we could fit 45 ticket holders along with our family and a handful of friends. We filled our space with lamps and flameless candles, doing our best to create a warm atmosphere, even hanging a curtain of long golden tinsel on the wall to serve as the backdrop for the stage. In just a few hours of thoughtful work, our home was transformed into a vibey music lounge.
As Bachmann’s fans arrived, I was struck by how many thanked me for inviting them into my home. A few remarked on the fun and quirky decor, saying, “You have so many interesting things to look at.” It had been a long time since a stranger was in my home, and I realized how much I missed seeing it through fresh eyes. When Bachmann finished setting up his guitars, I asked if he wanted to play our piano. “Does it work?” he said, in a gentle tone that belied his commanding 6’4” frame. “We had it tuned for you. Why don’t you try it?” After striking a few chords, he beamed. My husband and I were thrilled that he’d be playing our piano.
Once the concert began, I took note of the quiet in my house. Not a sound, aside from the occasional cough, was heard other than Bachmann’s mesmerizing music. As he closed his eyes and played his emotive and evocative songs, I looked around, taking in the smiles on people’s faces. We were a group of 55 people, a mix of strangers and familiar faces, but in some ways, we were one entity, brought together by the love of an artist’s music. I’m pretty sure I had a giddy grin on my face for most of the evening, grateful that the man whose songs I listened to as I was first getting to know my husband, was now in our home, playing our piano, with photos of our daughters above him. More than once, I caught myself thinking, Is this for real?
The community of strangers in my living room was so respectful of my home, I remember noting how polite everyone was — how they discreetly opened their BYOB beverages, making sure to take their empties with them. One kind man even taught me how to fix the handle on my bathroom faucet. At first glance, it seemed functional but for those not trained to be extra delicate, it sometimes fell off with a loud clunk as it landed in my glass vessel sink. Repairing it had been on my interminable to-do list for more than two years. But thanks to this gentleman’s advice, I fixed it the next day.
As Bachmann was leaving, he turned around and said something along the lines of, “I appreciate you guys. Thanks for opening your home to me.” My response might have seemed a bit strange — especially since he lives in America, doesn’t make it to Canada all that often, and doesn’t usually perform living room concerts — but I meant it. “Anytime, Eric.”
Though it took some effort to prepare my home for the concert, the rewards were profound, reminding me of the kindness of strangers and how seemingly different people can share common interests. I felt more in touch with the Toronto music community than I had in years, and even more in touch with my humanity. All this happened while I listened to poignant and introspective music that reminded me how beautiful life can be, and that even in these turbulent times, we can find pockets of connection and joy.
Nancy Dutra 