Soul as a Weapon

Why Siddhartha and The Waterboys matter

Like a soul-barker living out Moore's theory that you can't have enough soul mates, Scott sang,

Bring the unforgiven
Bring the unredeemed
Bring the lost, the nameless
Let 'em all be seen
Bring 'em out of exile
Bring 'em out of sleep
Bring 'em to the portal
Lay them at my feet
Bring 'em all in, bring 'em all in, bring 'em all in
Bring 'em all in, bring 'em all into my heart
Bring 'em all in, bring 'em all in, bring 'em all in
Bring 'em all in, bring 'em all in to my heart

As he sang "Bring 'em all in" over and over, Scott took his hand off the neck of his guitar and waved toward his heart, ushering in the churning energy of the room like a shepherd gathering sheep, a soul mate collecting as many more as his heart could hold. The crowd pressed forward. And at that moment, as is so often the case with live music, the rest of the world was made irrelevant. Suddenly, this was a place where souls, not minds, touch, a place where individuals from Hesse to Johansson to Moore are conjured, all singing another Scott tune, solitarily but together, "Ain't no words for the things I'm feeling/Ain't no tongue can tell/No name for the song my soul's revealing/And all is very well."

 

Jim Walsh can be reached at jwalsh@citypages.com or 612.372.3775.

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