I’ve been to a lot of shows at Velour. And I’ve been to many special concerts where they rise to the level of a spiritual experience. But nothing compared to the quiet reverence that was exhibited at Velour on Saturday night. Each song was a prayer and a hymn for and on behalf of the departed with many of the artists clearly moved after their performances. There were no pews or altars, but for two and a half hours, Velour was easily the holiest place in Provo, more than any church or temple.
Three years ago, my dad was diagnosed with rare form of blood cancer that never truly goes into remission. It can only be managed and abated for so long before it inevitably returns with a vengeance. And even though his health is great now, we know it’s just a matter of time before it’s not.
His diagnosis changed my perspective on life and set me on a path completely different than the one I was on. Three years later, I’ve quit my job as an attorney to pursue a dream, and in my eyes, something that truly matters—at least more than toiling away behind a desk to help the rich get richer.
And tonight was a wonderful reminder that, despite the state of the world and any hopelessness that may cause, there are things that matter. Art matters. Music matters. Your music matters. And though it may be hard to believe, it’s MOM’s goal to echo this message. That someone sees you. That someone hears you—not only hears you but that someone is listening. And finally, that you matter. Because for the better part of a decade I knew what the opposite of that—to feel invisible and misunderstood and alone—felt like.
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