The miracles of life are consistently hidden under insubstantial and superficial day-to-day problems.  But I don’t want to forget. I was 18 years old in my friend’s shiny, silver Lexus. She had recently come back to NY from her first year at University of Colarado in Boulder and brought a gift from the heavens. There’s a little venue “on the hill” in Boulder where she had been graced by the presence of an LA band named ‘Something Corporate’. She had pictures of herself in the first row; a bushy, blonde haired punk kid hanging off the stage in front of her with the word MUSIC tattooed down his forearm. It was my first glimpse of Andrew McMahon. We played stolen downloads as we drove around town that summer. There in that car she played me “Punk Rock Princess”, “If You See Jordan”, and of course “Konstantine.” These songs became regulars in my rotations, but it wasn’t for another two years until my heart was stolen for good. It’s hard to go to rock shows with people who aren’t as entirely engrossed as you, but junior year I rounded up some friends and drove from Syracuse down to Ithaca College to see Something Corporate for myself. A little drunk and late, we found the gymnasium filled and the opening band finishing their set. This was not okay, clearly. I grabbed my friends by the arm and pulled them through the crowd taking down anyone in my way until I was close enough for Andrew to spit on me.  There would be no other way to watch this show. And, as with life, determination leads to success. What I got was not what I had expected. The image stored in my head was of a blonde California boy. He was a little chubby and sloppy with long locks he used to cover half his face. But when he walked on stage he was a thin, handsome young man with very short dark hair. I had to wonder if I was at the wrong show. He was completely transformed. Neither him nor I had any idea that his transformation was due to the cancer eating away at his body. I had never seen a video of the band live. I knew the songs simply by their sounds, and I am forever grateful that the Internet had not yet saturated my brain so deeply. I got to experience this blindly. I didn’t know that he would sit at an upright piano playing with one hand and one foot. I didn’t know he would stand on top of it and jump down to finish the song with his ass. I didn’t know he would keep his right hand on the keys, but face the audience using his signature dual microphone set up. I had no idea. I was floored. I stood still in front of my friends hiding teardrops as they rolled down my cheeks. I knew this man was everything. Less than two months later he finished a solo project with his new band that he would later become famous with.  The debut album of ‘Jack’s Mannequin’ was a rap on the same day he was diagnosed with Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia.  Then, against all marketing advice, he released the album as planned while he was holed up in the hospital. The day that the album hit general population Andrew was receiving a stem cell transplant from his sister. I remember the first time I put the album in my stereo and turned it on. I had no idea what to expect, and the energetic first notes from “Holiday From Real” surged through my body putting a silly, annoying grin on my face. I didn’t wipe it off for the entire listening session. I was alone, dancing in my seat.  It was rival. And it was heartbreaking. I thought clearly of the man I was this attached to - this man who was feeding my soul - half alive.  I was awakened from within, and he was holding on to any shred of hope he could find.  For every time I smiled, I cried. I spent months fearful that the universe would take all he was capable of giving.  He was changing me. I knew he could do more. I knew he had to do more. The idea of this being it - just this one album, just that one show – crushed me. I would not accept it. I wrote pages and pages of prayers in my journals. I followed every blog entry he posted. I woke up and fell asleep every day thinking of him. And I have haunting memories of coming home in the middle of the night from typical college binge drinking sessions and crying myself to sleep.  I was scared. That album did not come out of my stereo, literally, for two straight years. It may be the most played album I have ever owned. It’s been eight years since I first heard the music of Andrew McMahon. He is now cancer free and on the verge of releasing a much anticipated new ‘Jack’s Mannequin’ album. I worried that we’d have to live without his gift. Instead, I’ve been blessed to see him perform six times in six different venues. I thought I’d lose him after seeing him just once from the stands. Instead, Jenn and I together were fortunate enough to meet him personally in Central Park and tell him ourselves that we love him.   As I shook hands with him, I knew that I was touching the miracle of life. I was entirely present in the moment and aware of how precious the moment was. It’s a blessing we often take for granted. And as I shook his hand, I was also carrying the miracle of life that would soon become my son. I was so moved by his presence that I forgot to tell him. This new miracle of life had been touched for the first, but not last, time in the center of Central Park by the sounds of Andrew McMahon.  “She thinks I’m much too thin She asks me if I’m sick What’s a girl to do with friends like this?” - Holiday From Real “Jack’s Mannequin -Stefanie

The miracles of life are consistently hidden under insubstantial and superficial day-to-day problems.  But I don’t want to forget.

I was 18 years old in my friend’s shiny, silver Lexus. She had recently come back to NY from her first year at University of Colarado in Boulder and brought a gift from the heavens. There’s a little venue “on the hill” in Boulder where she had been graced by the presence of an LA band named ‘Something Corporate’. She had pictures of herself in the first row; a bushy, blonde haired punk kid hanging off the stage in front of her with the word MUSIC tattooed down his forearm. It was my first glimpse of Andrew McMahon. We played stolen downloads as we drove around town that summer. There in that car she played me “Punk Rock Princess”, “If You See Jordan”, and of course “Konstantine.” These songs became regulars in my rotations, but it wasn’t for another two years until my heart was stolen for good.

It’s hard to go to rock shows with people who aren’t as entirely engrossed as you, but junior year I rounded up some friends and drove from Syracuse down to Ithaca College to see Something Corporate for myself. A little drunk and late, we found the gymnasium filled and the opening band finishing their set. This was not okay, clearly. I grabbed my friends by the arm and pulled them through the crowd taking down anyone in my way until I was close enough for Andrew to spit on me.  There would be no other way to watch this show. And, as with life, determination leads to success.

What I got was not what I had expected. The image stored in my head was of a blonde California boy. He was a little chubby and sloppy with long locks he used to cover half his face. But when he walked on stage he was a thin, handsome young man with very short dark hair. I had to wonder if I was at the wrong show. He was completely transformed.

Neither him nor I had any idea that his transformation was due to the cancer eating away at his body.

I had never seen a video of the band live. I knew the songs simply by their sounds, and I am forever grateful that the Internet had not yet saturated my brain so deeply. I got to experience this blindly. I didn’t know that he would sit at an upright piano playing with one hand and one foot. I didn’t know he would stand on top of it and jump down to finish the song with his ass. I didn’t know he would keep his right hand on the keys, but face the audience using his signature dual microphone set up. I had no idea. I was floored. I stood still in front of my friends hiding teardrops as they rolled down my cheeks. I knew this man was everything.

Less than two months later he finished a solo project with his new band that he would later become famous with.  The debut album of ‘Jack’s Mannequin’ was a rap on the same day he was diagnosed with Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia.  Then, against all marketing advice, he released the album as planned while he was holed up in the hospital. The day that the album hit general population Andrew was receiving a stem cell transplant from his sister.

I remember the first time I put the album in my stereo and turned it on. I had no idea what to expect, and the energetic first notes from “Holiday From Real” surged through my body putting a silly, annoying grin on my face. I didn’t wipe it off for the entire listening session. I was alone, dancing in my seat.  It was rival. And it was heartbreaking. I thought clearly of the man I was this attached to - this man who was feeding my soul - half alive.  I was awakened from within, and he was holding on to any shred of hope he could find.  For every time I smiled, I cried. I spent months fearful that the universe would take all he was capable of giving.  He was changing me. I knew he could do more. I knew he had to do more. The idea of this being it - just this one album, just that one show – crushed me. I would not accept it. I wrote pages and pages of prayers in my journals. I followed every blog entry he posted. I woke up and fell asleep every day thinking of him. And I have haunting memories of coming home in the middle of the night from typical college binge drinking sessions and crying myself to sleep.  I was scared.

That album did not come out of my stereo, literally, for two straight years. It may be the most played album I have ever owned.

It’s been eight years since I first heard the music of Andrew McMahon. He is now cancer free and on the verge of releasing a much anticipated new ‘Jack’s Mannequin’ album. I worried that we’d have to live without his gift. Instead, I’ve been blessed to see him perform six times in six different venues. I thought I’d lose him after seeing him just once from the stands. Instead, Jenn and I together were fortunate enough to meet him personally in Central Park and tell him ourselves that we love him. 

 As I shook hands with him, I knew that I was touching the miracle of life. I was entirely present in the moment and aware of how precious the moment was. It’s a blessing we often take for granted. And as I shook his hand, I was also carrying the miracle of life that would soon become my son. I was so moved by his presence that I forgot to tell him. This new miracle of life had been touched for the first, but not last, time in the center of Central Park by the sounds of Andrew McMahon. 

“She thinks I’m much too thin

She asks me if I’m sick

What’s a girl to do with friends like this?”

- Holiday From Real “Jack’s Mannequin

-Stefanie

  1. thebuzzedlife posted this