Every single music streaming service I subscribe to has a Bon Iver station. When I signed up for my Apple Music free trial, Justin Vernon’s records were my first downloads. My morning routine typically involves a cup of coffee, a quick check of the news, and Bon Iver’s For Emma, Forever Ago on repeat with me trying to sing the lyrics.
When Justin Vernon and company released 22, A Million last year, I rushed to get tickets to the tour. Of course, so did every microbrewer, Instagram poet (because that’s a thing now), and amateur photographer/sculptor/artist/holistic healer in the United States. They won, but luckily I scored front row tickets to my bedroom and illegally recorded concert footage on YouTube.
What a time to be alive.
This past week, La Blogotheque released footage of Bon Iver’s One to One performance, where Justin Vernon serenaded one random fan alone in a room that looks like the set for either The Fall season 3 or Jim Carrey’s next art production (because that’s also a thing now).
It was intimate, amazing, a little uncomfortable, and I was totally jealous.
Until I read more about this private performance:
It was in Oct. 2016, in Berlin, during Michelberger Music. Between each show of the festival, we were kidnapping a person in the audience, which we were taking to a secret room where an artist was waiting. Between the two of them, a unique experience : a One To One concert.
Um, “kidnapping?” Like, I’m waiting in line for a ten dollar pretzel and a watered down Bud Light, and then someone puts an eye mask over my eyes, kidnaps me, takes me to a strange room, and places a Tibetan bowl over my head? What ever happened to just asking, “Hey, want to go see Bon Iver sing just to you?” Pretty sure the woman would have been down for that.
I’m sure someone is going to school me over performance art and that I don’t understand it. But once you use the word “kidnapped,” good luck using the performance art excuse in a court of law.
But it’s the initial interaction between the audience and the singer that is both awkward and strangely endearing:
Justin Vernon: Hi.
Woman: Hello.
Justin Vernon: I’m Justin.
Woman: Justin. Okay.
Justin Vernon: I’ll play you a song. Cool?
Woman: Cool. Very cool. Justin Vernon. Yeah? Okay. I can’t believe it.
Justin Vernon: That’s what my mom named me anyways.
Is it me, or does anyone else want these two crazy kids to fall in love? The sexual tension is crazy. Okay, not really but whatever.
For the next four minutes and twenty-nine seconds, we watch an intimate performance of “8 (circle).” We also watch the lone concert goer look somewhat uncomfortable – not knowing if she should stare the whole time at the singer, the camera, or those stairs in the behind him that lead to that rusted door. But we also get to experience through her a chance that not many people will ever get the opportunity to have: seeing Bon Iver (or rather Justin Vernon) one on one, giving a hauntingly beautiful performance.
And that led me to think that I would never be able to be a part of this. Aside from the kidnapping – Once again, just ask me if I want to go see Justin Vernon alone, I’ll most likely say yes – here’s just a few other reasons:
- I have an ugly crying face, and after being “kidnapped,” it would not be pretty.
- My incessant questions over his songs and their meanings
- My failed attempt at harmonizing with him
- “Can I touch your beard? It’s my new kink.”
- “Do you have Kanye West on speed dial? Want to prank call him?”
- “So, are you single? Want to get a drink after this?”
- “Will you call my friend Becky, and tell her that it’s pronounced ‘Bon Ah-ver’ and not ‘Bon Eye-ver?'”
- [Showing him 22, A Million on my phone] “How the hell do you pronounce these songs?”
- “Will you take requests? Can you play the song from the New Moon soundtrack?”
