The theme for this year’s NEO Voice Festival is “The End of All Things”, a theme we thought would point people towards death, or at least endings and transitions. I don’t believe we knew NEO would coincide with a major ending and transition in the life of my two long-time friends and collaborators, Laurel Irene and her husband David Harris, as they close the Los Angeles chapter of their lives and move to my home town in the great state of Oregon. When Laurel suggested a farewell concert reflecting on 10 years of making music in Los Angeles, I suggested she make it a kind of memorial service (which isn’t really what’s happening tonight).

But, I think a lot about funerals, especially my own. It seems like kind of a big deal, a final statement when a community gathers to reflect on a person’s life. I’ve written notes on how I might eulogize many of my friends and family, how I might try and sum up the impact of a life. If my kid calls you auntie or uncle there’s a decent chance I’ve made notes on what I’d say at your funeral. I’ve planned out my own memorial service too, the music that will be performed, the kinds of hot dogs they’ll serve, maybe a prank to make sure my kid smiles at least once during the event. 

What’s always bothered me about funerals is that we’re not around for them. I want to hear the speeches and anecdotes, I want to taste the hot dogs, I want to see the tears and feel valued and like I’ll be missed. I want the chance to say thank you and to have the people I love give me a big old send-off before I break on through. I’ve heard some people are, in fact, planning their own funerals while they are still alive. And why not? Shouldn’t we be part of celebrating our own lives? 

Maybe I’d feel less pressure if we took the time to ritualize other phases and transitions of life so we could step back and reflect on who we’ve become during any given chapter. I’m not talking about celebrations, we have plenty of those: birthdays, housewarmings, bachelor parties, retirement parties, babymoons, and so on; I’m talking about rituals of transition of which there are only a few: weddings, graduations, coming of age ceremonies – ways we mark new identities.

We have even fewer for the bittersweet moments, difficult transitions, tragedies. We have retirement parties, but what about unexpectedly losing a job? I don’t have to imagine how lonely and unceremonious it is to unexpectedly pack up your desk without a plan for the future. We have elaborate wedding ceremonies, but rituals for divorce are rare. 

In our culture we have parties, which acknowledge one aspect of change, but might we deepen into ritual as a way to fully embrace the complexity of transition? I think one of the differences between a ritual and a celebration is that one creates a story, a story of transformation and becoming. 

This concert is celebrating a decade of music making, but it’s not just a victory lap of artistic accomplishments – it’s also a memorial for a chapter of life that is closing. Like any memorial, this concert is a ritual that says, “look at what we have been through and endured, look who I have become because of you – look who we have become together.”

And now we stand on the precipice, into an unknown future. Hopeful of what is to come, nostalgic for what has been, grateful to those with whom we have shared the journey. 

On a personal note, I’ll say that such moments of transition and transformation are always bi-directional. I know I have been undeniably changed by the regular presence of David and Laurel in my life over the last 10 years. So, I’d like to borrow Laurel’s original title for this concert and simply say, “Goodbye for now, thank you for always.”