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Blind Pilot and Gregory Alan Isakov
As the rain started rising from the ground, I ran to Wooly’s
while clutching my authentic NOLA fedora hat and hurdling over every puddle. I
was slightly dissatisfied that my first Simon Estes concert for the season was
brought indoors but hoped that the hot and stuffy venue would dry off my green
spring dress. Feeling a little rushed and on edge, I started by snagging a
crisp 8-Bit IPA from the bar to settle in. Once I staked my spot I was ritually
cast an enormous figure in place of my “perfect view”, and I thought,
‘wonderful, it’s not like I came here to see anything special.’
The chatter subsided, the lights dimmed to gold, and Blind Pilot took the stage. That recognizable, calming voice started radiating from the microphone and my insides instantly turned to jelly; I was no longer sour for any reason. Anyone could see that Israel, the lead singer, sung with great passion—his eyes closed, the strain on his face, and the delicate bounce in his body for each beat illustrated a dis…
The chatter subsided, the lights dimmed to gold, and Blind Pilot took the stage. That recognizable, calming voice started radiating from the microphone and my insides instantly turned to jelly; I was no longer sour for any reason. Anyone could see that Israel, the lead singer, sung with great passion—his eyes closed, the strain on his face, and the delicate bounce in his body for each beat illustrated a dis…
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