It was 2005, after I moved to San Francisco from the East Bay, that Dore took me to hear Lhasa De Sela at the Great American Music Hall. The band consisted of a cellist, a drummer and I think, a keyboardist and guitarist. I was instantly captured by Lhasa’s voice and the haunting melodies. Each piece was unique in the instrumentation and her persona changed with the music. Toward the end of the concert, Lhasa decided to tell a story. The stage was very dark as I observed her from the crowd. The musicians were quiet. The house was quieter still. She told the story of life, how we come to be and how we move on, from one portal to another. At the end of the story the music resumed and she sang her last song.
Lhasa’s voice, her music and her story stayed with me. I later wrote a poem based on her story. The next year when Lhasa came to town, I went to hear her alone.
The music was the same. She was as captivating as I had remembered. But when it came toward the end of the show, when I eagerly waited to hear her story again, she didn’t mention it. There was no story. I left disappointed.
In fact, nobody remembered that there was ever a story in the first show. Dore didn’t remember, nor the few friends that were there that night. Was I the only one who heard it? Had Lhasa transported me to another plane?
Lhasa passed away on January 1, 2010, age 37, of breast cancer. I was left holding my poem as she went on to another portal.
