A mighty fine wake

We spent the weekend remembering Michael's music.

He's been in many bands over the years, but two really stand out.

The first is Gallowglass Irish Trio, the band that made him a musician. Gallowglass shows are half concert, half comedy routine. As Ken Larson says, "We're Gallowglass Irish Trio, and if you came in late, we are musicians." This was the band that started it all, and watching him play with Ken and Lojo Russo was always a delight.

The second is The Long Straight Forever, the band he founded with Raymond Yates and Matt Ogden. This is the band that featured Michael in full command of his abilities as a musician, writing songs, singing and playing his heart out. This is the band that featured Michael at the peak of his career.

I love both of these bands, and I am so glad I got to hear Michael play in them.

This past weekend, both bands were scheduled to play at CONvergence, a science fiction convention here in the Twin Cities. With Michael's passing, both were faced with the impossible task of playing without him.

It would have been easy, in some ways, for Ray and Matt and Ken and Lojo to say "we can't do this without Michael." They could have cancelled the shows, and I think everyone would have understood. These are people that were my brother's friends, people who called him "brother" and meant it. Playing a show without him, playing his music without him there, was painful. But it was beautiful.

Ray and Matt played on Friday night, with Ken and Lojo and Scott Keever and Gabriel Hilmar sitting in for Michael. They played his songs, and they played for him and to remember him. It was sad and beautiful and I am forever grateful to them for that show. At the end of the show, Lojo said, with tears streaming down her face "No ballads on Sunday!"

Ken and Lojo played on Sunday afternoon, with Ray standing in for Michael, along with Adam Stemple and Scott Keever. As Lojo said, "it takes three guitarists to fill Michael's shoes." They did a fine job of it, especially Ray, who was goofing around as Michael would have, cracking up Ken and Lojo. He said he could feel Michael's spirit in him, and I could see it.

Lojo proved herself a liar, singing a ballad she wrote for Michael, a beautiful song called simply "Brother" that put the feelings of everyone there into words. It was a show that combined grief and joy in equal measure, and a fitting last show for Gallowglass.

Sunday night, we had a wake for Michael. He didn't want a funeral, he wanted a proper Irish wake. Minus the Catholic priest. He wanted a wake at Kieran's, with drinking and laughter and tears. He got that. Many of his (and my) old friends were there, raising our glasses to "absent friends." And many of the same musicians that had played over the weekend were there, along with others that had played with him over the years.

Lojo played her song again, breaking my heart a second time. Ken played "Could I Face Tomorrow" which is the first love song Michael wrote. I cried the first time I heard it, listening to him play it alone on the end of a dock, playing to the setting sun and singing about love slipping away. I have cried every time I heard it, and last night was no exception. John Sjogren, an old friend and a fellow cancer warrior, led the singing of Finnegan's Wake, as much for me as for Michael. And there were many more songs, laughter and tears, and many toasts. 


Jen remarked to me, as the evening was winding down, that this was what we - she and I and Mom - had needed. Not the memorial - that was about giving the rest of the world a place to show their respects, and it was good - but this wake, this gathering of friends and singing of songs. This was what Michael wanted, and he was right.

It was a mighty fine wake.