A few months ago, as time blurred over into a full year without concerts, I found I had completely lost all sense of self.

I use live music as an emotional barometer, a map, to check in with and to ground myself. A well-known song performed in a slightly different way can awaken new meaning, act as a guide. I've made lifelong friends traveling for shows, and that sense of community, adventure, and wonder is a sustenance I have come to rely on.

Since I was a teenager, performing in bands as a guitarist has likewise provided a feeling of knowing my place in the world. Even playing small clubs during wee weeknight hours to very few people left me certain I was doing what I was meant to be doing (as pointless as it sometimes felt).

A few years back, when it became clear I needed to take on the role of singer, that sense became shrouded in fear, self-doubt, and shame. I often say I never wanted to be a singer; it’s not the full truth. Rather, it’s something I always wished I could do, but wasn’t quite capable of. I felt strong, content, and most sure of myself playing guitar (and adding the occasional harmony). I shy away from being the centre of attention; in my childhood home, being the focus of attention often meant you were in physical danger. Stepping into the singer role, I stopped wanting to gig at all. The anxiety felt impossible to overcome. Without the outlet of performing, much like what I experienced this year, I felt an integral part of me slip away. So I kept working towards it, despite being sure that my strengths lay elsewhere.

I finally reached a point where I felt ready, just in time for venues to shut down. In spring of 2020, I turned to live-streaming both for practice and connection with others. Without being able to play with Susan and Pam, I recorded demos and made videos on my own. A year later, after racking up a few tunes, I realised I could release them in their stripped-back form, as a collection.

During this summer’s elongated, selfless nothing, I did the only thing I knew to do — I threw myself hard at finishing the EP. I started wrapping up the tracks with the help of friend Jeff Gross. Ken Klaus and I got into the nitty gritty of editing the "Go Deeper" video we filmed last summer. He made the EP cover art. I dealt with all the other tasks: digital distribution, website updates, promotion, etc. (All totally endless.)

It worked - I began to feel a sense of accomplishment and a returning to myself. Releasing Awoken by Owls after so many months of minimal motivation was a rewarding achievement.

Equally great, in place of The Frames’ gigs that were canceled, Glen Hansard, whose concerts over the years have offered comfort and camaraderie, booked four California dates — his first tour in almost two years.

Turning up at the Regent Theatre in Downtown LA felt both extraordinary and ordinary. As We/Or/Me (Bahhaj Taherzadeh) said during his opening set, looking out at a sea of masks “resembled a dystopian nightmare.” Regardless, it was wonderful to see so many friends and acquaintances. More than anything, everyone was just plain relieved to be there. It felt like a homecoming - the venue, the lights, the familiar company, the songs, the songs, the songs.

Glen has invited me on stage before, often spontaneously, to play or sing with him. On this night, he asked me to perform a song of my own, which he never had before. Xs & ARROWs has only done a handful of public gigs with me as the singer. So I’d never sung to an attentive audience of such a size, much less without my band. Given the significance of the occasion for all, I had a tune that felt appropriate.

I wrote Call You Home when I was recovering from surgery, isolated and anxious, in an attempt to conjure that which offered solace. I drew upon people, both that I know and haven't yet met, upon memories and moments, upon hopes for things to come. Home doesn't have to be a place. It can be the voice of a friend, a song you turn to when you’re broken, or a gathering of like-minded music lovers, in a theatre like the Regent. Home can be a long-awaited destination on your internal, emotional map.

It's true that we are multifaceted and complex, and need not be defined by one aspect of who we are. I am more than music, sure. But performing to a living, breathing audience for the first time since January 2020 felt like an arrival. Of myself, to myself. And an arrival to a place I always dreamt of but was never sure I could reach: standing on a stage in front of a microphone, full of joy.

Video by Jeff Gross