08/25/2023
Hey everyone,
I'm not sure anyone will see this. The page hasn't been active for several years, and frankly, it never took off quite the way I hoped.
The pixelated Lake Superior icon has sat, neglected, within my Facebook menu for a long time. For whatever reason, it caught my attention the other day, and memories from that time came rushing back.
The arrival of spring marked by patrons blooming on Sir Ben's patio, accepting their hollered invitation as you passed by, knowing full well that the hours would melt away faster than the ice in your glass; endless conversations about nothing and everything, all to a karaoke soundtrack.
Late summer evenings, scrambling from venue to venue downtown to catch a glimpse of every show, rehearsing explanations for why tickets and/or cover charges didn't apply to you ("The band asked me to drop something off").
Ever-too-short autumns, dusky walks along the lakeshore, the serenity of the vacuum left behind by August's rapture into the ether, the scent of apple cider and rhubarb pie beckoning the reluctant to embrace the chill.
The middle of winter, the intimate moments in which we huddled around the warmth generated by the actor, the musician, the poet on stage, blanketed from the wind and sleet outside by the poignant silences between words and notes.
That's what the North Shore Scene means to me. A community of people and experiences specific to life in Duluth, which is difficult to articulate and impossible to quantify - the only way to understand it is to live it.
I moved away from Duluth a few years ago to support my wife as she chases her dreams in New York City. So, no, this isn't an announcement that I'm reviving this page - I really don't know there's much to revive, anyway - I guess it's just a closing love letter to a city that, for me, became synonymous with discovering myself, with understanding how I fit into the world.
I'm sure Sir Ben's is different than I remember it, and that many of the venues where these memories are held no longer exist. But there's still a city on a hill at the shore of a saltless sea, and I'm eternally grateful for how well it loved me.
Thanks for reading. Support local music.
