Upcoming Events at Paramount Theatre
Mon Mar 4, 7:30 PM - Mon Mar 4, 10:30 PM
713 Congress Avenue, Austin, TX 78701
Community: Downtown Austin
Description
A maximum number of tickets available per purchase for each event is the maximum number permitted per household (4). Your name, credit card, address, and email address will be verified.
Event Details
Artist Pre-sale: Wednesday, November 28 at 7:00pm
Brooklyn Vegan Pre-sale: Thursday, November 29 at 7:00pm
Public On Sale: Friday, November 30 at 7:00pm will be ONLINE ONLY. No phone or walk-up sales.
Venue reserves the right to cancel any orders in excess of the stated ticket limit. Any tickets suspected of being purchased for the sole purpose of reselling can be cancelled at the discretion of the Paramount Theatre.
A PERSON GETS TO A CERTAIN STAGE IN LIFE — I’m there myself — no longer in the throes of child-raising (that magnificent distraction), when he starts to think of death not as some abstraction that happens to other people but as a big, indifferent train that, even at this moment, is rolling out of a station located at an unknown, but not infinite, distance away. “Isn’t it time, now, to finally be happy?” the universe starts asking, along with a second, complicating question: “But how can I be happy in a world like this?” Put another way: we seem born to love, and yet everything here is conditional (i.e., comes to an end). How should we live when the huge piano labeled “Death” is eventually going to fall, not only on us, but on everyone we love?
This album is, it seems to me, an answer. Or, more than an answer, it’s a nod to the validity of the question.
Should I be wary of life or enjoy it? the listener asks.
Yes, Jeff Tweedy says.
***
After many years of asking myself what art is for, I’ve arrived at this: the role of the artist is to reach across space and time and console — to offer, not a cure or a prescription, but, rather, non-trivial consolation.
Jeff is our great, wry, American consolation-poet. I don’t mean this abstractly: to see him play is to find yourself in a crowd of people being actively consoled — being moved, reassured, validated, made to feel like part of a dynamic aural friendship. Jeff told me once that what he’s trying to communicate to his listener is: “You’re OK. You’re not alone. I’m singing to you, but I also hear you.” A testimony to the value Jeff places on this connection: after playing a number of solo acoustic shows in 2016 and 2017, he decided to make an album of those songs that seemed to speak most directly to those audiences. WARM
Brooklyn Vegan Pre-sale: Thursday, November 29 at 7:00pm
Public On Sale: Friday, November 30 at 7:00pm will be ONLINE ONLY. No phone or walk-up sales.
Venue reserves the right to cancel any orders in excess of the stated ticket limit. Any tickets suspected of being purchased for the sole purpose of reselling can be cancelled at the discretion of the Paramount Theatre.
A PERSON GETS TO A CERTAIN STAGE IN LIFE — I’m there myself — no longer in the throes of child-raising (that magnificent distraction), when he starts to think of death not as some abstraction that happens to other people but as a big, indifferent train that, even at this moment, is rolling out of a station located at an unknown, but not infinite, distance away. “Isn’t it time, now, to finally be happy?” the universe starts asking, along with a second, complicating question: “But how can I be happy in a world like this?” Put another way: we seem born to love, and yet everything here is conditional (i.e., comes to an end). How should we live when the huge piano labeled “Death” is eventually going to fall, not only on us, but on everyone we love?
This album is, it seems to me, an answer. Or, more than an answer, it’s a nod to the validity of the question.
Should I be wary of life or enjoy it? the listener asks.
Yes, Jeff Tweedy says.
***
After many years of asking myself what art is for, I’ve arrived at this: the role of the artist is to reach across space and time and console — to offer, not a cure or a prescription, but, rather, non-trivial consolation.
Jeff is our great, wry, American consolation-poet. I don’t mean this abstractly: to see him play is to find yourself in a crowd of people being actively consoled — being moved, reassured, validated, made to feel like part of a dynamic aural friendship. Jeff told me once that what he’s trying to communicate to his listener is: “You’re OK. You’re not alone. I’m singing to you, but I also hear you.” A testimony to the value Jeff places on this connection: after playing a number of solo acoustic shows in 2016 and 2017, he decided to make an album of those songs that seemed to speak most directly to those audiences. WARM
