Seryn Says Goodbye

It only took one house show after moving back to Denton to get me hooked into the vibrant and varied selection of local talent. With that, the local music section of Recycled Books became my payday mecca. I didn’t really have friends that were going to shows so I happily went to them alone at first. I eventually made friends that were also into spending their evenings posted up in front of a stage. After discovering This Is Where We Are and finding myself singing along to most of the songs in my car for weeks, I purchased tickets to an upcoming Seryn show at Dan’s Silverleaf.

That show was perhaps the first time that live music touched my soul, quietly demanding my attention before diving headfirst into all the deepest moments of the human experience. The quietest of which are treated with near reverence and the loudest are so because the entire audience is singing along in this perfection of harmony only achieved from a feeling that emanates from the bones. These collected moments spent forming goosebumps and tears are some of my most precious, in no small part because they were shared with a room full of strangers. For the night, we were all connected by this intangible, otherworldly thread of love and doubt and perseverance. For the night, a venue became a church in its purest form.

And then they left us for Nashville. We were all dubious and crestfallen, convinced that the world wouldn't take them from us. It felt a little like being left behind, but they kept coming back. I remember when they played a show in the middle of that crazy winter storm that kept us in ice and snow for days. After arranging with the staff on stage, the band announced that they would be back to play the next night and we were all invited to participate in the magic that would ensue. They were more relaxed and casual, as though the frozen air had unexpectedly warmed them. Perhaps, the mixture of being home for the first time since their move and the uncommon occurrence of a Texas snowfall ignited something within them, but it was as intimate as a musical experience could hope to be and surely the most intimate that I had ever personally experienced.

That is, until last week. Seryn played what could potentially be their final show as the group begins their indefinite hiatus, each band member moving on to their separate projects. Last week's incarnation of Seryn is one that may not have existed under any other circumstance. They were more natural and at ease than I had ever seen them, cracking jokes and generous with their most heartfelt memories. More than ever, it felt like they were up there for themselves and not in a selfish way, but in a painfully, beautifully honest kind of way. Their genuine affection for each other and for us was more so the show than the impossibly perfect harmonies or the lingering tones. As Nathan Allen put it, after a particularly booming round of applause, he liked to think we were not only clapping for the finished product but for every bit of the turbulence and the mundane detail that goes into being a band. And he’s right, because, it’s not all magic. Magic is just what we were handed after the sweat and, for that, we can only give our deepest and most humble gratitude.