Buck Up, Baby (Carsie Blanton saved my life)

Carsie Blanton saved my life. Not literally, as in I was drowning, and she threw me a rope, more like I was drowning, and she threw me a musical rope. I stumbled across Carsie (I feel like we are on a first name or would be if I actually, you know, knew her) when her new album was reviewed on NPR's Fresh Air with Terry Gross. The reviewer mentioned John Prine and Carsie in the same sentence, and I thought, well, I need to hear what this is about.

Now, John and I (again, first name basis) go way back to my college days when singing "Please Don't Bury Me" repeatedly got me through an arduous backpacking trip on The Appalachian Trail. So, if Carsie Blanton was being compared to John Prine, I was all in.

Turn Up The volume

The new Carsie Blanton song that was being mentioned as an homage to Mr. Prine was called “Buck Up.” As the title implies, It's a song about bouncing back, sucking it up, keeping on when the going gets tough. "Buck up baby, c'mon 'sic' em, make 'em laugh if you can't lick 'em.'” In short order, it became my anthem. My three-minute 12-second therapy session.

I'd recently been diagnosed with MS, and I struggled to adjust to my life's growing list of limitations. Whenever it felt too much, I'd put on Carsie and Buck Up at full volume.

Shortly after discovering my new musical best friend, I discovered Carsie would be in San Francisco and wanted to go. I needed to hear Carsie sing my anthem to me in person. If there happened to be a few other people in the room, so be it, but I knew she'd be singing to me.

A Life of Logistics

The flaw in this plan was that while going to a concert is nothing out of the ordinary for most people, it's nothing short of extraordinary for me. My progressive MS turns a spontaneous, let's go to a concert on a whim idea into a logistical nightmare.

Where is the parking, how far will I have to walk, are there steps, is it reserved seating? Where are the bathrooms? Is it air-conditioned? Is it worth the effort?

MS had shrunk my life, my social outings, my adventures. Everything felt like an enormous effort, and the things that had filled me with joy now filled me with apprehension.

It felt like death by a thousand slow, degenerative, isolating cuts. Going to the grocery store required a well-thought-out plan. Going to a concert? That would require a campaign with military precision.

It All Leads Up To This

But it felt like I'd received a sign from the universe, from the random chance of hearing the review on NPR to having Carsie be in San Francisco so soon afterward. What better way to say goodbye to a year of doing less than by getting out and doing more? I'd had enough. This was my chance to give the middle finger to the hurdles in my life.

It’s Go Time!

I bought the tickets and started planning. Phone calls were made, questions asked, and answers duly noted in my college-ruled spiral-bound notebook. The venue had limited seating during concerts, as in everyone stands in one big mosh pit type of venue. MS in the Mosh pit is not a good look for me. But then, perhaps this was a good thing. The place may be so jam-packed that it would be impossible to fall. The collective mosh pit would keep me upright.

The night of the concert arrived, and I was ready. My wife Diane came along as my wingwoman to help carry out the plan of action. The universe was with us. We got a parking spot right in front of the venue. In the city! At the door, we were told that it would not be Mosh Pit standing but cabaret seating for this event. Instead of maneuvering through an undulating sea of humanity, I'd be safely seated at a table with a cocktail. Awesome

Musical Time Machine

Carsie came on stage with her bright red hair, matching guitar, floral turquoise pattern boots, sleeveless dress, and tattooed arms. She had come to kick some ass. And she did. And I was transformed. I felt my unsteady, vulnerable, worried self fall away to be replaced by a younger, carefree, dam-the-details self. Despite health issues I could still experience the thrill of adventure, youthful discovery, and endless possibilities stretched out in front rather than life seen through a rearview mirror.

One More Time

And now, every time I play that song, I am reminded of that joy and invincibility. I'm reminded of being afraid and bucking up despite the fear. I'm reminded of a badass rocker and the night she sang my anthem just for me.

Carsie comes through town on a yearly basis, and I consider it a right of triumphant passage to go every time. To prove that I can still “Buck Up, Baby.”

Regina Stoops is an award winning storyteller, comedian, writer, producer, MS Warrior, and Autism Mom living with her wife and three kids in the San Francisco Bay Area.
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