VENUE AND EVENT INFO
Show Info: Communion Presents Allan Rayman
GA standing room. All ages.
Accessible accommodations should purchase a General Admission ticket and will be taken care of at the venue day of event.
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Allan Rayman had to get away. While some artists are blessed with the ability to balance their passions and responsibilities, Rayman found himself singularly consumed by his music, and retreat was the only option. It was a selfish move, and perhaps deep down he knew that, but ultimately, in his eyes, escape was an act of survival. To those he left behind, it felt more like betrayal, but by now their voices have long since faded away, unable to reach him in the isolated cabin he calls home. There, deep in the woods outside the barely-on-the-map hamlet of Lost Springs, Rayman set up residence and began to write and record a stunning sonic chronicle of his slow descent.
At his core, Rayman is a storyteller, and his lyrics capture desire and loss in vivid detail, despite the fact that he's avoided love and human connection almost religiously for most of his adult life. Knowing he wears his heart on his sleeve and falls easily, Rayman built up barriers to safeguard his fragile emotions, to keep at bay anything or anyone that could potentially distract him from his art. Love, in Allan's mind, has always equated with death, both literally and figuratively, and it's a theme that turns up throughout his music. In "Sweetheart," he confesses his fear that a lover will "leave nothing for me / for my music," while "Jim's Story" recounts the tale of a man who "loves sufficiently to keep death away / until true love finds him and kills him." Someday, Beverly, the girl Allan left behind, will reappear to show him just how right he is, but for now, it's all art all the time.
If Rayman's music feels schizophrenic, that's quite simply because it is. Mr. Roadhouse is Allan's alter ego, a character he created to house his blame and justify his selfish behaviors. Roadhouse is antagonistic, confident, at times even misogynistic. He's everything that Allan isn't, and yet Allan needs him because Roadhouse can handle the recognition and the fame that come with his burgeoning music career. Roadhouse feeds off of that attention. The more successful the music becomes, the stronger Roadhouse grows, and the smaller and fainter the signs of Allan Rayman appear in the songwriting.
This is where we leave Rayman, a ghost in his own body. What lies ahead we'll learn soon enough, but in this moment, fueled by ambition and success, Roadhouse has wrested control, and his creator's voice is but a memory. Allan Rayman had to get away, and he did.