But what actually is this gathering? Surely it’s not enough to call it a festival celebrating music, art, and friendship, though of course that’s all true. It was suggested to me by one of the event’s proprietors that Nowhere Else might further be understood as a kind of living poem; likewise, a proposition from the event emcee supposes that Nowhere Else is a story, written in collaboration and in real time by all of its participants.

I’ll buy all of that, but only if I may offer a word of my own. You see, the things that always catches me in my throat and makes me a little wobbly at the knees is the deep level of trust that I see at Nowhere Else. Those of us who are guests on this sacred ground believe implicitly in the purity and integrity of the event; we know in our secret hearts that all of the assembled artists– even the ones we’ve never heard of before– will be worthy of our time and attention, curated by our hosts for (stealing again the words of our emcee) their craft as well as their heart. And the reason we believe it is because we’ve so long looked to Over the Rhine’s music, in all its beauty and candor and honesty, to steer us through the troubled waters in our own lives.

The festival, I would argue, is an even purer flourishing of that goodness; and Over the Rhine, having steered us this far, can be trusted now not to steer us into bullshit.

Likewise, I will presume on behalf of our hosts that the trust runs both ways… that they have faith in the community that’s grown up around them to show up ready to go deep; to listen closely; to practice neighborliness, vulnerability, and joy at every opportunity. I would like to believe we lived up to our end of the bargain, and many of the visiting artists attested to as much.

So if you want to know what I think Nowhere Else is, I’ll tell you.

I think it’s a covenant.

And I will tell you exactly when that word came to my mind. Like so many revelations, this one ran through Birds of Chicago, who were in the middle of their tremendous song “American Flowers“– a hymn of hope and goodwill in a time of strife– when the big tent was hit hard by punishing rain. As lighting flashed in the backdrop, the Birds moved away from their mics but out toward the audience, still singing and with us singing along, all together lifting up our voices in solidarity and great expectation.

As the storm raged, we just kept singing; and I was reminded in the moment of all the promises we’ve made to one another; still ours to keep.

(Written By Josh Hurst, Published Here By Permission)