The Truth Of The Troubadour

When I was twelve years old, I went to my first Renaissance Faire in Wisconsin. As one of those Dungeons and Dragons kids (before geek culture was cool), it was pure magic. Archers, jousters, costumes, jugglers, people in character. I enjoyed all of it.

There was a man standing beneath an oak tree wearing a poet shirt, a vest and loose velvet pants playing a lute and singing. My family wanted to see other things and eat. I promised I would stay right there and they could bring me back a ka-bob or a turkey leg. I did not really care. I was transfixed by the music. The songs he sang were songs of courtly love. They were poems set to music. Sometimes they were heroic, other times funny, a little dirty, or even a little sad. In them all was the love between two people.

I do not know how many songs I sat there for. I listened entranced. My family came back and my uncle handed me a turkey leg dripping with bbq sauce that ran onto my hand and forearm. He told me that it was time to go see other things. I asked if we could listen to one more song. I could not believe the front row seat I had to this oak tree performance. Most people would stay for a few moments and move on. I pleaded for one more song. The man looked at me and asked me my name. I gave it enthusiastically. This musical genius addressed me! In character, he said, "Master Patrick, this last song is for you, lad."

15 years before Loreena McKennit would set the poem to music, he played his lute and sang, "The Highwayman" by Alfred Noyes. For the first time in my life a poem and a song would make me cry. The landlord's black eyed daughter and the highwayman died horribly with their love incomplete and unfulfilled, but their love was true. The injustice of it all burned in my throat and left a hole in my heart.

For the rest of the day, I was less interested in the swordplay and more interested in the stories of the jousts and the fights as a true knight would fight for the honor of a lady. The love story mattered more than the dragons. My mind thought less of hit points and 20 sided die and entered into a world where love was what we should fight for.

As we were nearing the end of the day, the man under the tree was walking about. He saw me and smiled as he knelt before me and said, "Master Patrick, I was hoping I would see you again. I have a gift for the young troubadour."

He remembered my name! "What is a troubadour?" I asked.

"A troubadour is a traveling musician who sings of courtly love, Master Patrick. Some believe we started our craft in the south of France and others think we are much more ancient than that. We remind people that love is the most important thing in the world. It is splendid and divine. The philosophers think too hard and pride themselves on frivolous matters, the bishops and priests would have us not think at all and kings merely want blind obedience. But love. Love, Master Patrick, when it is true, when it is right, is a force that can make men and women stronger than they realize. It frees them no matter how strong their binds. It can also destroy us when it is lost. It is something that only the lovers and the poets can understand. It is the troubadour's calling and mission to remind the world to love."

"Wow!" was all I could think to say. I was in wonder that there were people who had such an important task.

"Master Patrick," he said, "I was going to get you a pan flute, but I am but a poor troubadour and you must be Irish. I've never met an Irish troubadour or a joglar, but I am sure he would use a tin whistle." With that, he handed me a cheap tin whistle. He told me that I was charged with the task of learning the art of the troubadour and gaining a mastery of language so I could tell people the importance of love. He mussed my hair with his hand, stood, and walked away.

The tin whistle stayed with me until I was 30 years old when it, among other treasures, was lost in a house fire.

From that point of my meeting my first troubadour, my love of music had taken a new direction. I gravitated to lyrics that were poetic and sang of love. I fell for the artists who were storytellers as opposed to a clever hook. I learned the troubadour would also sing of history and the truth of us all. They sometimes held a mirror to us to show us the distortions we have become and through love, what we could be.

My first Walkman was magical. My first book of poetry was dog eared. I was that kid that made mix tapes and memorized poems. I even competed in poetry and prose in my high school's speech team.

There came a very dark period where I stopped living in the belief that love mattered. I was a shadow of my former self. I was angry. I was dead. I was rage or numb. I was almost lost when life sent a slicing blade that would cut through the living death I was in and remind me that for years I had also heard the song of a trobairitz. I just did not listen.

Now, in my mid forties, I have the heart of the troubadour. I am not much of a singer. I can do a few chords on a few instruments, but I will never be a composer. However, I have the heart of the troubadour. The man under the tree changed me. On my Facebook page I likely irritate or confuse my friends with what I call hymns. They are songs from you-tube. They are mostly songs of courtly love. True love. Lyrically, they are as poetic as we can be in this age in a music industry that has no idea what they are supposed to be anymore. I share the songs of the troubadours that I can find. I share them with the world, but I also share them for more personal reasons in the same manner that I email, or even recite them, to the one that has awakened the troubadour's heart and reminded me that love is the most important thing we can do. Love can awaken dead hearts, save lives, free slaves and inspire the courtly love that drives couples to be amazing together.

The truth of the troubadours are always there. Be they under a tree, on a stage or sitting across from you having coffee. Look to the truth of their love stories and be lost in the lesson of their song. Their song and their truth is out there, we just need to listen.

And now abides faith, hope, love, these three; but the greatest of these is love.