There’s something about Easter and resurrection that brings even nonreligious people together. Last Sunday’s sold-out show, kicking off Arkansas native Nick Shoulders “Better Western” tour with his band, nicknamed the Okay Crawdad, was no exception. Everyone in the community seemed to be out, and whether it was just the allure of good old-fashioned Arkansas folk music, or to celebrate the lifesaving work of the Central Arkansas Harm Reduction Project, it was the place to be. Even before either of the artists arrived or the music started, the familiar stomping ground of White Water Tavern buzzed in the way it does only on the best sorts of nights. In the minutes leading up to opener Emily Fenton’s set, there seemed to be an inhalation of breath amongst the audience. By the time she stepped up to the microphone in a worn denim jacket, that breath was held, only to be released by the first sinewy twang of guitar strings and the familiar dip and sway of her voice.
This show, while a rarity, was not the first of its kind. Both Fenton and Shoulders have graced the White Water stage numerous times, and CAHRP has previously hosted benefit shows in the same venue, one notably including burlesque. That said, the cause and the performers on Sunday seemed tailor made for one another. According to River Mackenzie Bolt, a founding member of the project, the event came about by coincidence. Bolt, who frequently listens to Shoulders’ music, was sent an Instagram post in which he was wearing a shirt bearing the logo of Stop Harm on Tulsa Streets, a friend’s harm reduction organization. A few messages and phone calls later, the show was scheduled, with Shoulders generously donating 100% of the profits.
CAHRP is a Little Rock-based grassroots organization whose primary mission is to reduce deaths from drug overdose. They not only hand out an average of over 500 overdose-reversing naloxone kits every month, but also provide safe smoking supplies, clean syringes, free referrals for STD testing services and advocate for those with addiction through local political activism, which leads to the saving of countless lives.
Nick Shoulders feels deeply connected to this cause. “I’m a survivor of this opioid crisis in various ways and having lost as many friends as we all have, just putting any resources into people’s hands that go beyond incarceration practice is incredibly powerful,” he said. “I wanted to help out in any way that I could.” Shoulders’ music also has metaphorical resonance with CAHRP’s efforts, which was on display on Sunday night. Much like the organization intervenes in moments of life-threatening crisis to keep those it serves breathing, his unique singing style keeps breath at the forefront of the listener’s mind. From the warbly, high-pitched yodels of “Snakes and Waterfalls” to the longing whistles in “Miss the Mississippi and You,” Shoulders’ performance relied on the kind of vocal range and skill that only someone with an incredible set of lungs can.
Another notable part of Shoulders’ set was when he broke out his homemade mouth bow. For almost four minutes straight, he plucked at the instrument while holding it delicately in his teeth, the voices at the bar melting away. Only the sound of a passing train and the occasional whoop interrupted the meditative twang. There was something ancient in the air, a calling to the mountains we often forget we are nestled in the middle of. The Christmas lights of the bar became almost starlike and I was reminded of the days when our ancestors used to sit, fireside, bobbing their heads to the low tones. It was hard not to enter a reflective state.
For as long as humans and music have been around, we have been drawn to substance use in many forms. Modern circumstances have only exacerbated that. “It is not an unreasonable response to the society that we live in to use drugs,” Bolt said, when I interviewed them. I tend to agree, along with the statement that some substances are more stigmatized, with more extreme legal and physical repercussions attached. Considering the general political climate as well as the abundance of recent laws within Arkansas and the nation at large that threaten to infringe on the bodily autonomy of queer and BIPOC people especially, many of us are all too familiar with the need to find something that offers an escape. Would we not all, in seeking escape from whatever pain we are in, wish to still be held in love and compassion? To know that there are people out there — an entire organization even — working to keep us alive and breathing as we attempt to survive in a world that sometimes feels like its only goal is to harm us? I know that I do.
There is still great need at CAHRP, even after Sunday’s show. According to Amber Kincade, the organization’s street outreach coordinator, they lost out more than usual on grant funding this year, through no fault of their own. Much of their capacity hinges on the help of individual donors willing to commit small amounts of money every month. My true hope — having seen many of their benefit shows and having packed plenty of naloxone kits myself — is that one day the people of this city will give back as much as CAHRP gives to them.
Good music is a gift, especially the kind of passed down, traditional folk music both Fenton and Shoulders call back to. As Shoulders ended his set, hooting to the owls out in the woods beyond the bar doors flung open to the spring air, you could almost hear them hoot back in response. You can donate to CAHRP here.
