Keith Richards looked me in the eyes

I'm still processing it.  At 6 p.m. I'm standing in an off-white hallway. It's silent and cold. People are scurrying like mice through doors, in and out of dressing rooms. There's shouting in every direction. And then he turns the corner, two suited-men, worn-in grimace, by his side. Keith Richards.

He walks my direction the way any old pirate would.

Stagger, stagger, stagger. A lit cigarette in his hand.

Who approaches Keith Richards of The Rolling Stones and says, "Mr. Richards, you actually can't smoke that in here?"  

 No one, certainly not me.

It's an interesting position I found myself in. My dad has worked concert security for as long as I've been alive. I've been fortunate to meet a handful of musicians who, as a child, I idolized.

"I am devout to music the way most are to God and all are to oxygen and food." - Joshua Cannon

One time I ate dinner with Def Leppard in a basement below Mud Island Amphitheatre. Rick Allen, famous for doing his job with half of the resources available to others in his field, told me he lost his arm in a tragic "shaving incident." I was six-years-old and believed him.

Part of me still does, I think. 

 I am devout to music the way most are to God and all are to oxygen and food. For as long as I can remember, it's the only thing that has kept me in the present moment. Most of my days are monotonous and then there are the tiny moments with my guitar and the songs that get me through it.  

So nothing could have prepared me for the sinking-star-stricken gut bomb that erupted as Mr. Richards dragged his feet in my direction.  

"Which way to my room, mate?" 

"This way, Mr. Richards."  

 It was a small exchange for him — an invisible face in a sea of many that he looks past and forgets on a daily basis. But it was, for me, a full-circle experience that took me back to lying on the floor of my parent’s house listening to Stones albums on my dad's record player.  

The rest of the evening followed suit in surreality – Quoting lines of Spinal Tap with Jimmy Fallon in a stairwell. Watching Justin Timberlake ride a hover board backstage while soul-man Sam Moore begged for a turn. Talking Blues Brothers with Steve Cropper. Standing in ear-shot of storied studio musicians like Steve Jordan, who has drummed for Richards and Eric Clapton among others.   

I saw it all from the sidelines.

Timberlake delivered an impromptu 30-minute speech about his appreciation for his hometown. He said a lot that spoke to his inner-debt to the city and his drive for the direction he's moving – onward.

"The Grammys are political. The Emmys are political. Memphis is not political." Standing next to the teleprompter, it was a largely unscripted, earnest moment from Timberlake.  

 And the energy he delivered in his speech embodied the feeling that moved throughout the Cannon Center that night. No politics — just passionate musicians who understand the longevity and deep, deep influence that Memphis music has placed on the rest of the world.

We are all in debt to Memphis' on-going creative culture. If you're a creative in this town, it moves through you. It's transcendent. Memphis will never be a history book. It's a living body of artists cultivating a medium richer and bigger than their individual talents. 

A feeling resonated inside of me during the final moments of the night. It stuck with me, and it has been difficult to articulate.

It still is, and this editorial isn't doing the feeling justice.

But I'm standing side-stage next to Keith Richards. Sam Moore is on stage with Justin Timberlake and Steve Cropper performing the Sam & Dave classic Soul Man. The audience is on its feet and everyone is singing. I see Marc Gasol and Mike Conley in the front row.  

And it hit me. Timberlake is right: "Memphis is the global capital of soul, and that soul is not just in the music, it's in the people."  

It must be in the water. 

 Best, friends, and do some good this week.  

-Joshua Cannon