Kingston, 1978.

You walk into a room that becomes 56 Hope Road. The shutters are half open. Late afternoon sun lays warm stripes across the floorboards. The air smells like rain on a hot day. The band is loose, finding the pocket. A voice is at the mic but not yet singing. He is listening. He is somewhere else and also exactly here. For ninety minutes, you are in Kingston in the week before the Peace Concert, inside a moment that almost did not happen, and a song that became a country.