Darkness into light
Film tracks guitarist's recovery from stroke
CAMBRIDGE - Ordinarily, ordering a sandwich or opening a door are unremarkable, everyday occurrences. But when Jason Crigler steps to the counter at an Inman Square lunch spot or invites a visitor into the cozily cluttered home he shares with his wife, Monica, and their 3-year-old daughter, Ellie, the gestures are a testament to the power of hope and will against improbable odds.
Four years ago, no one knew whether Crigler would ever have a home to return to or whether he would even live to see his daughter born. On the night of Aug. 4, 2004, the New York-born songwriter and in-demand guitarist - who had played with the likes of Norah Jones, Teddy Thompson, and Marshall Crenshaw - suffered a massive stroke and collapsed while performing onstage at a Manhattan club. He was 34 years old, had recently recorded his debut album, and was excited about becoming a father.
"I went out to play a show and woke up a year and a half later," Crigler says, munching on lunch on the sunlit back stoop of his Cambridge home, with a colorful array of Ellie's plastic toys scattered about the yard. "I am sad that I missed my daughter being born, and that I missed whatever opportunities I was about to have as a musician in New York. But I would say pride is the overwhelming feeling - that I've made it as far as I have. I'm thankful for my family who have helped me through the whole thing."
Crigler's struggle to recover from the brain hemorrhage that crippled his mind and body and left him for months unable to talk (much less walk) is the subject of filmmaker and friend Eric Daniel Metzgar's compelling new documentary, "Life. Support. Music."
The film, which painstakingly chronicles both the promising and tragic circumstances surrounding Crigler's young life through new interviews, old home movies, and hospital footage, will screen at Coolidge Corner Theatre April 27 and at Somerville Theatre April 28. It is part of the Independent Film Festival of Boston.
"It was definitely strange to see myself doing things that I couldn't recall," Crigler, who plays at Atwood's Tavern tomorrow night, says of "Life. Support. Music." "There are scenes in the film of me working with different therapists at Spaulding [Rehabilitation Center], and I don't remember any of that. Yet it's obviously me, so that's a very weird thing. It's like a 'Twilight Zone' episode."
Metzgar, who was also a musician based in Brooklyn, had struck up a friendship with Crigler in the late '90s. When he first saw Crigler in the hospital soon after the stroke, he didn't know if his friend was going to make it.
"He looked really bad," Metzgar says from Brooklyn. "They had shaved his head, and he had a big hole in his skull. I hadn't seen a friend that close up in such dire straits. I think from the beginning everyone was bracing for the possible e-mail or phone call that said he didn't make it through surgery or that he had an infection or had pneumonia, which he had several times, and that he didn't pull through."
Even a year later, when the family invited Metzgar to work on a film about Crigler's recovery - resolute in their belief that he would reclaim his life - he was skeptical about a happy ending.
"He was really hunched over and his voice was weak, and there was no humor happening," says Metzgar. "And I had known Jason as being a very funny guy, and because the humor was gone, I thought he was essentially gone. I said to my girlfriend, 'I don't think Jason's in there,' and I thought to myself, this going to be a sad film. But he just kept progressing."
There were setbacks: life-threatening infections and medical insurance running out (at one point, Norah Jones, who is interviewed in the film, hosted a benefit show for Crigler that netted nearly $50,000 to help defray medical expenses). Against the wishes of some doctors and specialists, the family decided to care for Crigler at home in Cambridge near his wife's parents rather than place him in a nursing facility. With their help - and the aid of physical therapists (three a day, five times a week) - he flourished. Eventually, Crigler picked up his guitar. He needed to make music. Slowly, the notes began falling into place.
"In many ways, I feel my guitar playing has surpassed what it was," Crigler says. "I feel like there's a stronger link between my head and my hands. When I first started playing again, it was really frustrating. I couldn't play for more than five or 10 minutes. It was extremely depressing." Even when he got strong enough to play a few shows, he recalls, "I didn't feel like I was connected to the music."
Finally, at a show in New York City - Crigler remembers the exact date: May 27, 2006 - his heart met his head. "Everything just clicked and I felt inside it," he says with an air of mystification and relief. At Atwood's tomorrow night, his set list will consist of songs from his newly released roots-flavored debut album, "Down Like Hail," recorded before his injury.
These days, Crigler volunteers speaking to kids who have suffered brain-related traumas and other debilitating injuries. He describes it as "an incredible twisting of the bad into good" and the only thing besides music that gives him such an acute sense of purpose.
"Something like this opens your mind," he says. "It allows you to see life from a completely different perspective. I value everything more now, relationships, my health. I feel like the lens that I look at the world through has been switched. It's a gift."
Still, it is music that inspires and animates him. Crigler's eager to talk about the here and now. He's juggling a few band projects and is working on an album featuring friends and guest musicians singing his songs. Then there's his wife and daughter to relish.
"I've had my share of down moments when I've been really depressed about things," says Crigler, who still keeps a busy schedule of medical appointments. "And Ellie - all she has to do is walk into the room and all those negative feelings completely vanish. She has the most amazingly joyful, beautiful presence, and just to have her in my life is an unbelievable blessing that outweighs the sadness of not being there when she was born. I'm so happy that she's here, and that I'm here to be with her." 