Like a long-term fling where she just won’t leave and you can’t quite quit. A seductive affair that brings you to your knees. No matter how much time passes, I ultimately succumb to temptation every time. The passion is more powerful than any ex or situationship I’ve ever had the pleasure of experiencing—a lustfully wicked relationship that borders on addiction: Music and performing on stage.
Tension builds the longer I stray away. Waiting for its release. Maybe it’s Purpose, somewhere within these persistent emotional pulls, there waiting to be revealed through creativity. But I am certain I’ve been ignoring these urges for some time, surrendering only a handful of times on my travels the last few years—including when I played in Ecuador, Spain, Thailand, Indonesia, and Mexico. But life has a way of showing you truths. Like a recurring dream that gets more violent the more you ignore it, life makes its signs more harsh and salient when you don’t take action.
See, the way I travel is mostly unorthodox. I’ve been told numerous times that I must have a homing beacon for artists and weird, interesting people. I suppose it’s true. Within a week almost anywhere in the world, I do typically find myself being befriended by musicians and other awesome artists. A perfect illustration of this is my trip to Cuba. I was in contact with a record label to film my first ever documentary on one of their musicians. Plans fell through at the last minute but I had already booked everything. However, me being rogue, I arrived confidently in Havana. Within two hours, I met the group of tattoo artists that doubled as musicians, making them the perfect subjects for my documentary. 
I’ve been invited countless times to step up on stage and join a band while listening to live music. Maybe it’s my hair or some aura I give off. I recently spent August editing the documentary in San Vicente, El Salvador. After a string of long days attached to the computer, I decided one Saturday evening to go check out this new music and arts venue in town. Casa Bigit reminded me of a speakeasy—knock three times on the hidden blue door to enter. That night a traveling Argentine duo was playing. I sat up front at a table, enjoying the music, a meal, and sharing a bottle of wine with a stranger—who, by the end of the evening, had become a new friend. Towards the end of the show, the duo asked me to join them. A bit surprised, I stepped up and began playing my version of Wicked Game by Chris Isaak. The women joined in and the place went silent. If you’ve never performed before, this is the best response you can receive in an intimate setting. At the end of the song the whole place stood and cheered loudly. In that moment, I tasted my long-lost relationship with music. Call it a fortuitous event or a meaningful omen, I took it as a sign I shouldn’t ignore. Thus, The Rogue & Vagabond Tour was born.
Trevor Davis is a musician, writer, filmmaker, and cidriculteur traveling the globe teaching the importance of cultural immersion and connecting with artists along the way.
