LIVE MUSIC

My big brother sang and played guitar. When I was 13 or 14, he would take me along on summer nights to the Ace of The Highway, a truck stop up on old US 71 Highway, at the end of Prospect Ave. Pretty soon, some of his friends would show up; we would feed nickels into the juke box and drink coffee until our money ran out. It was a short drive, down by the lagoon in Swope Park where we sat on the curb, under a street light. Guitars and mandolins seemed to magically appear. There was smoking and joking, sometimes a beer to pass around but there was always music. We sang the songs we had been listening to at the Ace. Hank Williams, Little Jimmy Dickens, Hank Snow, Ernest Tubb: we sang them all. “Pour me another cup of coffee; for it is the best in the land; and I’ll put a nickel in the juke box; and play the truck driving man.” A few years later, he was playing rhythm guitar in a country band, playing sleazy little beer bars down in Cass County. I got to go with him a few times; had to stay on the band stand where they could make sure I wasn’t drinking any beer. Old ladies, must have been in their 30’s came up and teased me: “Hey sugar boy, where’s your guitar?” I wouldn’t pick up a guitar for another 45 years but I was hooked on the music. I’m a story teller and I use my guitar. I don’t play it, more like, play with it. I can’t sing, just tell my songs: gotta be a story in there somewhere. And, I love real, live music.   

After I got out of the army there were rock & roll shows but the trend was going to big names putting on a full length show: the first one I saw was Peter Paul & Mary at the Municipal Auditorium. I still sit and listen to street performers; drop a dollar in their jar, ask ‘em about chord progressions and who they listen to. Records and CD’s are great but there's nothing like a live performance. The music itself may be more perfect, coming out of studio but the chemistry of the moment is not there. Anything can happen at a concert. My son and I went to see Bonnie Raitt at Sandstone. Everything was going great;the seats in front of us were unoccupied and we thought we had it made. In the last minute, as the band was coming on stage, two women with huge hats came down the isle and we knew from a distance, exactly where they were going to sit. The show was great but it was shift left and shift right all night long, trying to get an unobstructed look at the stage. It was a great concert, nothing but good memories.

Then, a few years later, when he was at University of Michigan, we stood for an agonizing hour, waiting for Ike Turner {who had lost his mojo} to finish. He was opening for Shemekia Copeland, who we really wanted to see. He kept begging the audience to call for more and he just wouldn’t quit. When he did, Shemekia was late getting started. Three songs into her set, the sky opened up and it poured. We would have stood there in the rain but the wind blew rain under the canopy. When smoke and sparks started arcing from the lights and amplifiers, they stopped the show. Even with great performers, things go wrong. 

A few years later, my other son and his wife took me back to Sandstone on my birthday. James Taylor played for almost three hours, plus an encore. After the band left, the crowd stood there and kept cheering to a dark, empty stage. Five minutes later, James came back out without the band, played and sang solo for a while. I had hoped to hear my favorite J.T. song but it never came up on the play list. Then, sitting with with one leg hanging over the edge of the stage, he did a familiar finger roll and began: “There is a young cowboy, he lives on the range; his horse and his cattle are his only companions. He works in the saddle and he sleeps in the canyons, waiting for summer, his pastures to change.” My favorite song: Sweet Baby James. I waited all night for it; thought it was over and then there it was. After all, sometimes it doesn’t get any better. 

Last night I went to Meijer Gardens, in Grand Rapids, MI to hear Lyle Lovett & The Large Band. The grassy, amphitheater only seats 2,000 and the sound is perfect. My companion was Nancy, who I met in 1973, she shared a play pen with my daughter Sarah (sisters by other mothers) when our families got together. We sampled grapes and smoked salmon, cheese and crackers. I’ve been a LL fan for decades and the old music was blended in with the new. A warm summer afternoon had mellowed out and this evening couldn’t have gone better. He has way-too-many hits for them to play all my favorites. He talked to and with the audience just enough, saved my favorite song until near the end. It made me remember the James Taylor concert so long ago. LL didn’t disappoint: “If I had a boat, I’d go out on the ocean. And if I had a pony, I’d ride him on my boat. And we could all together, go out on the ocean: Me upon my pony, on my boat.” All I had was my smartphone and the shot is fuzzy. If you haven’t noticed; cherries still have pits and s*#t still happens but this life is pretty good.