I saw the Blind Boys of Alabama last month.
The gospel group, with roots reaching 80 years back and a history of helping break down racial barriers, truly lifted my soul, providing me a much-needed sense of positiveness. It was akin to an injection of God.
The next day, I told my daughter, Delaney, it was the best concert I’ve ever seen. Immediately, she called me out – that’s one of the beauties of daughters.
“Every time you see a concert, you say it’s the best concert you’ve ever seen,” she complained.
She’s heard mention of Van Morrison, Jeff Lynne’s ELO, U2, Little Feat, Jimmy Buffett, Ry Cooder and Rosanne Cash, Nick Lowe, Paul Simon, The Rolling Stones, Sting, Steve Miller Band, Steely Dan, Rhiannon Giddens, John Prine, A.J. Croce, and Allison Russell.
Blind Boys of Alabama at Buskirk-Chumley Theater in Bloomington. (Photo provided by Scott Saalman)
Contrary to what Delaney says, there have been many concerts I’ve never described as being the “best I’ve ever seen.” I just don’t tell her about them. I don’t like admitting to spending money and time on concerts that were just so-so shows.
Well, unless one was so rotten that it would be a crime against humanity to not warn others.
Case in point: Neil Young (one of my all-time favorites). I’ve written about his disconcerting concert before: The 2010 show was billed “as a solo gig, which conjured in my mind a pleasing evening of acoustical folk rock … “Old Man” … “Harvest Moon” … “Heart of Gold.” But no, the person taking the stage that night was the ‘metal’ Neil, not the ‘mellow’ Neil of preference. Yes, he was solo as advertised – but that was merely a guise, a very low blow, a cheap shot at my checkbook. I left halfway through, my $200 wasted. I felt let down by Neil.
That night, it was solo Neil embracing an electric guitar with an amp turned “up to 11,” his discipleship to guitar distortion giving any heavy-metal band a run for its money, sonically.
One appreciative “metal Neil” fan glowingly described the show as “jarring, glorious electricity” and “a fascinating, ear-ringing electric playground.”
Which explains why I could’ve donated blood through my ear holes.
In the lobby, I knew we might be in trouble when I saw fans wearing the official tour T-shirt stating, “I said solo … they said acoustic.”
I can’t say we weren’t forewarned, but it would’ve been nice to have known about Electric Neil when buying online tickets instead of learning about it at the venue. Well played, Mr. Concert Promoter. Well played. But that’s Neil. I get it. He does things his way. If he wants to crank it up, he cranks it up. I respect Cranky Neil. He was definitely “Rocking in the Free World” that night. Too bad it wasn’t free for me.
I maintain a list of concerts I’ve attended. There are about 200, counting nearly three dozen repeats. To date, my other list, a concert bucket list, shows only a handful of wishes. Some names are voided due to deaths, their respective check-mark boxes eternally empty.
There are several deceased performers I regret not seeing: Harry Chapin, Duane Allman, Warren Zevon, Johnny Cash, Christine McVie (Fleetwood Mac), Doc Watson, Waylon Jennings, Dr. John, Allen Toussaint, Bob Marley, Steve Goodman, to name a few.
My friend Troy saw Cash at The Vogue Theatre in Indy. I’m forever jealous.
Earlier this year, the cancellation of a concert featuring the group WAR (“Why Can’t We Be Friends?,” “Low Rider,” etc.) really bummed me out. I have wanted to see WAR for a long time. The sad news arrived via an email with the subject line stating, “War Has Been Canceled.” At first, I was excited for Ukraine’s people, but then I noticed the note was from Ticketmaster, not Putin. Recently, I saw WAR riding a float during the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. Maybe there’s a new tour coming.
Our Randy Newman concert at Lincoln Center was canceled several years ago. He hasn’t toured since. I’m worried about Randy. I was refunded for a canceled Brian Setzer holiday show due to severe tinnitus a few years ago. I hear he has it under control now. Music to my ears.
I wish I could trade some “repeat” shows for performers I haven’t seen. Sometimes, I play a round of Fantasy Concert Swap in my head.
I’d trade one of my three Boz Scaggs shows for Johnny Cash; one of my four James Taylor shows for Dr. John; one of my four Jackson Browne shows for Harry Chapin, etc. I’d trade one of my two Bob Seger shows for a second Tom Petty show (I regret not seeing Petty more). I’d trade one of my two Eddie Money shows for Emmylou Harris; one of my five Doobie Brothers for Joni Mitchell (but not the one with Michael McDonald).
A concert fiend friend, Trina, recently asked us see an upcoming Gillian Welch-David Rawlings show. I replied, “We saw them at the Ryman. It was one of the most hypnotic shows I’ve ever seen. Why see them again when I’ve already seen them at their best?”
Trina understood my practical approach but then mentioned something to the effect that she goes “to concerts for the joy of the moment, the now experience, instead of taking a one-and-done approach.”
She makes a good point. Had it been Neil Young, I would’ve taken Trina’s offer. He’s pushing 80. How loud can old Neil Young really play now?
Contact Scott at scottsaalman@gmail.com.