AÂ week ago, Miska and I hit a concert. I must admit, at the risk of sounding extremely uncool and entirely unRelevant, that we are not concert types. I’ve been to maybe 10 shows in my lifetime, and even that miniscule number stretches all the way back to high school when IÂ flicked my lighter to the groovy tunes of such legends as Sandi Patti, the Cathedrals (a Southern Gospel quartet I’m betting none of you have ever heard of), and 4Him (it wasÂ actually on the drive back fromÂ this concert that I had my first kiss, those four guys must have put on one romantic show).
When we lived in Denver, one thing we wanted to do wasÂ take inÂ a show at Red Rocks. What a venue. When we realized we would be moving soon (summer 2001), we figured we had to grab a show quick. Our only option was Blues Travelers. We’d never really listened to them, but we bought tickets anyway. The local was superb, but the concert … not so much. Miska was pregnant, and the smoke (of every sort, I’m sure) engulfed us – she wanted to hurl. The opening acts went on and on and on and on. We were about fried by the time Traveler stepped onstage. It was probably a done deal no matter what would have happened. If Elvis himself had grabbed the mic, I don’t think he could have reeled us back in. We made our best effort at trying to make sense of a couple songs, but we couldn’t hear a word. So, after only a song or two into our $30-something dollar tickets, Miska and I headed to the house. Yes, we are those people.
One artist, however, yanked us back (quite willingly) to put up hard-earned dollars (far too many of them, though, I might add) to see him in conert. Last week, Bob Dylan came to town. I considered going, since it would be like having the chance to hear the Beatles back in theÂ day and turning it down. Later, I heard Elvis Costello was opening solo, just him and his bevy of guitars. Still, I was on the fence…until I heard that one of Miska’s and my favorite artists was going to be the opener for the opener. Most places, his name wasn’t even listed on the bill. But, for us, he trumped Dylan (sacrilege, I know) and Costello. His name is Amos Lee. If you need an introduction, try Black River,Â Soul Suckers, Freedom and Night Train. Southern Girl plays on my cell whenever Miska calls.Â Amos oozes soul.Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â
So,Â a fewÂ questions I pose to you:
1. What was your guilty pleasure concert? Or, from another angle,Â theÂ show from your youth that now just makes you shake your head in disbelief?
2. What is the best show you have ever been to?
3. What is the one artist/group you most want to hear live?