Sunday, April 3, 2011

it's a gas - gas - gas

Early in our relationship the cowboy bought tickets to Barry Manilow and I tried not to yawn as the maestro of mellow belted out his repertoire.  Dave drew my attention to several middle-aged housewives tossing their underwear on stage.  Dave asked  if I would be interested in doing the same and I smiled patiently, "you take me to a Stones concert and I might consider it,"
We went to a Bob Dylan concert and I had a difficult time focusing as some teen-aged punks had formed a mosh pit at the foot of the stage and they were bouncing off each other.  I was hoping Bob might say something to the young egotists but he just smiled and kept singing about revolution and war, you know Bob, such a bubbly sort of guy.

Live concerts represent a chance to mingle with the gods and breathe the same air  if they do indeed breathe.  I have a picture on my fridge that shows an aging hippie wearing Mickey Mouse ears and flashing the peace sign.  On his shirt is written, Clapton is God. We were fortunate to acquire tickets
to Eric's concert. We sat quietly in our chairs letting the beauty of his music wash over us and it was an experience not unlike sitting in a great cathedral.

I did make it to the Stones concert and as some of you know crowd control borders on a military manuever for Mick and the boys.  There were 75,000 of us and everybody stayed in their roped off sections thanks to an army of  goons, and by that I mean the UW campus police and some local motorcycle guys.   The stage looked  tiny because we were so far away and we watched the musical hi jinks on giant screens and tried to believe that Mick was really here.  A few yards from me was a small platform with stacks of amplifiers and sound panels.   Suddenly, an explosion of sound and the boys are strutting down a catwalk and onto my platform and prancing and sneering right above me.  Keith is screaming, "this may be the la-a-a-ast time," and looking directly at me with those wild, kohl-rimmed eyes and I experienced a sort of catharsis of spirit and body. It was right up there with childbirth and a few other physically inspiring acts. The Stones never did get to see my white Hanes regular cuts tossed their way. I have some decencies left.


Carrie Merrick said...

What do you mean you don't like Barry Manilow? I remember dancing to his music in the living room on Clarke Dr.

dawn marie giegerich said...

Shh-hh-ush. You are destroying my image, daughter.