Music, Music, Music

Today, I was listening to "I'm No Angel" by Gregg Allman and immediately I thought of July 3, 1991, at the Great Woods Center for the Performing Arts in Norton, MA. My friend Mike called and asked if I'd like to go see the Allman Brothers with him. Free tickets. How on earth could I refuse.

So, I passed up the annual fireworks display at Lynn Beach and went to see the Allmans with Mickey. I'd see the AB's before. They're one of my favorite groups. But there was something about July 4 and Americana and the Allman Brothers that just seemed too surreal. Here we were, in the middle of a sea of bikers (nothing like the Allmans to bring out the inner Hog in us all), with firecrackers and cherry bombs exploding all around us. Talk about the rockets' red glare!!

What a great show! They played for so long -- and jammed so freely -- that the went way past the curfew and never got around to playing "Ramblin' Man," (which was to be their ultimate encore). You'd think that would be disappointing, but it wasn't. The discerning Allman Brothers aficionado knows that while "Ramblin' Man" is certainly a great song (indeed, their signature tune), there are so many other great songs in their repertoire that you could listen to three hours worth of music (which we did, bascially) and always come away wanting more.

Anyway, I bring this all up because "I'm No Angel" was one of that concert's real highlights. The group just come out of a mid-set intermission with "In Memory of Elizabeth Reid," a very cool jazz-oriented instrumental piece (inspired by the fact that when the Allmans used to go drinking in a nearby cemetery, they always gathered at the headstone of one Elizabeth Reid), and it served as an introduction to a more mellow point in the show (they also did a wonderful acoustic version of "Midnight Rider" -- another Allman solo piece).

Not that the mellow portion was bad ... but if you went there to see kickass rock 'n' roll, this was probably your cue to go to the bathroom, or get up and get something to eat ... of fidget. Me? I loved it.

However, "I'm No Angel" was the first song they played after this mellow interlude, and it just jerked the audience back into the spirit of the evening. It's a great song anyway, all about a roughhouse biker-type ("come on, baby, let me show you my tattoos") who promises that despite his savage appearance and reputation, he'll treat the girl of his dreams gently ("I'll never lift a hand to hurt you and I'll always leave you glad."). It's full of vivid images.

And it rocks! Especially when you get into it. And besides, who among us hasn't wished, once in a while, to explore his dark side? Even the ever-romantic Justin Hayward of the Moody Blues wrote "The Other Side of Life," about the desire to explore his dark side.

That song kicked the concert into overdrive, and paved the way for a parade of sizzling classics, from "Jessica" to "Revival" to "Statesboro Blues" to a lengthy first encore of "Tied to the Whipping Post" that had to last 15 minutes, with not a second of it wasted.

I've seen the Allmans several times, yet this concert stood out as special (though it would have been more special had we not got caught in a massive traffic jam leaving the stadium; I think we finally got home on July 5!).

So listening to the song brought back memories ... not only of that concerts but of others as well. I cannot count the number of rock concerts I've seen. Some of them have been perfectly dreadful (there was the Bob Dylan show a few years ago that was so bad that all I could think of was that line from Positively 4th Street, "I wish that for just one time, you could stand inside my shoes; then you'd know what a drag it is to see you!"), and I remember seeing the Cars once and wishing someone would steal them and dismantle them in a chop shop (RIP, Ben Orr).

Then there was Duran Duran (don't ask how that came about). Horrible.

But the great ones more than make up for the lemons. If you can go through life with even a handful of experiences like that July 3 Allman Brothers show (which was one of the most perfectly laid out shows Ive ever seen; if I were a rock star, and were planning a show, I'd have done it the same way), you're doing OK.

I think the absolute best rock show I've ever seen, barring none, was the October 1973 Jethro Tull concert at the Boston Garden. Well, first of all, even if you didn't intend to get stoned going INTO the show, you were totally wrecked coming out. That's how much cannibus swirled around unfettered. I remember wondering how in the world any cop could let THAT go! Probably because it was a hopeless battle.

This was right after "Passion Play" came out, and Tull performed the entire album in the first set. I can remember not really liking the album all that much when I heard it the first time (It's still one of the least played CDs in my collection even today). "Thick as a Brick" was so good that "Passion Play" seemed like a poor facsimile. It was as if Ian Anderson said "I'm going to do 'Thick as a Brick' all over again, but call it something else."

Now, it always helps when you get a guy like Ian Anderson, who understands theater, and understands that just getting up there and playing isn't enough. Rock 'n' roll was never MERELY about the music ... and that's what people my parents' age never understood (and it's probably what people of my generation and culture fail to grasp about rap). Rock 'n' roll was about the attitude ... the excitement ... the rawness and edginess that all the Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin fans from the 40s and 50s never quite got because they'd never experienced it (though I suspect that if you appreciated the sophisticated jazz and blues of the 1920s and 30s you might have had a better chance of getting it).

"Passion Play" came to life that night. It helped that Ian Anderson made it an audio-visual show, with animated beginning that featured the contorted ballerina that adorns the album's cover. it was bizarre ... actually disturbing. But it was effective. It left you with your mouth agape, and just when it climaxed (like any good sexual encounter), out burst Ian Anderson (he almost ejaculated onto the stage, if that's possible!) to perform the album. It was probably the only time I ever found that album enjoyable.

It didn't stop with "Passion Play" either. They went onto do a good chunk of "Thick as a Brick" and a lot of "Aqualung," including an immensely enjoyable (and out-and-out kickass) version of "Locomotive Breath."

Thing is, though, I'm more of a fan of Tull's quieter, chamber music-like material, and really have a problem with Anderson if he forgets about that stuff when he performs shows. Usually, he's good about including it (though not always; I've come away from several shows of his extremely disappointed about the material he's chosen to perform). On this night, he represented his softer side more than adequately.

There was the obligatory "Bouree," of course ... Anderson does Bach. But there was also "Sossity, You're a Woman," from "Benefit," and one that he put on "Living in the Past" called "Life's a Long Song," which is one of the most beautiful pieces I've ever heard. It still remains a Krause staple on the iPod today.

I was just 20 years old in 1973, and went to the Tull concert with Mickey as well (we both had dates; he had some girl, forget whom) and I had Donna "Boobs" Bertazzoni from Quincy, who went to school with me at Northeastern University. We were just friends (although I'd have perferred it to be more than that). She was actually dating a guy named Sterling W. Honeywell (imaging dating a guy named Sterling??). The "W" stood for William, and, much to his credit, he preferred to be called Bill. But I always referring to him as Sterling, much to Donna's irritation.

For some reason, unrequited love and music go hand-in-hand with me, and it has a lot to do with why I like the Moody Blues ... who own another chapter in my "favorite concert" book.

First, the history. My freshman year of college, I fell madly for this girl Melinda Marchi, a stunning Italian from Cromwell, Connecticut. She had long, straight, jet-black hair and similarly dark, Mediterranean features. We took economics together, and hit it off, and I thought I had a chance.

Boy, was I wrong. I found out, through talking to her, that she liked opera, so I went out and got two tickets to "Tosca" by Puccini (hey, I wasn't proud; I'd have done anything back in those days!!). I'd never heard of it, but she'd mentioned she wanted to see it. Except, apparently, not with me. Because when I summoned up enough nerve to ask her if she'd go with me, she said she had other plans ... I guess sorting her socks or something.

I was crushed. First, the tickets weren't CHEAP! And second, abject rejection, especially if you've invested that much time and energy into cultivating that type of a crush, is like free falling off the Empire State Building.

As it so happens, though, life went on. Later that day, I discovered that the Northeastern bookstore didn't have a piece of reading material on my political science syllibus, so I had to truck on up to the Harvard Coop to find it.

Now, I LOVE Harvard Square. Some people go to Disneyland for fun and excitement. I go to Harvard Square and look at the freaks. And there are plenty of them! Brattle Street, which, to me, is the capital of the Eastern Elitism that conservatives always love to hate, is like a freak Mecca. It always energizes me, too, to walk into the Coop, as I did recently, and see stacks of books staring at me villifying the latest conservative du jour. In 1972, it was Nixon. the last time I went, it was 56 different books basically saying that George W. Bush sucked.

I always feel home at Harvard (and by the way, just to clear something up, you cannot pahhk your cahhh at Hahhhvahhhd Yahhhd because you cahhhn't DRIVE in Hahhhvahhhd Yahhhd).

Even on that day, after having had my balls summarily chopped off by Melinda Marchi, I kind of felt a little rejuvenated (though not a lot) by getting off the subway at Harvard and drinking in the atmosphere.

I found the book at the Coop (short for cooperative) and stood in line for what had to be a good 20-25 minutes to pay for it. I noticed this exotic music playing from a really nice set of speakers that just seemed to surround the room. It sounded familar, but I couldn't place it. It was mournful yet uplifting at the same time. The music ended with an orchestral flourish, a poem, and a loud gong.

Remember, this was 1972. There were no CDs. Just long-playing albums and record players that went back and repeated the same records. And on this one, the needle arm reset itself to the beginning of the album and all of a sudden I'm hearing "Tuesday Afternoon" by the Moody Blues.

What I HAD been hearing, of course, was the conclusion to "Days of Future Passed." Now, having heard it a few hundred thousand times, I picked it up around the song "The Sunset" and rode it through to the end, including "Nights in White Satin," and "Late Lament."

I'd probably heard NIWS a few times in my life (though not many) and had never heard the album. Nor had I heard much of anything else by the Moodies (just the singles they made famous).

Well, I ran right out and bought the album, and it nursed me through my own blues over being rejected. And through the rest of that year, I resolved to educate myself about the Moody Blues. I snatched up every album I could find (by then, there were six of the original upon release).

By October of 1972, I was thorougly Moodied. My sister thought I was possessed. So did my friends. It was Moodies, Moodies, and more Moodies. So it happened that I stood in line outside the Boston Garden the day tickets went on sale for their 1972 show for three hours with a bunch hof buddies from school and scored some. They sold out in no time, as this when they were REALLY at their peak.

By October, I'd stopped obsessing over Melinda and had gone back to enjoying life. So my friends and I simply went to the Boston Garden to enjoy a good show.

The show was all right. What made the concert memorable were the three guys sitting in front of us who were dressed like characters from King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. Seriously. I just remember one guy was dressed in black, with this pointy hat, and half-moons drawn all over him. He had a long beard and he was tanked before he even got inside. He was Merlin the Magician, or so he said.

They were primed, obviously -- and, just as obviously, they thought "Are You Sitting Comfortably" was about THEM!!!

Now, THIS was funny. Demented and funny. The only thing I'll always regret about the experience was that I was with a bunch of guys, and not with a girl, because that's the type of thing -- that kind of ambiance -- that can REALLY serve as an ice breaker if you want to end up getting laid. I looked around at the five guys sitting with me and just sighed. AWFUL timing.

As I said, the show wasn't memorable for the music. In those days, the Moodies were not a good live band ... at least I didn't think so. Their music was very sophisticated, a lot like the type the Beatles produced toward the end of their careers. Great on vinyl; difficult to reproduce in all of its technical wizardry on stage. Not to mention that they were probably just as stoned playing it as we were watching it. I understand there were a lot of drugs flying around the Moodies' entourage in those days!

All of this made for very sloppy musicianship, which -- musical fuss budget that I am -- annoyed me. I was kind of disappointed, to be honest.

But the show in the audience more than made up for it. These three guys were great to watch. They were SOOOOOOOO stoned that they couldn't keep themselves sitting up. They flopped all over each other (they were probably gay!!) and just swooned in RAPTURE every time a new song began. The ironic part, though, is that by the time the Moodies finally got around to playing the end of "Threshhold of a Dream," which they almost ALWAYS did as a whole block toward the end of the show in those days, these three guys were catatonic from having smoked so much weed. They couldn't even enjoy it!

I have two more shows to discuss before calling it a day. The first was in February 1990 ... Paul McCartney at the Worcester Centrum. Macca went out plugging his tour as a journey through the past, and boy, was it ever. Beatles songs, Beatles songs and more Beatles songs, and some of them really raised that lump right to the base of your throat. The first of this absolute melange of Fab music was "Got To Get You Into My Life," which is my absolute most favorite song of theirs, and it just got better after that. Old stuff ("I Saw Her Standing There" and "Things We Said Today"), solo stuff ("Live and Let Die"), trippy stuff ("Fool on the Hill") and classic stuff ("Hey Jude," which audience participating at the end that almost made it seem like a religious experience).

You watched the show, and you were keenly aware that this was history unfolding before your eyes. A lot of those songs had never been performed in public before, and there was just such an outpouring of gratitude on the part of the fans that, after all these years, Paul McCartney toured and played them.

Finally, but certainly not least, there was the Brian Wilson show in 2005 in which he performed the entire "Smile" album. In a lot of ways, this was one of the most extraordinary shows I've ever seen. Wilson toured with an 18-piece band, and you got the idea that maybe he was able to perform his old Beach Boys songs in a manner in which he'd envisioned them when he wrote them. He turned "Help Me Rhonda" into a symphony, almost, and I remember thinking to myself, "is this cool, or what!

"Smile" is also an extraordinary piece of music. Had it been released in 1967, the way it was intended, no one would have understood it. At least "Sergeant Pepper" had elements of the ritualistic rock album (and even at that, Pepper stood out as singularly bizarre that year). This had none, really. It was a collection of little songs strung together in a way to tell a story (perhaps a drug-hazed story, but a story nonetheless). If it reminds me of anything at all, it reminds me of the second side of "Abbey Road", with unfinished bits of songs strung together to create a definite aural effect, if nothing else; the songs themselves weren't that cohesive on "Abbey Road" and aren't on "Smile").

What separates the two records, of course, is the placement of the songs. Where "Abbey Road" was divided by sides (the first side being a collection of normal songs while the second side kind of wanders off into the realm of the bizarre), "Smile" interspersed both freely. Hence, you get these moments of brilliance that just seem to crop up out of nowhere.

For example, from "Heros and Villains" to "Surf's Up" you get a collection of melodious songs that -- as I've said earlier -- aren't really complete; yet create, by their sequencing, a definite mood. But in the middle of it all, there's "Surf's Up," one of the most complicated, perplexing, wonderful, beautiful, confusing, exasperating, uplifting, almost ethereal, songs in the rock repertoire. It is said to be the song that caused all the friction in the Beach Boys (Mike Love didn't understand it and wanted nothing to do with singing it), and it led, not-too-indirectly, to all of Brian Wilson's subsequent mental health problems.

It's not as if I'd never heard it before. It came out on other albums, and though you never heard it much, even on FM radio, once in a while someone would play it late at night ... and you could almost see the marijuana smoke swirling around the room when you heard it.

But hearing it live, sung by Brian Wilson, with all that history ... that was almost too much to take. The audience grew quiet, almost reverential, as the song unfolded. There was literally no noise. I thought I might be in church.

Then (another relic from the past) the matches and lighters came out and there was a sea of flames as Wilson wrapped up the song. And when he finished, the ovation was deafening. And it lasted for a good five or six minutes ... people standing, screaming, some of them even crying. What a moment!

This was not the first stop on the tour. Yet, Brian Wilson sat there ... and I don't think he knew what to do. He's not the most stable person ANYWAY, and I think he just wished it would end so that he could just go back to playing music. He looked extremely uncomfortable, but he accepted it graciously as it waned, and went back to playing music!

The ovation was almost as long, and as long, when he finished "Good Vibrations," too.

But the bonus was after the intermission, he and his band came out and played some real old, vintage Beach Boys material, ending the night with "Surfin' USA" and "Fun, Fun, Fun," with everyone up and dancing in the aisles.

The concert was also noteworthy because it was in July of 2005 ... and Wilson played "Ol' St. Nick." THAT was funny!

So there you have it. Five classic concerts I'll never forget.