I'll tell you right up front that I like Jackson Browne.
Yeah, I know the whole, sprout-eatin', tree-huggin', southern California, where-did-I-park-my-surfboard sound, isn't everyone's cup of granola but Charlotte and I kinda like him.
Hell, we actually dated to the sounds of Browne.
If you think that makes US old, you should see HIM. But, if you really want to see the folks that hit the early bird special at Denny's, you should check out his audience (I mean that in a nice way, remember I'm a fan).
Since I've been jonesing for Jackson, I've been on the lookout for tickets to his tour. The other day just as I was asking myself, "Bob, what can Browne do for you?" the internets emailed saying that Browne was coming to town. Well, not Colleyville, but he did come to Grand Prairie (insert punch line here) which was close enough for us.
We'd never been to the Verizon Theater (formerly Nokia Theater - are cell phone companies the only people with money these days?) so we loaded up the enormous carbon footprint SUV and drove over for the show. Browne's touring with veteran sideman David Lindley and they were cruising through DFW on their way through a multi-city tour.
This clip will take you back in time.
We paid the pricey-but-oh-so-worth-it cost to VIP park; entered the doors of the Verizon Theater and traveled back in time.
I kinda felt like Marty McFly in Back to the Future. It seemed like most of the folks had their Delorean's programmed to 1973. There were tables with petitions to stop nuclear power. Sustainable this. Save that. And a little bit of tie-dye here and there. Jeez, it was like these folks had just been WAITING for an opportunity to venture out into the light and promote their causes.
Thanks be to Browne.
I wanted to avoid these passionate purveyors of whatever-the-hell they were purveying. So, I meandered my middle-aged butt over to the concession stand and purchased a large BUD LIGHT. Nothing quite says "I ain't pickin' up what you're layin' down" quite like a cold beer. It worked its magic.
We found our seats. The lights dimmed. And JB worked his magic on the faithful.
Since there were only about 3,200 of us in the theater, we won the bad-seat lottery. The Boomer out on his first date with his
probably younger than his daughter girlfriend sat behind Charlotte. He made the executive decision that ol' Jackson's pipes weren't quite up to the task that evening - So he sang every effin' SONG.
As our friend Becky Elder will tell you: DON'T SING THE SONG IF YOU DON'T KNOW THE WORDS.
For those of you keeping score at home - Becky's right.
That advice fell on tone-deaf ears. Luckily for us, one too many trips to the Bud Light stand brought their evening to an early end. Besides, I think he only had enough quarters left to work the machine in the men's room and have a few for the Magic Fingers bed at the Rio Motel out on I-30.
That's when we finally found out what Browne could do for us.
JB's still got the pipes. His music was melodic. Poignant. And Memorable. An evening with him is like a conversation with a great friend you only see now and then. He played most of the songs we remember and a few new ones we'll likely grow to love.
As we walked out to our Delorean to travel back to the present, Charlotte reminded me we didn't have to walk far - that's what the VIP in the VIP parking, means.
Sorry about that whole carbon-footprint thing, tie-dye wearing guy with the long, gray ponytail.
I really love 2010.
Or as Jackson would say: Take it Easy.