So, last Saturday we went to Northampton. Periodically we meet friends up there and use a concert as an excuse to get together. Last time around it was the one and only, the great Randy Newman. This time is was John Prine. I confess that though I’ve heard of him, I couldn’t have named a single one of his hits, if he had any, but, as I say, the concert is just an excuse for the get together.
Well, who knew there were a sufficient number of John Prine fans in the Northampton area to not only fill the theater, but who were mostly so knowledgeable about his body of work that they recognized each song at the opening chord. I have no idea which of his songs might be considered his trademark, but I liked this little ditty, sung here when he was quite a bit younger.
Though I love music, I don’t go to concerts very often. At the Prine concert, we enjoyed an opening act, and then waited over half an hour for Prine to come on stage. My wife and I, neophytes that we are, had about concluded that the now aging semi-star had suffered a heart attack or some other debilitating event. I turned to one of our friends (a dyed in the wool Prine fan) and said that while I might be willing to wait for half an hour for the likes of Paul McCartney, it seemed a tad long for just John Prine. To which remark she took much offense, but I stand by it, including the italics.
I have since learned that this is standard operating procedure, and that, even after paying $45.00 per ticket, one must expect to wait an ungodly amount of time before the rock and roll gods, demi-gods, or in this case demi-demi-demi-gods take the stage. I don’t have sufficient experience to say, but I wonder if the wait time is inversely proportional to the number of demis the performer in question warrants, in which case one would presumably have to bring a sleeping bag if one were actually affluent enough to afford a ticket to see a McCartney or the Stones.
I should add that once Prine started he put on a great show.
Post a Comment