Got a two-for-one treat last November when I attended the Austin Family Music Festival with the family (how apropos). Two, yes two, new Bruce Robison CDs.
The first one I expected to get -- "The New World" which had been out about a month or so. I was busy the week it first came out and managed to not get it because apparently the one copy available in Waco was bought early. Multiple trips to multiple music outlets only gave me resolve to eventually find it somewhere in person without having to order it on the Internet. I eventually got it in Austin.
Having heard the new songs previewed on Bruce's website before the release, I wasn't as excited about this one. Based on initial listens, there was only one song I was sure I liked. So there was no rush for either the one song or the mystery of newness that had already been given away.
In this case, first impressions were wrong. There are several songs I'm now very fond of - they just took a few listens to realize it.
The second CD -- and the purchase that was most satisfying -- was a greatest hits compilation called "His Greatest" which basically includes the songs that basically made him professionally successful and paid a lot of bills. The ones most people who haven't heard of Bruce would have heard of... Wrapped, Desperately, Traveling Soldier, and that one that probably was his biggest ... Angry All the Time.
What makes "His Greatest" very special is that the songs are recorded fresh for this CD -- and the arrangments are mostly new. Gives them all at least a slightly different sound than either Bruce's own previous recordings of these songs or those of other artists. The result is way different.
Bruce described them in a brief conversation I had with him after his Austin show that day as having "more of a live sound" and that's certainly true. One of the most noticeable differences here than on his own original recordings is that his own vocals are quite natural. In some ways, it's much more honest, like seeing him live. On the other hand, it sometimes contrasts greatly with the album versions of the same songs and makes you long for the Bruce you hear there.
Maybe it's his aging voice or, more likely, just an indifference to the notion that he's supposed to be a singer when songwriting is really what comes first. But where the vocals may disappoint some, what I'm stricken by are some of the lavish acoustic intros on songs like "My Brother and Me" and "Rayne, Louisiana" that make you think this is a musician's delight. Other songs just feel like jam sessions.
I read that "His Greatest" isn't technically supposed to release until after the first of the year. All the more special it seems for this fan who finally got to see Bruce after a several month hiatus due to personal schedules and budget.
Returning to "The New World" -- I've got to say that it really has gotten better with each listen.
Favorite song was originally "She Don't Care" -- a great heartbreak song that I'd heard Bruce sing on several occasions. Apparently Garth Brooks recorded the song and placed it in obscurity on one of his boxed sets available only at Wal-Mart. Yet, trying to determine which set that was without buying them was nearly impossible as the sets at my Wal-Mart didn't include song lists on the outer covers. It's a catchy, banjo-laced song. I've come to love the banjo.
"The New World" is said to be a mix of American music styles. OK. I'll leave that to the music people. As an uneducated fan, it's quite different from some of Bruce's previous work. But the songwriting remains an obvious strength.
My favorite is "California '85" which has some of the most clever lines I've heard in a while. A particularly rich verse includes "It's not the fall that breaks your heart so it won't mend; but it's the quick stop at the end."
The gender-crossing "Bad Girl Blues," which we had the treat of hearing prior to the album's release earlier this year is an excellent song, though the slow, bluesy pace requires patience. Conjures the spirit of a smoky lounge and Bruce's knack for writing in the female voice is so good it's bad (weak pun intended).
"Larosse" has gotten a lot of buzz from other listeners who've written about it on the web. It's well done, but just not a song that I will skip over others to hear. Nice subtext as a man tries to sell his trusty horse after many hard years together.
"Only" brings the banjo back in and harkens to some of Jerry Reed's hits with a story unfolding in a song. An ode to the singer's newest "only one" -- it's infectious. Then again, another song perhaps about the same girl is "The New One" which is a little different style. Little more traditional Bruce style of future country pop hit. Catchy lyrics and hooks throughout - this one could be a George Strait song in the future.
Last of the songs I'm really fond of is "Hanging on Hopeless" which has a very desolate feel, like the subject matter, accentuated with a nice hang-dog steel guitar and acoustic guitar.
Other songs include the opening "The Hammer" a stomp, I've read, and decent enough. Sounds kinda like "Sanford & Son" theme song mixed with a dash of southern funk. It's smooth but Bruce's vocals don't mesh with this one like perhaps another singer might.
"Echo" got a lot of discussion because Bruce noted in interviews how he was intrigued that both Buddy Holly and Bob Dylan had girlfriends by that name. It's nice and has very lavish accomaniment throughout. He imagines what a girl named Echo might be like.
"Twistin" is my least favorite on the album. Harkens back to the 50s era when "The Twist" was popular. Just seems a little hackneyed in the approach and the name is a little too derivative. The style is fun, almost rockabilly, but more miss than hit to me.
All that said, "The New World" is rock solid. "His Greatest" is an incredible collection and worth it just for the new arrangements. One of his better designed album covers, too, with some excellent photography. Quite a contrast to the whimsical cover of "New World" which puts a cartoon illustration of Bruce's head amidst several cartoon Earths. Like Bruce, never figure him to take the safe route.
Saturday, November 01, 2008
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Taking the Me out of Remember
Reunion complete. Though the word reunion, in some ways, is a bit strong. It suggests we were together once. And, if there's a lesson I brought home from my 'reunion' it's that I'm not really sure we were ever really together.
Did we all graduate? Well, most of us did. 151 supposedly, based on our class size in 1988. Yet, that's about the only thing that we were all really united on. Not football, not band, not church; nothing.
In the months leading up to my reunion, I started to build up an aversion to going. When pressed by my lovely bride as to why I was pensive about the event, I finally stumbled upon what had been sticking in my craw for some time. I loved my school and hated it at the same time. Moreover, the hate usually won out and I realized I was carrying a big ole chip on my shoulder against LHS.
The reasoning... well, there were several. Boiled down, I think they'd basically fall into two areas: social marginalization and the perception that I'd been passively screwed by the system.
Social marginalization boils down to this: Lindale was never a very welcoming community to me. Cordial, kinda, but not really welcoming. Not outright hateful, either. Just not embracing. It hurt to read some people write in advance of the reunion about the arrival of certain people in a certain year and how all the girls noticed. Funny, I arrived the same year and found that the exact opposite happened. No one really noticed. After high school, I had exactly one good friend I kept in touch with. So going back and seeing all these people was nice. But once it got past "where you live, what do you do, any spouse/kids?" questions, I didn't really know what to say.
That whole subject could be an entire post; hell, an entire blog. Everyone feels socially awkward, except of course the most socially adept. And they were 'popular' -- friends to everyone. I was less a social butterfly and more a social floater who could at least interface with each group but never fit in with any of them. Just the way it was. So going back is odd, because I didn't have a 'group' like so many others seemed to. And that was a little depressing.
Getting wronged by the system was much less a big deal, except for the resentment it's caused in 20 years' time. A couple minor jilts that I've seethed on for years comprise this me vs. them attitude that admittedly is about as 'so what' as one might imagine. One had to do with finding out just before graduation that a class I'd taken in 10th grade had been labeled as remedial. I signed up for it, an office duplicating practices class, because it fit my career of journalism and writing to learn how to use printing presses, etc. I didn't know it was considered remedial and no one bothered to tell me that. As a reward, I got docked 10 points off my gpa for each semester because it was remedial. That little nugget didn't get shared until I asked why my GPA calculation didn't seem to jive. Seems I'd have been much higher than 15th in my class had I not been robbed of 20 points the gross score.
The second systematic wrong was more an act of being disregarded by the system. I visited my high school several years ago - it was actually moved to a new building. But banners hung in the lobby recognizing state-level achievements. There were people and groups who placed at state. I placed 5th in editorial writing at state competition. No banner. They didn't do anything for 5th place the year I graduated -- only 1st thru 3rd. Yet, there were other examples on the wall for people who'd placed 5th or lower as I recall. Add to this the fact that while any kid who played in the band all four years got a letter jacket, I got neither the letter nor the jacket for going to state. They did give me a short little story in the yearbook with a photo. Guess that was my reward.
But with a lot of brooding about these admittedly penny-anny wrongs, I was getting nowhere. It didn't do me any good and I never felt better for having spent the energy being miffed. Why should I care? It wasn't like someone was out to get me and did these things to me.
And then it hit me.
That's what I took home from my reunion. Everyone there was on a different path. Sure, some were much closer together than others. But especially looking at where everyone is today, there's been such diffusion from the original point of departure. We were all unique individuals despite our attempts to prove otherwise via hair, clothes, music or whatever.
I went home from that reunion with a lot of regret. Not for anything done at the reunion, but rather for being so damned self-absorbed in high school (and for about 20 years that followed) to the point that I missed out on getting to know so many other people better. The best friend I have is great -- he's been a better friend to me than I could ever be to anyone. Yet, seeing everyone again, this time without the social stigmas that high school put on almost everyone, was refreshing. I wanted to sit down with everyone and have an hour-long conversation to find out about THEM, what they've done, and how they've managed to survive. But I basically didn't. Because I just didn't know where to begin.
I'm really a joker. It's a coping mechanism. Deep down, I'm very introverted. The sarcasm and funny business is there to mask my discomfort. Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn't. But maybe, in five years, if we have another reunion, I'll get a do-over. I can walk in without the baggage, shake some hands, hug some necks and pick up wherever we need to in order to get to know each other. Maybe they'll be a little more welcoming this time around.
Did we all graduate? Well, most of us did. 151 supposedly, based on our class size in 1988. Yet, that's about the only thing that we were all really united on. Not football, not band, not church; nothing.
In the months leading up to my reunion, I started to build up an aversion to going. When pressed by my lovely bride as to why I was pensive about the event, I finally stumbled upon what had been sticking in my craw for some time. I loved my school and hated it at the same time. Moreover, the hate usually won out and I realized I was carrying a big ole chip on my shoulder against LHS.
The reasoning... well, there were several. Boiled down, I think they'd basically fall into two areas: social marginalization and the perception that I'd been passively screwed by the system.
Social marginalization boils down to this: Lindale was never a very welcoming community to me. Cordial, kinda, but not really welcoming. Not outright hateful, either. Just not embracing. It hurt to read some people write in advance of the reunion about the arrival of certain people in a certain year and how all the girls noticed. Funny, I arrived the same year and found that the exact opposite happened. No one really noticed. After high school, I had exactly one good friend I kept in touch with. So going back and seeing all these people was nice. But once it got past "where you live, what do you do, any spouse/kids?" questions, I didn't really know what to say.
That whole subject could be an entire post; hell, an entire blog. Everyone feels socially awkward, except of course the most socially adept. And they were 'popular' -- friends to everyone. I was less a social butterfly and more a social floater who could at least interface with each group but never fit in with any of them. Just the way it was. So going back is odd, because I didn't have a 'group' like so many others seemed to. And that was a little depressing.
Getting wronged by the system was much less a big deal, except for the resentment it's caused in 20 years' time. A couple minor jilts that I've seethed on for years comprise this me vs. them attitude that admittedly is about as 'so what' as one might imagine. One had to do with finding out just before graduation that a class I'd taken in 10th grade had been labeled as remedial. I signed up for it, an office duplicating practices class, because it fit my career of journalism and writing to learn how to use printing presses, etc. I didn't know it was considered remedial and no one bothered to tell me that. As a reward, I got docked 10 points off my gpa for each semester because it was remedial. That little nugget didn't get shared until I asked why my GPA calculation didn't seem to jive. Seems I'd have been much higher than 15th in my class had I not been robbed of 20 points the gross score.
The second systematic wrong was more an act of being disregarded by the system. I visited my high school several years ago - it was actually moved to a new building. But banners hung in the lobby recognizing state-level achievements. There were people and groups who placed at state. I placed 5th in editorial writing at state competition. No banner. They didn't do anything for 5th place the year I graduated -- only 1st thru 3rd. Yet, there were other examples on the wall for people who'd placed 5th or lower as I recall. Add to this the fact that while any kid who played in the band all four years got a letter jacket, I got neither the letter nor the jacket for going to state. They did give me a short little story in the yearbook with a photo. Guess that was my reward.
But with a lot of brooding about these admittedly penny-anny wrongs, I was getting nowhere. It didn't do me any good and I never felt better for having spent the energy being miffed. Why should I care? It wasn't like someone was out to get me and did these things to me.
And then it hit me.
That's what I took home from my reunion. Everyone there was on a different path. Sure, some were much closer together than others. But especially looking at where everyone is today, there's been such diffusion from the original point of departure. We were all unique individuals despite our attempts to prove otherwise via hair, clothes, music or whatever.
I went home from that reunion with a lot of regret. Not for anything done at the reunion, but rather for being so damned self-absorbed in high school (and for about 20 years that followed) to the point that I missed out on getting to know so many other people better. The best friend I have is great -- he's been a better friend to me than I could ever be to anyone. Yet, seeing everyone again, this time without the social stigmas that high school put on almost everyone, was refreshing. I wanted to sit down with everyone and have an hour-long conversation to find out about THEM, what they've done, and how they've managed to survive. But I basically didn't. Because I just didn't know where to begin.
I'm really a joker. It's a coping mechanism. Deep down, I'm very introverted. The sarcasm and funny business is there to mask my discomfort. Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn't. But maybe, in five years, if we have another reunion, I'll get a do-over. I can walk in without the baggage, shake some hands, hug some necks and pick up wherever we need to in order to get to know each other. Maybe they'll be a little more welcoming this time around.
Friday, May 09, 2008
Putting the I in Reunion
There's a lot to be said about high school reunions. Unfortunately, little has NOT been said before.
So for once, I'll be brief.
I'm going to my 20th reunion. Don't know what will happen. Not sure whom I'll see. Not sure what I'll say. Deep down, I'll still resent the hell out of a lot of people and, at the same time, wish I could go right back to being in the 12th grade again if only for a few days.
Life's complicated and so am I.
So for once, I'll be brief.
I'm going to my 20th reunion. Don't know what will happen. Not sure whom I'll see. Not sure what I'll say. Deep down, I'll still resent the hell out of a lot of people and, at the same time, wish I could go right back to being in the 12th grade again if only for a few days.
Life's complicated and so am I.
Monday, February 25, 2008
Back to the beginning
My latest Bruce Robison purchase is the oldest I could find. It's his first CD, a now somewhat rare independently produced album that was Bruce's first commercial album.
On Amazon.com, there are a couple places selling this disc for about $75. I got this one for about $11 on eBay with shipping. Deal!
The CD contains several songs that appeared on his later work: "Travelling Soldier," "Red Letter Day," a song his wife Kelly put on an album "Not Forgotten You" and the life-changing "Angry All the Time." Each of these are less produced than the later versions, but add a whole new dimension to how I listen to the songs. On "Red Letter Day," for example, there's a sax where I've never heard a sax. "Angry All the Time" has some different guitar work (bridge, maybe? I don't know nothing 'bout makin no music..)
But even better are the songs I hadn't previously heard.
Some gems. "Torn and Tangled" is probably my favorite, the title's slick and the slow, bluesy tempo is groovy. "Take It All Out on You" is another faster tempo ditty that has nice hooks and, oddly, was co-written with his wife's ex-husband. Kelly recorded it when she was working for MCA, and in a concert, she joked that it makes her a legitimate country singer to be performing a song written by her husband and ex. "House of Man" has a traditional feel and features some great guitar, maybe dobro work. For a song about the real meaning of life, it's simple but rich.
If you come across this one, snatch it up.
On Amazon.com, there are a couple places selling this disc for about $75. I got this one for about $11 on eBay with shipping. Deal!
The CD contains several songs that appeared on his later work: "Travelling Soldier," "Red Letter Day," a song his wife Kelly put on an album "Not Forgotten You" and the life-changing "Angry All the Time." Each of these are less produced than the later versions, but add a whole new dimension to how I listen to the songs. On "Red Letter Day," for example, there's a sax where I've never heard a sax. "Angry All the Time" has some different guitar work (bridge, maybe? I don't know nothing 'bout makin no music..)
But even better are the songs I hadn't previously heard.
Some gems. "Torn and Tangled" is probably my favorite, the title's slick and the slow, bluesy tempo is groovy. "Take It All Out on You" is another faster tempo ditty that has nice hooks and, oddly, was co-written with his wife's ex-husband. Kelly recorded it when she was working for MCA, and in a concert, she joked that it makes her a legitimate country singer to be performing a song written by her husband and ex. "House of Man" has a traditional feel and features some great guitar, maybe dobro work. For a song about the real meaning of life, it's simple but rich.
If you come across this one, snatch it up.
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Bruce Robison delivers Valentine
For at least a couple years, I've been haranguing musician Bruce Robison to play the song "Valentine" from his Country Sunshine album. It's a personal favorite that is one of the few of his songs I have not heard him play.
In December, my wife and I traveled to Waxahachie, Texas for a Holiday Show that Bruce and wife, Kelly Willis, did as part of a mini-tour centered around their Christmas album, "Happy Holidays." That whole experience deserves its own entry, but in absence of such, let's just say it was a fantastic experience in that it was a very small, old theater and that we went home with some unique Bruce, Kelly, and even Lunchmeat stories. Having now seen Bruce probably at least a dozen times, it had been our favorite show ever -- until Saturday night.
We decided to travel to the Central Texas getaway town of Wimberley for a short Valentine's trip because we learned he'd be playing a small place called the Cypress Creek Cafe. After buying tickets in advance, we learned it was billed as a small "intimate" show, guaranteed to sell out and a rare solo acoustic performance by Bruce. Well, alright, we thought because that's how we'd been hooked by the star, seeing him perform at the inaugural Kenneth Threadgill Concert Series performance in Greenville, Texas. Bruce opened for Guy Clark and performed on the large auditorium stage with himself, his guitar and a spotlight. Gotta say we were more impressed with Bruce than we were Guy.
So when special occasions come around, birthdays, anniversaries, holidays, we look for excuses to see Bruce. If Kelly's with him, that's a bonus. She's a star in her own right -- some would say maybe more recognizable -- but he's probably had more measurable success in writing at least four number one country songs performed by other people. The secret is that every one of them he recorded first, and, are better than the Nashvillians.
So as we made it to Wimberley and prepared for the evening, I even discussed with my bride the distinctions of being a groupie and a stalker. A groupie, I noted, doesn't show up at your house. The fact that I know the neighborhood where Bruce and Kelly live, she said, makes me borderline stalker and suggested the Robisons may elect to get a restraining order. At least I'm not cruising by their house, hoping to see them. I go to the shows, I told her. Just because news stories about them mention where they live, that's not my fault. I just find it interesting.
So not less than an hour after this conversation, we're sitting in a booth at the Cypress Creek Cafe finishing our dinner and this trio of guys sits down at a table right next to us. There, almost within arm's reach, is Bruce and two other guys.
Despite the accusation of being a stalker, I left him alone. I didn't shriek, "Bruce! How ya doing?" and I didn't even stare at him. I let him order his dinner and have his conversation, figuring I'd have a chance to see him after his show anyway.
Now when we saw him in Waxahachie, I'd joked with him at a meet-and-greet after the show that one of these days he was going to start recognizing me. He asked me my name and said, "Next time I see you, I'll remember." I told him, but didn't count on it.
So perhaps my giving him his privacy at dinner was also my way of avoiding what I figured would happen. I'd say hi; he'd give me a warm "Hi, how ya doing?" and resume his conversation, not remembering this fat, graying male fan was somehow one of his infrequent groupies. I must state that while I use the term groupie here, I in no way imaginable intend that to be sexually related. I'm just talking about the level of fanaticism.
So we wandered our way into the back of the place where the concert would occur. It was basically a small bar, not unlike that found in a small hotel, but with a small stage and dance floor as large as some medium-sized kitchen in a modest house. The dance floor had about six tables with chairs around them. Our seats were literally at the bar. We had two stools reserved for us, described by the guy who showed everyone to their seats as, the best in the house. Well, almost.
They were up higher than the others because the bar area was elevated about six inches. The better part was that we didn't have to depend on the one or two barmaids to bring us beer when they made it around to us...we could reorder as soon as we finished our drinks. That in itself trumped sitting at the edge of the stage looking up at Bruce as he played. The difference was no more than probably 25 feet.
He didn't play solo. He brought the two guys he dined with: a bass player (the accomplished George Reiff) and drummer (whose name I can't remember) with a snare and cymbal. Minimalist, I suppose. His acoustic guitar plugged right into the sound system, so everyone could hear well. A drummer whom Bruce said had been the session guy on many of his songs did sit in for a couple songs at the end of the evening.
The first set was great. Then came a break. I used that as an opportunity to hit the restroom. On my way back, I saw Bruce near the bar. I decided it seemed kosher enough to give him the name test. "Hey Bruce...." I said and asked if he remembered my name. He said he did and, in that awkward way that indicated he probably didn't, I let him off the hook, telling him my name and reminding him of our conversation in Waxahachie. I then quickly asked, "Any chance of hearing 'Valentine' tonight seeing as how it was just a few days past Valentine's Day. He immediately responded "Yeah, I just practiced that this week" and said he didn't know how good it would be but he'd definitely try to play it. I'd gotten a vague answer in the past that he'd try, or see, when I'd asked at other shows. I even tried getting the request in through intermediaries like his sound man, publicist, etc., but never heard the song played live. But this time, there was something different. He didn't hedge.
So only a few songs into the next set, he introduces a song that he hasn't played in a long time, but that a guy named Lance has requested at show after show, and he's going to give it a try. He then played an incredible acoustic version of the song, which has some difficult transitions, and while even I with no musical training know that it wasn't without some minor lumps, it was everything I could have hoped for. It's a powerful song, with some lyrical devices I really dig, that hammer home the difficulty of parenting and living in an ever-challenging world.
While many in the crowd obviously weren't familiar with the song, I sensed as it went on that they really could appreciate its touching lyrics and even humor at times. He followed quickly with another personal song "My Brother and Me" which is much more widely known and which because of some similarities in our heritage ("you know how them Germans can be") was a perfect way to follow Valentine.
For the rest of the crowd, what made the night special was the guest appearance of Texas legend Ray Wylie Hubbard, who lives in Wimberley and spelled Bruce by performing a couple songs ("Snake Farm" and "Mississippi Flush") for an enthralled audience. That was like a cherry on top of an already made-just-for-me Valentine's treat.
Needless to say, we went home agreeing this was our new favorite Bruce show. They just get better and better every time.
In December, my wife and I traveled to Waxahachie, Texas for a Holiday Show that Bruce and wife, Kelly Willis, did as part of a mini-tour centered around their Christmas album, "Happy Holidays." That whole experience deserves its own entry, but in absence of such, let's just say it was a fantastic experience in that it was a very small, old theater and that we went home with some unique Bruce, Kelly, and even Lunchmeat stories. Having now seen Bruce probably at least a dozen times, it had been our favorite show ever -- until Saturday night.
We decided to travel to the Central Texas getaway town of Wimberley for a short Valentine's trip because we learned he'd be playing a small place called the Cypress Creek Cafe. After buying tickets in advance, we learned it was billed as a small "intimate" show, guaranteed to sell out and a rare solo acoustic performance by Bruce. Well, alright, we thought because that's how we'd been hooked by the star, seeing him perform at the inaugural Kenneth Threadgill Concert Series performance in Greenville, Texas. Bruce opened for Guy Clark and performed on the large auditorium stage with himself, his guitar and a spotlight. Gotta say we were more impressed with Bruce than we were Guy.
So when special occasions come around, birthdays, anniversaries, holidays, we look for excuses to see Bruce. If Kelly's with him, that's a bonus. She's a star in her own right -- some would say maybe more recognizable -- but he's probably had more measurable success in writing at least four number one country songs performed by other people. The secret is that every one of them he recorded first, and, are better than the Nashvillians.
So as we made it to Wimberley and prepared for the evening, I even discussed with my bride the distinctions of being a groupie and a stalker. A groupie, I noted, doesn't show up at your house. The fact that I know the neighborhood where Bruce and Kelly live, she said, makes me borderline stalker and suggested the Robisons may elect to get a restraining order. At least I'm not cruising by their house, hoping to see them. I go to the shows, I told her. Just because news stories about them mention where they live, that's not my fault. I just find it interesting.
So not less than an hour after this conversation, we're sitting in a booth at the Cypress Creek Cafe finishing our dinner and this trio of guys sits down at a table right next to us. There, almost within arm's reach, is Bruce and two other guys.
Despite the accusation of being a stalker, I left him alone. I didn't shriek, "Bruce! How ya doing?" and I didn't even stare at him. I let him order his dinner and have his conversation, figuring I'd have a chance to see him after his show anyway.
Now when we saw him in Waxahachie, I'd joked with him at a meet-and-greet after the show that one of these days he was going to start recognizing me. He asked me my name and said, "Next time I see you, I'll remember." I told him, but didn't count on it.
So perhaps my giving him his privacy at dinner was also my way of avoiding what I figured would happen. I'd say hi; he'd give me a warm "Hi, how ya doing?" and resume his conversation, not remembering this fat, graying male fan was somehow one of his infrequent groupies. I must state that while I use the term groupie here, I in no way imaginable intend that to be sexually related. I'm just talking about the level of fanaticism.
So we wandered our way into the back of the place where the concert would occur. It was basically a small bar, not unlike that found in a small hotel, but with a small stage and dance floor as large as some medium-sized kitchen in a modest house. The dance floor had about six tables with chairs around them. Our seats were literally at the bar. We had two stools reserved for us, described by the guy who showed everyone to their seats as, the best in the house. Well, almost.
They were up higher than the others because the bar area was elevated about six inches. The better part was that we didn't have to depend on the one or two barmaids to bring us beer when they made it around to us...we could reorder as soon as we finished our drinks. That in itself trumped sitting at the edge of the stage looking up at Bruce as he played. The difference was no more than probably 25 feet.
He didn't play solo. He brought the two guys he dined with: a bass player (the accomplished George Reiff) and drummer (whose name I can't remember) with a snare and cymbal. Minimalist, I suppose. His acoustic guitar plugged right into the sound system, so everyone could hear well. A drummer whom Bruce said had been the session guy on many of his songs did sit in for a couple songs at the end of the evening.
The first set was great. Then came a break. I used that as an opportunity to hit the restroom. On my way back, I saw Bruce near the bar. I decided it seemed kosher enough to give him the name test. "Hey Bruce...." I said and asked if he remembered my name. He said he did and, in that awkward way that indicated he probably didn't, I let him off the hook, telling him my name and reminding him of our conversation in Waxahachie. I then quickly asked, "Any chance of hearing 'Valentine' tonight seeing as how it was just a few days past Valentine's Day. He immediately responded "Yeah, I just practiced that this week" and said he didn't know how good it would be but he'd definitely try to play it. I'd gotten a vague answer in the past that he'd try, or see, when I'd asked at other shows. I even tried getting the request in through intermediaries like his sound man, publicist, etc., but never heard the song played live. But this time, there was something different. He didn't hedge.
So only a few songs into the next set, he introduces a song that he hasn't played in a long time, but that a guy named Lance has requested at show after show, and he's going to give it a try. He then played an incredible acoustic version of the song, which has some difficult transitions, and while even I with no musical training know that it wasn't without some minor lumps, it was everything I could have hoped for. It's a powerful song, with some lyrical devices I really dig, that hammer home the difficulty of parenting and living in an ever-challenging world.
While many in the crowd obviously weren't familiar with the song, I sensed as it went on that they really could appreciate its touching lyrics and even humor at times. He followed quickly with another personal song "My Brother and Me" which is much more widely known and which because of some similarities in our heritage ("you know how them Germans can be") was a perfect way to follow Valentine.
For the rest of the crowd, what made the night special was the guest appearance of Texas legend Ray Wylie Hubbard, who lives in Wimberley and spelled Bruce by performing a couple songs ("Snake Farm" and "Mississippi Flush") for an enthralled audience. That was like a cherry on top of an already made-just-for-me Valentine's treat.
Needless to say, we went home agreeing this was our new favorite Bruce show. They just get better and better every time.
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