Friday, August 25, 2006

Boz Scaggs is Cooler Than You... Think

Well, it happened-- the night most of us at Topaz Partners were primed to see "Snakes on a Plane," my wife broke the news to me-- we were invited to see Boz Scaggs in concert, by a friend we could not refuse. Crushed, I let the Topazers know the news, and after the requisite questioning of my manhood, and my witty and whithering replies (that I will not relate here), I resigned myself to my fate.

Gritting my teeth and girding my ears, I prepared for the worst. After viewing a parade of people that would best be served by remaining sexy on the inside only (you can be 50 and sexy, but you could not tell by this crowd), the worst happened immediately. Boz opened with "Lowdown."

But before you could say "I'm sick and tired of m****f*****g Boz Scaggs on a m****f*****g stage," he said these words: "Here's a song by Allen Toussaint." He repeated those magic words twice, the second time introducing the song "Hercules," the Aaron Neville hit also covered well, but not as well, by, well, Paul Weller. (Yes Adam, I stole the title of this post from your Paul Weller review last fall)

That, coupled with a lengthy blues jam, made it a surprisingly tolerable evening. Not "Snakes on a Plane" enjoyable, but not bad in the least. Well, except for the inevitable "Lido Shuffle" and the wobbling flesh-fest of the dancing middle-aged masses that its opening bars signaled.

Yes, I'm old. Shut up. I'm seeing the Flaming Lips September 10.


At 10:52 AM, Blogger thoughtbrigade said...

I can relate.

I have a friend Diane who dragged me to Avalon to see Rob Thomas, the Matchbox 20 pretty-boy.

I was happily surprised by the band; they smoked.

The show attendees were a different story. The place was filled with forty-something women, all of whom staked out their spot in the club as close as they could to the object of their bored-housewife lust. As I milled through the club toward the front (I have to be close to the band to enjoy a show), I was stopped by a circle of women unfamiliar with club etiquette. They would not let me pass. They stuck their under-exercised, bored-housewife arms out in an attempt to block me. I was not deterred. I politely pushed through and situated myself upfront next to a bored divorced housewife who struck up a conversation with me. Her first words to me: "You're cute." After making uncomfortable conversation with her for a few minutes, I spotted a member of the road crew onstage that I know. A quick wave and shout later, and I was sitting on the stage, off to the side watching the band play. I even got a “Hey” from a sweaty Rob himself when he walked past me! It was swoon-inducing, even though he’s about five-feet tall.

My friend Diane, also unaware of club etiquette, was pissed at me for “abandoning” her when I found her after the show. Telling her that I was sitting on the stage only made her angrier. It all turned out OK, though. I promised to take her to see Nine Inch Nails.


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