Last night, Mortgage Partner and I benefited from my friend Dorothy's illness and hit the new Sprint Center for a Garth Brooks concert. MP was a willing accomplice; although, I must say he wasn't nearly as excited as I was about the event. The truth is, I secretly (well, it's not a secret any more) know all the words to a heck of a lot of Garth Brooks songs. Don't ask me why. Maybe it's because I grew up in South Dakota and had country cousins, or because I spent two miserable summers in southeastern Kansas where there isn't anything else on the radio.
Last night I had the opportunity to share my, er, skill with MP and thousands of others. It was a whole hell of a lot of fun.
Trisha Yearwood, Garth's talented and voluptuous wife (and as tabloid legend would have it long-term lover while he was married to another) opened the show. I was surprised to discover (cause Lord knows I didn't really think about it) that I knew most of the words to the songs she sang as well. She even had me tearing up when she sang "How Do I Live." Well, shucks.
Garth's portion of the show (he rocked out--or would it be country-ed out? for over two hours) was an energetic collaboration with some incredible bandmates (loved the fiddle and steel guitar in particular). It started with a guy playing what looked like a white baby grand piano, and then the fiddler came out of the piano. Garth apparently jumped out of the stage (it looked like he came out of nowhere) in his western shirt, tight Wranglers, boots, and cowboy hat. Well, yeehaw!
He was all about the audience sing-along, and he even signed his guitar (?!) for someone in the audience named Jane who had a birthday yesterday. I have to hand it to the dude--he's really engaged with his fans. Both he and Trisha made serious eye contact with the audience. Man, I just melted (because he does have kinda dreamy eyes--who knew?)
But the moment that Garth chuckled, swept his cowboy hat off his wispy, graying hair and said, "You guys are great. You're singing along to all my songs, and here I am up here just trying to hold in my gut..." Well, that's the moment I decided I don't feel so bad about my illicit affair with the cowboy and his songs.
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2 comments:
Well, I'll fess up there, pardner...I had a grand ol' time myself. Though I'll deny it in public, (this is only "virtually public, right?) I got teared up at one point, too. And, I must say, he puts on one helluva show. Look: The dude is a huge cultural phenomenon - he was second as an individual singer/songwriter only to Elvis in numbers of record sales (and he took first in that category while this series of concerts was taking place). That's big. Actually, that's legendary. And who the hell am I to judge him as somehow being less important or less "worthy" than, say, Elvis or Dylan or Bowie?
Whoa... Everyone makes fun of me and my Lyle Lovett obsession, but I think it's more than six degrees of separation between Garth and Bowie.
One time I went to a "concert" with my friend Angie at Kemper. There was a great deal of Amen-ing and Praise Jesus-ing... I never accepted free tickets to anything without a full checkup. I think it might have been Jars of Clay, with some preacher following them. Ugh.
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