Jones Beach
I heard that Lucinda Williams would be at the Greek this past July … but I’d miss the show as I’d be in NYC. I moped around the house for a few days until Adam (tired of my moping) grabbed my phone to see if she was playing anywhere NYC-adjacent. What a guy. He indeed found a show but I’d miss that too as I was returning home 2 days earlier. I rebooked my plane ticket.
It was a Quadruple Threat. Lucinda Williams, Bob Dylan, Wilco and Willie Nelson. That’s rich.
At Jones Beach no less. Five miles from my hometown of Freeport, Long Island where I spent my summers at field 6 with my HS besties on blankets next to boomboxes blasting “Brandy You’re A Fine Girl” and “Bennie And The Jets” while holding tin foil-lined double-album covers up to the sun, faces slathered in iodine-infused baby oil. What on earth were we thinking? 😳😳😳
Welcome home, me.
Anyway … Back to the marquis! Here was the order of my excitement: Lucinda - Bob - Wilco - Willie. (That order would change after the show.)
I was late to Lucinda. Some years ago my friend Ann turned me on to ‘Gravel Road’ and Essence and I was hooked. (Clearly Sheryl Crow was too. )
As I went deeper into cuts it felt like some of her material was conceived by someone less than sober. But at least it was born from authentic pain and self-discovery as opposed to some more recent pop-star-drama conjured up in order to ‘rise above’ and have fodder for a new album. (And call it art.) (Sorry, not sorry.)
She shuffled out slowly. Bleached hair and sunglasses — in all black except for the studs on the side of her jeans. Hey, it’s Rocknroll. She held the mic and sang her set with her deep signature vibrato — the same stoic approach to every song. All good. I’m not fancy. I want real.
Lucinda is still falling in and out of love well into her 70s. Her lyrics reveal the childlike and unrealistic:
“You took my joy —I want it back”
Sadly she didn’t sing my favorite track: the confessional and vulnerable “Something About What Happens When We Talk.” But I was happy to have laid ears on her for the first time. And who knows, it could be the last.
She closed her set with. “Keep On Rocking in the Free World.” We will, Lucinda. I promise. And so will you. Then there was a 45-minute break until…
Wilco…
…whose song “Impossible Germany” got my attention via LA’s KCRW as I stirred puttanesca back in 2008. “What the hell was that?” I Shazam’d it. And then … I was obsessed with Wilco. I also became an avid bathtub reader of Jeff Tweedy’s book How To Write One Song.
I prayed they’d play “Impossible Germany” and they did. Thank Goddess. Nels Cline’s guitar work makes you feel like you’re inside the record. I would pay money to see a band just to hear one song I love that much. When I was in Edinburgh I bought a ticket for Harry Styles just to hear “As It Was.” It was a mob scene of young girls in pink with their mothers (also in pink). It was worth it.
All that said, Wilco was somewhat underwhelming in this particular arena. Maybe it had something to do with coming on right after Lucinda. 😳
During the 45 minutes in between acts my college pal Sherry and I danced in the atrium to a DJ’s picks. I’d recommend this cuz a quadruple bill is a loooong night. Plus… dancing is so fun. 😃
We wondered who’d be up next. I think the real question is: who has seniority? Answer — Willie. Therefore, it was Bob.
I never saw Bob Dylan so I was stoked. These cats are getting ripe and well…
Then this guy sat down in front of me right before Bob came out. Really?
I changed my seat.
I’m sore at Bob though. I mean he’s 82 and he can sing (or not sing) whatever the fuck he wants. But if you’re gonna play 15 songs, give us a few killers like “Lay Lady Lay,” “Don’t Think Twice,” “You’re A Big Girl Now,” — the line about the “corkscrew to my heart” breaks me every time.
.
Plus, he sat behind a keyboard for the entire performance and his white hat hid his face. I wondered if he really wanted to be there.
But I saw Bob Dylan. A GOAT. And I’m glad I did. Don’t need to do it again. I’ll just drop a needle on Blood On The Tracks.
Another 45 minutes. More dancing. Then … Willie.
I’ve always appreciated and respected Willie Nelson. Never been the biggest fan though.
Tonight I was.
92 years young. His fingers are crooked and wrinkled yet nimble enough to pick and strum his ancient guitar.
Clearly HE was happy to be there. Not in any rush. His weathered face was 100% up-front and visible. He invited some playful audience participation and with Waylon Payne occasionally taking over the spotlight, Willie’s stamina held. He lazily ‘front-phrased’ songs he’s been singing for ‘hundreds’ of years with seasoned deliveries.
Just Wow, Willie.
My order of enjoyment revised:
Lucinda
Willie
Bob
Wilco
Lucinda — still on top. She’s not the most famous or iconic. A lot of people don’t even know her name. But I am drawn to songwriters who say shit I have felt myself but have never put into words. It’s personal. “Something about what happens when we talk.” So simple. F*ck. Why didn’t I think of that?
I’m thankful I changed my flight. Catching performances from senior artists is time sensitive. Let’s just be real. I’m getting older. They are too. Go when you can. Take it all in. Cherish them even when they don’t sing your favorite song. And hugs to Jones Beach — my home-away-from-home — for the nostalgia and for still being there too.
I hear Cindi Lauper is coming to the Hollywood Bowl for a “Farewell Tour.” I’ll be there.
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