Some shit never gets old. Case in point: Elvis Costello. Saw him last night at Pier 17 on the East River, under a moon that could not be brighter on a night that could not be sweeter, sweatier, or saltier. I have loved his music since I was in high school, maybe junior high. Some parts of the past melt together like an ice cream cone on a summer's day. He started hitting the airwaves around the same time the first Star wars movie came out. Back when it was called Star Wars. Not Episode Four or A New Hope or anything but Star Wars. Somewhere around when the Sex Pistols came in to prominence, when Punk Rock was something scary and strange. Any way you slice it, he's been in heavy rotation on my life's Pandora station since forever. And I had never seen him play until last night.
It was worth the wait.
Not that I don't wish I had seen him often.
But there is something to be said for rarity, for moments that are so spare you realize, as it's happening, just how brief this jaunt is, how precious and shimmering and sad, to paraphrase a line from Into the Woods.
And what was really cool about the concert was how present it was, how visceral and dynamic and of the moment. Yes, he played some tunes we all sang along to, but even as we sang oh so loudly, he was busy interpreting those songs as if he had just written them. He attacked each song like it was a confession, a diatribe, an exploration of the soul. He wasn't playing the hits, or pandering to our collective nostalgia. He was making music.
'Twas most groovy.
He did this version of Watching the Detectives that turned into a sort of Beat poem, and man was it cool. He pulled Nick Lowe, his opening act, on stage and they traded verses on Indoor Fireworks, as well as What's So Funny 'Bout Peace, Love, and Understanding? (an excellent question).
What I dug, what got me excited, was the joy, the danger, and hunger on stage.
The fact that he wasn't fucking around.
Had a similar experience at Into the Woods at the St. James a few nights ago. Here was a piece I have seen countless times at High Schools and local theatre. The show is easily Sondheim's most accessible. Or so people think. But seeing it the other night, with a cast of geniuses, directed and choreographed to perfection, full of life and humor and sorrow and all those intangibles that make great theatre, I was reminded of how much I love that show. How deep it can hit when done right.
I first listened to Into the Woods shortly after it came out. At the time, my mother was still alive, and I had yet to reconnect with my biological father. Lines like "no more curses you can't undo, left by fathers you never knew" hit me like a ton of bricks.
Now, mom is dead, I found my father and lost him nine years later. He died right in front of me, as a matter of fact. And so the story of fathers and mothers, of life and death and love and loss, hit harder. And richer. And also elevated me that much higher, helped me that much more on my own journey.
Life is full of magic and wonder, of magicians and troubadours, put on this Earth to light the path, enlarge our souls, strengthen our empathy, and fill us with wonder.
And that is how it is today, here in the greatest city in the world.
Here's a song. It's Watching the Detectives, live.
