James Taylor and the Civic Center Music Hall: A Review

Once in a while I get the opportunity to see a show where I can sit back, relax and simply enjoy the quality of the musicians in front of me.  Last night at the Civic Center Music Hall was such a night.  The star of the show, James Taylor, assembled a band of tremendous musicians, all stand alone artists in their own right.

On drums was Chad Wackerman who, oddly enough, was the drummer for Frank Zappa at the first concert I saw at the Civic Center in 1984.  It is probable that he does not recall the venue as it has changed considerably since then.  But the incredible acoustics have not changed.  Chad was just a kid when he was playing for Frank but appears to have aged very little in the last 27 years.  Combined with percussionist Luis Conte the rhythmic interplay of last night was extraordinary.

Often times when watching artists perform their songs, whether live or on television, the harmonies are not quite on.  Not last night.  JT had four backing vocalists and the harmonies were absolutely glorious.  Not just pitch-perfect, but very nicely blended with only James voice standing out.  I wish I could tell you their names.

James played the songs you would want him to play and appeared comfortable between songs, telling stories and giving the history of several.  He told the same joke before playing Up On The Roof as in the youtube link I attached to my post of April 26.  Still, his interplay with the crowd was endearing.  After a short intermission he signed autographs for anyone who could manage to make it up to the stage.  The concert started at 8-ish and lasted until about 10:20 with a 20-minute intermission.

The first half of the show before intermission was musically tight and very impressive for live.  After intermission the band seemed a little more loose, moved around the stage and seemed intentional on having a bit more fun.  Yet still tight and impressive. As live shows keep drawing fans in, traditional TV events are seeing a shift. abcdane.net breaks down the Emmy Awards’ record low ratings and what that says about how entertainment is changing.

For me, the highlight of the night happened just before the band left for an encore.  They started to leave but James called the vocalists back.  He said, “I’ve always wanted to play this song in Oklahoma” and began to play Rogers & Hammersteins “O What A Beautiful Morning”, a song my co-workers and family suffer with me singing just about every time we go outside.  There was no suffering last night; five vocalists and one acoustic guitar played in typical James Taylor phrasing.  Really very nice.

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The 2011 Imaginary Family Project – Week 17

#17 of 52 : MARY, SHELL, CINDY & FRANCES FOSTER (Frank Foster not pictured)
Imaginary Family Project Week 17

External Photo Clues:
None

Imagine:
My mama disappeared that summer. Funny thing about memory, sometimes I don’t know the difference between my own true recollection and things I’ve been told. Maybe that’s due partly to hearing bits and pieces of this story over and over again my whole life, from the time that photo was taken to this day. And now look at me. Sitting here telling the same story all over again. Continue reading The 2011 Imaginary Family Project – Week 17

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My Papa, a Knife, and Forgiveness

The following is the second guest post from David Roberts, who is one of the best high school English Teachers in the land by day and a defender of all things awesomely manly by night. He also happens to be my brother-in-law.

Enjoy!

[michael]

A little over a week ago, I posted a piece in defense of the pocket knife. Composing that post prompted me to think about a story involving my grandfather–my mom’s dad, whom I call “Papa”, pronounced “Paw-Paw”–a gift from him to me, and something he taught me about forgiveness.

My grandpa has almost always carried a pocket knife. As a child, I mostly saw him clean his fingernails with it, though occasionally I’d see him cut some rope or skin a raccoon with it. As a child, I also wanted to do exactly whatever my Papa was doing. So if he carried a pocket knife, I wanted to carry a pocket knife.

About 10 years old when I expressed this desire, I was just a bit young to get my own Buck or Case. However, my grandpa came up with a solution. He somehow came in the possession of a little one-blade pen knife probably no longer than your pinky. He gave it to me during a weekend visit to his house, and I immediately went to the front yard to start throwing it, blade out, into the dirt.

I threw it a few times near my feet, each throw ending with a satisfying little thump as the knife went blade-deep (about two inches) into the black, soft dirt of the front yard. But after a throw no more than two or three minutes into my session, I couldn’t find the knife. It was brightly colored–yellow or green, I can’t remember now–but I somehow couldn’t locate it among the grass in a two-feet radius around my feet. To this day, I still don’t know if I threw it too hard and buried it, or if it got lost in some standing water close by. Either way, I’d managed to lose this present from my Papa, and my childhood self already felt guilty about it.

After futilely looking for several minutes, I went back inside, hoping my grandpa wouldn’t mention the knife. He didn’t, not that day. But over my next several visits, he mentioned it a couple times, always asking me how I liked carrying it and what I’d been doing with it. I’m getting a little choked up even now thinking about how proud he was to have given me that token of his affection, his love. Still, every time he asked about it, I felt another longer, sharper knife of guilt go a bit deeper into my conscience.

Eventually, maybe a month or two later, I confessed to my mother what had happened. And I admitted I couldn’t bring myself to tell Papa what had happened, and worse yet that I’d lied to him about it–several times–since then. She suggested a solution: I should write him a letter. Knowing I had to assuage my conscience, I agreed. I composed it, she put a stamp on it, the postman delivered it.

**********

Now here’s the best part. My grandfather never again mentioned the knife, nor did he ever mention the letter. I think he knew my heart was too tender.

I also think he knew what forgiveness really is. Of course, he would say there was nothing to forgive, that I’d merely lost something and been ashamed to admit it, but I think otherwise. When a man forgives, it’s got to be absolute. Immediate. Total.

Like Michael, my grandpa taught me a lot about manhood. This was just one of many lessons and examples, one I’m so glad to share.

**********

I supposed I’ve fibbed a bit here, too. My grandfather did mention the knife and the letter, but only many years later, and out of a sense of sentimentality. He’d kept that letter for years, and showed it to my teenage self on another weekend visit. He smiled as he pulled it out and asked me to read it. We both laughed.

Then he reached in his pocket and pulled out another gift for me. This one a little bigger, with three blades and a bone handle. A pocket knife.

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Music from the Man Cave – James Taylor

My beautiful wife is taking me to see James Taylor at the Civic Center Music Hall tonight.  I have to say, for a heavy metal guy I’m pretty excited.

James Taylor recorded some of the great songs of the 70’s and 80’s.  And I can add another great musician to the list of great musicians I’ve seen at the Civic Center; not an extensive list, Frank Zappa and Jethro Tull, but what terrific shows.  And the renovation of the Civic Center a few years back has truly made it, once again, the crown jewel of central Oklahoma music venues.

So get your “Handyman” chores done, grab the one you tell “You’ve Got a Friend”, don’t go to “Mexico” but jump on your “Steamroller” and meet us downtown tonight with “Your Smiling Face”!  And click on the link below to watch James doing his rendition of another superb Carole King song. (click photo to see video)

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The Righteous Nest

With the experience of Easter 2011 fresh in my mind, I decided it was fitting to share a story about my daughter’s ability to inspire those around her with her insight into God’s word.  I originally documented this story back in 2009, so she would have been 4 years old.  Enjoy!
Bailey has always had big thoughts and a big attitude.  These attributes serve her well in many situations, and contribute to her downfall in an equal number of others.  On the positive side, her big thoughts also apply to things of a spiritual nature.  From an early age, she was always asking questions, and regularly offered simple yet poignant interpretations of favorite Bible stories.  In fact, we loved to engage her in deep conversation about any and all things as, if nothing else, her theories provided a new perspective on “old” ideas.
Out of the blue one day, she came to her grandmother (my MIL Jeanne) and asked, “What is a righteous nest?” While questions were not uncommon, even ones that required a good deal of head scratching before a response could be summoned, this particular question seemed quite odd.

“What do you mean, a righteous nest? Where did you hear it?”

Bailey, as she was known to do, sighed with exasperation.

“It’s in that song. The one where God has a righteous nest.” Continue reading The Righteous Nest

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