When I was young, music was the only way I knew to stop the chatter in my head. Well, music and writing poetry. Writing poetry was the last resort, music was always my first choice. I could sit for hours in my bedroom playing LPs on the portable stereo, and almost every weekend, I went to a concert.
Concerts in the 1970s were not the productions they are today. Shabby venues from a former, more ornate era, just shy of being condemned, had great acoustics. All the great bands of the day played for less than $10 a ticket. The contact high from the smoke was free.
And in the summer, there was the Ann Arbor Blues & Jazz festival, a free outdoor concert with more local acts. I’m still doing the outdoor concert thing; we saw two shows this weekend. Friday night Guess Who played at the Detroit Riverfest. We didn’t know until we got there that Burton Cummings was no longer singing. We were duly disappointed, but it was a fine night and we were with friends, so it was still fun. And Saturday we went to a local park that had crammed in 40,000 people to see R.E.O Speedwagon.
All this got me thinking about my favorite concert of all time. I’m a little embarrassed to admit that Stevie Nicks is way up there. So are Savoy Brown and E.L.O. Joni Mitchell and Neil Young were excellent as well. But when I really have to pick just one concert, just one performer, I have to go with Melanie. She simply got to me, deep in my core. Her lyrics hinted at an exotic and appealing way to be in the world.
Who were the “little sisters of the sun” and how had they “fed the world on oats and raisins” and why did “Meher Baba live again”? I didn’t know the answers but I intuitied the nurturing behind the words from “(Lay Down) Candles in the Rain.” “Beautiful People” always made me hopeful. Melanie’s peaceful, mystical, feminine energy was so attractive to me, although most of my guy friends could not stand to listen to her and skipped to Hendrix on the Woodstock album. So I played her records in secret, alone in my bedroom.
My boyfriend, Terry Vaughn, wasn’t like my other guy friends. He didn’t care if Melanie was a chick singer and acoustic at that. He knew I adored her, so he bought tickets to her concert at Masonic Temple and took me for my sixteenth birthday. Masonic was upscale. The velvet seats in the balconey were intact, for one thing. And the main floor had neat rows of plush chairs instead of hippies sprawled haphazardly everywhere. I got a new floor length purple paisely skirt with three ruffles on the bottom for the event.
I loved Terry with youthful passion and his thoughtfulness was only one reason why. We were not a likely couple. We came from different worlds, had different backgrounds, hung with completely different crowds at school. He was not the kind of boy I ever thought could be interested in me. His asking me out, and eventually givng me a ring, were like small miracles. He was so good-looking! He had a job! And his own pick up truck! He took me on actual dates and talked to me about things that mattered to me.
He did sweet and special things, like taking me, a lowly freshman, to his junior prom. He made me feel cherished. It was a very good feeling for as long as it lasted. We dated all through my first year of high school and broke up sometime that summer. He didn’t say why he was breaking off with me, but now I think I was a little much for him. I had a little wild streak.
Even though it didn’t work out, he was the sweetest boyfriend. He never tried to tame me. He loved me just the way I was: a little bit crazy, a lot confused, always conflicted, except when I wrote poetry, or listened to music. I’ve mostly sorted myself out. (It only took 40 years!) The only thing that remains the same is music’s power to take me outside my small self and into the big wide universe.
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