Herbie Hancock Tribute Review — Boulder Theater — 7/28/17

It’s a dream. Like I died and came back. Back to life. Back from the dead. Back from one life to another I already somehow know. It’s all started over for me. The lights, the friends, the sound.

We walk into Casey’s band on stage. But I walk in first to Megan and Amanda chatting in the box office like they were waiting for me. Now my eyes drift to the stage past my moving backdrop to the bass. Whatever blend of beverages happens to be in my head is pointing me there.

Julia and Tina. New people. New friends. We grab drinks. I see the guy from Fear and Loath- Hunter S Thompson. He’s at the bar too squirming around. The bass solo brings me back to the floor. Casey’s bass player, Chris Duffy, digs into it. Prying up boards. And we groove.

And cheer from the crowd. That felt good.

And I smile as the lights go bright and the sound get’s high. “Clark Smith on the sax.” His solo comes and we take a deep breath.

So many new faces, young faces. But right up front goofin’ out in a foot slide … he digs in with us this man you know’s been to more shows than a good quarter or more of the room combined. He might be the oldest one here.

A rockin’ group of girls throws their hands up to the right of stage. I have memories of being one of them once, a seemingly long time ago. As if we shuffle like playing cards through time. We are always there. Those girls making the stage look gorgeous. Those groups of fans, those stereotypes that make up what gives a show it’s life and groove.

Hunter S. Thompson creeps around with his yellow glasses and fishing cap, leans back and laughs a cackle.

Prepared as if heading off on a long trip as I’ve become accustomed, I grab up my sack and pull out a drink. Much like my old coat, within it can be found anything and everything, a sort of Mary Poppins bag.

And then her voice cracks out. The real woman on stage letting it go for us. Proudly herself and proudly someone else.
Julia comes around. She wants to tell you :

A familiar song. “Love The One You’re With.” One of my all-time favorites by CSNY. Why don’t you love the one you’re with?

The drums solo until the band drops back in for the end. Casey Russell’s Soul Shack and the lights come on.

A new friend says hi.

Too many people to meet. The conversations go in flashes,

Hellos,

Goodbyes,

Nice to meet yous,

Where are you froms.

Robert, Julian, Charlie …

We speak books for a while until the lights go out and music starts and it all changes like a theater scene whose furniture has to be moved. The stage moves.

“Takin’ notes?” He asks.

“About everything,” I manage to dance out.

Garrett on the bass. Dom holding the sax. Lights flash on the keys. Smiles, cute girls, dreads, tie die, long hair, a cup to the lips.
Shoes, they slide and shimmy on familiar floor. Wood that’s seen a million feet.

Some text with their bellies leaned up to the left of stage but this floor groves. Colorado. Colorado grooves and don’t tell me any different. Bring me to a town that gets down, moves like Boulder does. Like Denver does. I’ve just looked and didn’t find it.

Song 2 after a pause. I look through the faces to find familiarity but only new smiles meet me instead. Joey’s hand slides across the keys and the song is a lullaby to some sick hippies who need a little bit of swing to get those veins pumping. Do you hear me? Music is your drug. Did that sound cheesy? Fuck yeah. But it’s fucking true and have I steered you wrong so far? Joey’s key’s sure haven’t.

I don’t see Megan. She must be schmoozing.

Guitar solos.

I’m told I gotta post this for you all so … your wish is my command.

“I’m learning how to grind to funk music,” Charlie leans over to tell me pointing to a couple to our left. And we dance and some men grab women like prizes. Others just nod and dance and watch, even more flit back and forth on groovy feet, dancing with anyone and everyone and me too.

Yellow lights wake us up and blink out to blues with chaos on the bass and keys.

And it drops slow now with a tap and hiss behind that. I’m mesmerized as I watch his fingers on the bass. Grind out a solo. And they all drop back in the pocket together. You might be able to tell by now I have a thing for the deep boom of the bass.

Dom pulls out some epic licks on the sax now. You wonder where he goes when he’s disappeared that deep into the sound, eyes closed face a mess.

And Joey just smiles at ease like, ”This is no big deal” rocking his head to the music.

A break for Dom means he joins Joey on his keys and talk box. The stage goes green and aqua. I can almost see scuba divers groove across stage like some introduction to the Life Aquatic.

And suddenly two of the tallest men I’ve ever seen are in front of me. Twins? Twin giants? Their poor mother! Familiar eyes in an unfamiliar face as I find a new spot with a view. Like I always say if the shows not what you want. Move. The talk box, a cheer, and they drop back in.

She winks. Points at me. And hands back the pages joining the group of nymphs still holding down the section somehow theirs at every show. Our eyes are drawn back to stage by the scream and shout of the sax battling and arguing with the talk box, singing.

Three people visit in the pause and as the next song starts I describe what this all is. Sometimes I tell them it’s where the bus is going after they get on, but this time I tell them it’s like live painting but with words.

I cool down a bit with the fresh open cords of Joey on the keys like key lime.

It picks up and the lights join in strobing. Too fast to dance. Some attempt to keep pace with the chaos that falls down steps until it, it, it, finally lands and bounces going wild and completely lost. And at the same time somehow right on track into jazz. Synchronization.

And a clear song from the guitar steps into the room. Beautiful girls swirl and dance together. Shaking their hair here and there and pulling up their tight tops.

“Dan Smith on guitar.”

Drums come in heavy. The others bob their heads. A pot leaf tattoo walks past below me. And the Smokey breath of another new face comes into view. Jordan. He shakes my hand. “Put into your nonexistent blog that I say Hi.” You heard the man.

The things woman wear! I’m sure you’d love me to describe it wouldn’t you? I’m not going to. Come out here for yourself.
Jordan lays some wisdom on me. He turns me around. “Make sure their all enjoying the music,” he tells me. “Do you see anyone here recording?”

I look. “Not one.”

“Exactly! Their all here just enjoying the moment. I like that.” And then he’s off. And still the groove keeps stepping on and on. Dom, impassioned, takes us there, but only if you’re dancing hard enough. I mean shit this guy … he seriously rocks that sax.

And then the bass … but I catch it too late and the song moves on.

Now, one of those tricky beats that embarrasses you a little because you’re always dancing a little out of synch. And the beat repeats and repeats and repeats as the light blink fast and come back bright for set break.

Ian says hi too. Too shy to write to you. He’s gonna look for this post too. I guess on Facebook. Shit. I’ve gotta post this shit on Facebook? I guess I aughta go outside like the cool kids for set break.

***

It happens to be raining which is great for the bike I road here. I hope it stops. The rain dapples my pages as I lean against a light pole outside the Boulder Theater. I can feel eyes on me. And soon new friends come to invite me into their circle. At some point in the chaos of set break I watch Charlie get his wrist band taken by security. The report is that he poured his drink out on the ground inside. He begs me to buy him a beer as I move on to speak to old friends outside in the warm rain. Jackie and Ahma and I chat about old times while he stands waiting.

I return to the show moving in and out of conversations and watching as Charlie is blocked from entrance. But I continue in. Fuck the drama out there.

The music is back on and the lights dry my page. Turns out the sax player from Casey’s band has joined them.

And then I see Will and we hug and chat and bob and listen. Joey throws yo-yos with his keys. I turn and there’s Megan chatting with some musician as I knew she would be.

Both saxes play together everyone on the beat.

Megan comes to visit and I feel home. The music and the place and the people … it’s home. It’s … It’s those damn keys that make me feel at home Joey!

It’s that sound,

It’s the vibrations through my feet,

The shades of the light across this page,

The purple shadow of my pen and hand,

The look of your eyes across from me in the crowd,

The groove of the dance,

And the last note and cheers that ring out when a song ends.

That’s what brings me home.

Oh but the changes here in this community since I’ve been gone. I’ve already mentioned the faces but what of the old? Engagements, babies, moves, mostly to Denver.

I look down through the dark glowing lights and melancholy and see a green haired fairy in a crown rocking back and forth to the sounds with her eyes closed. I wonder where she’s gone.

I watch the stage, leaning now against a bar on the 2nd tier of the Boulder Theater and Dom gets crazy with a chaotic solo assaulted by the Bass and getting taken over by the … wait who’s got the solo? The sound comes from nowhere and everywhere. It’s the guitar! Until they drop it together in a false ending that leafs it’s way into another ending and simmers off like the smoke we see rise from the stage.

Quickly the bass moves me. I snap a photo. I mean you’re gonna need a photo right?

It’s funny to see Dom now on stage grooving it unabashedly. I’ve only met him off stage in inopportune places where he’s quiet, reserved, maybe even shy. But here? Not here.

The music stops and the spotlight is ON ME?! Out of nowhere a face comes to ask me. “Are you a journalist?”

“No, I’m probably going to hide this under my bed like all the others.” I tell the face.

“You need to bring that into the light.”

Fuck. You too? The lights back on stage now and I’m handed an eye. No seriously one of those googly eyes you use in art projects but this thing is larger than a quarter. I lift it to my forehead and stick it to my 3rd eye and watch the stage.

Joey plays, really plays, over the bass and drum rhythmic behind him. And out together. Garrett slaps the bass. As joey talk boxes, “No one’s got the answers.”

They give each other smiles on stage, when this or that sounds just right.

“Nobodies got the answers. No matter what they say.”

Dom really likes whatever Joey’s doing on the talk box. He nods his head approvingly.

A room filling solo from Garrett. Space balloons out from the 5 stringed instrument. Revving up like the engine of the Harley I saw in the street today. But more rhythmic and it’s coming for us. They toss the solo to the guitar and he and Dom throw the spot light back and forth. Joining together after a few rounds to only break off into more intense volleying. Dom long winds it bending backward and Joey takes it down with the talk box as security takes a girl down off someone’s shoulders.

They bring a friend up, the drummer Megan was talking to earlier. And with him comes something more jazz than funk, floaty, surreal, ethereal maybe. Joey throws some flutter to the air going anywhere and everywhere he wants with it like now to space and then down to the piano that never gets played in the back room of your grandma’s house.

Megan and I chat over the music now. Her band, Mama Magnolia will be playing September 16th at the Mishawaka out in the canyon west of Fort Collins. That will be a show to see.

One more song… Speculate.

Joey holds up 4 fingers to the rest of the group and I try to interpret it. Nope. Don’t get it. The lights go dark on stage dimly lighting the two saxes and the show ends as all shows end with applause and tired eyes and success. A girl walks up to Megan and I now and asks if we’ll escort her back stage so she can meet the musicians. “I’m not cool enough for that.” I tell her. So she heads through the curtain alone, Unabashed. Megan and I share an amused look, hug, and say our goodbyes.

Outside the rain has stopped. The air is fresh. The town is a more tired version of itself and I ride the few miles home through the dark. Waking up the memories of sounds that have reminded me I’m home.

(This is a sample of my work recording live shows in pen and ink. Keep an eye out for me at shows in Colorado, and please come say hi. This is also posted on Medium.com by myself) Thanks for reading.