A Night With Jackson Browne

Had the snow arrived in Louisville just a few hours earlier than it did then I'm sure the concert would've been cancelled. Hell, the city was nearly shut down by the time the concert was scheduled to start as it was. So last Friday, I spent all day checking the latest wether updates, preparing for the worst. But mercifully it held off - barely.
And I'm still saying prayers of thanks for that.
I was just a really young kid when Jackson Browne was creating one masterpiece after another in the 70's, a baby almost, and although I heard his music on a regular basis growing up (my mother was and is a hard core fanatic) I can't say that any of it ever had an effect on me back then. It's certainly not kids music, after all. It wasn't until many years later when, just by chance, I was shuffling through her old vinyl collection, came across The Pretender and put it on, more to relive old memories than any desire to hear the record itself. That was when, for the first time ever, I listened to those words.
And that's when I became every bit the devout and evangelical devotee that my mother had always been.
The brilliance of his lyrics, like any creation of complexity that attains the title of 'art', requires a certain understanding from the viewer or listener. It's pretty easy to know when you're experiencing something that doesn't condescend or reach for the bottom; it's having the willingness and the ability to completely immerse yourself in it that can be more difficult. And you know you've found something remarkably unique when that art can uncover intimate areas of your own life and beliefs, your outlook and world view, in ways that you yourself could have never given voice to. Accenting some universal truth is rare enough, but to do it through the most personal of explorations, rather than grand sermonizing, is the mark of a brilliant creator.
I still recall quite vividly how I reacted when I heard the final line of The Pretender.

Are you there?
Say a prayer
For the pretender
Who started out so young and strong
Only to surrender

Never has a more succinct line ever been written about the compromises we accept in our lives, willingly or not. It's a hard, unpleasant truth for anyone who has reached a point in their life where they've found themselves a world away from where they once thought they'd be. And granted, The Pretender was criticized upon its release as being far too cynical, a sort of last dying testament of the sixties generation who found nothing to be gained from their naive optimism of a decade earlier. Considering the tragedy Browne had experienced himself at that time with the death of his wife and mother of his young son, its relevance survives precisely because of its inward focus, not because of any direct social examination. Browne would move in that direction in the eighties, along with another brilliant songwriter Kris Kristofferson, and both would take their lumps as a result with diminishing audiences and record sales, and and increasing conservative backlash. Both would also rebound from creative slumps with wonderful albums in the 90's and beyond.
But there was simply no way that Browne could ever outdo the young genius who penned some of the most articulate songs ever recorded. Poets of renowned reputation would be proud to say they penned jewels such as -

Let the disappointments pass
Let the laughter fill your glass
Let your illusions last
Until they shatter
Whatever you might hope to find
Among the thoughts that crowd your mind
There won't be many
That ever really matter

- from 'The Only Child', or

Into a dancer you have grown
From a seed somebody else has thrown
Go on ahead and throw some seeds of your own
And somewhere between the time you arrive
And the time you go
May lie a reason you were alive
That you'll never know

from the heartbreakingly beautiful 'For a Dancer'. Or one of his best,

You were turning 'round to see who was behind you
And I took your childish laughter by surprise
And at the moment that my camera happened to find you
There was just a trace of sorrow in your eyes

from 'Fountain of Sorrow'.

So when Friday evening came and the snow had stopped just enough to trudge my way downtown to the Brown Theater, I was like a giddy little school kid on the last field trip before summer break. And I certainly wasn't the only one who made the effort. The place was jam packed.
He came onstage sporting a graying beard, one of the few indicators of his 60 years, and an old sweatshirt that appeared to be a longtime friend, sat down with his guitar and started playing. I'll tell you how enthralled I was - I had made a mental note to remember the songs he played in order. I'd forgotten it twenty minutes in. I know he started out with 'The Barricades of Heaven', and 'The Pretender' came surprisingly early in the set, either the third or fourth song. But his set list was obviously loose. A running joke all night was his intent to start one song, then suddenly change to another after a request from the very vocal audience (who were clearly in heaven the whole time) which necessitated changing guitars from his collection of 15 onstage. Late in the set he remarked that one of his guitars was only used for two particular songs.
"Isn't that decadent?"
And it's truly revealing how much quality exists in his catalog when you consider that he spent three hours onstage and yet left with some of his classic songs left out of the set. I truly regretted not hearing 'For a Dancer', but it did occur to me later that, having been near tears when he performed 'Late For The Sky', there was no way I would've made it through that song without losing it. I mean, some poor guy sitting directly in front of me came very close to weeping during 'The Naked Ride Home', of all things. Perhaps Browne wanted to spare us a mass outbreak of sobbing. I also would have loved hearing a solo acoustic version of 'Linda Paloma', 'The Late Show' or 'The Times You've Come'. But honestly, if he did all his best songs he'd probably still be there. One song that I've since discovered is lambasted by even Browne's diehard fans is 'I'm The Cat', which he did perform. Unfamiliar (I'm ashamed to admit) with both the song and the album it appeared on, Looking East, I must say that, yeah it's silly and slight, but damn it I absolutely loved it!
Another benefit of such a stripped down performance is how it made some of his more, shall we say, commercial music achieve a new identity beyond their well known radio versions. I've always adored 'Running on Empty', but it's a whole different song without the drums and backing vocals, and such an intimacy helps break the curse that comes with being a classic FM staple. Even one song I previously never cared for at all - 'Somebody's Baby' - sounded infinitely sweeter than it ever could have as part of a movie soundtrack.
Of course, one of the best things that comes when you have just a singer and a guitar (or a keyboard) is the looseness of knowing that it's not intended to be a technically perfect show. And it certainly wasn't. Besides changing instruments after every song and following the lead of the crowd in deciding what to perform next, another humorous element of the show (and I mean this in the best possible way) was the fact that Browne's memory was not exactly stellar, and he forgot the lyrics at certain times to nearly as many songs as he remembered, at one point even slowing down to a near standstill until someone in the audience helped him with the next line. It was never annoying, just endearing, and perhaps only to be expected for somebody who came of age in the blur-inducing 70's.
He ended the night with Little Steven's 'I Am A Patriot', resisting the desire of many to have him finish with 'The Load Out' (hey, I guarantee I wasn't the only one), and after the fastest three and a half hours of my life, quite probably the best concert experience I've ever had or ever will, I returned to my car, now covered with six inches of snow, cleaned it off, and made my way home. By morning there was an additional foot of snow on the ground, the city was buried and closed for business, the streets impassable.
The only thing to do was sit in the warmth of the living room and listen to music.
You don't even have to guess...