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Derek and I had a peaceful easy feeling in May when we joined several thousand of our closest friends to hear the Eagles in concert at the Spokane Arena.
From the moment the opening a cappella strains of “Seven Bridges Road” soared through the venue, till the final sweet notes of “Desperado” echoed, we were enthralled and entertained.
The Eagles are a band even my parents would have approved of … except for the somewhat controversial “Hotel California.”
When I was growing up parental approval did not extend to the “devil’s music,” so I started rocking later than most of my peers.
Our home was filled with the music of the Gaither Vocal Band and Dottie Rambo, and of course, Elvis – gospel and hymn recordings only.
In the ’80s backward masking was on the nightly news. We teens were told the subliminal messages contained in albums by certain bands would turn us into devil worshippers.
We attended seminars at the Spokane Convention Center where speakers warned us that subliminal messages weren’t limited to records. Even eating crackers could send one spiraling into sin due to the word “SEX” being spelled out in the dots of a Ritz cracker.
That explains why I still prefer Wheat Thins, and why my first concert was Ronnie Milsap. I’d never heard of him, but my best friend really wanted to go. My parents thought country music wasn’t as dangerous as rock ’n’ roll.
Of course, I listened to the American Top 40 on the radio so I could keep current with the sinful state of the world. That radio rebellion must have corrupted me. How else to explain the first album I purchased was Quiet Riot’s “Metal Health.”
But metal never moved me much, especially once I discovered Bon Jovi. Their music was the soundtrack of my teen and young adult years.
My husband was an avid concertgoer in his teens, and when we met he was astonished by my rock ’n’ roll ignorance.
“Just think if you hadn’t married me you would know nothing about Van Halen. Nothing!” he often says.
During our early married years, the cost of raising four kids put concert attendance out of our reach.
We did splurge on Jim Brickman tickets when he came to the INB Performing Arts Center around the time of our anniversary one year. My parents would also approve of Jim; our children, however, were mortified.
“My gosh! If John Denver was still alive, you’d probably pay money to see him, too!” our teenager groaned.
“Well, duh!” I replied, and launched into a spirited rendition of “Grandma’s Feather Bed.”
As our kids grew older, our wallets grew less lean, but I was still shocked when five years ago Derek surprised me with tickets to Bon Jovi.
He’d already taken the boys to see Van Halen when they were in Tacoma the previous year, and he wanted me to be able to hear my favorite band in concert, too.
But the biggest surprise was how much Derek, a Bon Jovi-scoffer, loved the show.
“That was absolutely amazing! Best concert I’ve ever attended!” he said afterward.
Since then we’ve seen a slew of bands and performers. Our son treated us to Bob Dylan in Seattle. And we got our ’80s groove on with Foreigner, Styx, Loverboy, Joan Jett (twice), Pat Benatar and Melissa Etheridge when they’ve performed at Northern Quest.
But it was seeing Blondie in 2015 that reminded Derek of the passage of time.
“Debbie Harry is still so hot!” he enthused.
I grinned.
“Not bad for 70, huh?”
Stricken, Derek gasped, “She’s almost as old as my mother!”
Time has not been good for all bands, however.
Derek was delighted when the newspaper asked me to review Def Leppard when they came to town last summer with Tesla and Poison.
The show was fine, and Leppard fans were pleased, but there was a lot of sweat and a lot of screaming – both on stage and in the audience. For the first time, we both had to wear ear plugs.
The difference between metal bands and more mellow bands becomes apparent as the members age.
“You can actually understand the lyrics when the Eagles and Bon Jovi sing,” he said. “Van Halen and Def Leppard just play louder to compensate for their fading vocals.”
There you have it. We’ve reached the age where the words matter just as much as the music.
Some folks do their rocking in chairs, but we’re going to keep doing ours at concert venues – at least while we can still hear the lyrics.
Cindy Hval 