In spite of no Bonnie Raitt or Emmylou Harris or Iris DeMent making a guest appearance, it was an unbelievable evening.
Here is one of Prine's more humorous numbers. At the end, he even pokes at Bush.
Your Flag Decal
Prine did little talking. He let his songs speak for him. People kept calling out songs, like "Christmas in Prison' (he did), or "The Great Compromise" (he didn't sing that one), and at one point, he said, "I'm not gonna sing that, I'm gonna sing the next song," which got a laugh.
My seat was in row Y; we had the two aisle seats. I had suceeded in finding a friend who does know who John Prine is, and she was thrilled with the last-minute opportunity. (My husband was sick and had to bow out, much to his dismay.) While the opening act was performing, the guy next to me said he needed to leave but insisted, "I'll be back. I promise." It was obvious he had enjoyed several beverages already. I wanted to tell him, "I'll be holding my breath until you return."
When he came back and rejoined his two
I told my friend I had to leave, apologized, and went to the usher. I told her where we were sitting, and let her know that the three guys next to us were drunk, and would not shut up. She said she'd talk to someone.
No one came to shine a flashlight in their face or slam it against their head.
Then all three guys left--apparently their thirst needed re-quenching. When the one next to me went by me, as we stood in the aisle (while the opening act was still performing) he put his hand on my shoulder and said, "I'm so sorry."
For the next few songs, I plotted my response if he put his paw on me again. "Put your hand on me again, and you'll pull back a bloody stump, and it might not be your hand that's missing."
Sadly, I could only live that moment Walter Mitty-style, because he didn't touch me again, but he did return, along with the other two
When the opening performer sang a song about being on the road and missing home, the guy on my left turned to me and said matter-of-factly, "Gypsy." I immediately thought, 'WWPD? What would Pearl do?' After all, she rides the bus every day, and uses the fodder for hilarious blog postings. I put on my writerly hat and hoped the fun would continue so I'd have something to write about.
I excused myself again. A different usher said she'd talk to the house manager. Probably, they came and listened/observed, but these guys didn't talk nonstop. They would talk, then shut up, and then talk some more. And to add to the mix, the one next to me kept strumming an imaginary guitar, without a break. (At least I think that is what he was banging away on. I tried not to look too closely.)
The third time apparently was a charm. I got up when one of his friends got up as well. (He was really Mr. Thirsty!) The
The house manager moved my friend and me to row K--primo seats--and thoroughly enjoyed the rest of the concert.
So, if you're a teenager and your parents tell you that getting drunk will lead to no good, don't believe them. It's a lie. It's not true.
If someone else is plastered, it could get you into the seats where rich people sit...