The genius of Shakespeare’s plays is the way they can so effectively reflect the human experience. Unrelated comment, “For someone who’s not a psychologist, you sure do more than the usual ‘helping’ professions.”
Had dinner last night at Maria’s Taco Express, then off to the Paramount for the John Prine show. Pretty amazing, and quite satisfying. I mean, both the dinner and the show.
As he launched into a some familiar tunes, I was stuck, racking my brain, stirring my brain cells, trying to put a year to certain tune. “Dear Abbey, Dear Abbey,” are the opening lyrics that confounded me so.
I got home, after our late attendance at a party at Dave’s [Aries birthday party>, and in my near comatose state, I still had to look up that song’s origins. Find it here, looks like it was first released in 1973.
The show itself was good, if not excellent. The seats were good; the sound, think about this: the opening act was one man and guitar for 45 minutes or so, and the headline, John Prine, was mostly him and an acoustic guitar. The acoustic of the Paramount were perfect for a show like this. For back up, by way of a “band,” he had another guitar picker [mandolin, too>, and a guy on bass. Good, good stuff.
We stopped on 6th Street after the how, only for minute. While I was loitering outside the storefront, a rather inebriated [and effeminate> guy took one look at what I has on, and squealed, “That’s so **wrong**.”
What? Plaid shorts, wife-beater black T-shirt from Amsterdam and stripped flannel cowboy shirt. What’s wrong with stripes and plaids? I thought the flannel went well with the opening act’s song about Grunge and Seattle.
Interesting wardrobe aside, the main act for the evening, John Prine, was just really good. A rare treat, heartfelt, sometimes uplifting, music from the heartland. A writer’s songwriter.
