A lovely weekend in LA, and... Happy birthdays to us!
OK, so this took place on the 9th, but I it took me till today - right smack between our two birthdays - to write the very honest tale of seeing Mr.Superlungs for the first time ever. It was well worth the drive from Arizona to LA and then back (through Palm Springs - they have Crazy Shirts there, yay!)
Not quite a sell-out but decent attendance - there were only a few empty seats, though the place is pretty small. Also, they don't sell alcohol, so................. an added bonus, for a somewhat more sober performance? I guess you can look at it either way.
This was the first time ever I attended Terry's gig, and for some reason worried that I might not recognize him... how silly of me. He's very much recognizable - same huge heavy lidded eyes, impish smile (see the Seed Of Memory cover) and of course the unmistakable voice. His presence was tri-fold: visual, aural, and then "there's something in the air of which we're all aware." therefore I shall attempt an inventory of these three ingredients.
1. Easy on the eyes. When Terry turned up onstage the very first, immediate, faster-than-conscious-thoughts-can-form reaction was - this man is just ridiculously handsome... at 59 with receding silver hair and not quite 100% sober, still so... (OK sorry, I'll behave myself) This is nothing new, of course, but I have to say that like with most people photos don't do him justice for the most part. He's in fine shape (a pleasant surprise - hey, it's easier when you're 17!) The very presentable 3-piece suit was, I'm afraid, too heavy for a gig! so naturally at some point partial disrobing commenced ^_^
2. SuperLungs. Right, that's what the gig's primarily about, and I'm happy to report that Mr. Reid will likely remain tagged with this nickname for life, because it's STILL 100% justified. Super mighty pipes, only the register lower than in his teens (isn't that kind of normal?) I don't know if I'm just imagining things, but it seemed like at times Terry was tilting very far away from the microphone right as he was about to unleash an almighty wail, so as to avoid sound distortion from the sudden powerful volume surge. After 50+ years of singing things like that must be second nature... The band sound was good but it seemed like occasionally the guitar was "disappearing" in the mix. If I was sitting closer to the sound board I might have worked up the nerve to mention that, but unfortunately I was on the opposite side of the room (fortunately - only two rows away from the stage :) I don't remember the exact set list, especially the order (some fan I am!) but the three I wanted to hear the most weren't on it :( Still a great set - a healthy helping of songs from Seed Of Memory and the 2nd (1969) album and I think only the title track from the River. Don't Worry, Baby seems to be the only cover played. Terry tales, naturally, were generously dispensed in-between, and to his "shut up, Terry" mumbled to himself a few times while switching guitars/adjusting mike I was tempted to yell "No, don't!" but of course I wouldn't do such thing... instead, I managed to get brave enough to scribble a note with two song requests and passed it to Chico the bassist, ducking behind the two people in front of me. He read it and issued a lovely warm smile in my general direction but shook his head. Mind, I wasn't exactly holding my breath, would've been a miracle if they did.
3. I put a spell on you. I've seen a few artists like that who have Noble and Class written all over them, with absolutely no effort on their part. They're not straining to be cool - they ARE cool. It's in their blood, in the air they exhale, and they might not be famous at all, but this unpretentious dignity is there for all to feel. Even as the time went on and Terry's showmanship started to turn occasionally into clownmanship (whatever was in his cup? he even sang the first line of Stairway to heaven!) the gig was a great treat. So what's in the air? This is the most elusive aspect of Mr. Reid, and I anticipate some "watchatalkin'about?" type of reaction. But most of those who even once shared the room air with him know what I'm talking about. This is beyond voice and appearance, and I wouldn't even call it "charm." I heard accounts of his gigs where he was in the worst shape, ill, drunk and out of tune and still hit the nerve.
There's something maddeningly mysterious in this aging rock star that seems to draw people the way a siren would... though not quite so sinister. I doubt he's aware of it. I wonder if all those musicians were, who wanted him in their bands or in collaborations of some sort. I don't pretend to understand this odd biomagnetic quality, I can only testify that it's certainly there.