I’m home in my own Michigan world; but fond memories of last weekend’s visit to Fargo, ND, persist. One night, Kevin and I saw Eric Clapton live at the Fargodome, a venue better suited to basketball games but still adequate for the aging guitarist whose nickname is “Slowhand.”
I’ve been a Clapton fan for ages, particularly since Earl introduced me to his acoustic album titled “Unplugged” from the nineteen nineties. My son was less enthusiastic about Eric, but he didn’t resist attending the concert. In the end, he had as good a time as I.
It wasn’t only about seeing Eric Clapton in the quiet era of his career; it was just as much about my son and I attending another concert together. Over the years, we’ve gone to several. Kevin, with the mind of a steel trap, remembers them all. So we reminisced about some of the musical artists we’ve seen together, and that was as special as Eric’s music.
The very first was Bruce Springsteen at Alpine Valley, WI, almost a quarter-century ago. After that there was Billy Bragg and Michel Shocked, two names you hardly hear anymore. There were also the appearances of Kevin’s own band where I showed up to provide moral support and beer. He still plays in a band, The New Instructions, when he’s not teaching creative writing or comparative literature at Minnesota State University. This is because his love of the sung word transcends his love of the written word.
Eric was great, although he let his back-up band take center stage more often than he would have twenty years ago. His voice isn’t as strong, but his fingers were just as nimble. And when he sang “Wonderful Tonight,” which is really about a woman the singer loves, I couldn’t help but think that the title described my night on the town with my older son.
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