A friend heard The Doobie Brothers are playing at Red Butte Gardens this weekend. Then he heard the concert is sold out. This broke his heart. The Doobies are his favorite band forever.
"Look at the bright side," I told him. "You can stay home and play air guitar without thousands of people thinking you look like a dork."
The Doobies are the all-time best-ever air guitar band. I can barely play my iPod, but the amazing riffs in "China Grove" and "Jesus is Just Alright" have me reaching for my invisible Stratocaster.
Two things about this concert surprised me: (1) The Doobies still exist and (2) they're playing Red Butte Gardens.
Red Butte is not a venue I associate with a major rock band. It only holds 3,200 people, and the garden-like setting implies a somewhat polite affair.
When we saw Nanci Griffith there a bunch of years ago, it was downright genteel. She was so close we could see her clearly without binoculars. People sat on the lawn and applauded politely. Everyone had a good time, we went home early and nobody got naked or burned the port-a-potties.
This contrasts with the first concert I attended in Watkins Glen, a tiny village in Upstate New York.
In 1973 promoters held "Summer Jam" on the Grand Prix race track there. The Grateful Dead, The Band and The Allman Brothers were playing. Things rapidly got out of control.
The promoters sold 150,000 tickets at $10 each (even with inflation, that's amazingly cheap) but when 600,000 people showed up the gates went down. I, the lone Schuyler County "Bureau Chief" of the Elmira, N.Y., Star-Gazette, struggled desperately to make sense of it all.
There was sex and drugs, but it was not a "love fest" in the Woodstock vein. It was 600,000 people, some naked, all dirty, most stoned or drunk, wallowing in a sea of mud and dust as the bands played past midnight. The port-a-potties didn't get burned, but should have -- 600,000 people using facilities for a fourth that number gets ugly.
But I was young and resilient, and there were enough attractive naked people around to keep life interesting. Two days of heavily amplified music while the sweet tang of burning weed drifted through the air did not faze me. I went home, slept 12 hours and was ready for the next day.
Which brings us to the second point about Sunday's concert: The Doobies weren't at Watkins Glen, but could have been. "China Grove" was released that year on their third album. "Travelin' Man" and "Jesus is Just Alright" were already huge hits.
"They're as old as us," said my friend. Tom Johnston and Patrick Simmons, half the original Doobies, will perform Sunday, and Johnston was born a year before I was.
If these originals are anything like me, they're still agile but their ability to tolerate entertainment-related abuse has not endured.
So, were I to go Sunday, I'd be very glad the music didn't last all night and the amps were not full-blast. I prefer my concerts without mud, and nobody but my wife wants to see me naked.
After a whole three hours of sitting on the grass, from which position someone would have to help me up, I would drive home, pop a couple of ibuprofen and hit the sack.
But after lights out I'd still strum a few chords on the old Stratocaster. Great music is forever, and the Doobies are among the best.
Wasatch Rambler is the opinion of Charles Trentelman. You can call him at 801-625-4232 or e-mail ctrentelman@standard.net. He also blogs at www.standard.net.
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