On Sept. 7, I went to a hard rock concert. While that may not seem like unusual behavior for the masses, those who know me know that I’m a die-hard Jazz fanatic and have been since childhood. The arguments I had in school with fellow students who were rock fans over the years could fill a novel. Still, there were certain classic rock bands who were and are part of my playlist. Chicago, The Doobie Brothers, The Allman Brothers, ZZ Top, even Lynyrd Skynyrd made the cut. Heavy Metal? Not so much. There were exceptions, such as Emerson, Lake, and Palmer, and Deep Purple as well as a few other groups who were influenced by Jazz, Classical, or the Blues. But Jazz is my real love. I have it playing all day at the office (much to the “delight” of my staff), and usually listen in my audio room for an hour or two every night.
I was doing just that at 3:00 last Saturday afternoon with a classic Blue Note album by tenor saxophonists Clifford Jordan and John Gilmore, entitled “A Blowin’ Session,” when the love of my life Donna hollered up the stairs that I needed to come down so she could talk to me. (We’ve been together for 13 years, so she knows if she comes up the stairs, I will make her sit and listen to something.) She informed me that her good friends Betsy and James Clark had invited us to see a hard rock concert. Betsy, knowing my love of Jazz thought I needed a more “well rounded” view of different genres of music, and these two groups which were named Alice in Chains and Bush would be just the ticket to educate me. I’ve always been keen on new adventures, so I thought, “why not?”
We were a bit late for the first show, so Betsy rode the elevator down to give us our tickets. We boarded the elevator to go back up, and upon arriving at the correct floor the elevator doors zipped open, and a wall of sound assaulted us that blew my hat of and pushed my hair straight back. I didn’t know whether to run or duck, so I crouched down in the far corner of the elevator shaking like a rabbit that’s about to be devoured by a coyote. Miles Davis this was not! Betsy and Donna stepped on out apparently unfazed by the cacophony of drums and electric guitars that were shaking the Choctaw Colosseum and motioned for me to step out. I followed them to our seats like a lamb being led to slaughter and sat next to Betsy’s daughter Lauren who’s an old hand at these types of goings on, having been to what she estimates is 800 concerts over the course of her life. Incredibly, her hearing seems to have remained intact! I ordered a double-shot Bloody Mary and settled in for what I suspected would be a very loud evening. The band was quite good, and I was impressed that the lead singer was a fellow Okie from Atoka. He ended the show by saying that he knew most of the crowd was here to see Bush, and that he was looking forward to that as well. My tinnitus had flared up a bit, but it appeared I was going to make it through the evening pretty much intact.
I took advantage of the break between bands to order another Bloody Mary. Needless to say, I was feeling pretty good when Bush came on to the stage. Then Lauren leaned over to me and said, “This next band is really loud!” I found that to be an odd statement considering the volume of the previous band, but before I could ask her for clarification the drummer hit the first note, and I shook half of my Bloody Mary onto the table. Then came the electric guitars and the singer, and the tinnitus in my ears began to roar. I’m not proud that I did it, but I raised my hands and plugged my ears, remaining that way throughout the first song. Those around me seemed unfazed by the volume, and Donna even made several attempts to talk to me which I waved off. Lauren has a decibel app on her smartwatch, and she held it up for me to see. 100 frickin’ decibels, I kid you not! Just below a jack hammer or a jet engine. Holy Hell!! After the first number ended, Betsy handed me a cocktail napkin and suggested I use it for ear plugs. I tore off two strips, rolled them up, dipped them in my water glass, then inserted them into my ears. They expanded to a perfect fit, my tinnitus settled back down, and much to my amazement I could still hear everything that was being played albeit a bit muffled.
I was captivated by the crowd, which was a tad bit noisier than the typical Jazz Festival. Three rows in front of us there was a stocky bald guy who looked to be in his 60’s who was so excited he played “air drums” throughout the entire concert. I was thankful I wasn’t in the seat behind him. When a song was played that the people really liked they would hold up their hands with their pinky finger and index finger extended and sway to the music. Sensing an opportunity to participate and perhaps even impress a few folks, I did the same but used the Vulcan hand greeting made famous by Mr. Spock on Star Trek. Donna was not appreciative of my efforts and promptly elbowed me in the side, pulled my hands down, and told me too never do it ever again.
Much to my surprise, I did recognize a few of the songs, and like the earlier band, these guys could play! The special effects were pretty cool too! If I could go back to another, would I? In short yes, but I’d bring ear plugs next time.
Betsy, consider my horizons widened.
Now where did I put that Miles Davis record?
Okies in the Field is an irregular column about outdoor sports and activities such as hunting and fishing. I always enjoy having an opportunity to feature local people. If you have an idea for a story, please contact Mark Swearengin at swearinoutloud50@gmail.com.