Somebody Help Me! The Tao According to the J. Geils Band

They tried telling me I was among the Chosen People all through Sunday school. Didn’t mean a dam* thing to me until my very first concert in 1966 -- The Beatles. That’s when I knew it, believed it and internalized it, breathing deeply that rarified air into every cell of my being. Now, some 43 years later, magnificent live music’s making me do it once more. Recharging my chakras. Revitalizing my spirit. And making me feel brand new all over again. Never thought I’d see the day, but here I am front and center for the great and powerful J. Geils Band. Ten years after they last played together, America’s finest offering of rock ‘n’ rollers shows us the way. It’s the Tao of the J. Geils Band, the Chosen People to open Boston's House of Blues. Random thoughts only… ‘Cuz the Freeze Frames are Flying Too Fast to Capture If the J. Geils Band can’t kick thebloozyblog out of its slumber, nothing in the Universe will. ………………………………………… I booked the flight before I had the hottest ticket on Earth. Even for sold-out shows, one ticket can always be had. Easy. Check out Craigslist. Carry cash. And manifest, baby. Manifest ………………………………………… My good friend Magic Dick calls in response to an “I’m coming!” email with a ticket for me. Wha??? WHA???? You mean, not only am I going to see the one band I never thought I would, but I’m a guest of one of the three founding members? Chosen indeed. ~Ooooh, just got a full body rush on that lil statement.~ ……………………………………… Evening of the show: My timing couldn’t have been better. Fenway Park to my right. Ten-minute old erratically blinking House of Blues neon and two verrrrrrrrry lonnnnnnnnnng lines on my left. Burly-looking official dudes out in front. “You got here at the right time. The guest list just showed up. Those windows.” And that’s when I spot Mrs. Dick, who puts me together with a few other MD friends. As the freezing rain pelts the others, we get our wristbands and march right in, security in numbers in the face of tight Security, I suppose. They opt for backstage and the balcony. Not I. Backstage after; I’m here for the show. My usual spot has my name on it. Stage right, right up front, a mere forearm’s distance from the rail. Magic Dick, J. Geils and Peter Wolf dead ahead. Mrs. Dick tells me after that that’s always been her spot too. Sweet. …………………………………………… I’ve been asked about my going solo to blues clubs, festivals, h*ll, shows a flippin’ continent away. Well, the flip response is this: I’m an adult. Who’s gonna tell me “No?” When me, myself & I decided that Job One is fun, the three of us committed to pulling together to reach that goal whenever possible. Who better than the JGB to help us get there. And who better than JGB lovers to yak about all the ol’ times we shared apart together. I made lots of friends that night. Good people, every one of ‘em. (Huh, small wonder…getting a little fehrklempt as I write that blurb. Connected we are.) In fact, when the nine or so around me discovered I hadn't eaten a bite since that half Egg McMuffin at the Denver airport, the nine of 'em tracked down the cocktail waitress to get me sustenance and hydration...beer, the perfect food. I like Boston. …………………………………………… When I first tasted freedom from parental oppression in my much-too-brief college years, the J. Geils Band was top on my playlist, particularly on free-for-all Friday afternoons. Yes, I suppose I could page Dr. Freud about the psychological principles of tendencies and compulsions and transference and who gives a rat's *ss, but I’m feeling pretty dam* healthy right now, thank you all the same. ………………………………………… I’ve said this about flying to DC for just one show by the Legendary Rhythm & Blues Revue, a fine, joyful band in its own right. And I’ve said it about paying big bucks to see the Stones: “It’s cheaper than a week at the spa, and a helluva lot more fun!” Now, I like the Happy Baby pose and hot-stone massages as much as the next gal. But what my soul craves apparently is the jolt, the thunderbolt, the rejuvenation, the passion of performance. Alive music live. Alive music lives. Maybe it’s my reason to live too. ………………………………………… Egads, enough self-indulgent prattle already. What about the show. What about the flippin’ show??? OK, here we go. Welllllllllllllllll…almost. Uh oh, here they come. Giggles, giggles and more giggles are taking over at the moment. Hooohaaaaa. Still going on. ~hehehe~ And they don’t seem to be stopping any time soon. I’m typing, I’m laughing, I’m typing, I’m laughing, my daughter, my sister, my daughter, my sister. Awright, a full 60 seconds have elapsed. Deep internal-organ exercising going on here. Maybe it's something to do with purging, cleansing, healing. Laughter's good for the soul too, after all. Still generating those endorphins for me, are you, J. Geils, et al? Thanks, guys. You rock. Seriously. : ) When they launched into “Serves You Right To Suffer,” I suggested to my new BFF Mike, standing right to my right, that somebody should put a stopwatch to it. “Let’s see if it outdoes Full House’s 9:57.” He promptly pulls out his cell phone and clocks it. Full House wins by a slim few seconds. Naturally, Peter Wolf is a force of nature. I’m not sure where J. Geils begins and his guitar ends. Danny Klein is always gleeful and engaging. Magic Dick, well, yes, of course he is. The riff that still rings in my head, heart and soul for this song, belongs to Seth Justman. If I were those black & whites, I’d be primordial ooze percolating and seeping deeply into the Earth’s crust only to erupt in some Hubble shot in a far distant corner of the cosmos. H*ll, who am I kidding. I’ve become a puddle-icious pile of primordial ooze just reliving it. Clearly, there’s some revolutionary evolutionary force going on here that I don’t have to understand. I just have to have it. …………………………………………… Unofficial Set List Note to self: Doofus...you coulda gotten one signed, you know. Doh! 1) First I Look at the Purse 2) Homework 3) Hard Drivin’ Man 4) Pack Fair & Square 5) Sanctuary 6) Night Time 7) Freeze Frame 8) Cruisin' For a Love 9) So Sharp 10) Detroit Breakdown 11) Serves You Right to Suffer 12) Give It To Me 13) Musta Got Lost 14) Love Stinks 15) Looking For A Love 16) Whammer Jammer 17) Ain’t Nothing but a House Party 18) Just Can't Wait (1st encore) 19) Centerfold (1st encore) 20) Start All Over (2nd encore) 21) Baby, Where Did Our Love Go (2nd encore) 22) Peachtree Street, sung by Magic Dick (3rd encore) 23) Love-Itis (3rd encore) …………………………………………… Reviews…You Tube…Have at it! http://news.bostonherald.com/entertainment/music/general/view/2009_02_20_Good_times_past__present_with_J__Geils_Band/ http://www.boston.com/ae/music/articles/2009/02/20/j_geils_band_rocks_the_house/?p1=Well_MostPop_Emailed7 Pre-show interview with Wolf http://www.boston.com/ae/music/articles/2009/02/15/freeze_frame/ ………………………………………… We all knew the collection of balloons on high would fall upon us at some point. But I didn’t find out until after the show that it was all a mistake. Not. About 120 seconds into Whammer Jammer…you know, that point when we’re beaten into a feather-light frothy frenzy…here they come, sprinkling their happy, buoyant, bouncy, colorful selves all over all of us happy, buoyant, bouncy, colorful selves. But, we discover backstage, Whammer Jammer was not the intended target. Nooooooooo. It was House Party, which, when you think about it, would have made perfect sense in a perfect world for the House of Blues’ housewarming. When this tidbit came to light in Peter Wolf’s dressing room (siggghhhhh, Peter Wolf’s dressing room, ayup), the universal consensus was (I’m paraphrasing here) there are no accidents. It is as it should be, as all things always are. At least, that’s what Ahmet would say, they all said, honoring Mr. Ertugun of Atlantic Records, the band’s label, and a consummate Magic Dick and Whammer Jammer fan. So, there you go, Mr. Dick, validation. Whammer Jammer – and you – to the rescue again, just as you have been for so many of us for so many times for so many years. Yesssss, indeedy, getting that buzz all over all over again. I am compelled to add with complete sincerity and gratitude, thank you, dear God, for all blessings bestowed today and every day. ………………………………………… The perfect ending to the perfect event After Magic Dick had collected his harps, mikes, cables, leather and hangers-on, we slid on icy sidewalks to the car. Urged by Magic’s longtime friend and harp-designing partner Pierre Beauregard, Dick and Mrs. Dick took me on a tour of their town – by the original homestead, the statues, the parks, the lights. And, may I have a flourish of horns here, please…by the College of Musical Knowledge, Berklee College of Music, where a young and not-yet-named Magic Dick learned how to blow. His instrument of choice in those days: the trumpet. I saw the window of the room of the school where his raw talent was cultivated, the place where his star became saturated with light. Whether I was clouded by the evening’s extraordinary experience, the two hours of sleep before that 6 a.m. flight, or, well, maybe a bit by the haze of experimental self-medication, I was in what can only be described as…what can only be described as…what can only be described as…as…as…h*ll, I have absolutely, positively no flippin’ idea how to describe it. Afterglow. That will have to do for now. Afterglow. I’m still glowing. Can you tell? No wonder Magic Dick kept his shades on. ………………………………………… Last random thoughts It’s John. Not Jerome. Magic Dick’s ’fro will always be bigger than mine. I can live with that. # # #