My apologies for the absence. The aforementioned storm also took my internet out, and the problem wasn't resolved until a few days ago. That's okay I suppose. I wouldn't have had time to write a proper post anyway.
Since the deluge, I have been to two fantastic shows. Last week was Old Crow Medicine Show's Big Surprise tour stop at Waterfront Park. Obviously, it featured Old Crow, alongside guests like the Felice Brothers, Justin Townes Earle, and Gillian Welch. It was a pretty brilliant idea for the tour. Each act would come out and play four or five of their own songs. Then, EVERY other artist would join them on stage to play a final two or three. It was a great feel for the show. Having 12-13 people on stage made it seem kind of like Parliament Funkadelic suddenly turned into a nu-grass band. Now there's something I would pay to see.
Now, onto more monumental matters of the Sarah Hunt concert-going canon. Saturday was THE concert. The zenith. The paradigm by which I will judge all others. Of course, this was the concert of one of my heroes--James Paul McCartney. We caught him at the Green Concert for Piedmont Conservancy in Atlanta. I don't think I'm even going to attempt transcribing my emotions into words. I don't mean to sound like a 14-year-old who has just seen her first Jonas Brothers show and is 79% sure that Joe winked at her. This is a totally different experience for me. My dad raised me on The Beatles. They were his band, and everyone knew it. When the anthology series debuted, KET aired the chapters one by one on Saturday nights. I can remember curling up in the old recliner with him (even though I was probably eleven or twelve by then) and watching the shows. He had seen just about every classic rock act imaginable--I lost track of all the Led Zeppelin stories. However, he was always crushed that he was never able to see The Beatles. They stopped touring by the time he was about 17. So, when I saw Paul, I just couldn't help but wish that he could be there to experience it with me. It was the epitome of a bittersweet moment. Paul came on stage to "Drive My Car", and I stood in the field blinded with tears but wearing a smile on my face that probably hadn't been seen since I was a child at Christmas.
The concert itself was incomparable. I know I probably sound like a broken record, but it's true. Even if I didn't hold Paul in the high regard that I do, I would have been blown away by the show. He performed for nearly three hours, with the only breaks coming between his two encores. Although I would have enjoyed hearing a little "Monkberry Moon Delight", the show really left nothing to be desired. The majority of his songs were Beatles standards, with a sprinkling of Wings tunes and two new ones from the "Fireman" album. The downpour that hit Piedmont Park couldn't dampen my mood either. Actually, I thought it was the perfect coincidence that it began as Paul sang "Blackbird." Most of the crowd started throwing blankets over themselves, or pulling out the ponchos that are for some reason still accepted by the 30+ crowd. Evan and I just looked at one another and smiled, then put our hands in the air and our face to the sky. I didn't have a dry thread when all was said and done, but I wouldn't have it any other way. His final encore was ace. It began with the "Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Heart's Club Band" reprise, which went immediately into "The End."
I won't ramble about that any longer. I'll just finish up for today by saying that I often have the same suspicions about people as Seymour Glass. I think they must be plotting to make me happy.