"I am so happy right now!"
That was the young man behind me at The Brighton Bar last night a few songs into the rapturous set by Jonathan Richman. I guess the performance had its intended effect. Richman is an optimist whose songs celebrate every aspect of being human; and the small, packed house shook with laughter, handclapping, and dancing for the duration of Richman's just over one-hour set.
As we walked through the front door at about 7:30, something was strange. The televisions behind the bar were dark and there was no music pumping through the sound system. I discussed with a few people how odd it felt to be in The Brighton Bar while it was so quiet. Richman has rules, they said. As we talked a little more, it did start to dawn on me that we were speaking with each other in normal voices, without taking sidelong looks to check out what was happening in the world of NCAA basketball.
At around 8:20, Richman and drummer Tommy Larkins made their way through the crowd to the stage. After a few quiet strums on his guitar, Richman asked that the ceiling fan near the stage be turned down to reduce the noise, "I'm fussy when it comes to sound."
He then played a bit of "That Summer Feeling" before suggesting to someone down front that they not watch the show through the little screen on their mobile phone.
"If you're gonna be here, be here. If you're gonna be home, be home."
The ceiling fan quieted, the mobile phone distractions at least reduced somewhat, Richman and Larkins played through a set that included at least parts several Richman classics. As usual, many of the versions would end up being unique to this particular performance with lyrics made up and re-worked on the spot.
"No One Was Like Vermeer" came with the interesting factoid that some scholars now believe that Vermeer's daughter may have produced up to one-sixth of the paintings attributed to her father. No one was like Vermeer, except, maybe, his daughter.
During "Keith Richards," Richman confessed to not being in love with the rhyme comparing Keith's playing to the sound made by a cat having its tail twisted ("No one plays guitar like that / He makes the guitar whine / like twisting the tail on a cat" or something similar). He began searching for more satisfying lyrics onstage, but ultimately left that part for another day.
Several times he put the guitar aside and danced, shaking maracas or bells, while Larkins played drums. The crowd sang and danced along with him on songs like "I Was Dancing at the Lesbian Bar," "My Baby Love Love Loves Me," "Springtime in New York," and "These Bodies Came to Cavort." Richman also threw in some covers, including a version of Van Morrison's "Crazy Love" that he made his own with just about the entire audience singing along to the chorus.
Another of Richman's rules, apparently, is "no air conditioning;" and, despite the falling temperatures outside, The Brighton got quite steamy. All those cavorting bodies lent a distinctly... ...human... scent to the proceedings.
He didn't play it last night; but Richman's philosophy can be summed up in his song "When We Refuse to Suffer" (When we refuse to suffer / We refuse to feel). We all "suffered" through having to have actual conversations. Some of us unplugged from the Internet for an hour. We had to deal with a sweaty, communal sing- and dance-along. Whether we were shouting along in Spanish to "La Fiesta Es Para Todos!" or contemplating how everyone -- even "our friend Jonathan" -- goes "into the darkness" once in a while, we were all present with one another.
I've never had much patience for the the idea that technology is destroying our humanity -- "I don't watch TV." "I don't read ebooks. I like the feel and the smell of real books." "No cell phones, please." But, last night, I followed the rules -- pretty much -- and I'll admit that I felt more alive than I have at any show in a while.
And, yes, I was happy.
P.S., Richman's early set left me plenty of time to make it to Asbury Lanes for Mariachi El Bronx...
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