When a Concert is More than a Concert

We sometimes go to an event expecting one thing, but end up with something completely different, something even better. This happened to me when my husband Randy gave me a Mother’s Day gift of two tickets to see Gordon Lightfoot at a small local theater. I knew I’d see a good show from one of my all-time favorite folk singers. What I didn’t expect was to be reminded of three constants in life…

Mortality catches up to all – I’m not sure what I was thinking, but when the band assembled on stage, I half-expected to see the Gordon of my school days. I was ready for that burly, Canadian hunk from the album covers. Instead, a thin, elderly gentleman stepped up to the mic, looking frail. His brown hair came down to his shoulders. If I didn’t know better, I’d wonder if he could make it through the next few hours. But then I remembered at 83, he’d been doing this over half a century.

Gordon started with “Did She Mention My Name?” and although he could still hit the notes, the power of his voice was gone. The audience started singing along, as if to help. I thought Gordon’s brown eyes looked grateful. How time catches up to all of us.

 “It’s so nice to meet an old friend and pass the time of day
And talk about the hometown a million miles away
Is the ice still on the river, are the old folks still the same
And by the way, did she mention my name?”

Music evokes memories – Gordon sang many songs that brought back high school and college memories, like “Sundown,” “Carefree Highway” and “Beautiful.” But when he sang “If You Could Read My Mind,” I really felt the passage of time. Throughout my sophomore year in high school, I’d listened to that ballad. Gordon’s husky baritone embodied girlhood fantasies of travelling troubadours, castles, and lost love. 

In college, my boyfriend Randy and I would drive along Connecticut’s gravelly beaches, past Long Island Sound. Sometimes this song would play on the radio. I hear it now and I’m brought back to his yellow Mercury capri and passing a Marlboro back and forth while we hotly debated whether “The Godfather” was a better movie than “Coming Home.”

“If you could read my mind, love

What a tale my thoughts could tell,

Just like a paperback novel,

the kind the drugstore sells”

Once an artist, always an artist – Even at 83, Gordon stood for 2 hours and performed hit after hit with no one else singing or harmonizing. He was charming and funny. A woman yelled out “Edmund Fitgerald” and he quipped “That’s coming darlin’. Be patient.” Everyone laughed. You could tell he was a pro. I’d seen from YouTube videos how he’d been doing this six decades, a born performer in front of thousands, sometimes more. I sensed Gordon will do this till he’s not able do it anymore. He’ll go with his boots on, so to speak.

His last song, “Rainy Day People” got me sniffling. I’d been hearing this 1975 hit as a thread throughout my life – a college student, newlywed, young mother and now with two adult sons. Thankfully, I’ve known some Rainy Day people. 

“Rainy day people always seem to know when it’s time to call
Rainy day people don’t talk, they just listen till they’ve heard it all
Rainy day lovers don’t lie when they tell ‘ya they’ve been down like you
Rainy day people don’t mind if you’re cryin’ a tear or two”

Before we knew it, Gordon took his bows and was gone. The lights came on. Randy and I stood blinking, back to 2022. We were both grayer (well, he is, I dye my hair) and creakier than in our college days. I wanted to thank Gordon for a lifetime of memories.

We walked out of the theater and although I knew I’d love this concert, I hadn’t expected to be so moved, so reminded of how full life is, how fast time goes. Outside on the sidewalk, fanning ourselves in the summer heat, I found myself still sniffling.

 

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