They Shoot Eardrums, Don't They?

I think it's a conspiracy. Last weekend it was horseback riding, and last night it was a country western concert. I thought my people loved me, but they keep making me do this uh, stuff.

Darling Husband aquired 2 tickets to the Faith Hill/Tim McGraw concert in L.A., and never being one to turn down a party, we had to go. It was in one of those suites, where you have food and beverages, thank goodness, because I needed the drink.

After several commercials for McGraw's movie, played on big TV screens, the singers finally took the stag via trap doors in the floor that opened up with them rising up from underground.

The concert was on a round stage, with four "arms" at north, south, east and west. The floors were all lit up. Great lighting. Pop op swirls in bright blues, yellows and reds, red roses, and various other patterns and colors.

Faith Hill sang first to a tepid response. I think most people were there for him. The reviews in the paper said he was great, she wasn't. Wouldn't want to be there for the ride home with that husband and wife. Ouch.

While she was belting out her songs, a few I recognized from TV commercials, or Oprah, or somewhere, I kept thinking about all the smart aleck remarks I could make. Like how this pop stuff seemed so souless, despite the name of the tour (Soul2SoulII). Or forget about rock, I couldn't understand any single word she said, except something about how you should breathe. Or maybe that her attempts to act sexy had kind of a furtive, let's do the moves before the kids wake up and I need to drive them to soccer practice.

Anyway, I felt bad about being so snide, even in my own head. After all, somehow she was out there performing, leaving herself open to the critics' peanut gallery made up of people like me who let their fears stand in the way of producing anything themselves. Who was I to be so harsh? Let's all just live and let live, and try to enjoy a free ticket.

Then she closed her set with Janis Joplin's "Another Piece of My Heart".

That did it.

I could feel poor Janis spinning, and not with boggie woggie. Those two singers might both be Southern white girls, but that's where the resemblence ended.

Janis sang that song like her heart was breaking, like there was more pain in her world than she could stand, like it all just might be the undoing of her. Which, as we know, it was.

Faith sang it like she wasn't dying of heartbreak, but like she was collecting $ 10, 653. 42 after taxes for the performance. What a travesty.

We had to watch another commerical for the film, and then a commercial about the McGraw/Hill romance. Lots of pictures of them going about their daily life, riding horses, gazing soulfully, being playfully coy under a gauzy, soft focus lense. ugh.

Then Came Tim.

The women went crazy. This was clearly what they came for . Lots of cheering, clapping and wiggling in the seats. The DJ said "Here he is ladies, a realllllly gooood man!!!!!"

I think that's what the appeal is, the image of the strong, faithful, romantic Western family man.
Am I wrong, but weren't these two married to others when they met? I may have them confused with a dozen other celebrities, and if so, I apologize.

Anyway, up he came from the netherworld below stage. He and Faith did a duet enclosed in a gauze tent that was lit up all soft focus red, with red lights kind of pouring down the compass point arms of the stage.

It looked like a hospital tented blood bath, but maybe that was just my ears bleeding.

Tim got a little more enthusiasm when he started his solo set, but how would you know it was him? He had on a huge black cowboy hat and the de riguer (did this smart aleck spell that right?) chin whisker/mustache so it was hard to see his face.

When I asked Darling Husband what was up with the rubber cowboy hat, he informed me it was LEATHER. It sure looked like rubber, all black and shiny.

I wouldn't be able to pick the guy out of a police line up, but I would recognize his giant gold belt buckle anywhere. After all, it was bigger than his face.

I know, I know, some people hate the music I like and could rif all day long on how bad it is. Music is very subjective.

But gosh, if you can't understand the words, your ears ring for days, the ticket is overpriced and the crowd pushy, you ought to at least go home feeling up and full of jazz, not like I needed to warn Darling Husband to hide his guns when we got home.

That being said, I kind of like Loretta Lynn. So don't shoot me.