At this point in my life, I was still wet behind the ears, only 18 years old and still stumblin’ around the piss pot lookin’ for the handle. Little did I know at the time that the handle would be my holy grail and I would search for it many, many years. It became my lifelong quest. I didn’t really think much about lifelong quests, not really, but I was, for sure, seeking questions that might reveal universal and hidden truths. I was just enrolled at Michigan State University and felt very proud of myself. That deception proved to be short-lived, in fact, it didn’t last more than a few weeks when my academic counselor, on the basis of my SAT and GRE and Entrance Exam scores, dismissed me as an untalented misplaced youth who would probably flunk out before the end of the first semester. Such encouragement! And the dorm room hazing was particularly evil, seems that the upper classmen insisted on giving every fresh-faced freshman a swirly, forcing the student’s head down the bowl of a toilet and then flushing. A select few of the helplessly nerdy, or irritatingly cocky, or awkward freshmen were given a particularly sadistic version of the swirly that included either chocolate or lemonade or both. Yep, them creeps would force some young round-headed pin-dicked nerd down into the frothing human gruel. Higher education at work...right? Well, they tried to get me one day but I mustered all of my youthful resolve and sublimated rage and fought back, never did get a swirly, never was too popular. And I told them not to try it again or one of us might get hurt. I knew deep inside that I was bluffing. I wasn’t a fighter and I was more scared than confident. But a few years later, in the glow of my advanced standing as an upper classman and with the help of a little chemical enhancement, I caught myself doing the same thing to an underclassman that was done to me, until I stopped and wondered just who the hell I was and how on earth did I get there. It was a wakeup call that was never entirely heeded. I fight the impulse to this day. Anybody for a dip?
I’d been dating Joanne Miller, an incredible person, for the past three years. I was very lucky...she was only a year ahead of me in school but light years ahead of me in everything else like style, intellect, sense of humor, maturity...yada, yada, yada. Anyway, we enjoyed music together, mostly as a soundtrack to make-out sessions, and she never seemed to enjoy concerts as much as me, so I would take one of her brothers or one of her nursing friends, or my sister instead. The Moody Blues was one such concert. She wasn’t so captivated by their elusive avant garde lyrics and orchestral arrangements - but I was. I felt at the time, and still feel today, that the Moodies had something important to say in their modest zen-inspired poetry and their peaceful vibe. They spoke to a generation of kids who noticed the hypocrisy in our socio-cultural institutions and questioned the home-bred violence that was so cynically exported to countries around the planet. The Moody Blues were part of an upper echelon of sixties/seventies rockers that included the Beatles, The Who, The Stones, Creedence Clearwater Revival, Sly & the Family Stone, Crosby, Stills, and Nash and others who were able create words and music that so elegantly evoked our hopes and dreams and our worries. Well, at least for a few of us, the others just wanted to get stoned and laid. Hmm...well...maybe the groupings were more seamless than mutually exclusive, now where was I...oh...
So I’m taking my girlfriend’s brother Hugh to the concert and he’s a good guy, not quite a head but a stone mellow fellow with an intuitive mind. This is the first time I’d ever been to Cobo Hall and I found it immense. It was a sold out crowd and the traffic and especially the parking was murder on my nerves. But we survived it all and found our seats. I was stone sober and was, at the time, essentially a non-drinker and had tried marijuana only once or twice, so I was there for the thrill of the music. And what a night it proved to be.
Van Morrison opened the show with a rousing set with a funky horn-based band of righteous musicians that didn't flub a note or miss a beat. He said not a word to the audience and looked pissed or pissed-off the entire show. But ooh that music...the R&B of Domino, and Blue Money the folksy Irish vibe ofWarm Love and Caravan, and the soulfulIt Stoned Me and Crazy Love. It was a feast of lunatic perfection from one of the most enigmatic performers I’ve ever seen. He seemed not quite aloof, more irritated with an audience that was crowding his space and interrupting some kind of internal dialogue. At one point in the show, Van simply walked off the stage, the band still playing; the show is over, at least his part. The crowd didn’t seem to know what to do except to smatter some weak applause toward Van’s disappearing shadow. What he lacked in phony Vegas-like showmanship he made up for with great music.
The Moody Blues were, by this time, a revered first tier act, right up there with every great band of the era, just below the Beatles
With The release of Days of Future Passed, the Moody Blues advanced the orchestral trippy vibe of Sgt. Peppers and the album became an instant classic. Their record company was surprised and delighted by the feverish success of “Days” but was unwilling to finance a full orchestral sessions. The solution came from keyboardist Mike Pinder who worked at a factory that produced an organ-like device called a mellotron, that used tape heads, activated by the touch of keys, and tape loops comprised of sounds of horns and strings, the mellotron generated an edgy and dramatic orchestra-like sound. It was all the rage after the Beatles used one on Strawberry Fields and I Am the Walrus. But the mellotron was a sensitive instrument that wasn’t easy to tune or keep in tune and it seemed to be a stroke of luck that Pinder not only knew how to play the damn thing but he also knew how to fix it…a little duct tape here and a screwdriver and hammer there and Pinder could modify, re-engineer, and customize the mellotron to fit his particular specifications. The resulting instruments were nicknamed "Pindertrons". That said, the mellotron was featured prominently on the next several albums including, in my estimation, the Moody Blues’ greatest work, the 1970 masterpiece
On The Threshold Of A Dream. But I wasn’t thinking about any of that at showtime, I was at the edge of my seat just waiting for that magical moment...the lights went out and crowd erupted as the flashlights guided the Moody Blues onto the stage.
Gypsy, the hard rockin’ guitar-driven highlight from To Our Children’s Children, opened the show. The band was LOUD, much louder than their softer orchestral sound on record. And the mellotron was an eerie presence in each and every song, sometimes as a nuanced backdrop other times a thunderous lead. Pinder could make that mellotron moan and sing and swirl and growl into a stormy crescendo. It was the most unusual sound I’ve ever heard, even to this day. Singer guitarist, Justin Hayward appeared as delicate as his voice. He was pencil thin with long blond hair. He said something about a sore throat and his voice seemed a bit thin. But he was able to muster enough resolve to sing his ass off on hits such as Nights in White Satin, Tuesday Afternoon, and their latest hit Question. Each singer had an unusual voice. Pinder seemed to intone through Have You Heard, giving it an appropriate zenist edge and his Melancholy Man was …well, pretty melancholy. And Ray Thomas thin conversational singing on the psychedelic masterpiece Legend of a Mind gave it an ironic edge. Bassist John Lodge didn’t sing lead on any songs but his high falsetto harmonies gave a lift to Nights in White Satin, Ride My See Saw - a great hard rockin’ gem in concert - and on the moody and magnificent Never Comes the Day - a song of wondrous beauty that has a quiet-loud verse/chorus structure that is simply breathtaking. The Moodies unison singing on Ride My See Saw and Never Comes the Day, along with Pinder’s glorious mellotron gave their sound a powerful edge. This band could rock. And though it seemed that Thomas was the only one that moved around the stage with any energy, the Moody Blues maintained a visual and sonic presence that was compelling… Hayward’s delicate poetry, Pinder’s deep mysticism, and Thomas’ psychedelic whimsy. I left the concert awestruck and quiet and when I returned to Saginaw I told my girlfriend it was the best concert I’d ever seen, to which she replied, "You say that about every concert". And you know, she was right...
Bo White
7/9/05
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