Swell Season
Jon and I went to see Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova last night. It was fun.

Those Irish are such a chatty lot. Both the opening band and, of course, the main act were led by Irish folks and they all talked a lot about the songs and their meanings, etc. This could have been kind of frustrating, especially if the artists took themselves too seriously and were too lengthy in their descriptions/ruminations. But they weren’t like that, especially Glen. He has a good sense of humor along with sort of an artistic interpretation of things. His ramblings were all quite entertaining.

One of the funniest things he said during the concert was when he noticed that there was an elderly lady in the audience. He apologized for singling her out and begged her pardon for some of his language, hoping that it wasn’t offensive to her. Her daughter yelled back that the lady was half-Irish anyway so not to worry. That was a funny exchange.

As far as the music goes….well it was all really enjoyable. But, I have to say, as good as his band is, I liked the songs that he sang by himself best. Of all the songs he sang, I liked the first one, Say It To Me Now, the best of all.

I love to people watch at concerts. And each time we go to a concert — which is so very, very seldom, I find myself reflecting on past concerts that went to in college and since. I especially found myself doing this last night as Jon and I found ourselves on the floor in front of the stage which is a place that we used to occupy more often say, fifteen years ago than anytime recently. What an old fogey I have become. I really think that sitting down helps me enjoy music so much more. Who would have known there is such a connection between one’s hiney and one’s ears?

Anyway, it was a nice evening. But the old fogey here is done with concerts for a good long while — that is, unless Paul Westerberg comes to town.