Facts About The Commentator

I saw Chuck Berry live back in the early 1990s.

Yup.

And damn straight I believe they don't make rock like they used to after seeing that wicked legend live.

How did I get to see him?

My friend and I (Joe L.) were bored one night and simply headed into town to take in the free live outdoor shows at the Jazz Festival back when it was more authentic.

Those days you had acts featuring real jazz musicians. The chances of you seeing an awesome show were high.

You could float around stage to stage watching one band or musician after another. The festival included a section dedicated to the blues. That's where we sat in awe watching Berry.

Yes. Technically, he wasn't the blues but back then, rock was still evolving and searchng its own identity. Diddley, Little Richard, Berry and all those guys were rooted in the blues.

Anyway. Sitting on a sidewalk drinking beer we couldn't believe our ears when it was announced Chuck Berry was coming on. It was pure luck. We couldn't believe how lucky we were. It was one of those "you just knew you were watching something astounding" moments. The crowd knew it that's for sure.

Later on and stoned out of his mind, my friend didn't say a word for most of the ride home. When we arrived in front of his house, he said in sudden coherence while nodding his head in disbelief, "Fucking Chuck Berry" and shut the car door.

F***g Amen.

***

I also saw, while we're at it, Hubert Sumlin at the old G-Sharp on St. Laurent boulevard. Old, rickety, run down (it had old bus seats as chairs and destroyed, torn couches) and downright raw, me and an old flame were doing the cool thing walking up the hippest street in town on a hot summer night. I noticed a sign that said simply, "Hubert Sumlin. Tonight."

Well, I just had to go. It cost I think 20 lousy bucks or something.

I've seen a lot of concerts in my life. Some included some of the biggest, greatest acts. Your U2's, Springsteen's, and all that.

But I have to say, nothing quite reached the pure, wild, hedonistic energy of a blues guitarist ripping out chords you never thought existed.

It was there I realized unless a show is in a intimate setting, I had little interest in seeing one. Going to a concert with 80 000 people ain't my thing. Pack 30 to 300 people or so, and man, you got the recipe for magic.

I would love to see any of Dylan, McCartney and Springsteen in such a setting.

***

Speaking of Dylan, the only real shot I had at watching Dylan live in a small club was in 1990. I was reading one of Montreal's underground papers when a small ad got my attention. It announced Lou Reed was coming with Bob Dylan.

The only problem was the show fell on the exact same day I left for Europe: August 8, 1990.