Along with raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens, live music is one of my favorite things. My wife Jennifer and I were musing recently about the concerts we’ve seen. From Aerosmith to Van Halen, at least 75 shows.
The last three months alone have been magical.
First was Heart at Red Rocks outside of Denver in August.
Then, Coldplay at Wembley Stadium in London in September.
Then, Phoenix in early October to see the ageless Stevie Nicks for the third time in two years.
Finally, last week it was Las Vegas where I caught the fierce Alanis Morissette at Caesar’s.
Then, two nights later, we saw two English blokes named Roland and Curt bring down the house at the Fontainebleau—you know them as Tears for Fears.
For me, live music is more than music. It’s people watching. The cool vibe. The enjoyable sensory overload. Humanity gathered to revel in the dynamism and artistry of musicians playing live—no matter the genre.
It’s been a great run so far.
We robbed a small bank so Jen and our daughter could see a woman named Taylor play Soldier Field in 2023—we really didn’t rob a bank, but I know you’re picking up what I’m laying down.
We saw Pearl Jam at the old OLD Soldier Field in 1995.
Elton John? Yes. Billy Joel? Four times. Sting, four times—true genius. Peter Gabriel, three times—even more of a genius.
Fleetwood Mac both without and with Christine McVie.
The English siren Dido at the Vic in Chicago. Some of her songs bring me to tears.
They’ll be more concerts in the future. And when the dog bites and the bee stings, and when I’m feeling sad, I simply remember live music is indeed one of my favorite things.
And then I don’t feel so bad.
I’m Wester Wuori, clearly not Julie Andrews, and that’s my Perspective.
