June 28, 2020
A Sinner's Prayer
I don’t really listen to the radio anymore. Not AM. Not FM. Not talk radio. Not sports shows. Not Howard Stern. I have XM Satellite and alternate between The Bridge, Classic Vinyl, eStreet Radio, Tom Petty, Billy Joel, and Coffee House. Sometimes a valet will switch it to a rap station and I will listen to a few songs before realizing and switching it back to something from my generation. I think my rock and roll bonafides are well-established, so I have no shame in admitting I am really okay with Christopher Cross. If I want to ride like the wind, then I will ride like the wind.
It means I don’t often hear songs I don’t know. But I am, quite often, reminded of old songs I haven’t heard in ages. Sometimes, more often than I care to admit, old songs which I never liked the first time around which now come wrapped in a very tolerable, if not actually pleasant, nostalgic ribbon.
The exception to this musical comfort zone is The Coffee House. It is a mix of folk singers, solo singer-songwriters, and acoustic versions and covers of well-known songs. It is quite good, but you can’t really listen to it for too long for fear of drifting asleep and ending up in a ditch. If you are on a road trip and want to stay awake, it is probably not a good choice. Best to revert back to Radar Love.
I do like it though and am often rewarded with a gem of an acoustic cover or the discovery of a brand new artist.
Sometimes, the song will just be so good I go home and, not only buy the song, no free downloads for me, but the entire album and, more often than not, the entire discography. That was true of songs like Liz Longley’s When You’ve Got Trouble and Amelia Curran’s The Mistress. Songs which made me sit up and pay attention. Once, driving back from a late dinner, I heard a powerful song which, for reasons I can’t explain or understand, just resonated with me. Maybe it was the singer repeating the chorus of wanting to be a better man. I really don’t know. But I didn’t even get to listen to the entire song because it was interrupted by a phone call. When I hung up, both the song and the information about it had disappeared.
So I did something I had never done before or since. I pulled over to the side of the road and Googled some of the lyrics which were still fresh in my brain. It didn’t take long.
A Sinner’s Prayer.
Slaid Cleaves.
I got home and bought three of his albums. Including a live recording from the Horseshoe Lounge in Austin, which included an amazing rendition of Sinner’s Prayer. The album was on constant rotation for me that summer. Although not a huge country fan, I quite liked most of the songs except for a few where he, if you can believe, yodels.
I spend my winters in Boca Raton. Turns out I am quite popular, especially with my Canadian friends and family, during those winter months, and I get my fair share of visitors. Before heading south, I check the internet to see what shows might be coming to the area. I then add them to the calendar on my phone. Then cross-reference to see if they might coincide with the schedule of my visitors.
That winter looked pretty good. Springsteen was slated for his River anniversary tour at BBT and a pair of Roger old-timers, Daltry and Hodgson, had their respective shows at Hard Rock. And, lodged somewhere in between, was a scheduled performance by the aforementioned Slaid Cleaves. On Saturday, February 24. On February 23rd, a reminder popped up on my phone. Slaid Cleaves tomorrow night. I had completely forgotten about it. I had plans with my friend Donna the next night. I texted to ask if she would be okay to go to a concert. She said sure. She didn’t even ask who. She’s good that way. I then called the venue to get a couple of tickets.
Sold out.
Seriously?
Yes. Weeks ago.
Okay.
I text Donna back. Forget about the concert.
She says okay.
She’s good that way.
On Saturday, we agree to meet at a restaurant I don’t really want to go to and see a movie I don’t really want to see.
I’m not really good that way.
But I don’t get to see Donna all that much, so I figure I will take one for the team.
Then at 5:00, I am not so much in the mood for taking one for the team. Also, I really want to see Slaid Cleaves. I call the venue back.
“Any chance you have a pair for Slaid Cleaves tonight?” I ask.
“A couple just cancelled. I have one pair.”
“Fantastic. Let me give you my Visa number.”
“Nah. Your name is fine. $30 each.” I give him my name.
“I would prefer if you took my credit card info. I don’t want to lose those seats.”
“All good. I’ve got you, Mr. Levy.”
“Zevy.”
“What?”
“Zevy. You said Levy.”
“I got you, brother.”
I texted Donna. ‘Change of plans. We are going to the concert. I am going down now to pick up the tickets. I will meet you at the restaurant.’
So I now speed down to Fort Lauderdale.
I have now twice used the word venue to describe where the concert is taking place. And it is, in the strictest definition of the word, a venue. But what it really is is a guitar store. That is, a store which sells guitars, banjos, amps, and other musical instruments. In a strip plaza on Commercial Blvd. I walk in two hours before the show and they are setting up. Four rows of bridge chairs in front of a stage, well no, not a stage, really just a piece of wood elevated three inches. Okay, so a stage. I pay my $60.
The guy says, “Thank you, Mr. Zevy.” I think he is being a bit of a smart aleck but am too excited to notice.
Although, clearly I noticed.
I ask about seats. He says anywhere. I drape my sweatshirt so it covers two seats in the back row. The back row, just to reiterate, is the fourth row. “This okay?” Am not really understanding this. I didn't call my scalper. I didn’t tip or bribe anyone. Can it really be this easy? I can just save these seats with the Whistler sweatshirt I ‘borrowed’ from my brother?
The guy must think I am totally whack. He nods his head. He says, “I got you, brother.”
I rush Donna through dinner. No coffee. Not dessert. I am worried about my seats. About my brother’s sweatshirt.
Am not comfortable in situations where I haven’t slipped someone a 20.
We hurry back.
The seats and sweatshirt are where I left them (I am telling this story straight up. More or less. But I am not an idiot. I know it is much funnier if Slaid is now wearing my sweatshirt).
Donna says, “This is a guitar store!”
I say, “I know.”
Donna says, “We’re in the fourth row!”
I say, “I know.”
Donna then whispers, pointing to a man carrying a guitar about five feet away from us, “That is Slaid Cleaves!”
I say, “Donna, yesterday you had never even heard of Slaid Cleaves.”
She says, “I know. But this is pretty fucking cool!”
I say, “I know.”
So Slaid Cleaves plays for us. There is another musician on bass accompanying him. They harmonize.
I don’t think I need to explain the allure of an intimate concert. Donna doesn’t know a single song and absolutely loved it. I know most and love it more. Slaid says he is going to take a short break and be right back. His wife has set up a table where she is selling merchandise. I line up and buy a t-shirt which has lyrics to one of his songs.
On the front it says:
My drinking days are over
On the back it says:
But I’m still trouble bound
I also buy Donna a copy of the Live at the Horseshoe Lounge CD which I already own. His wife says I can get it autographed. I’m not much of an autograph guy but decide to line up to at least meet him and shake his hand. He is very nice and I ask him if he is going to do Sinner’s Prayer in the next set. He says no, he is sorry, the song isn’t part of the setlist anymore. So I tell him the story about hearing the song, the phone call, pulling over to the side of the road and looking it up. “That song,” I say, “is why I am here.” And he says, “Let me see what I can do.”
I say, “Okay, thanks.”
He doesn’t make me wait long. He gets back on stage and says he is going to open with a song he hadn’t planned on singing. And then he tells my story. In its entirety. From that makeshift three-inch raised stage. And then he sings Sinner’s Prayer.
And then Donna says, “How fucking cool is that.”
And then I say, “I know, right.”
We go back to the restaurant and have the coffee and dessert we missed. I give Donna the CD but I keep the t-shirt. She says she will be on the lookout for upcoming concerts. She says this was really fun.
I get into the car and realize Donna forgot to take her CD. I unwrap the covering and pop it into my player. I flip through until I get to it.
I’m not living like I should
I want to be a better man
A sinner’s prayer upon my lips
A broken promise in my hand
I know that there will come a day
A heavy price I’ll have to pay
I keep pretending to be good
I’m not living like I should
The end.