As I sat in the audience of the Colonial Theatre last night, soaking in the Woody’s House of Washington reunion jam, it suddenly hit me what a big part of the music scene that dusty but hallowed place was.
For those outside the area, by now you’ve probably figured out the Berkshires really are America’s Premiere Cultural Resort…a slogan our Chamber of Commerce uses.
As I pulled into the kitchen for an evening salute to some golden raisins, the ringing in my ears from the redux night at Woody’s felt right…three hours of the blues will do that.
Allow me to elaborate.
Burnt Bacon and the Home Fries, crushed the opening with a solid 45 minute set, rounding it out with the best female vocalist of the night...the only one, and they called her Lady-Di.
Then came the Spampinato Brothers, formerly NRBQ, clean and efficient, with my favorite song of the show; Riding in My Car…this one got the ladies up.
Pounding the stage next, with a serious lead singer and the best old fat guy of the gig, was the band Fat…turning 5 moms into 20, dancing in the aisles.
Wrapping up the concert was Commander Cody, looking old but sounding young. His keyboard is better than ever and he had the biggest hit of the night–Hot Rod Lincoln.
From my perspective, today’s Rock ‘n’ Roll is a lot like a watered down social justice gospel.
The kids have lost their way because they’re so far removed from its origins.
These four bands were like first century Apostles, with Jesus’ words still ringing in their ears.
Last night’s rock disciples were so close to Chuck Barry you could see him smiling in every old dude’s grin…especially mine.
I had a tremendous time, even though I was flying solo…the audience was so diverse I counted three shades of red necks…inside joke for locals.
The good news; only one drunk chick.
The bad news; she landed on my lap as the moms were rushing the stage.
Funny how things change as we grow old.
Thirty-five years ago, the only reason I went to Woody’s was so that a drunk chick would…never mind.
Last night I just worried about my sport jacket and the stench an icky discharge.
Thanks Woody and Company for pulling this together…my all time favorite memory from the Roadhouse was the band Orleans, at the top of their fame…hearing Still the One as I danced with a finance’ named Natalie.
Here’s where I believe Woody’s ranks in Berkshire music lore.
Tanglewood was for the big boys, like James Taylor, Seals and Croft, and Stills and Nash.
The Music Inn was a poor man’s Tanglewood, with Bonnie Raitt and company.
But Woody’s–that was a poor man’s Music Inn.
Last night proved it.
The Lighthouse at the Boy’s Club was the poor man’s Woody’s.
You know you’re a red neck…or at least a music lover from that 70’s show in the Berkshires…if Woody knows you by name.