He came out and did his little song and dance. Jig was kinda up as his joints needed a few icy hot applications. Multi-tasking: he sang the tunes we sing along to on a regular basis very well, while he dug into his pocket for an acorn repeatedly (to no avail).
He forgot the words to Gentle on my Mind, his first song, even though there appeared to be one of those autocues on stage. Between song chatter was limited to garrulous rambling. Then he’d get songs mixed-up and stories would end abruptly. Not only did we excuse these missteps we encouraged them. We thought they were awesome.
Six piece band surrounded him like a gridiron line would a quarterback. Only difference was they were behind him. The grey balding piano player looked like one of those guys with a pristine 78 collection. Glen when he was introducing Classical Gas goes to him you know this one and the guy says yeah it’s great. Glen almost seemed disappointed that the guy knew it.
Glen was so good on the guitar you questioned whether he ever played the same song twice. Once he strapped in to the device and got his hands near it, the sound travelled from it instinctively, rhythmically like the whole operation was out of his hands. Potential headline: Huge blocks of chocolate baritone melted by finger picking hot fudge on Sunday.
If any hearts had stopped beating (and I’m sure some did, average age last night: 87), then Glen’s Lone Ranger theme would have made them feel like they were on top of Silver all over again.
Glenn was a little too goofy to cry a tear to last night. But that’s okay we got to meet his daughters, Debbie and Ashley, one of whom he sang a lovely duet with about doing the wild thing with her. The floodgates almost burst on that one let me tell ya.
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