On Monday of this week, when I came home from work, my husband met me at the door with that sad-puppy-please-I-need-this-thing look on his face. He told me that there was a show that he had to see. Had to. I said “I don’t know honey, we’re kinda broke right now.” Then he tells me it’s John Mayall. So I give a huge sigh, and say “How much are the tickets?” “Twenty-one dollars,” he says. “Oh yeah, and Peter Green is with him.”
“Peter Green?” I said. “Fleetwood Mac Peter Green? ‘Better than God’ turned Howard Hughes Peter Green?” “Yes,” he said. “That’s why I have to go. I couldn’t live with myself if I missed it.”
So, I’m going to see John Mayall and Peter Green tonight.
Now, I’m not a huge fan of either of these guys. They certainly don’t suck, not at all. I’m just not a major fan (although I’m a fan of damn near everyone else that came through Bluesbreakers). But I just know what the concertgoers are going to be like. They’re going to know their stuff. Musicians, real ones, like my husband. And I’m going to be sitting there like a clueless dork. Oh well. I’m sure I’ll dig the music.
Oh yeah–according to reports that my husband has read regarding this tour, Peter Green plays harp mostly, and he doesn’t play “Oh Well,” which is the one Mac tune from those days that I positively adore.
Sigh. I’ll just clap when everyone else does, I guess. 