This past Saturday marked the end of an era.
Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young came to town. I took my dad.
Until then, I had never seen a concert with my dad. That's right. None. Zip. Zilch. Zero. Nil. Not any.
Hard to believe?
Well, consider this: He doesn't like the "noise" of bands like Metallica, Megadeth and Pantera.
In fact, back in the early '80s, when Judas Priest was good — "Screaming for Vengeance," "Defenders of the Faith" and "Point of Entry" — my dad asked me to help him move from one office to another. I showed up with my friend and subjected my dad to a barrage of high-pitched shouts ofRob Halford — before 8 a.m.
Dad is fond of remembering that day: "Scott would turn to me and say, 'Boy, this guy from Judas Priest can scream well.' "
So, taking my dad to a metal show was definitely not in the cards.
But, neither are many of the popular artists plaguing the charts today. I can't see him at Limp Bizkit, Korn or Marilyn Manson.
In fact, there are times when I can't even see myself at those shows. (That's why I'll be sending Dainon Moody to Korn for the paper's review later this month.)
I have, on occasion, seen my dad at a couple of concerts. Elton John, the Grateful Dead.
But last Saturday was the first time we went together to the same show.
When I was a toddler, I do remember Dad playing his guitar, making up yarns and singing a song. I remember messing up his collection of Kingston Trio albums and looking at stacks of reel-to-reel tapes of Simon & Garfunkel, Richie Havens and the Carpenters.
I also remember hearing him harmonize with his friends when they'd come over. Dad played music all the time. He'd play his guitar before dinner. He played when he was babysitting me. He played when my friends came over. And I'm sure he played when I was asleep.
The guitar wasn't the only instrument he played. When I would visit him on the weekends as I was growing up, he'd pull out a mouth harp and play along to Simon & Garfunkel.
On trips he'd pull out some of his bluegrass tapes — "Old and In the Way," featuring David Grisman and Jerry Garcia, was one of the tapes we listened to on our way to the Grand Canyon back when I was 10. And then there was the Doors.
Later, he started getting into country music — we'll stop there before it gets ugly.
Every now and then, my old man would humor me by throwing in one of my tapes — Molly Hatchet (once again, back when it was a good band), Styx and Led Zeppelin.
At this concert last week, hearing my dad singing along to CSN&Y tunes like "Love the One You're With," "Marrakesh Express" and "Our House" was so cool. And I looked around and saw many children and grandchildren singing along with the band.
I could tell my dad wanted to start playing his guitar again.
"It's making my fingers ache," he said during the show. Then, referring to CSN&Y, he said, "Look at them. All the stuff they've been through, and they're still going. Just look at them."
You know, Dad, all of those guys — except for Young — are older than you. And Young is only a few months your junior.
So, go ahead. Pick up your guitar again. I'd like to hear you play. And I'm sure your grandchildren would, too.
By the way, Dad, you wanna go see Lords of Acid next month?
Didn't think so.