There Was a Choice

There was a choice. On a single night at the end of August an event conflict arose. We had purchased tickets for Poco, a group formed in the late sixties, had a brief run of almost fame, and then faded slowly away. I believe the last album was issued some time around 1986. Of the original members, on this night only Rusty Young remained in the band. (I think of the song “All Your Favorite Bands,” by the group Dawes: I hope that life without a chaperone is what you thought it'd be/I hope your brother's El Camino runs forever/I hope the world sees the same person that you've always been to me/And may all your favorite bands stay together.) I vaguely recalled hearing Poco in concert sometime in the early 1970s with my brother, and I remembered their song “Good Feeling to Know” and the joy I had felt during those performance moments. Despite the fact that the band did not stay together, I looked forward to the concert and hoped they might sing that song.
     But on that same night at the Edina Theater was a film version of Ian McKellan’s performance in King Lear. I have been attracted to Lear of late and especially as I grow older and more foolish. I have read the play twice of late, and actually did screen McKellan’s Lear somewhere on the computer. His performance fixed me to the screen and the mad scene made me cry (I think of Dar Williams’ song, “When I Was a Boy:” And he says, "Oh no, no, can't you see/When I was a girl, my mom and I we always talked/And I picked flowers everywhere that I walked/And I could always cry, now even when I'm alone I seldom do”). But I knew that on the big screen McKellan’s Lear would enthrall . . . I am an English major: always have been. Always will be.
     We chose Poco. For the closing song the band chose “Good Feeling to Know.” And for the first time in years I was up and dancing. Oh, not as I did during my days with the Grateful Dead, but neither was my movement a gentle swaying. Rather, my body movement reflected the joy and vigor I felt, and the boundless smile on my face was a part of that movement. There was nothing profound about the music (as there might have been say, at a Leonard Cohen or Bob Dylan event), but there was undistilled happiness. The band members were enjoying themselves, having a good time. And I existed in the moment. (I think of Ralph Waldo Emerson: "Do not think so much of the point we have left, or the point we would make, as of the liberty and glory of the way"). It was a good feeling to experience.

     It was what Rock n’ Roll has always been for me: the experience of joy and excitement. Oh, I have loved my folk music and the social conscious it inspired in me, and I do adore my Shakespeare and my novels, but when I want joy, I turn to rock n’ roll. It is a good feeling to know.