"My First Time"

Prior to getting my first guitar at age nine, there was another seminal happening in my musical life - my first concert.

My father loved "traditional" country music (it was just plain "country" to him). He also loved bluegrass. In the evenings when he came home from work, as Mama was cooking supper, Daddy would sit at the kitchen table, drink his last cup of coffee of the day, and listen to WPLO. The Schering-Plough Corporation owned many AM stations in the Southeast in those days. WPLO was their country affiliate in Atlanta.  It could have easily been the only station on that old radio. Daddy never listened to any other.

One day, Rick Fight, the DJ on WPLO, announced an upcoming concert at the old Atlanta Municipal Auditorium.  This would later be the place that I would graduate from high school, see Alvin Lee in concert, and even attend the "Live Atlanta Wrestling" card with Daddy on a few Friday nights while I was in college.

Rick Fight's announcement was that, very soon, the most popular act in bluegrass music was coming to Atlanta. Lester Flatt & Earl Scruggs were riding high the success of their television show theme, "The Ballad of Jed Clampett." The year was 1962. The Beverly Hillbillies was still in the first weeks of its inaugural season. Daddy had been an avid viewer of their Saturday night television show, "The Martha White Grand Old Opry Show," for some time. The timing could not have been better.

I was barely seven years old when Daddy and I walked into the Atlanta Municipal Auditorium that Saturday afternoon. I had never seen such a monstrous concert hall in all my seven years. The show was sold out, and our tickets were about twenty-five rows back on the floor. When Flatt & Scruggs finally came onstage, I was standing in the seat beside Daddy. The crowd rose to its feet at their opening number, and never sat back down during the show. As a result, Daddy sat me up on his shoulders. I could see better than anyone around us!

What I remember was the suits Lester and Earl wore, the brightness of the gold tone ring on Earl's banjo, his incredible speed as a banjo picker, and the warmth of their BIG sound. Their backing band, the "Foggy Mountain Boys," consisted of Paul Warren on fiddle, John Ray "Curly" Seckler on mandolin, Burkett "Uncle Josh" Graves on dobro (resonator guitar), and English P. "Cousin Jake" Tullock on upright bass.

These six great musicians kept the crowd on its feet for the entire ninety minute show. Rousing applause and cheers went up after each number. And, a deathly quiet hush engulfed that old auditorium during the sacred portion of the show, when the band did several hymns - some of which we done acapella.

Leaving the auditorium that evening, a seven year old boy was deeply moved by the power of music, the incomparable way it made a sold out crowd of fans react, and the indescribable way that it spoke to the heart. If there was anything better than this, I could not imagine in my wildest dreams what it was.

Since that fateful time, I have been blessed to be able to attend lots of concerts. The list includes: Chicago, Pure Prairie League, Dan Fogelberg, James Taylor, The Eagles, Fleetwood Mac, Johnny Winter, Bob Seger, Grand Funk Railroad, .38 Special, Foreigner, Styx, Bad Company, Mother's Finest, Dixie Dregs, The Cars, Aerosmith, Ricky Skaggs & Kentucky Thunder, Kansas, The Rolling Stones, Eric Clapton, Lynyrd Skynryd, The Outlaws, Creedence Clearwater Revival, Ted Nugent, ZZ Top, Boston, Peter Frampton, Tom Petty, Gary Wright, The Georgia Satellites, Steve Winwood, Heart, The Atlanta Rhythm Section, Dave Edmunds, and (last but not least) Ernest Tubb.

I never saw Flatt & Scruggs in concert again. But, I did begin a journey that day - at the tender age of seven. A quest that, now at age fifty-six, is still ongoing.

The quest for THE concert of all concerts.

I'll keep you posted.