It was the occasion of First Friday in Gainesville. For those who aren’t familiar, it’s a free concert on the downtown square put on by the merchants and the city on the first Friday of every month from May through September.
The crowd began to form about an hour prior to showtime. It grew quickly and by the time the band took the stage we had reached critical mass — that point when a spontaneous chain reaction is imminent. The tipping point came when the first chords were struck, and the ensuing reaction was unstoppable.
“How could I dance with another?”
The band called itself The Invasion. The show was a tribute to the British Invasion. There were the Beatles, Stones, Kinks and others. Before the first song was over there was a small group that had taken the dance floor. Actually, “rushed” was more like it. By the second song, more dancers had joined the fray.
“Talkin’ ‘bout my generation.”
Truer words could not be spoken. And it didn’t matter which generation you wanted talk about. There were folks from every decade. From Boomers to Gen Alpha — that’s the one after the Gen Z kids, aka Millennials — were there.
I am at the young end of the Boomers. As I looked around, I was glad to see that our generation was well represented with most of them being older than me. Nothing keeps you young like rock and roll. While we seemed to be in the majority, I saw plenty of Gen X, Z’s and Alphas.
I was particularly taken by one couple on the dance floor. It was a woman and a young boy. A grandmother and her grandson. She looked to be in her late 60s while he was about six. Both were dancing with wild abandon, totally lost in the moment with no plan on finding their way back.
There’s no explaining this reaction that cut across the ages assembled. It’s something that is more easily understood on an emotional level. But let me make a feeble attempt.
It’s the lack of production, of polish, of studio tweaking that allows the music to reach in, grab you by the guts and demand that you move to the music. Don’t misunderstand me. I love slick production. I’m a big fan of the polished production of the Eagles, Toto, ELO and similar groups. Things like multitracking and post-production processing allow artists and their producers to create some fantastic works.
But it is the raw, stripped down sound you get from a guy who simply plugs his guitar into an amp and starts to play over the driving rhythm of a drummer who only has a snare, bass drum, a high hat and one cymbal, that causes the world to want to move. That combination creates a visceral reaction that forces even the most arrhythmic on the planet to want to gyrate to the beat, even Presbyterians—and that’s saying something. (Note: I am Presbyterian and am certain that our sense of rhythmic movement is somehow removed at our baptism. If you ever see me attempting to dance, you’ll agree.)
“She loves you yeah, yeah, yeah.”
Considering the little boy’s age, it’s not likely he’ll remember that moment of wild abandon, dancing with his grandmother in a parking garage. But he’ll remember the music. One day he will hear some of those songs and have an overwhelming feeling of nostalgia that reminds him of his grandmother for reasons he can’t explain. A feeling similar to his sudden desire to dance with his children with wild abandon living and loving in the moment.
“And with a love like that, you know you should be glad.”
