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When Music Set Us Free
Yesterday, today, and maybe tomorrow
I saw my first rock concert when I was thirteen. I treated my friends Rickey Abbott and Russell Aldridge to the Three Dog Night concert at Birmingham’s Boutwell Auditorium, formerly the Municipal Auditorium. Albert Boutwell had been the mayor of Birmingham during the 1960s. He was no “Bull” Connor, certainly, though he hardly understood what the political term “progressive” meant, either.
Fortunately, this story isn’t about him.
I paid four dollars a ticket for the show, and I still believe after all these years that the three of us had a blast. We weren’t great friends, but music brought us together on that night, and it’s pretty cool to know who your first concert was, who went with you, and how it all looked, felt, and sounded.
Likely we all wore our checked, “mod” pants, and white, buckled shoes, because, though music lovers, we were still Alabama boys, and former Alabama star quarterback Joe Namath wore white cleats and would soon be leading the New York Jets to their first and only Super Bowl title.
Agh, those poor Jets. Fortunately, this story isn’t about them, either.
Think of the Three Dog Night setlist:
“Celebrate,” “One (is the loneliest number),” “Eli’s Coming,” a cover of The…