Loud, Fast and Out of Control

Rhino Records is one of the great keepers of the rock and roll faith and they have released tons of CD collections showcasing particular stars of that religion. Their Standells Greatest Hits featured, of course, Dirty Water, but also the song on the flip side of the 45, Rari, in an extra-length version -- a full two minutes longer -- that I had never heard before, but now cherish.

Rhino also put out the boxed set Loud, Fast and Out of Control: a 4-CD compilation with some really kick-ass early rock songs. You of course know Eddie Cochran’s C’mon Everybody, Elvis’s Jailhouse Rock, and Wanda Jackson’s Fujiyama Mama, but can you really be a rock and roller without Jumps, Giggles and Shouts by Gene Vincent and His Blue Caps or King Kong by Big T Tyler?

I was thinking of this set Tuesday night while I suffered through a concert that was way too loud, often fast and, yes, totally out of control. I went with my buddy Malette to hear B. B. King, with Buddy Guy opening for him, at DAR Constitution Hall. I'm not a BBK fan, but going to a concert with an old friend looked good when presented to me in an email.

Looks can be deceiving.

The concert started exactly at its advertised time, 7:30pm. I was thrilled by that, but within minutes, the thrill was gone. Buddy Guy, at 74 still an electrifying guitar player, was so loud that the distortion made my teeth rattle and my head ache. He's known as a blues man but I will remember him as a thrash metal guitarist, and trash metal is NOT music I have ever liked. I actually sat out the last 15 minutes of his set, downing four Ibuprofen in the lobby.

Then, after a far-too-long intermission, B. B. King's band came out and warmed up the crowd with two numbers. They were red, hot and tight and with their four brass players they reminded me of the Stax house band: Booker T and the MGs with the Bar-Kays. The legend himself then took the stage, or should I say, throne, since, at 85, B. B. King walks slowly to center stage and then sits while an assistant hands him a guitar.

He then played a bit and talked a lot and played a bit more and talked a lot more and played . . . well, you get the picture. Nothing he did was terribly impressive, except that he can still take the stage as he has for over sixty years. I give him his due, I don't deny his creds, but he's like many a grandfather who doesn't know when to stop.

The crowd loved it.


Well, some of the crowd. I left while the endless thank you / good night / thank you / please invite me back / thank you finale was going on . . .  and on -- and I wasn't the only one to leave. Even Malette came out of the auditorium while the music was still playing.

Jean-Pierre Rampal was one of the greatest instrumentalists ever, but, like Mr. King, he performed longer than he should have. The great flutist had good days and not-so-good days.

With all due respect to a true master and a national treasure, I wonder when B. B. King last had a good day. I wish I had been there.

B. B. King when I should have seen him.