12 VOLT WATER PUMPS SALE

A lesson in fragility.


About a week ago on a Saturday, I was listening to the radio and heard that The Chuck Berry was coming on New Year’s Day, to The Congress, one of Chicago’s remaining once glorious theaters. I thought to myself, wow! Chuck Berry, the granddaddy of rock-n-roll; I’ve got to see this show. I called on one of my guitar player friends, and it was set. We were going to see the show.

While driving down Milwaukee Ave. and upon approaching the venue’s marquee, there in lights was Chuck’s name. I laughed to myself and thought, I wonder if he still gets a kick out of seeing that, and fulfilling the lyrics. We parked, and fed Daley’s bloodsucking parking meters (for those from out of town this is another rant), and hurriedly hustled to line forming by the doors as it was general admission. We picked up our tickets at will call with little event. The general mood and feeling of the show goers was upbeat and happy. Strangers were talking with others about how great this show was going to be. Everyone was stoked up for the show.

We once again had to stand in line inside the lobby to wait for entry into the actual theater area. While standing there I looked up at the high ceilings and arches of the three story lobby, and thought, if this place could talk. The line for a general admission show was pleasantly civil; it was refreshing after the holiday hub-bub. I people watched as I waited; the spectrum of fans was broad, from tattooed pierced punk rockers to middle-aged, plump, balding Elvis look a likes, young girls in fifties attire with bright lip stick and bobby socks (which I love), long haired black leather clad heavy metal types, bikers, and older folks with canes.

The doors opened and we found a spot to stand about a hundred and twenty feet from the stage, dead center. The place filled, and you could feel the energy and mood build. Once again the politeness of the crowd was amazing to me. I people watched and talked with some of the others while waiting. The show was to start at seven, but didn’t get going until after eight. I assumed the house figured that 3500 people waiting for an hour would be most profitable for the liquor till. The Seventy something radio legend Dick Biondi came out and pumped the crowd several times during the wait. Ronnie Woo-woo, a local hero, known for be being the ultimate Cub fan, was there in full Cub jersey with a silver sequined Michael Jackson glove; he was hamming it up in the VIP seats and posing for the cameras. He never ventured into the general admission pen.

Finally, the theater went dark and the opening act took the stage. They were a sort of Ska-Reggae band. They weren’t bad, but not what I expected. The crowd wasn’t overly impressed with them although polite for the first couple of songs, and gradually it grew more restless as the singer kept reminding us that they were only going to play a few more songs. Finally they left the stage, and everyone cheered as Chuck berry would soon be taking the stage.

We waited a few minutes and the lights went dark, and then in a red sequined shirt with a red hallow bodied guitar, Mr. Berry took the stage. The crowd was thundering with applause. From the guitar sound you knew it was Chuck, but from the onset, everyone could almost immediately tell something was wrong. You see in the faces of the younger fans looking at each other, with questioning eyes, wondering what was going on.

At this point before I continue, I would like to say I’m in no way knocking the man; simply, I am relaying what I saw and felt that evening.

His songs were abridged. His guitar playing was erratic at best, although the unmistakable tone was there. He was missing the lyrics, and starting and stopping the songs abruptly. The backup band was doing their very best to follow the man, and were fine musicians, although unknown.

At several times during the show, Chuck was having a very tedious time attempting tuning to no avail. He turned on the bass player, after stopping in the middle of a song, waving a finger while shaking his head, telling him, “You don’t play louder than me.” He asked the piano player for a G, and attempted tuning several times. He at one point told the keyboard player he was out of tune. For a portion of the show of the show the keyboard player was just sitting there, looking sick, afraid to play. Chuck sat down and played the piano himself rather well at several times during the show.

The show did have its bright spots. There were moments when the brilliance of youth would flash back for a bit. His ad lib was very good. “Reel’n-n-rock’n”, and “My Ding-A-Ling”, along with a couple of blues numbers were the night’s high lights.

All things considered, I was still happy to be there to witness the legend live. Here was a man that has forgotten more about the guitar and entertaining than I’ll ever know. Here was an eighty-four year old pioneering original of rock-n-roll, a man who changed the face of music. Here was

5th grader Eamon Horwedel, center left, pumps his fist in the air to the music while 5th graders Wallace Anders, right, and Brandon Wade, left, walk next to him during the Haisley Elementary School Walk-a-Thon in Ann Arbor, Mich. on May 13, 2011. The walk-a-thon is the primary fundraiser for the school's PTO who uses the money towards educational, athletic, and cultural activities. The entire student body walks in two-and-a-half hour shifts throughout the school day, receives a free water bottle and all are eligible for prizes. Angela J. Cesere | AnnArbor.com

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