Have you ever been sitting around with a bunch of friends and the subject turns to music and someone says "Man, let me tell you about this concert I saw - it was incredible"? Then everyone starts chiming in with "Yeah - I saw the Stones, Led Zeppelin, Willie Nelson, etc." We are all sure that 'our' experience was the best and I am sure that it was.

So now, LET ME TELL YOU ABOUT THE BEST CONCERT I ever saw. This concert was not at the coliseum or the civic center. It was in a friend's living room while I was sitting on the couch. I still get chills up my spine just thinking about this performance. I am very serious here. I have tried to use that performance as a standard every time I have ever played and have always fallen short--but that just means I get to try again and that's the fun part.

OK - here is the story. My oldest known friend, Johnny Carr, had a Christmas party for all of his musician buddies around 1978-79 (kind of fuzzy about that - 'course anyone at that party is probably kind of fuzzy about that). Johnny played keyboards in every band in the known world and invited all of these musicians to his party. Everybody brought their instrument and we jammed a little bit but mostly just had a good time. There were tons of people at this party and we all knew each other through music and it was a great night.

So it's now about 2:30 a.m. and I gotta drive 35 miles to get home, so it is time to go. Everyone was in the garage (that's where the jam took place) and the kitchen. I grabbed my guitar, and as we got ready to leave, Carolyn said she had to go to the bathroom. The one by the kitchen was occupied, so we headed to the back of the house to use the other facilities. Johnny had a big house, so we cut through the living room to get to the back of the house. When we got to the living room, we saw Frank Brittingham and his date. Frank was the musician we all wanted to be. Unbelievable guitar player, singer, songwriter. Anyway - while Carolyn was in the bathroom, I stood there awkwardly making conversation. I knew Frank, but not well, and felt like I was intruding on what was obviously a private moment. However, my guitar saved me. Frank asked to see what was in the case - sign of a good guitar player. I opened it and pulled out my 1969 Gibson b-25. By the way, over the years I have amassed way too many guitars but that Gibson is and always will be my favorite. I handed the guitar to Frank and will never forget what happened next.

Frank took the guitar and just held it for a minute. Then without looking up, he started playing a James Taylor song (I am pretty sure it was "Sweet Baby James"). I was sitting across from him on another couch and became frozen in space. I couldn't move - didn't want to. There was a lightness to the room and to me. Carolyn came back from the bathroom and sat down next to me. She never said "Let's go". She just sat down. When he finished that song he immediately started another. After a while, I realized there were other people in the room. They had come into the living room and been absorbed by the music. They made no sound, each filling whatever space they could find. Within no time, the room was packed. As each song ended, another song began. Frank was in his element and we were in his element with him. There was no applause or comment. Just perfect music and perfect silence. I know it lasted for at least an hour. In my mind it has lasted for a lifetime. When I think back on that event, it is not the music I remember as much as the feeling that I had. It was as close to being the music as I have ever experienced. Every time I play the guitar (and that is daily) I try to conjure up that feeling. I have come close a couple of times, but that experience is the touchstone, the ultimate goal. There are few people like Frank Brittingham in the world. Artists who can instantly connect with others on an emotional level. Artists who can set the pattern without realizing their influence on others.

My greatest concert was in Johnny Carr's living room, listening to Frank Brittingham pour out the truth.

P.S. - I have looked at my Gibson b-25 many times since and yelled "OK - you did it for Frank, why won't you do it for me!"