The opening band, Kansas, didn't do much to dispel the fears. Yes, they played "Dust in the Wind," but their other songs were more cacophonous than I remember. By the time I was ready to slip in the ear plugs, though, the opening set was over and Chicago was on stage. The volume went down and the energy level went up. Here was the soaring trumpet in "Does Anybody Really Know What Time It Is?" and the driving keyboards in "Saturday in the Park."
And even though I'm a classical music nerd, I still knew every song. More to the point, every song took me back to a me I hadn't been in years; to sweaty high school slow dances and college parties in the top floor "rack rooms" of gritty fraternity houses.
It was enough to make me believe that the past isn't really over after all, that it lives within us and can be sparked to life by a brass chord, a guitar riff, a voice. That music is a place, after all, and a visit there can make us feel young again.
Photo: Wikipedia