Last winter, I suffered through this bizarre episode where everyone around me accidentally had me convinced that Boz Scaggs didn’t exist, but then he started popping everywhere and I felt a small victory. Hats off to the universe for backing me on Boz Scaggs’ existence.
Thank god I often have old people radio stations playing in my bedroom, else I may not have known that Boz was going ON TOUR and that there was a Pittsburgh show! This was less than a week after I got a new succulent and named him Boz Scaggs; not trying to say I’m magic but I’M MAGIC.
I looked up tickets right away and my heart sank a little when I saw that they were pretty expensive — starting at $67. You have to remember that the shows I go to are for relatively small bands and I’m usually paying less than $20 for a ticket.
But you guys — fucking Boz Scaggs. He played a role in my childhood, and 2015 seems to be The Year of Sentimental Shows for me (Mike + the Mechanics, Howard Jones, SNOOP DOGG?!), so I knew that I had to go, and I also knew it meant going alone because we’re not made of money, you guys. I know it’s shocking that my blog isn’t pulling in the big bucks. But then someone bought two paintings from me on Etsy, which equaled the cost of one Boz Scaggs ticket + fees almost down to the cent. If that’s not fate stepping in…
So I was able to splurge and buy a ticket for the center seat in the first row of the balcony (there were no good seats left on the floor, and I prefer the balcony anyway), which is how I wound up spending what might have been an ordinary Sunday evening at the Carnegie Library Music Hall with several hundred of my elder-mates.
I arrived early enough to go to the “bar area” —which is just a table of Barefoot wine varietals set up in the library— and bought a plastic cup of cheap Zinfandel. I stood alone, laughing to myself, sipping the wine, and texting Henry.
“I am the youngest one here by a very large margin. People are staring at me suspiciously!”
Henry’s response was his famously succinct “LOL.”
There was a teenage girl there with her dad and she looked PISSED.
I wasn’t sure what appropriate “Going to the Boz Scaggs Show” attire consisted of, so I just wore jeans and my favorite Lauren Conrad sweater. I realized immediately that I was just fine with what I was wearing, right smack in the middle of Steelers-sweatshirted Yinzers and over-dressed Big Night Out broads, like this one old woman in a long fur vest who almost fell thanks to the voracity of her seat-dancing during Lowdown, and an old bitch who looked like she was at the fucking opera. Her husband was dressed like he just walked off a yacht to the tune of “What a Fool Believes.” Aging yuppies are amazing to watch.
There were a lot of blazers, loafers, and yes Alyson—a sea of slacks! One woman in her 60s had on a sheer white blouse, and I mean SEE-THRU, with nothing more than a black bra underneath. She was sitting in the front row off to the side, and I sure hope Boz was able to see her from where he stood onstage.
After downing my $5 wine, I made my way upstairs and handed an elderly usher my ticket.
“Oh, this is the BEST seat up here!” he said enthusiastically.
That’s one of the perks of going solo — there’s always that one lone vacancy in the middle of the sold-out seats!
“Don’t throw any of your clothes over the balcony!” he laughed, and then I started cracking up too, at the thought of old ladies throwing bras on stage for Boz.
My seat was right smack in the middle of the first row of the balcony: a perfect view, 100% unadulterated by fat, bobbing heads and wanton usage of cell phones. (However, the Library Music Hall ushers are quick to smack down on recording—pictures are fine, though. This makes me happy, because even though I do love to post Instavids at shows, I can’t stand it when people hold up their phones for the entire show. I like to grab my 15-second clip for sentimental reasons and then shove my phone back in my pocket.)
There was no opener, so I just relaxed in my seat between two sets of old couples and enjoyed the people-watching. I don’t know why, but I expected to see at least one person wearing culottes for some reason and I was really sad when that sighting didn’t happen.
For the record, the only reason I know what culottes are is because my idiot MOM made me wear them in elementary school, because nothing adds to frumpiness like wide-legged knee-length shorts paired with ANKLE SOCKS AND MOCCASSINS, THANKS MOM.
Boz and his band came out a little after 8:00 and the night of blue-eyed soul and soft rock jams. His backing band was incredibly jazzy — there were even a few sax solos! This pleased the old people greatly and much cheering and exploding applause occurred throughout the night. I was happy for these people to be out enjoying an artist that they loved, instead of wasting away at home, eating liver and onions and watching QVC. I hope that I’m still going to shows when I’m old.
Boz played a lot of stuff from his new album, none of which I knew, but that didn’t make it any less enthralling. I love his voice so much, and that band of his was FIRE. His back-up singer, Monet, was a show-stealer though. Halfway through the set, he said, “This is my favorite part of the night, when I get to introduce the talented Monet. But I just have to tell you: better buckle your seat belts.”
Boz took a step back while Monet blew our faces off with her rendition of “Until You Come Back To Me (That’s What I’m Gonna Do).” She can SANG, ya’ll. Every last arthritic body shot up from their seats to give her a standing ovation and I was like, “FUCK YES I was here for that!” Totally following her on Instagram now.
Boz played three of my favorites: Lowdown, Lido Shuffle, and motherfucking JOJO, which he prefaced by saying he wrote with David Foster and I got really giddy because I was obsessed with David Foster in the early 90s when he hosted an informercial for something that I no longer remember but I feel like it was some sort of radio or stereo system? Google is not helping me.
Sadly, “Look What You’ve Done To Me” was not in the set list for Boz’s last show of the tour, and this pains me because I noticed it was played at some of the other shows, ugh. I love that song! There was, however, another slow jam that he played that I didn’t really recognize, but it gave me the “Sitting In Pappap’s Kitchen” feels and I started openly weeping, which should shock no one as I always cry at least once at every show.
(You should have seen me at the Eisley and Copeland show last Friday. Two bands that make me sentimental to begin with, playing on a night that a Paris concert venue was just attacked by terrorists, and then someone gets engaged on stage!? My face was slick.)
Boz ended the last of several encores by 9:45 and said one final good night. I’m not used to getting out of a show so early, but I didn’t mind — now I’d have time to go home and watch The Walking Dead before it got spoiled for me!
What a great fucking show. Boz is like, 71 now, so I’m happy that I got the chance to see him. Even though the very next morning, I pulled something in my back when I was brushing my hair! Tell me that’s not a side effect of being immersed in a crowd of grandparents for a whole evening. It still hurts, too, FYI.
We were talking about the show at work and Todd said, “I knew it was real when Glenn said he knew who Boz Scaggs is.” And then Amber was like, “Oh yeah, how was the…..Bose…..Scaggs concert?” She will never be able to say his name right!
Life is so weird. I started the week having water squirted in my face by Beau Bokan at the Blessthefall show, and now I was ending it in what could have been the set of a new Cocoon movie. BOZ SCAGGS BRINGS THE LIFE FORCE.
(Ugh, now I’m thinking about how dreamy Steve Guttenberg is.)