Internet, I hope you will permit me a moment. A moment for a love letter of sorts.
For some Memphians, Al Green may be old news. Or one of those local cultural staples that, like Elvis or Graceland or barbecue or the Peabody ducks, you just sort of eventually become immune to because of its ubiquity.
But to me? Al Green is still a larger-than-life legend, a mythical beast I’d not yet glimpsed until Saturday night. Someone to get entirely too excited about. Someone to structure an entire evening around.
Allow me to explain.
I was but a glimmer in my parents’ eyes when Al Green was crooning in his heydey. I don’t think my family ever really got into soul music. The Turners were a steadfastly country-music household, so Al Green was a non-entity to me for a long, long time.
And yet.
My sophomore year of high school (1997-98, if you must know), I started dating a senior I’d had a crush on forever (in reality? maybe, like, weeks). We’d ride around town in his brown ‘69 Chevy Nova with a giant boombox in the back seat spinning CDs since his stereo only offered AM radio. And one of the most-spun discs in that boombox? Al Green’s Greatest Hits. (Say what you will about Greatest Hits albums, but this was pretty revolutionary stuff for teenagers from my hometown.) It was the first time in my life I had been exposed to soul music in any real way, and having my young puppy love blossom to a soundtrack of Al Green wailing like a lovesick panther with a shard of glass stuck in his paw, well, it felt sweet and sophisticated and perfect in every possible way.
That was my introduction to the Reverend. And my respect and admiration for him and his voice and his music has just grown since then.
So getting to see him (up close for three songs and then back behind the stage — not backstage but behind the stage where you couldn’t see anything) for the first time tonight was a treat for me. (Bonus: I caught Elvis Costello backstage watching Al Green. Jeez. Too much greatness in one area.) I won’t even feign journalistic indifference or whatever. I was totally excited and then blown away when the man, who is well into his 60s, was struttin’ and dancin’ and hamming it up for his completely enthusiastic audience. And how completely amazing to see a backing band so clearly psyched to be a part of a man’s music. (They were seriously tight. Especially the percussionists.) There were some audio foibles early on that clearly frustrated him, but he kept that wide grin on his face the whole time and kept the crowd engaged.
I’m a little sore that I didn’t get to snag one of the many red roses he tossed into the audience, but that’s nothing.
I’m so happy I got the chance to see him while he’s still full of fire.
This piece originally appeared as a post on The Commercial Appeal’s Memphis in May blog (now defunct), posted May 3, 2009