Dear Friends,
Elton John played in Riga Arena last night; this was the most expensive performance event ever to take place in Riga. The arena, only a short distance from my flat, is newly constructed, and is most often used for hockey -- one of Latvia's most popular national pastimes.
My partner for the evening was Inga, my landlady, whom I met at 8:15. Inga, dressed in black and pearls, fled down her stairs with her friend to whom I was introduced. "I'm so excited," Inga said. "And we have had some wine to drink so I'm even more excited!"
Inga and I fetched a ride to the concert in another one of her tenant's, Edgar, new car. Edgar is a drummer in one of Latvia's premiere indy bands, and Inga later told me that when she met Edgar he had very little. So, in exchange for board, Edgar managed to renovate some of the flats in Inga's property, which she consistently refers to collectively as "our home."
The arena was bustling by the time we arrived. The atmosphere prior to the show felt very familiar -- patrons munching on nachos or drinking a beer, T-shirt salespersons peddling their wares, long lines to the women's restrooms, no lines to the men's -- but the crowd, as a whole, or at least the portion I saw, was dressed more formally than what I would have expected for such a concert. In my dark jeans and black sweater, I was on the casual end of the attire spectrum.
Walking in, I asked Inga what her favorite Elton John songs were. "Honky Cat," she stated without hesitation. At that moment, I knew we were in for a fun night.
After some searching inside, Inga and I managed to find our seats in the third floor. These tickets were 39 Lats a piece (so, $80). Standing room tickets on the floor cost 29 Lats, but for 200 Lats, you could join your friends in a second floor suite. This was Inga's first time to the Arena. "We are explorers!" she said proudly, with a smile.
"How nice of you to bring an old lady with you," she said. "My son, he would never do this. Geezus."
"It's the least I can do for you, after all of your kindness," I said.
"No, it is big."
I had been anticipating this night since arriving in Riga. Elton John is ubiquitous the world-over. In one car ride, with a few flips of the dial, you can find his music on the classic rock station, the adult contemporary, the Oldies station, and every once in a while, still, on Top Forty stations methodically churning out the flavors of the month. And that goes for the States and Latvia... and maybe a few other nations, too.
In the last few years, I'd been to shows of other long-standing, but aging, artists. Bob Dylan's unintelligible vocals were more forgettable to me than the clouds of strange smoke lingering over the audience. James Taylor comfortably carries on, riding the waves of his dated but superb repertoire. B.B. King most deservedly now sits through his shows. Amy Grant traded in her band (and shoes) for symphonies, and Randy Newman, whom I saw at the Vienna Opera House during the annual summer jazz festival in 2006, used only his voice and his piano to make music.
What kind of show would Elton put on? I wondered.
Suffice it to say, after seeing one, Elton does whatever kind of show Elton wants. Unlike the aforementioned artists, he has remained a viable force in the music industry. (He was the first Western artist to tour the Soviet Union and Israel.) While I have not been an avid follower or fan, anyone who pays a bit of attention and has ears knows that Elton John has continued to concoct hit songs consistently over the last four decades.
Furthermore, could any one of those other artists -- or even the menagerie of all of them -- sell out an arena in Riga, Latvia? Doubtful.
At 9:00, Elton's five-man band took the stage and commenced with an instrumental prelude. The sound reminded me a bit of Yanni, and I was unaffected. I did get a kick out of the band guys, though, assuredly fine musicians -- but each, well, older. A couple had double-chins, another was bone-thin. Each had some version of "old rocker" long hair. I couldn't help but think of the caricature depictions of aging British rockers in the films Love Actually and Hugh Grant's character in Music and Lyrics.
A few moments later, the Sir himself emerged. He was dressed as ... well, as Elton John. A long black jacket with embroidered ornamental designs. The back of this coat said something about "Las Vegas" and featured a minute Elton, standing upon a diamond, batting stars into the the sky. The thought of him playing baseball tickled me... especially in those shoes -- black hightops with glowing strips of yellow and red -- and blue-tinted sunglasses. Watching him sit behind the glimmering grand piano, my illusions of aging rocker has-beens vanished, however. Here's a musician (just over 60 now) who's still full of spit and vinegar... and capable of more than a couple moving ballads.
As the second piece of the evening, "The Bitch is Back," began with the expletive flashing on the giant screen behind the stage, I deduced the production was striving to be a full-sensory experience. And it was. Some of the visual effects complemented the music -- "Rocket Man" was enhanced by the solar graphics -- but a lot of the evening brought to mind the worthy theatrical advice (also a good metaphor for life) as stated by my high school director: "Not every number can be a showstopper." I could have done without the dancing letters -- "E-L-T-O-N" -- during "Bennie and the Jets." The cascading red, white, and blue stars and stripes during "Philadelphia Freedom" felt like a chintzy post-9/11 montage, and I wondered how the Latvians would respond to this blatant display of Americana -- especially from a Brit. (Of course, freedom is still a present and relevant topic for Latvians.) The colorful, blinking squares during "Honky Cat" reminded me of an over-blown set from Rowan and Martin's Laugh-In (minus the dancing girls), but Inga was enthralled. "Ohh," she uttered, pointer fingers extended and arms moving in her seat.
Even some of the slower numbers were treated in some way. The band exited the stage prior to "Candle in the Wind" and I thought, finally, just the voice and the piano. But the purity of the moment was short-lived, as canned strings coming from the keyboard joined the music on the second verse. "Sacrifice," Elton's 1990 hit that earned him his first Number One in the UK, garnered the most enthusiastic initial response from the crowd. This surprised me; while the tune is memorable, it seems to be one of his more straight-forward if not milktoast compositions. Could it be that for a lot of the audience this was the first Elton John single they were exposed to? The crumbling of Soviet rule in late 1989, early 1990 also ushered in hitherto unlawful products -- music from the West included.
Another song that received a very warm reception was "Sorry Seems to be the Hardest Word." Curious. However, from my more-than-usual exposure to VH1 in Latvia (it's one of two English channels on my TV), I have learned that Elton recently loaned his song (and piano and vocals) to the latest in a long line of slick and shiny boy bands -- this one British -- which took the song to the top of the charts.
The best moments of the night came when the lights and graphics were not so spastic and the music became the sole focus. "Daniel" was expressive, the notes of "Tiny Dancer" danced right off the keyboard, and "I Guess That's Why They Call It the Blues" was given a thick but well-executed bluesy treatment. "Crocodile Rock," in spite of the enormous animated singing crocodile, was just plain fun. The audience more than covered the looping falsetto, "La-la-la-la-la-la..." (After all, Latvia is penned as the "Land That Sings.") In spite of the at-times heavy-handed auxiliary dog and pony show, the songs comprised the essence of the evening. Elton did very little speaking (would he do more in a country where English is the native tongue?) and only once gave a stab at humor. While introducing his bandmates, he introduced the male keyboard player as the "President of the Lesbian Stamp Collectors of California." I chuckled... but I was the only one in my neck of the arena.
Elton John more than satisfied his attentive audience. Toward the start, he promised to play many old favorites along with a few new numbers. After all, he is promoting a new album. But the majority of the tunes were pulled from his well-established, impressive canon. For an encore, Elton reappeared to play "Don't Let the Sun Go Down On Me" which was redolent and powerful (although Steve and John from First Prez could have played the horns so much better than the keyboard). My appetite was satisfied when Elton announced he'd like to dedicate the last song to us, his "loving" audience: "Your Song." With the first words of "It's a little bit funny, this feeling inside...," for the first time that evening, I had the feeling that I was connecting to the music on some higher level.
The evening brought to mind the always-attractive lure (if not pressure) of "doing a new thing." What do you do, when you're Elton John and you have this new tune you're pretty pleased with, but all the audience wants from you is "Crocodile Rock" for the millionth time? I guess you add lights and video. Our universe may be expanding, yet, while the world itself is shrinking, it is not becoming so small so soon as our corporate attention spans. Call it the music video effect: we want to enjoy seeing our music just as much or more so than we want to enjoy hearing it. Image prevails as king.
Amidst the copious bells and whistles of last night's concert, I kept mentally retreating back to the Vienna Opera House where I heard Randy Newman play. The seats there were the worst seats I've ever had at a concert. The Vienna Opera house, old and beautiful as it is, though many-storied, the different levels are not staggered. From my seat next to the ceiling, I saw a quarter of the piano. There were no screens. I went into that concert knowing only a handful of songs, so each became a new and cherished gem. I sat next to the people I love most. So, many different factors contributed, I'm sure, to this most memorable experience, but I have never been so moved by one voice and the lonely fullness of a solitary piano. This reassures me that the illusions and recollections evoked within a human mind are one thousand times more powerful and perfect than any induced by technology-driven stimuli. Music is enough. I concur with what I consider to be Elton's crowning lyric: "My gift is my song, and this one's for you."
"Teem, this night for me was very philosophical," Inga told me as we waded through the sea of people. Turns out, Inga received her first Elton John record in 1974. Her mother's cousin, who had migrated to Australia in the wake of communism, sent the record to Inga, secretly. There were other records, too -- Zappa, Miles Davis, Beatles -- and then there were plenty that were confiscated and never arrived.
"To think so many years later I see Elton John here in Riga... ahh." Inga was out of words. I haven't seen life as she has, but I am seeing my own life with new eyes. And listening with new ears.
Yours,
Tim
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Definitely the most memorable musical evening, however, was Friday when I accepted a last-minute invitation to attend the opera (my first opera) Turandot by Puccini in the exquisite and stately National Opera House. (This particular opera was first performed in Riga in 1930.) I had been warned that people tend to take in their operas fully dressed in their finest. So, stepping into the main lobby wearing my black suit and tie, I was met by a white-gloved doorman and a host of tuxedo-clad attendants. And that was just the foyer. Inside the ornate theater itself, I was overcome by the magnitude of the chandelier. And that was just the lighting. The performance was tremendous -- and much to my delight, I was able to bask in the live rendering of the famous baritone aria "Nessun dorma". Even though the libretto offered the audience texts in both Latvian and English, my ears predominantly held sway over my eyes.
