SHARING THE SHOWS
So after a few days reconnecting with old friends in El Paso, it was onto Colorado for the annual Widespread Panic run at Red Rocks. It’d been on my bucket list to see a band at Red Rocks for a while, preferably Panic.
At any rate, I got in a day early to bop around Denver and catch a Rockies game at Coors Field (park #21 of 30). Friday, I met up with my friend Bob who drove me to the venue (the altitude was messing with me and I thought it might be cool to let someone else take the wheel the first night). We tried to get him a miracle, but it didn’t happen. At any rate, he dropped me off at one of the lots. The walk up those stairs was crazy; I’m told a lot of people have to stop to take breaks, and I can see why. I’m in good physical shape, and even I was getting winded going up those stairs. Why did I do this again, I thought. When I got to the top, I understood why. The view of those mountains is, hands-down, the best I’ve seen at a concert venue (sorry, Camden, you’ve been bumped to #2). I was a little lightheaded from the altitude, but the advice I kept hearing was water, water, and more water. Fortunately, security was wise enough to know that I needed my giant water bottle, which I kept refilling in the venue’s museum (pretty cool narrative of the history of Red Rocks). I indulged in a Nacho Deluxe from the venue, the taste of which reminded me of the “taco meat” from my elementary school. Anywho, the seating’s labeled but not assigned, and people are constantly passing through, and a couple of folks crowded into my space, which tested my patience for a spell, but as I was taught, “You gotta dance ‘em out!” So I did. The band opened with “Puppy Sleeps,” which I had first heard on the 6/23/18 show a few days prior on my Relisten App. I hung with a nice couple from Arkansas named Allen and Tanya. I promised them I’d include them in the blog, so here goes, guys J I jammed nicely during “Henry Parsons Died,” Neil Young’s “Walk on,” and “Fishwater.” “St. Louis” was a nice “slowdown” tune, which preceded “Rock,” “Rebirtha,” and “Pigeons.” Highlights included a young lady playing air bass next to my air guitar and a loud guy who insisted I go to the show in Telluride (I’d love to, but hey, I gotta adult sometime). The lights went down for the second set, and the band busted out a tune I had never heard, which upon looking up, I learned was “Down on the Farm” by Little Feat. “Tall Boy” was a nice jam. “Machine” and Barstools and Dreamers” are okay. During the latter, I refilled my water and saw there was a videocast in the museum. I sat down for a few minutes, away from the crowd. I was up and running once the opening notes for “Love Tractor” hit. “I’m Not Alone” was another slowdown, but “Big Wooly Mammoth” and Warren Zevon’s cover “Lawyers, Guns, and Money” brought it to a rousing close. I had been starting to yawn under “Barstools,” but dammit, I was gonna make it till at least the encore. After the second set, I began to walk toward the bottom. I’d stay if it was one of my favs, like “Bear’s Gone Fishin’” Or “Climb to Safety.” Instead, it was Link Wray’s “Rumble” (I only knew it was the song from the Pulp Fiction trailer until I looked it up). I found a nice dancing nook. Once “Chilly Water” came out (meh), I was gone. There were a bunch of food stands set up, one of which was Chick-Fil-A. “Chick Fil-A?” a woman commented. “Seriously!?” “Maybe I’ll have it on Sunday,” the dude she was with said. “That would be appropriate,” I said, my dig at the Catholic church. I headed toward the Uber lot, but it just seemed so much easier to get one of those cabs that were lined up right on the street. I popped in one of those, and just spaced out all the way back to my Airbnb in Littleton, where I watched an episode of Mr. Iglesias, that new Netflix comedy series starring Gabriel Iglesias, a comedian I’ve grown to love in the past week. After that, it was lights out.
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