Don't believe "Behind the Music." Washed-up musicians have great lives. Inexplicably, in the 15-minutes-of-fame world of quasi-celebrities and out-of-work TV stars waiting tables to make ends meet, the concert-going public has a long memory for and firm allegiance to musicians that used to make them smile.
Because of this phenomenon, no matter how far past their prime they are, and no matter how much their shows suck, once-great artists will always sell out their reunion tours and special appearances.
When I was 17, I saw Bob Dylan, who was 63 at the time. It was almost 30 years since he had recorded an album that I even marginally liked and tickets cost more than my dental work, but to me, seeing the author of "Blood on the Tracks," "Blonde on Blonde" and "Highway 61 Revisited" before he died trumped these nagging obstacles.
The show was terrible. Nothing he said was intelligible, and his endearingly bad voice was just bad, sounding the way I imagine Satan's voice sounds through a megaphone. Dylan rarely played instruments, and when he did, he did so poorly. He missed cues, forgot words and at times seemed to be playing entirely different songs than his band.
In retrospect, it was one of the worst concerts I've ever seen, but at the time, I left convinced that I had just witnessed history. To me, it never mattered what Bob Dylan sounded like; to be able to say that I saw him was enough to send me on my way feeling like I had got my money's worth and then some.
I left the Leo Kottke show at Harvard's Sanders Theater on Saturday with a similar sense of satisfied euphoria, but not because I could now cross another name off my list of legendary musicians to see before I die. Unlike Dylan, The Rolling Stones, Willie Nelson and countless other musical icons who reached their creative peak when gas cost a nickel, the 61-year-old Kottke has largely weathered the ravages of time and age, still performing with the virtuosic ability, trailblazing creativity and heartwarming approachability that has rightly established the guitar player as one of the American music canon's most important figures.
Let's not get confused: 61-year-old Leo Kottke is not the same as 23-year-old Leo Kottke. Though it did improve as the night went on, after nearly 30 albums, his rich, baritone voice is pretty thoroughly shot. What has in the past been jokingly described as the sound of "geese farting on a muggy day" now actually resembles that. Perhaps more noticeable was that his patented, aggressive finger- and classical-picking style has lost some of its flawless proficiency. This is one of the single best living American acoustic guitar players, so for his hands to be slow or inaccurate along the fret board is kind of a big deal.
But really, and I know it sounds like I'm making excuses, it's wrong to fault someone for not being able to fully execute something they created. No one yelled at Russ Tyler when he couldn't connect on his knuckle puck against Iceland because he invented the knuckle puck, and even when he couldn't quite get it done, he was still better at it than anyone else. Without Russ Tyler, there is no knuckle puck, so to diss him when he misses it overlooks his achievement of creating it.
The same is essentially true with Leo Kottke. He didn't play his six- or 12-string guitars with the freakish fluidity that he proved possible on 1971's "6- and 12-String Guitar," but he still put on one of the most technically impressive displays of guitar skill that I have ever seen. Even at 61, after a lifetime of playing the guitar and a crippling bout of tendonitis, Kottke is still miles better than the impressive group of musicians he has inspired, from M. Ward to Six Organs of Admittance.
Kottke really does play guitar like no one else. During one of his trademark 'tween-songs rambles, he warned that sometimes his hands have minds of their own. On "Untitled," his fingers dance and glide over the strings with such superhuman grace that it seemed impossible for him to be in control. During several instrumental numbers, he achieved the effects of a slide guitar without using a slide. On the sublime "Balloon," recorded with Phish's bassist Mike Gordon, Kottke cycled an elegant 5/4 rhythm on his six-string while singing nonsense in 4/4.
While his unparalleled mastery of the instrument was indeed a highlight of the show, it wasn't the best part. Kottke's technical wizardry and innovation tends to obscure how moving his songs - simultaneously grandiose and acutely personal - can be. He blends jazz, folk and classical styles into a dexterous tapestry, but does so with the romanticized, simplistic charm of a Midwestern grandpa. There's something inherently soothing about resonating strings of nylon, and somehow, amid his considerable abilities, Kottke managed to preserve this basic quality on Friday night.
For almost 40 years, Leo Kottke has made a name for himself as a guitarist who gets more from his instrument than almost anyone else who has ever picked it up. If we understand this to be his musical identity, then he proved at the Sanders Theater that, slight technical dissolution aside, he is still essentially the same artist as the 23-year-old who debuted when gas cost a penny. I don't feel like I saw a musician reminiscent of his former self - I feel like I saw a musical legend at his best.
-Mikey Goralink is a sophomore majoring in American Studies. He can be reached at
Michael.Goralnik@tufts.edu.
