My brother came to town for ACL again this year to hear the musicians sing and play.
He came for three days, and for most of that time it was cool in the evenings, and the sky was blue and sunny during the day. He had a pass which got him back stage with the important people and the free food and the air conditioned toilets that were always stocked with toilet paper. But on the last day when we went with him (for the fair and industrious Trudy had bought Sunday tickets for us), he ate Salt Lick barbecue with us and drank Maine Root root beer with us and hung out on the grass with us and watched the milling people and listened to the bands.
And at the end of the day as Jupiter rose in the east as bright as an evening star but on the wrong side of the firmament… As the lights of Austin lit up behind the stage across the river… As the shining sun set behind us in the west…
The Eagles came out on stage.
They were the headline act. They were why we bought tickets. My first album, one of three cassette tapes that I took with me to play in my clock radio when I moved into my college dorm, was their Greatest Hits album. The songs are burned into my brain: the guitars, the bass lines, the harmonizing vocals. And when they began, I had tingles running down my spine and tears running down my cheeks.
Now, you must know by now that the whole tears-running-down-cheeks thing is hardly rare for me.
But really, picture it. A warm evening. Glowing lights of the city. Colored spotlights on stage. Silhouetted Oaks and and Walnut trees to the right and left. A field of standing, singing, dancing, clapping, waving people, geezers and kids alike, extending back as far as we could see.
We cheered. We danced. We swayed and jumped and whistled and clapped.
And like everyone else all around us, we knew the words and sang along with the band.
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Original photos (c) ACL Festival.