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| Night Ranger, Osage Event Center February 24, 2023 |
When I think of the term full circle, I think of completion. The clear starting point traced–often circuitously--to the finish. I have no intentions of being finished, but Friday night did feel a lot like coming full circle. Maybe I'm being sentimental.
On a sweltering night in June 1984, I attended my first rock concert. The band was Night Ranger. The venue was AstroWorld in Houston. The impact was such that I wrote about it years later. At this point, I recommend you read, or re-read “Touch of Madness” from my first book, Go Play in the Traffic.
Since the night, I’ve been to hundreds of shows, the vast majority memorable and impactful in their own way. Night Ranger, though having faded from its mid-80s heyday, has remained dogged and committed, touring and releasing new music at regular intervals. Having just celebrated 40 years as a band, they’ve endured personnel and fad changes and have been relegated to playing smaller venues across North America.
These days, I’m more wont to catch a band on its way up, standing for hours in small, hot rooms with fans younger than myself. It’s not a conscious choice, but it does help me keep a foot in modern times and from being consumed with nostalgia.
But sometimes the call of nostalgia is too much to resist. This past Thanksgiving when I saw a television ad for upcoming shows at one of our local casinos, one name rose above the roster of has-beens. I snapped a photo of the screen and sent it to my sister. A tentative date was made.
Last night was that night. I met my sister and her husband at an expansive casino/hotel/entertainment complex north of downtown. My wife was invited multiple times but opted out. It’s not her fault. She never saw MTV until it was too late.
Once staples on MTV, Night Ranger is now a regular on the Frybread Circuit. I once harbored a bias against hexagenerian rock stars. Then I wondered what I’d have these people do once they aged out of the only livelihood most of them had ever known. Guitar Center can’t hire everybody.
Nothing says Oklahoma casino like a Chevy HHT with a lounge chair tied to the roof. This was in the parking lot To reach the venue, guests must enter through the casino floor. In the frigid parking lot, I could smell fried food and cigarette smoke 200 yards from the doors. This intensified when the automatic doors swung open, welcoming revelers inside. I was enveloped by a dense fog of smoke and chronic desperation as I moved serpentine around the machines and customers. This included a small, older lady with a cigarette in one hand, a gallon-milk jug with the top cut off in the other. It was filled with change. She was determined but weathered. Wrinkled with a receding jawbone from years of sucking on budget smokes.
My sister and brother-in-law had staked out seats in something called the Thunder Grill. This did not presage a pleasant overnight period for either. I excused myself to use the restroom where I discovered the urinals have numbers like you might see on a theater seat. I sidled up to 18 and parted ways with my Monster energy drink that I'd slurped in the car. This isn't 1984. Sometimes I have to fake my energy Farts, belches, and primal growls filled the air. Only the bank of ATMs was doing better business.
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| Ready to Rock |
The event center was adequate and fortunately, non-smoking. The bar lines stretched toward the seats and moved like cold syrup. I just barely cleared it before the show started.
Walking on to “Pump it Up” by Elvis Costello, Night Ranger was very un-rock and roll in its punctuality. The flooded bar lines dissipated rapidly as the first notes of “(You Can Still) Rock in America” soared from the stage. As he was in 1984, singer and bassist Jack Blades was a diminutive ball of energy, slinging the Hamer bass he designed 40 years ago. Blades has always been a ham, so his frequent addressing of the crowd and repartee with his bandmates was no surprise. Even a little heavier and with a retreating hairline, Blades was still in good voice and exudes that I-bet-he's-fun-to-hang-out-with vibe.
Time and excess has taken a toll on drummer Kelly Keagy’s voice, who unfortunately drew the unforgiving quieter arrangements of most of the band’s “ballads.” Assisted by strong harmonies, Keagy did dust off some magic during “Sentimental Street” and the show closer, “Sister Christian.” Having recently heard Keagy discuss the excesses of his 80s lifestyle, it’s just good to see him healthy, happy, and playing music. His drumming hasn’t been impacted at all by the years.
As it was back in 1984, I was drawn to guitarist Brad Gillis. Still playing his 1962 red and black Strat with more aftermarket parts than Pamela Anderson (evidently a touring replica–the strat, not her), Gillis put on a clinic in Floyd Rose gymnastics, ripping off soaring solos and crunchy rhythms. Rounding out the band are relative newcomers Keri Kelli–playing the Jeff Watson parts and Eric Levy handling keyboards.
The ninety-minute set was of the all killer, no filler variety, though Blades joked about slipping in a song from the band’s latest album. He kept the audience enthralled by turning ”Bring it All Home to Me into a singalong. As far as 90% of the audience was concerned, this band did nothing after 7 Wishes. This was covered in the restroom before the show by two beer-clutching galoots.
“I hope they don’t play no new shit.”
“We don’t know those songs. Everybody just stands looking at each other saying, ‘what the fuck?’”
Thank you. Now I know what kind of troglodyte listens to 103.3.
In addition to the hits, the audience was treated to strong readings of two Damn Yankees songs (Jack’s other band) and an extended version of “Night Ranger” featuring a five-man drum solo after which Keagy joked, “five of us make one really good drummer.” When introducing “Sentimental Street,” Keagy also made mention of “when San Francisco was cool.” Evidently he’s not fond of people shooting up on the sidewalks and shitting in the streets.
As is almost always the case, Section D developed around me. This time it was three middle aged ladies with bottomless vodka and cranberry juice who prattled endlessly throughout the show. At least until “Sister Christian” compelled their attention. The kept looking our direction, as if watching for someone. This someone turned out to be an odd mix of Iggy Pop and Jeff Watson, ¾ scale. He slipped in their row, alternating seats every ten minutes or so and regaling them with…I have no idea.
Forgoing the traditional encore, the band sang along to Neil Diamond’s recording of “Sweet Caroline,” which worked better than it should have.
Other than nits to pick concerning the setlist, Night Ranger 2023 stands up well to Night Ranger 1984. I missed Jeff Watson, though Keri Kelli was a solid replacement. Still, he was a replacement. I don’t know the particulars surrounding Watson’s departure, though I understand it was less than amicable. Too bad, but that’s how it goes.
Was Friday night a recreation of my maiden voyage in June 1984? No. Night Ranger occupies a different strata in the music industry now and seems content with that. Though they still put out new music, the bread is buttered by delivering fan favorites in concert. It’s nostalgia. However, when done well, even nostalgia can kick ass.
