Think of last Saturday night’s concert at Northshore Performing Arts Center as audience takeover. Guest artist billed second, Del Rey, enticed. Nationally known headliners, The Blind Boys of Alabama, mesmerized. Mass hysteria makes me nervous.
Rey was hoot and holler, hillbilly style.
Here is a fiery haired grandma from White Center, in high tops and a kitchen dress over long johns, self-described as having “dropped my manager because I am totally unmanageable.”
Yet, favorable as it was, for all the feats of prestidigitation on guitar and ukulele that dazzled and all the anecdotes in trailer-trash talk that tickled ribs pink, the audience reaction to Rey didn’t hold a candle to the frenzy the Blind Boys induced.
The draw was lead vocalist and founding member, Jimmy Carter, definitely not be confused with the ex-president. This Carter is Deep South but anything except intellectual. Charisma is his long suit. The man’s got it.
Carter can’t see and has sung Gospel for seventy years. From small Baptist churches to concert halls around the world, he has survived bigotry and come through with no trace of resentment. Face it: he’s got respect and admiration going for him even before he takes center stage.
Then back him up with Ben Moore and Billy Bowers’ deep, rich vocals, Eric “Ricky” McKinnie’s thundering drumbeat, Joey Williams’ guitar that wails, Tracy Pierce’s big, bad bass and Peter Levin’s outrageous organ.
Then give this spindly little guy, dressed in a white panama suit and open shirt collar, people to sing for, put a spotlight on him and turn him loose. He can’t miss.
The reason isn’t just gospel’s power to inspire. The repetitive build up, the references to scripture, the testimonial touch, the Blind Boys didn’t do much with any of them that was original. Good, yes; cutting-edge, no.
What got all of NPAC’s packed house to its feet for the longest time while the Blind Boys wailed on stage was Carter. Guided by his attendant so he wouldn’t slip and fall, he made his way up and down every aisle, shaking hands, touching and being touched, from down front to up in the balcony.
Maybe it was the plain talk or the fun he had performing or the kindly smile that never left his face; whatever it was, Billy Graham in his heyday couldn’t have connected any more completely. Carter had locked us all into his mind set.
Reactions? Comments? E-mail Dale Burrows at entopinion@heraldnet.com or grayghost7@comcast.net.
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