Drumbeats, Guitar Licks, and Tears

Reconnecting. Genuine Leather was the musical rage in the Hampton, Iowa class of 1977. The rock trio began playing together in junior high, and by high school had attracted a significant -- albeit local -- following. According to the mother of one of the band members, groupies -- mostly female classmates -- regularly crowded into their living room to hear the band practice. My wife happily admits to being among them. But that was a long time ago. Separate ways silenced the music -- the lead guitarist now lives in Omaha, the drummer in Kuwait, and the bassist in Minnesota. So when word circulated earlier this summer that the band would reunite for the 30-year class reunion, excitement began to build.

And tension. You could see it in the faces of the trio as the now middle-aged crowd began to gather and circulate in conversation last Saturday night. A couple of the band members confessed that they had been practicing for two solid days, and that they simply couldn't do some of the things they used to do. He didn't elaborate, although my imagination filled in the gaps with images of Elvis-like gyrations and guitar wrecking acrobatics. Before long the dinner had been consumed and the lights began to dim while the expectations brightened. Wearing matching Genuine Leather 2007 commemorative T-shirts ordered by one of the mothers, the band tended to one last perfunctory tuning, took a deep breath, looked prayerfully into each other's eyes, and...

...launched. Unh, unh, unh. Unh, unh, unh-unh; unh, unh, unh, unh-unh-unh. The heavy bass riff and thundering drums of "Smoke on the Water" drew an appreciative eruption from the crowd, an almost involuntary smile of satisfaction from the band members, and a happy flashback in everyone in the room. Suddenly, we all had more hair, fewer pounds, and stronger muscles. Suddenly, life was out in front of us, war was behind us, and retirement funds were still tomorrow's concern.

Four songs later, the concert was over and even the casual observer couldn't miss the relief in the band members eyes. They had done it -- successfully. They had remade the music and lived to tell about it. And the standing ovation and flickering lighters that miraculously appeared among the crowd merely punctuated and confirmed the assessment. It had been good, and they felt it.

But there was something else in their eyes. I suppose it could have been perspiration. They had, after all, been working muscles -- physical as well as musical -- that had long been out of shape. It's hard work being a "rocker." But I believe they were tears -- of relief, perhaps; of exhilaration, no doubt; but almost certainly of exuberant, awe-filled, and profoundly grateful and moving joy. Something intangible had transpired as their glances had signaled cues and their hands had traced familiar grooves and the cheers enveloped them in supportive embrace.

Standing together, arm-in-arm in their matching T-shirts for a closing photo-op, they smiled -- a kind of mystical countenance that the rest of us not so much noticed as shared. It was on our faces, as well. And, if the truth be told, in our eyes. For we were "perspiring" along with them. It's hard work, after all, reaching across all those years, reliving all those memories, renewing all those relationships, trying to remember the words, and singing -- almost, in a way, praying -- along.

Thanks for getting back together, guys. And thanks for the ride.