The Heart of Rock and Roll

My very first rock concert was Loverboy, with the opener Huey Lewis and the News.  This was in 1982, at the Fort Wayne Memorial Coliseum, the summer before I went to high school.  Now, to be fair, I wanted to go see KISS for my ninth birthday several years before.  I’m not sure how I came to own the Destroyer album, which was probably my first non-Winnie-the-Pooh record, but I loved “Detroit Rock City,” “King of the Night Time World,” and “Shout It Out Loud.”  My parents convinced me that the concert would be smoky and therefore I wouldn’t enjoy it.  I reluctantly conceded, and consoled myself by listening to Gene and the boys through my headphones, singing aloud with a candlestick as my microphone.  

It always makes me laugh that Huey Lewis opened for Loverboy, who seemingly dropped off the map shortly after that.  My friend and neighbor, Kimberly, was obsessed and introduced our small circle to leather-clad, bandanna-wearing lead singer Mike Reno and the rest of the band.  We even formed our own, all-girl band that played pretend instruments, called The Avenues.  My brother inadvertently provided the name when his own band (that played real instruments, so loudly the neighbors complained) rejected the name Avenue in favor of Angstrom.

Kimberly’s older siblings were also into rock and roll, and so we were listening to Peter Frampton and the Doobie Brothers at a tender age.  I was an adult before I understood what a doobie was, and therefore what the picture inside the Minute by Minute album signified (I thought it was some kind of bug).  I moved pretty quickly from pop-oriented WMEE to WXKE, Rock 104, Fort Wayne’s self-reported Home of Rock and Roll (not to be confused with the heart of rock and roll—more on that later).  I remember singing loudly to Pat Benatar’s “Hell Is for Children” in the car, horrifying my mother.  She didn’t buy that the song was about the problems of child abuse, and I can thank Benatar for having to listen to news or classical music in the car forever after.

When I went back to Fort Wayne last week, I found that Rock 104 is still around, and plays many of the same songs from my youth.  Even Doc, their most popular deejay and arguably the city’s most famous local celebrity, is still on the air.  In fact, I heard a radio ad that he needed a female partner in the morning who knew a lot about music and sports.  I fantasized about being Doc’s sidekick, trading one-liners and insulting callers, and how I would break it to Nels that we had to move back so I could take this part-time gig.  I dismissed it after realizing I just don’t know that much about the local Fort Wayne sports scene. 

That nostalgia trip led to another this weekend as Nels and I visited the Melody Tent on Cape Cod to see Huey Lewis and the News, who were celebrating the 30-year anniversary of their biggest-selling album, Sports.  I never bought that one, but didn’t need to, since it seemed like every song was on the radio.  I wasn’t particularly excited to see this show, as I knew Chris Hayes, the lead guitarist, wasn’t touring with the band any more, but the album was one of Nels’ favorites from high school (he said he and his buddies especially liked “I Want a New Drug.”  Hm.).  On the way to the Cape, we listened to a greatest hits compilation, and reacquainted ourselves with their catalog.  When I tried to explain why I was attracted to Chris Hayes, I talked about his hair that was spiky on the top and long in the back.  Nels asked in disbelief, “You mean a mullet?”  And I had to concede that yes, I was once in love with a guy in a mullet.  Not my proudest moment. 

Despite Hayes’ absence, the show was high-energy and fun.  The Melody Tent was sold out and almost everybody there was our age and knew the words to every song—it was like being at a high school reunion without all the angst.  Many of the band members were original, including the drummer who always wore a vest, and Johnny, the sax player that Huey calls to in their biggest song, “The Heart of Rock and Roll.”  There is not a shred of darkness in Huey Lewis songs, which hearkened back to a more naïve time in my life and is probably the source of their current appeal to other 40-somethings. 

My visit home and shows like these remind me of the importance of music in forming my sense of self and the world.  I used to envy peers whose parents introduced them to the Beatles or Stones, but my friends and I found our own way through our older brothers and sisters.  Yes, we were exposed to illicit—and therefore tantalizing—ideas about drugs and sex through rock and roll, but it was also a safe medium for adolescent longing.  So, if a band from your youth comes to town, check ‘em out, not to be cynical and critical, but to remember the discoveries they offered you.