Concert Review: Neal Francis Is Almost Famous At Mercury Lounge
I swear that Neal Francis came to his Mercury Lounge show on the Almost Famous bus.
He felt, in look and vibe, like a member of a Stillwater, and I was HERE for it because, frankly, the packed crowd was, as well. People can sit and judge artists that are pure 80s, 70s, 90s, or 60s, but it works! I mean Jesus! If history repeats itself according to war after war, then I DO NOT MIND if it repeats itself in music! HALLELUJAH!
From voice to even mannerisms, Neal Francis felt like a time warp to a time when men sung with their full throat and hair that was considered short if it just hit your shoulder. THOSE WERE THE DAYS! Yet, what I loved the most was that people missed that era as if it was yesterday, but most of his crowd was born yesterday. You had a 22 year old longing for their Woodstock memories they never had. Yet, that is the power of “retro acts,” they provide us with an escapism that is surreal. The 70s had its own political turmoils, but we discuss such past eras with offering bouquets, especially when it comes to music.
Escapism in music is often based on the idea that in another time and place you would thrive, or, at the very least, the best of you would be seen as dignified. Heck! Even it is rare the points of history where a Latina is thriving in equality and prosperity, I mind-travel imagining myself as a “guerrillera.” The point it somewhere/ sometime else we were more than just okay…. we were great, and songs such as, “Alameda Apartments” and “Changes,” sung the points in our present life when we had “the girl,” “the dreams were come trueing,” and “inner peace met with outer peace.”
Often, I say that nostalgia is about missing a time when you didn’t miss, and a good song taps into that, but a good artist makes you miss what you never had. While some of his crowd were actually at Woodstock, for the ones that weren’t, they would have gladly gotten on that Almost Famous bus with Neal to go. For More Information On Neal Francis Click Here.
