A little bit country...

Last night Dear Husband and I went to a concert at Pine Knob featuring Brooks & Dunn and ZZ Top.  Kind of an "interesting" combination.  My ears are still ringing.

About 5 or 6 years ago, Dear Husband came out of the country-music closet to me, his devoted wife.  Needless to say, I was, well, more than a little shocked, but after a certain amount of tears, the clouds parted and I began to see how this could actually strengthen our relationship. 

In my car, radio music is almost exclusively provided by WRCJ ("We R Classical & Jazz") -- classical by day, jazz after 7 PM.  My CD changer is currently loaded with 3 Sara Groves CDs, Point of Grace, and Enya. 

But somehow when Dear Husband takes the wheel, maybe a 3rd of the time we end up listening to Young Country on WWWW, or W-4 Country as it's sometimes called.  Obviously, the pronunciation is "Dub-ya".   :-)

And, I'm a bit surprised to confess, a lot of it I like.  "Young" country, anyway.

It's funny, it's sly, it's not especially twangy, it respects things that I hold dear, it explores a wider range of human experience than I feel most pop does, and well, I just like it.  Not as much as Dear Husband does; not enough to flip to that button on my radio myself; but much more than I would ever have expected to. 

Along about then (when Hubby outed himself as a country music fan), his brother and sister-in-law started offering us concert tickets as birthday and Christmas presents -- seeing as how our house CLEARLY does NOT need more STUFF!!  (We have been grateful.)  Typically they offer 5 or 6 options from which the grateful recipient can choose the one that most appeals and will fit in best with other plans.  I have gone to a number of lovely classical events in Ann Arbor, of musical genres I would not normally have thought to choose for myself, but which I have enjoyed greatly once I got there.

This is Dear Husband's Third Annual pilgrimage to Detroit's east side to experience live country music.  The first time was Trisha Yearwood -- who I really enjoyed -- and last summer was Lonestar -- who I liked better than I would have expected.  This year it was Brooks & Dunn -- and ZZ Top.

Lots of shorts-&-cowboy-boots on sassy little gals; lots of cowboy hats.  Lots of beer.  Lots of the sweet smell of ganja floating down from the lawn seating behind us. 

And, during the intermission while the roadies broke the B&D set and got ready for ZZ Top, a very drunk middle-aged guy appeared behind us and began giving wolf-whistle lessons to the even older lady -- not his wife -- who found herself his unfortunate seat neighbor.

Hubby & I giggled and had never wished harder for a video camera.  This would have been an instant YouTube classic.

"See, ya curl yer tongue like this -- look at my mouth, see how my tongue is?  Fold it over, like.  Then you use your upper lip -- see.  Like this." 

*piercing wolf whistle* 

"See?  The more you use your upper lip, the louder it is.  Now you try.  No, you fold up your tongue, see -- make a little hole.  Like that, right.  Go ahead, try it."

*pathetic little whimper whistle from unfortunate lady*

"Naw, it's like this, see?  Ya gotta make a little hole with your tongue.  See how my tongue is?  Like THIS."

*piercing wolf whistle, louder and longer than last time*

I put my finger in my ear, attempting to do so discreetly.

Wolf-whistle man snorts with glee.  "See, she's got her finger in her ear!  That's how loud it is!  Y'gotta use yer upper LIP, see?"

*several extremely loud and freakishly annoying wolf whistles follow*

Teenage girl in cornrows and unfortunate hip-huggers beside me growls, "Pretty soon he's gonna be using my FOOT!"

Hubby and I giggle harder.

"Look how my tongue is.  See, ya gotta curl yer tongue, and ya gotta use yer upper lip.  And the harder you blow, the louder it is."

Hubby mutters to me, "But first, you've got to get really, REALLY drunk!"

Several more disquisitions on the proper theory and technique of wolf-whistling, accompanied by enthusiastic demonstration of the art by a virtuoso.

Cornrow-girl's smaller, thinner teenage friend turns around and smiles at the nice wolf-whistle man, so eager to share his accomplishments with the world.  "You might want to save your whistle for the when music starts," she suggests perkily.

Wolf-whistle man chortles.  "Naw, I got plenty more where that came from!"  and proceeds to prove this with a medley of rousing show tunes in the medium of piercing whistles.

Cornrow-girl growls, "I swear I'm gonna hit him!  I swear!"

But fortunately for all concerned, before violence could erupt in our little section of the Pine Knob world, ZZ Top opened their act, and the entire place erupted in screams, hoots, hollers, wild applause, and of course, wolf-whistles.  Wolf-whistle man's contribution was swallowed up in the general roar. 

And after that...  he faded away.  We knew not whence he came, nor why, nor where he went afterward.  It's a mystery.  The angel of wolf-whistles descended from on high, and we knew him not.  He tried to share with us his accumulated wisdom (apparently the sum total of such that he possessed), and our hearts were hardened against him; our ears were closed to his message.  (Well; not literally, more's the pity.)  It's enough to break your heart, really.

All I can say is, he was a heck of a lot more entertaining than the unbelievably awful "comic" who "entertained" the crowd between acts at last summer's concert at Meadowbrook.  I thought that guy was gonna get beer bottles hurled at him; fortunately, I suppose to forestall this very thing, they don't sell beer in bottles at these events.  Somehow a plastic cup just doesn't have the same heft.

So.  That was fun.