Holy shit, it's a HOT afternoon in this pen-like concert area in downtown Milford for a show by the Marshall Tucker Band at the Milford Oyster Festival! Golf in the morning, then a quick shower and Keith/Sharie, looking renewed from their Hawaii vacation, pick us up. We're to meet Vin/Marcia, then rendezvous with Rant-On/Joann at the Fest. A bit of a 'situation' at the Milford Mall shuttle station when a shuttle bus driver decided to pickup people in the middle of the very-long line, much to the chagrin of Keith, who may have offered that such bus driver was an asshole as he drove away (Pablo Picasso was never called an asshole).
But we finally make our way through the dense, sweaty, heavily-tatted crowd inside the roped off concert area and spot Rant On & Joanne about halfway back just as the show is starting. "I say Marshall, you say....." The grizzled front man thanks us for keeping the Marshall Tucker Band around for 41 years. Personally, I cannot share in the credit because, although I loved them back in the day, I didn't know they still existed. But we are all invited down to Myrtle Beach for a beer. Rick makes a note to self to cash in on that. Vin copies Rick's note.
(Per Wikipedia, so it must be true) The "Marshall Tucker" in the band's name does not refer to a band member, but rather a Spartanburg-area piano tuner. While the band was discussing possible band names one evening in an old warehouse they had rented for rehearsal space, someone noticed that the warehouse's door key had the name "Marshall Tucker" inscribed on it, and suggested they called themselves the "Marshall Tucker Band," not realizing it referred to an actual person. It later came to light that Marshall Tucker, the blind piano tuner, had rented the space before the band, and the landlord had yet to change the inscription on the key.Heavy on the good 'ol boy shit in the between songs banter. One theme becomes obvious, the old guy doing lead vocals can't come close to reaching any notes, so there's a lot of the crowd singing the choruses ("Heard it in a love song, heard it in a love song, heard it in a love song, can't be wrong."). But that's okay. They spread the vocals around to some of the younger members (who weren't born when the songs were hits). Good people watching while the band goes on extended jams. The young flute guy is up to taking on the signature instrument of the MTB and sings a mean tune to boot. Take the Highway, Fire On the Mountain...the hits keep coming. It's fucking hot out here! They play for over two hours. "Gonna take a freight train, all the way to Georgia" gets the crowd pumped. Fist pumpin' pumped!
Gonna take a freight trainDown at the station, Lord
I don't care where it goes
Gonna climb a mountain
The highest mountain
Jump off, nobody gonna know
Can't you see, whoa, can't you see
What that woman, Lord, she been doin' to me
Can't you see, can't you see
What that woman, she been doin' to me
After we heard what that woman, Lord, was doing to them, we said goodbye to MTB, hoping that it won't be another 41 years before we meet again. Jimmy's at Savin Rock for dinner. What better post-show spot than hangin' in West Haven with a bunch of Westie Punks, although Sharie was a bit miffed when her request for a salad-for-chowder switch is rebuffed by our waitress. Rules, Sharie, rules. If they had none, there would be chaos. Rick with a nice move for a round of drinks. Marcia got the crabs...drum roll, please....but didn't let that get in the way of a delicious meal! Ducking pigeon droppings in the parking lot, we all bid adieu. We love you, man!
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