Loggins!

A few years ago, there was a short-lived sitcom on FOX called (I think) "Method & Red". It was the story of two rappers (Method Man and Redman) who hit it big, moved into a high-class shwanky neighborhood, and then tried to get acclimated to their new surroundings, including their nervous neighbors. Not a great show, but it had it's moments. I only remember one episode, and in this episode, the lady next door was hosting a big party, and the entertainment was to be provided by none other than Kenny Loggins. There was a backstory, in which either Method or Red (we'll say it was Red, for simplicity's sake) was once a roadie or something for Loggins, and Loggins was a major pain in the ass, always trying to keep the Redman down, so that to this day, the mere mention of his name brought a look of disgust and anger to the face of his former roadie, and the only verbal response was a growled, breathy, "Loggins", as if to say, "Some day, Loggins, you will pay!" The episode ended with a series of mishaps and some payback, I don't really remember anything as well as that gutturally spoken "Loggins". It made me laugh, to think of these rappers having some kind of vendetta with the guy that wrote that "Top Gun" song. 'Cause that's how I knew Kenny Loggins. Highway to the Danger Zone, baby! I wasn't around for the Loggins & Messina days; it took Tom Cruise playing a Maverick to introduce me to the man. And I didn't look much further. I thought of Kenny Loggins as a guy who wrote good theme songs (there was that other one from the Stallone arm-wrestling movie, I think it was "Meet Me Halfway"). And much later, I thought of him as the fictional foe of a couple of rappers, and I would find myself saying his name in the same way, full of breath and venom, "Loggins". Of course, this would bring a smile to my face. Kenny Loggins certainly didn't seem like a villain. He seemed like some harmless pop singer from a generation ago. He was right there beside my sanitary image of Michael McDonald as the smiley-faced, grey-bearded man singing along with Billy Crystal and Gregory Hines in that video for that other theme song from that other 80's movie. Something cute and harmless that I allowed into my preteen sensibility only because the music was catchy enough to be safe from the un-cool. That was my impression of Kenny Loggins.
Until last night. Last night, I got schooled.
Kenny Loggins and St. Paul Peterson sat in with Sante Fe and the Fat City Horns last night. We showed up an hour early to find the place already packed (fortunately, Alex worked his magic with one of the casino hosts and had a table reserved for us). Clearly, people were excited about the Loggins. Including the band! From the second they started playing, they were ON! The thing I love so much about seeing these shows is that everyone onstage looks like he's having the time of his life. These guys are doing this for the pure pleasure of it, and that's been the case each week I've seen them. There was something different in the air last night, an energy, an electricity, I don't know how to describe it, but they took the stage like they were claiming victory on a battlefield. An incredible show, and that's before they invited their guests onstage. First up, St. Paul from Minneapolis. Now, I don't know music, I didn't know who this guy was, but good GOD, this dude was funky. The first song, "Blue Cadillac", was great, but the 2nd tune (can't remember the name) was out-of-control amazing. I was getting blisters on my butt from dancing in my seat! Then, they called up the Loggins (I still hear Redman spitting out that name, and it brings an even bigger smile to my face today). Oh. My. WOW. First song, "This Is It", a song I knew but never attributed to Loggins. Holy cow, can this man wail!! The second song, "Ain't That Peculiar", is a Sante Fe staple, but Loggins took the lead vocal with no problem, just a little assistance on the arrangement, that was that. Amazing. A-MA-zing.

And my favorite part of seeing the Sante Fe shows on Monday nights? It's not the phenomenal musicians onstage or the guests that get called up, it's my inability to sit still during the show, my inability to keep my butt in my chair and NOT get up to dance. I simply have to dance, and I dance like a big crazy fool, with no concern for how silly I look, I just let the music move me. And I've got the best dance partner in the world. Lloyd must be...well, I won't try to guess his age. I'll just say he's older than me by a decade or 4. Lloyd is there without fail, every Monday night, and he's got a bevy of beauties to dance with, I don't fool myself into thinking that I'm his favorite. But I'm happy to be one of his gals, I'm happy to see someone else get as much pleasure from my erratic movements as I get. Lloyd proves time and again that you're only as old as you feel, and when I'm dancing with him on a Monday night with these amazing musicians jamming just feet away from us, I feel like a kid without a care in the world. I guess that's part of where the healing comes in. Each week, as Bobby G announces the band (and hawks his wares in the Fat City Super Store), he shouts out, "Let the healing begin!" And no matter how I felt when I walked into that room, I walk out feeling like I could take on the world.