Lyle Lovett, Prostates, and the Idiot in the Balcony

Stacy and I knocked an item off my Bucket List (and her Leap List) a couple years ago when we saw a Very Famous Music Star in concert. I’m about to poke some gentle fun at this musician’s audience (including us) and I don’t want to offend, so let’s just say the Very Famous Music Star was Ryle Rovett and His Rarge Rand.

We’d actually had tickets to see Ryle at the Ferguson Center for the Arts down at CNU in May 2020 but, as we all remember, lots of concerts were cancelled that year due to Climate Change. Then we had tickets to see him in Roanoke in February of 2023, but our 15-year-old dog Bailey had the temerity to injure herself, which I thought was very rude, and we had to miss the show. I think Bailey felt so bad about it that she went ahead and died a month later just so missing the show would have been worth it.

So when I bought this third set of tickets to see Ryle, I asked for the Glutton For Punishment Special, and somehow that put us five rows from the stage, which pretty much guaranteed that some apocalyptic event would disrupt the show. Somehow, though, the show went on, and Ryle and his Rarge Rand was rantastic.

Even more interesting than Ryle (and he is interesting – very charismatic and funny – you can see how he landed Rulia Robert’s and his current, very pretty wife, Rpril Rimble), though, was the audience.

If I said that we were among the youngest in the audience that night, I’d be guilty of historic understatement. As far as I could tell, we were the 5th and 7th youngest people in the audience, and I was 60. At various points during the course of the show, about 200 phone alarms went off to alert their owners to take their meds. The men’s room line was longer than the women’s, mainly because the men would get to the urinal and stand there for 5 fruitless minutes before zipping up and shuffling back to their seats.

Jason Isbell was also playing in Richmond that night, at Brown’s Island, a venue literally in the James River, down the hill from the Dominion Something Something Center for the Arts, which is where Ryle was playing. Attendees for both events passed each other walking toward their respective venues from their street parking places. It seemed like a cruel joke that the younger crowd heading to the Isbell concert were walking downhill toward the river while the (much) older crowd for Ryle Rovett was walking uphill toward the DSSCA venue. I guess the Isbell crowd would have to walk uphill going back to their cars but, in the tradition of my generation, our walk would be uphill both ways.

The concert itself was wonderful, magical, amazing. Ryle is legendary of course, and so personable and talkative. Musical artists who show up and play their music with cruel precision, never saying a word, seem to me to be missing the point. If I wanted to hear a studio-perfect playlist I’ve pull you up on streaming and hit shuffle. The Cars were that kind of automatonic live band, like something you’d see at Chuckee Cheese but somehow less human, managing to suck the joy out of the audience one mute song transition at a time.

Ryle told stories and interacted with the crowd and somehow managed to fend of the obligatory Drunk Idiot who thinks they need to play a part in the show. After one song, a slurry call came from the balcony: “Where’s Bonnie?”

Ryle said, “Bonnie?”

”Bonnie Raitt,” replied the Man Totally Lacking in Self-Awareness.

”Oh, Bonnie,” said Ryle. “I love Bonnie. She’s great-“

Through what sounded like a mouthful of martini olives, the Drunk interrupted, slowly, ”I… saw you and her… 13 years ago at…”

The audience groaned as one, only a few from knee pain, and a woman uttered an NPR-subsciber worthy, “PLEASE be considerate”, but Ryle was unRuffled. Through some sort of stage-wizened jujitsu, he managed to talk around the intention of He Who Should Be Kicked Out, spinning out a monologue that ended up with the band launching into another one of Ryle’s great songs.

A woman who for some reason is probably still with that Idiot probably shushed him into submission and we didn’t hear from him again.

This seems to be a thing at concerts - some moron will decide he needs to WHOOOOP during any moment of silence between songs, often to the very great irritation of the musical act and always to the irritation of the audience.

I wouldn’t be honest if I didn’t admit here that I was that idiot at a Ronovan Rankenreiter concert once at Capital Ale’s Richmond Music Hall (you have to admire the chutzpah of the name), and you would not be someone who knows me if you didn’t already suspect I’d sinned in that way. I am absolutely serious when I say I think about that incident with ENORMOUS guilt at least once a week.

Back to the concert though - it was so much fun, the musicality (a word I use once a decade and regret immediately) of the Rarge Rand was astounding, and the venue, whatever it’s called, was terrific. I could go on about the Ryle Rovett and his Rarge Rand concert for another 700 words but some reader keeps screaming “HEY” between each paragraph and it’s pissing me off.

So I’ll just say that I recommend Ryle highly, and I’ll see you in the bathroom line at the next show.

Did you like this post? Please share it (see the buttons below).