Twice within the past month I have been showered with magic musical dust.  The first time was when I was in Illinois, and that will be the subject of my next blog.  This morning I write about last night’s experience while it is fresh in my mind.

At the end of last week, maybe Wednesday or Thursday, I heard a spot on the radio advising me to buy a ticket to see Marc Cohn at the San Francisco Palace of Fine Arts.  Marc Cohn is most famous for his hit tune “Walking in Memphis” and he won a Grammy Award that year, 1992, for best artist of the year.  Every song on his self titled first recording was a winner.  That CD was stolen out of my car and after last night I’m headed to iTunes to replace it.  The Palace of Fine Arts is a beautiful facility that was built for the 1915 Pan-Pacific Exposition and like the Columbian Exposition in Chicago it was built of wood and plaster.  It was later reconstructed with more durable materials and now it houses an intimate theater as well as The Exploratorium, a hands on science museum which was the dream of Dr. Frank Oppenheimer and which opened in 1969.  The theater is small and there is not a bad seat in the house.  When I heard that spot on the radio and realized a favorite artist would be at my favorite venue, I got out my iPhone and bought two tickets, not worried about who would want to go to the city on a Monday night.

Terri went with me.  Terri has just begun cancer treatment and although she is tired right now, I told her I’d drive and we’d listen to the balladeer and I would deposit her back in Lafayette, no strings attached.  We were both excited to be going but had no idea how magical it would be.  Marc Cohn’s lovely concert was among the best I’ve ever seen – ever.  It was as if we were sitting in his living room.  He didn’t just “address” the crowd – he conversed with us.  By the end of the evening you felt not only as if he was someone you could have over for dinner, but that you could also ask him to please lullaby your babies to sleep – and he would oblige.  His smoky voice and soulful lyrics took us to another place – the whole evening had a dreamlike quality.  When he sang “Healing Hands” as I sat next to my dear friend, I felt like I was listening to a medicine man who was raining healing music over Terri. 

He did several encores. During his introduction of a Dylan cover he told a story of meeting Bob Dylan, when Marc was on tour opening for Bonnie Raitt.  Apparently they did some gigs together and one evening Bonnie took Marc to Bob’s dressing room for an introduction.  At this point someone in the audience tossed out that it was Bonnie’s birthday to which Marc replied “Oh yeah? I’ll have to give her a call.”  The story went on how in the dressing room Dylan had a book of his complete lyrics sitting on the table, and when Marc asked him about it, he replied that he had written so many songs and they were so wordy that sometimes he needed to refer to it to jog his memory.  Later that evening Bonnie handed Marc the book, inscribed by Dylan.  He volunteered that if there were a fire in his home, he would grab his wife and children – and that book.  And then he said this:

“So tonight I thought I’d do a Dylan song for you, and it would only be appropriate to have the birthday girl come out and sing it with me…” at which point the crowd went wild as Bonnie Raitt walked onto the stage.  I truly was nearly in tears.  It was one of those San Francisco music moments you read about in the paper the next day – and I was there to witness it.  When their duet was over, a cake with a lit candle was brought out on stage, handed to Bonnie, and the entire crowd at the Palace of Fine Arts, me included, sang Happy Birthday to Bonnie Raitt.

That’s the kind of guy Marc Cohn is.  After the show we streamed out into the lobby, Marc would be signing CDs so people were milling around, but I noticed something I never had seen after a concert.  The place was practically silent.  If people were talking, it was in muted tones, almost whispered, as if in church.   

It was music magic.