It began as a whisper...

I was sitting in Monty's sipping on a double Glenlivet, smoking a cigarette and contemplating my next move. I had just read on the internet that Van Morrison was scheduled to play a WestCoast Tour in the early spring with Bob Dylan and Joni Mitchell. A line-up that made my nipples hard just thinking about it.

But the date was too far away to plan anything. I didn't even know what I was doing later that evening. Besides I wasn't too sure if I even wanted to attend. My heart was already set upon attending the Gathering of Nations, which is a huge pow-wow in New Mexico, the biggest in the whole world. No, I'll pass on Van because I can't afford both trips. It's one or the other.

I have already seen each of them in concert anyways. Bob Dylan back in '90 when he was at his mumbling, phlegmatic best. Joni in '95 at the Edmonton Folk Festival where tuning her guitar between songs lasted longer than her numbers. And Van I had seen in 1993 at Maple Leaf Gardens in Toronto just prior to his night in San Francisco album.

I thought that concert was the best thing he ever did for the last decade or so. And I had thought maybe that is how I would like to remember him. Van at the top of his form. And I thought of other reasons not to go. I have seen all the great musicians I want to see, that is, those badly enough to endure large sweaty crowds in big stinking cities. After I had seen Rickie Lee Jones in concert I knew I could die a very happy man. Sorry Van but I'm a-gonna have to skip you this time around.

But then something wonderful happened to me as I was sipping my Scotch to change my mind...