Memphis: Bury Me on Beale St.

As throngs of delighted fans departed the arena, there seemed to be an unspoken consensus among all the attendees. The amoeba of people gradually found it's way to neighboring Beale St., just past the Gibson Factory located directly outside the Forum.



Beale St., for those not from Memphis, is akin to Pittsburgh's Southside, New Orleans' Bourbon St., or Philadelphia's South St. The cops blocked off both sides of this two-block haven, making it the perfect spot to vent a little post-concert glee. Each side of the street is home to bars, music shops, live music outlets, blues gift shops, and more. Beale Streeters can purchase a "Big Ass Beer" for a small fare, and everyone is encouraged to walk around sporting their drink of choice.



As you walk down Beale St., you are hit with a blast of culture absent in most cities. Instead of seeing four different Starbucks in a one-block stretch, you see small businesses rich with culture as you hear blues music pour from the windows of the clubs into the streets. Essentially, it is one big party, but something about it makes you feel more refined than walking down the usual stretch of neon-signed bars.

Marc and I drank our beers while carelessly perusing the sights Beale St. had to behold. We saw what Marc referred to as "Bo's," a term for young, Southern gentlemen with top loafers, button-down shirts, and frayed-brim hats. I unknowingly dressed the bill by wearing the style of the South, minus the hat.

Our travels in downtown Memphis didn't last longer than a beer, knowing that we had a long day of travel ahead. In a different time (hopefully a warmer time), I would love to return to this place and participate in the party. Maybe, if the stars aligned, I would get to pick up a guitar inside one of these places and force my own sloppy version of the blues upon this crowd. Pipe dream? Maybe, but I guess future travels will tell. As for the sights, I'll let them speak for themselves.








Beale-ive it or not,

CPS

Eric Clapton Concert: "My Daddy Named Me After This Song!"

In lieu of depleting funds, we decided to pass on the ethanol we purchased earlier in the day and drive to the concert. Fresh off a blog post from the McDonald's parking lot, I scurried back to the Rest(less) Inn and prepared myself for the fourth Eric Clapton concert of my life. Marc threw on his Clapton/Winwood tee, and we hopped in the car and made way to the FedEx Forum.

First congrats go to the venue. The FedEx Forum is a vast, 18,119 capacity hall, and home to the Memphis Grizzlies. The inside is a combination of nostalgic blues paintings and contemporary design. We set up base camp and started out on a two-mile journey to the summit, also known as our seats. Seats 3 and 4 in row Q of section 215 are flush with the back wall, literally as far from the stage as possible. I think my ears popped on the way up.



Of course, being a half mile from stage didn't bother us from cheering as loud as the lucky fans in the front row. We made it to Clapton, and by God, we were ready.

The opening act, Roger Daltrey, was a blast. He played a a bunch of classics - Baba O'Riley nearly blew the roof off - as well as a Taj Mahal cover...a welcome surprise. The only thing that threw me for a loop was his Old School-esque interpolation of f*** during a few songs. Frankly Roger, I don't want to tell you "Who the F*** I Am."

As the house lights came back on the roadies masterfully recrafted the stage, anticipation grew. Several minutes later, after - in a show of Southern hospitality - I struck up a conversation with a 71 yr. old woman from Tennessee, the lights once again dimmed and the man himself walked on stage. Thousands of people were perched on the edge of their seats, prepared to go nuts upon hearing the first note.

Note: much of the following is based off of co-pilot/"Undisputed Clapton Expert" Marc's professional opinion.

This tour showcased Clapton alone. No other guitarists joined him on stage; instead, he was flanked by two keyboardists.



The night started, well, slow to say the least. Some rhythmic inconsistencies interspersed his usually flawless playing. Clapton seemed off his game for most of the opening songs, but really found his groove in "Old Love." Soon thereafter, the show exploded as Clapton unleashed all hell on a crescendo-ing solo during "I Shot the Sheriff." Marc and I were convinced: for a 64 yr. old recovering heroin-addict, this man knew how to shred.



Clapton really came in to his element during an acoustic set, where he delighted the audience with such classics as "Running on Faith" and "Layla." During "Layla," a beaming Southern girl turned around to share how she was named after this song. Simply adorable Layla, simply adorable.

The show predictably closed with three staples: "Wonderful Tonight," "Cocaine," and "Crossroads." Sure, it was nice to hear these favorites, but I have to ask...when did the encore become such a foregone conclusion? I would have liked to see a little bit more of an unorthodox set, but with so many people assigned to so many jobs, I guess a concert can sometime become a mechanical process.

Nevertheless, the show was a hit. Memphis loved it, we loved it, and I hope Clapton loved it. This could very well be the last time we ever see him, and we're happy to end on a high note.



Pentatonically yours,

CPS