Billy Joel | Live at Fenway Park – July 16th, 2015

Sitting on the outside patio of a country-western themed bar across the street from historic Fenway Park, a loud commotion appeared to be happening in the middle of Lansdowne Street. Typically a place for people to grab a sausage, and if you’re lucky, a batting practice home run flying over the Green Monster, there would be no Red Sox playing (poorly) that night. Instead music legend Billy Joel was about to grace us with his presence as I slammed down a beer as quick as possible to catch up to the crowd who seemed to be “lubricating” themselves all day in anticipation. I wasn’t exactly sure what I was doing there as Joel’s music isn’t remotely close to what I listen to most of the time, and I seemed to lack some of the other traits his Fenway fanbase possessed: Italian, Jewish, maybe both a la Henry Hill, from or seemingly from New York, and most of all, old.

As I wondered if Joel, no millenial himself, would be too old to deliver a great show worthy of his (pricey) cost of admission, his first display of showmanship happened before he even stepped on stage. From across the street we witnessed a ridiculous barrage of motorcycle cops appear and they circled the area clearing space in the crowd for the Piano Man to pull intro the parking lot. It was way over the top and one girl was nearly steamrolled by an officer (at least she would’ve been white for change?) but it was one hell of an entrance. That’s what the kids lack these days: showmanship! And abuse of local law enforcement resources.

Perhaps fittingly. No. Fittingly, Joel began the night playing his hit “Big Shot” as his face and hands were on full display on the huge video screens covering the outfield. I know he’s been doing this for a long time, but I can’t help but wonder how a man who now resembles a more frumpy version of Mike Ehrmantraut isn’t self conscious about all the those damn close ups for the tens of thousands of fans watching. I guess the millions of dollars per show helps you get comfortable real quick but I spent my 15 minutes on the subway to the show hating my ever widening reflection and more generally, myself. I also can’t play a lick of anything on any instrument so I’m not sure public embarrassment via videoboard should remain too high on my great fear’s list. Don’t worry armpits, you’re still number one.

Joel kept the energy up with “Moving Out” and “Vienna” from his 1977 album The Stranger with “The Entertainer” and it’s silly little repeating keyboard sound played in the middle. Acknowledging the venue, he played “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” before initiating “Say Goodbye to Hollywood” and the technicolor dreamfuck of a lightshow that accompanied it. “Downeaster Alexa” was solid and followed by a song I didn’t remember at all (apparently “All for Leyna”) before the showmanship was back on with the intentionally moving spotlights and helicopter sound effects introducing “Goodnight Saigon”.  Active military joined Joel and band onstage to belt out together “We Will All Go Down Together”. I’m not usually a sucker for Armed Forces Tributes, especially when scumbags like the NFL take money just to acknowledge the troops in attendance, but this seemed to work on an emotional level. I just hope those poor bastards don’t actually die together when President Trump sends them into battle over some conspiracy theory he read in the supermarket line. Can we agree that the most ridiculous part of that last comment was that he does his own grocery shopping? Good.

By the time he played “My Life” the old people in the crowd had started to hit their bedtime and let out their inner grumpiness. It’s probably the one time a year you old bastards get off your sofa, why don’t you let loose and enjoy yourselves? The old fogies in front us were having none of it, so we sought out seats where no one demanded we sit silently and enjoy nothing. Obstructed view is not the way I would recommend “seeing” a concert but at the very least we were able to sing along horrendously to “For the Longest Time” without tension. As the show continued, Joel turned up the corniness with way too ’80s song “Sometimes a Fantasy” that Bryan Adams may have had wet dreams about and probably found its way into a movie montage that I hope I never watch. “She’s Always A Woman” was corny in a different way but allowed for slow dancing among me and another hetero male. Take that you stuffy old pricks!

“We Didn’t Start the Fire” is kinda awesome and kinda sucks but was important in bringing up a vital point: where the fuck is the sequel? We have so much bullshit to cover from 1990 to the present day, why isn’t anyone working on a song where all you have to do is name historical or pop culture references? You don’t even have to be creative, just watch an “I Love the ____” Marathon and you’ve got your lyrics. Is no one else eager to hear Nirvana,The Kardashians, Pulp Ficton, Ross & Rachel, 9-11, Monica Lewinsky, Facebook, Obama, the 2004 Red Sox, and the selfie stick together in one verse?! What else do I have to say?!

Joel closed out the night with inexplicable personal favorite “River of Dreams” including a “Summer in the City interlude, the epic (or if you don’t like it, LONG) “Scenes from an Italian Restaurant”, and finally “Piano Man”. He has to play that song last because even the hardened cynics after hours of music and drinking will grab their neighbor and drunk karaoke the shit out of it. The encore as I had been warned was probably the worst part. “Uptown Girl” has aged even worse than the man himself and is musically and lyrically offensive to every bone in my body. “It’s Still Rock and Roll to Me” and “Only the Good Die Young” are also hokey as hell, but not nearly as bad as fucking “Uptown Girl”. Was Christie Brinkley really worth it? Okay, fine. But you’ve moved on to other women long ago, can you just retire this trash already? Oh well, one shitty song didn’t ruin the night. Billy Joel sounded great, I had a good time despite the embodiment of middle-ages’ depressing decline surrounding us, and I even have some great ideas for a new song. You DID start the fire Mr. Joel. The burning fire of creativity in my soul. Yeah I’ll see myself out. Where the fuck is my motorcade?

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Bake

I'm nothing. Maybe less than nothing. I also write.

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