An Evening with Lyle Lovett

One of the questions on a questionnaire I recently filled out was, "If you could do lunch with anyone, who would that be?" My answer: Lyle Lovett. To say that I like Lyle Lovett is probably a bit of an understatement. Truth is, I love Lyle Lovett, and that sentiment is cause for raised eyebrows, amused tolerance, and moderate alarm on the part of my friends and colleagues.

"Lyle Lovett. Oh good Lord," was my work supervisor's response when I announced I would be taking half a day off to see Mr. Lovett in Tanglewood in august of 2000.

Now each Christmas morning I sit in my chair

And I look up at the angels that float through the air

Some look down upon me, some come to my side

And they tell me that Jesus he said to say hi

Christmas Morning

"Lyle Lovett? Isn't he the guy that married Julia Roberts??" was a good friend's response when I started to broach the idea of her coming to the concert with me.

"Country western. That will cheer you right up," was another friend's comment.

Other times the only saving grace is that I also like Led Zeplin, Aerosmith, and Debussy. People regard me with slightly nervous smiles and look as though they might sympathetically pat me on the head if they didn't think whatever I have might be contagious.

I told her redneckness has got to be a disease

You catch it on your fingers and it just crawls right up your sleeves

Give Back My Heart

So be it. The fact that my acquaintances cannot appreciate the lyrics, gentle humor, and music of this man is not my problem. What matters is that his music makes me smile, makes me cry, makes me think about my grandfather and his cowboy boots and best dress black Stetson. The songs are not graphic but bring visions of western sunsets, ranches, and, somehow, a long-legged slow-smiling cowboy who wants but never quite needs.

Lovett's music and lyrics cross the genre boundaries in a heartbeat and it all works. He navigates funk, frenzy-making gospel, texas two-step, and western ballad while telling stories and painting pictures of moments and emotions. Line by line the songs become greater than the words, weaving small tapestries of ideas and feelings that are understood first by the heart and then the mind.

I remember in the mornings

Waking up

With your arms around my head

You told me you can sleep forever

And I'll still hold you then

Now the weather's getting colder

It's even cold down here

And the words that you have told me

Hang frozen in the air

And sometimes I look right through them

As if they were not there

North Dakota

As it turned out, I went to this summer's concert by myself, with no regrets. It was an evening with Lyle Lovett and no one else in spite of sitting in the middle of a crowd. If only he'd aimed one of those incredible sidelong glances he gave his band at me, but remembering the concert and watching a full red moon rise during the long drive home it somehow felt as if he had.