2014 SUMMER CONCERT ROUND-UP

August 8, 2014: Lynyrd Skynyrd, Pacific Amphitheatre, Costa Mesa, California

Inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 2006, a point that the announcer made sure to emphasize as he introduced the band, Lynyrd Skynyrd took the Pacific Amphitheatre stage as if it was oblivious to the honor. Not that the band doesn't deserve to be in the Hall, only that this is a band that still thinks it's "Workin' for MCA," the sardonic, riff-heavy commentary on the music industry with which Skynyrd opened the show to immediate audience approval.

Throughout a set that had the capacity crowd on its feet from start to finish, Lynyrd Skynyrd performed as if it was a working band whose daily labors are producing records and touring the country and not a nostalgia act trading on its legacy—although, significantly, almost every song the band performed was from its mid-1970s heyday, before the 1977 airplane crash that killed the pilots and several of the band and crew, including lead singer Ronnie Van Zant, guitarist Steve Gaines, and backing singer Cassie Gaines.

Indeed, in its more than 40-year career, death has been the band's companion. A decade after the plane crash, Skynyrd reunited with Van Zant's brother Johnny, and it has more or less remained together ever since, but in that quarter-century the band has endured tragic attrition. Bassist Leon Wilkeson died in 2001, while his replacement, Ean Evans, died in 2009, the same year that saw the death of keyboardist Billy Powell. Hughie Thomasson, the former Outlaws frontman who joined Skynyrd from 1996 to 2005 before leaving to revive the Outlaws, died in 2007. Backing singer JoJo Billingsley, part of the 1977 band, was the only band member not to have boarded the fateful flight, claiming to have dreamt about its crash two days' prior; subsequent to the crash, she made a couple of one-off appearances with the band before she died in 2010. And guitarist Allen Collins, who survived the plane crash only to become paralyzed in a 1986 automobile crash, never played with Skynyrd again; he died in 1990.

This roll-call of fallen bandmates formed a somber montage on the on-stage video-screen backdrop during the band's final number, "Free Bird." (And that's no spoiler—you would expect Skynyrd to end with any other number?). All of which must seem poignant to guitarist Gary Rossington, the sole pre-crash veteran still playing with the band. (Pre-crash veterans guitarist Ed King and drummer Artimus Pyle are still alive but no longer perform with Lynyrd Skynyrd.)



But if Rossington, or anyone else in the band, or anyone in the audience felt melancholy, you could not tell from the hour-plus of top-grade Southern rock that preceded this celebrated encore—and in fact those miles of wailing guitars that end "Free Bird" were hardly elegiac. Singer Johnny Van Zant worked the crowd as if Skynyrd were an opening act needing to establish its right to be on the stage. (That was also the case for Jeramiah Red, the local roots-rock band—it even had a steel guitarist—that opened the evening with a brief, rough-hewn yet energetic set.)

As the band slammed out one riff-happy rocker after another—the freewheeling "Call Me the Breeze," the wry groupie-seduction tale "What's Your Name?," and the compulsive caution of the brilliant "That Smell"—with the joyful inhabitants of "Skynyrd Nation" singing every verse and chorus, Van Zant kept up a steady patter that established the band's connection with the audience and held it—strengthening it, in fact—even if he did lapse into solicitousness (asking "How y'all doin' out there, Costa Mesa?" too many times) and self-conscious boasting ("I'll say it again, California—Skynyrd is in the house!").

After the opening string of guitar-rock classics, Skynyrd slowed it down for a pair of signature ballads. Van Zant used "Simple Man" as a springboard to salute current and former members of the military, exhorting the audience to show their respect as well, although this crowd hardly needed to be prodded as a montage of vintage portraits of men in uniform, presumably relatives or others associated with the band members, streamed on the video screen behind the drum riser.

Lynyrd Skynyrd's politics have always been fascinating. Early on, the band touted its regional identity, which helped to epitomize it as an exemplar of Southern rock—we'll get to "Sweet Home Alabama" by and by—and while that has lent itself to stereotyped perceptions, the band has always traded on its Dixie identification without being trapped by it. (By the way, military enlistment in the last few decades has come disproportionately from the South.)

Yes, Johnny Van Zant engaged in some literal flag-waving during his jaunts across the stage, brandishing both the Stars and Stripes and the Confederate flag, with the latter having been a symbol of controversy in recent years as racists have expropriated it, resulting in the band's distancing itself from the secessionist imagery associated with the flag. But as the saying goes, "name it and you claim it"—the Dixie flag has been associated with the band since its early days, and the band made its stance clear: As a still photo of the flag was displayed on the video monitor, the words "Heritage Not Hate" were superimposed prominently over it.



Significantly, Skynyrd later fired off a rousing version of "Saturday Night Special"—the hippest, hardest-rocking gun-control song you are ever likely to hear—but left in the holster its more recent "God & Guns," the title song to its 2009 album, which has found favor on the American political right, notably with Fox News Channel commentator Sean Hannity. This may have been a nod to California's perceived liberal tendencies—although this concert was being held in Orange County, a conservative stronghold since before Richard Nixon was in diapers—but more likely it was because, no matter how rabid the fans may have been, the band knew that people had paid primarily to hear the classic songs. Which is a bit of a shame because "God & Guns" are two big themes in this county—I live down the road from Pastor Rick "The Purpose Driven Life" Warren and his mega-sized Saddleback Church—and this county-fair audience would have greeted the song with a hearty chorus of "Amen, brother!"

The crowd did greet "Tuesday's Gone" with another appreciative roar and singalong, at least on the chorus; the wistful ballad served as the precursor to the memories evoked by the encore number "Free Bird." Between "Tuesday's Gone" and "Simple Man" came a roots-inflected cover of the Al Jolson chestnut "Alabamy Bound," a reminder that "Sweet Home Alabama" lay ahead, although the route to that signature tune, the band's highest-charting single, ran through the hilarious shaggy-dog story of "Gimme Three Steps," another crowd-pleaser.

And with "Sweet Home Alabama," Lynyrd Skynyrd brought it all home to the crowd that wasn't here simply to check off an item on its bucket list, which seemed to be the case with the audience that came to see Deep Purple and Blue Oyster Cult two nights previously. No, the overwhelming majority of the audience was here because Lynyrd Skynyrd is still its band. This was rock and roll that still moved them, that wasn't just the music of their passionate youth but the soundtrack to their current lives, and the band knew it and responded as if it needed to reaffirm that relationship.

Moreover, as my friend Mitchell noted, the gender mix for Skynyrd was about even, a contrast to the crowd two nights before, which was largely men who had never got over the halcyon days of their youth or else approached the concert with the professorial curiosity of middle age. (I'm not sure into how much of each category I fall.) There were as many women getting off to Skynyrd as there were men.

Following the band's exit after "Sweet Home Alabama," the audience kept up its roar, knowing that there was still one song left to play. It's easy to make fun of "Free Bird," which has become part of pop-culture iconography including its status of one of the most requested rock songs ever, both on the airwaves and in concert—even if it's not a Lynyrd Skynyrd concert. A couple of years ago, I attended a jazz concert that celebrated the music of Duke Ellington. Near the end of the show, the band asked the audience for requests. In addition to calling out "Concerto for Cootie" and "Rockin' in Rhythm," I shouted "Free Bird," and nearly everyone within earshot got the joke. I'm not sure if the band did or, if so, appreciated it.

But this was a Lynyrd Skynyrd concert, and no way was the band going to exit for good without playing "Free Bird." Cradled in the roar of its audience, the band—Van Zant, Rossington, guitarists Mark Matejka and Rickey Medlocke (whose association with Skynyrd dates back to its earliest days, when he was the band's drummer before forming Blackfoot), keyboardist Peter "Keys" Pisarczyk, bassist Johnny Colt, and backing singers Carol Chase and Dale Krantz-Rossington—launched into this iconic anthem along with the visual tribute to deceased former bandmates before unfurling the soaring, extended guitar solos that not only epitomize Lynyrd Skynyrd—shaggy heads down, heated guitars thrusting and bobbing in unison—but exemplify classic rock.

The key difference between the Lynyrd Skynyrd concert and the Deep Purple-Blue Oyster Cult show from two days prior was that Skynyrd saw itself as a working band that just happens to have been working for 40 years while Deep Purple and Blue Oyster Cult saw themselves as bands whose working days were 40 years ago, and now they were trading on that glory.

That was my initial impression, and upon reflection that may not be entirely fair. After all, Blue Oyster Cult was not only never less than smooth and professional, the band members looked as if they were having fun tearing into their old repertoire. Deep Purple may have sounded uneven during the start of its set, but once it started digging into its new material, such as "Vincent Price," that fired up its enthusiasm for the older songs. And while Lynyrd Skynyrd played as if it were an upcoming act needing to win over the audience, its songs were overwhelmingly drawn from its early halcyon days and not from the albums it has released in the last twenty-five years.

And while I'd hardly cite the experiences as definitive, based on my impressions I'd say that Lynyrd Skynyrd performed like a Hall of Fame act while Deep Purple and Blue Oyster Cult were both on the borderline—and, based on what I saw and heard, I would have to give the nudge to BOC. Again, hardly conclusive, as these bands' legacies have by and large already been written, and I don't regret seeing any of them.

As I wrap up this article, the Orange County Fair is also wrapping up, and with it is its summer concert series. As I am in Southern California, I daresay there will be a rock concert or two occurring somewhere in the Southland before next year's fair. But I daresay also that come next year I'll be looking at who will be playing at the Fair—and which current or potential Rock and Roll Hall of Fame acts will catch my fancy and have me dancing in my seat.