Friends and Family

Everyone knows what they’re going to get when Willie Nelson does a show. The guy who wrote, “the life I love is making music with my friends” proves the point whenever he picks up a guitar in public.

In recent years, descriptions of the singer-songwriter— and now author— have stopped using the label “outlaw.” It’s been replaced with “zen cowboy ”— whatever that means. 

What I think it means is that the white-bearded, brown-braided, wise-eyed, whiskey-voiced, musical artist has, in his customary, Texas-friendly way, become the designated conscience of America. 

He was the one leading and Julia and Muhammad and Jack and the rest of the superstar tabernacle choir in “America the Beautiful,” calming a nation still in shock at the first TV benefit following the 9-11 attacks. He played at the Winter Olympics closing night ceremonies. Recipients of his benefits range from Midwestern farmers to Tibetan Buddhists.

Pot-smoking, poet-crooner grandpas are rare items on our youth-oriented, short attention-spanned cultural landscape. But with his feet of clay comfortably nestled in running shoes — as opposed to cowboy boots — Willie Nelson comes as close as we’ve got to a saint in our midst. 

He’s the kind of entertainer who’ll play as long as there’s anyone to listen, and who’s generous enough to share the spotlight with whoever else is around. 

When he plays from his songbook that’s as big as America, you know it’s going to be great. 

Last Sunday night it was more than that. 

Willie was part of the line-up for “Pat and Gail’s Local Licks 1” in Seabury Hall’s Performance Studio. That’s Pat — as in founding Doobie Brother — Simmons, and Gail — as in rock-chick-with-a-heart-of-gold — Swanson, who put together the concert, following the model of a successful, long-running series in Nashville’s Bluebird Cafe. 

It’s billed as a songwriter’s showcase, where the artists talk about how they created their songs before they sing them. It feels more like a party, or a jam session in someone’s living room, than a concert. Popular local entertainer Maurice Bega was also on the bill, and before the evening was over, awesome vocalist Michael McDonald, versatile local music man Steve Sargenti and a bunch of talented kids, including the next generation of Simmons and Nelsons, were sharing the stage.

The 250-seat hall made the whole thing so intimate, you had to keep reminding yourself why the music sounded so great: It was because of who was playing and singing it. Well, duh. You had to keep reminding yourself, because no one was acting like a star. They didn’t seem to know how. Modest, unassuming, funny, they felt more like friends and family. By night’s end, we all were. 

The night was full of great musical moments — Pat Simmons shining, as both vocalist and guitar player with these opportunities to solo. Willie Nelson reminding everyone of what an amazing guitar player he is — jazzy, with hints of flamenco and classical — as he riffed through songs from his monumental body of work. 

Maurice Bega added a sweet voice and a sunny Hawaiian outlook on life. Gail Swanson was right at home with the big guys, wrapping her sultry voice around terrific compositions like “Half a Heart,” while demonstrating her talent for being able to sing and talk to the audience at the same time. 

Michael McDonald was invited to join the quartet, adding his chicken-skin, bluesy voice and his lively keyboard stylings to what was turning into a very tasty stew up on stage. 

The event was a benefit for the Seabury Hall music program, spearheaded by Pat Simmons and his wife Chris. The evening made almost $7,500 for the program. Along the way, it demonstrated the value of music education as a procession of ever younger artists took the stage. 

First came Seabury student Zak Wass, playing guitar with finesse and soul well beyond his 17 years. Then came the even younger Seabury and Montessori students, who call their rock band Callused. 

“Nepotism is everything,” said Pat Simmons as Sean Smith, Lucas Nelson, Pat Simmons Jr., Mika Nelson, Graham Ezzy and Pazya Silverson climbed up onto their chairs. Some of them were almost hidden by the bodies of their guitars — but they, too, quickly showed they had come to play. 

One of them got the night’s biggest laugh when he introduced the original composition “Leaving You,” before admitting to the audience that no one in the group had actually ever left anyone.

In fact, there were lots of laughs, from Maurice Bega’s constant refrain, “Willie, Willie, Wille” at having to follow Willie Nelson in the batting order, to Gail Swanson’s humorous accounts of trials and tribulations with old boyfriends and romance in general. 

Willie Nelson has so many hits to choose from, he could do them as sing-alongs with the audience. “I wish I had a hit,” sighed Maurice after Willie finished, “On the Road Again. “I wish I had done mine first,” chimed in Mike McDonald. 

Pat Simmons did his biggie, “Black Water,” with a spine-tingling vocal, bringing the house down for the umpteenth time of the evening. The performance prompted someone onstage to comment what a great song it was. 

Simmons, his modest smile in place, nodded. 

“It’s why I’m living on Maui,” he said. 

Pat and Gail say this was only the first in what promises to be a memorable series. They’re working on dates and a venue for the next one that will let more people come without destroying the intimacy that makes it all work.

Pat invited me to bring the Old Coot to the next show.

The Old Coot —what is it with that guy? I’m still getting e-mail for him from complete strangers on the Mainland. There are female String Cheese fans wanting to give him a big hug, and an announcement of fund-raising efforts to help Torey Newlin’s family defray the expenses of searching for the young man after his disappearance from the String Cheese Incident on Maui last month. (For more information check www.positively glowing.com/torey.)

While the Old Coot is basking in this newfound glory (especially the hugs part), I’m perplexed to explain the reason for his sudden popularity. The best I can come up with is that he’s got a lot of kindred spirits out there, responding to getting an AARP card in the mail just about the same way they responded to getting their draft notice in the 60s. 

Times have changed, it’s a new millennium, there have been kids and families, there’s a different war going on. But growing old — or even growing up — weren’t in the cards when he was a young coot, and he’s still not sure whether either of them has happened yet. 

Apparently, he’s not alone.