Dave Matthews & Tim Reynolds

3:34 pm – My sister’s friend is under the hood of his Volvo, which was manufactured during the Reagan administration, “This thing gonna’ make it?”

“Oh ya, just checking the oil and stuff.”

‘And stuff’ I think to myself, as I drop into the back seat, waiting to depart for a show with my wife and little sister. When I left for college nine years ago, I didn’t see this day coming. He slides into the front seat and starts the car and backs out without looking into his rearview mirror almost in a single motion as if this maneuver is something he could do in his sleep. He wears “skinny jeans” as they’re called, and straight hair across his forehead, almost like “guy bangs” or something. He argues with my sister because he wants to start the trip off by listening to Afroman and she wants to listen to something else. They’re both texting people on their cell phones throughout the argument. I hope they’re not texting each other.

4:45 pm – We are somewhere just south of Indianapolis and I am reading Henry Miller when my face nearly slams into the front passenger seat. The four occupants in the car unanimously yell different words and we stop just short of smashing into a brand new Lexus or something like it. The driver does not appear friendly or anxious to buy us dinner. I put my face deeper in my book and check my waist seat belt to make sure it’s tight. I then check my boxers. My wife is not amused. My sister and her friend are still both texting. Dave Matthews Band: Live from Folsom Field is playing through the dusty speakers.

5:32 pm – We pull into a parking space just outside of the main doors to the football stadium. The problem is that the show is in the basketball stadium. My brother is calling my phone, he got us tickets, he is already inside, he is annoyed by our time of arrival.

“I’ll try to save you seats … but I can’t promise anything.”

We turn the corner of the stadium and the line is farther than my eyes can see. The front of the line is easily detected and we head in that direction. My brother calls again, the security guards aren’t letting anyone back out, he’s got our tickets. The parking lot reminds me of Panama City Beach after four straight weeks of Spring Break. I am not the only one thinking this because the girls are wearing jean skirts, and not the kind that cover your knees.

“This place looks terrible,” my wife says.

I don’t know if she’s talking about the parking lot or the girls. I agree.

5:40 pm – There are some girls leaning against parked cars, and I don’t think it’s because they’re just passing time, I think it’s because they wouldn’t be standing if it weren’t for those cars. We were expecting a certain crowd to be here since we were also expecting a certain presidential candidate to be here speaking of hope and change. My doubts are mounting on his appearance. The student security guards are about as helpful as mosquito bites and we turn towards the end of the line. My brother promises to wait at the gate if he can. We still have no tickets.

5:47 pm – We finally make it to the end of the line, yes, because it’s that long. There’s a group of guys standing in front of us talking about high school football and women. They all have on deck shoes with no socks, plaid shorts, t-shirts, and half of them are sporting backwards hats ranging from baseball teams to their fraternity letters. I imagine them standing on their house porch drinking cheap beer out of red cups and throwing rocks at crappy cars that drive by while laughing like a pack of hyenas. On Saturday afternoons they take off their shirts and “toss the pigskin” in the front yard. All but one of them are wearing sunglasses. We have managed to lose my sister’s friend and she is frantically texting to find him. She must have the strongest thumbs on the planet. We have no tickets and no driver now.

6:01 pm – Two girls stumble through the line followed by a female police officer. She grabs them both and pulls out the Breathalyzer. They will not be attending the concert. My sister’s friend is still missing but he has secured our tickets somehow and is now making his way towards us.

6:09 pm – We still have no tickets, no driver, and we are about to enter the front part of the line that is roped off. My sister is texting like crazy.

6:11 pm – Just before entering the roped off section our driver arrives with no tickets. We are heading for the doors ticketless and I assume my brother has forsaken us.

6:16 pm – We are searched by security and I see my brother standing on the other side of the gate holding two tickets. He reaches through and hands them to me. He is annoyed. We pass through the gate and head for our seats.

7:14 pm – We are sitting halfway up the first level of seats and thirteen thousand some odd people are crammed in here waiting for the show to start. The lights go out and the place erupts. There are people chanting Bob-by Kni-ight. A spotlight shines on a few people making their way to the stage, and some student government leaders get up to make some speeches. This is not what people came for and a rumble of boos echo through the building. They are encouraging people to register and vote for Barack Obama in the upcoming primaries. The mayor of Bloomington gets up to talk and stutters about his vision of change for America. Finally they exit the stage. I don’t think Obama is here.

7:21 pm – The stadium explodes in cheering and I see the familiar walk of Dave coming onto the stage. He is followed by his friend Tim Reynolds. I’ve seen The Dave Matthews Band more times than I can count, but seeing Dave and Tim together is a special event. Seeing Dave and Tim together for free is unheard of. I am excited. Dave mumbles something into the microphone as he adjusts his guitar while sitting down into a bar chair. The stage is covered in a huge oriental rug and Tim stands next to him. Tim is very short, shorter than Dave sitting down, and the full-bodied Martin guitar he’s holding looks huge in comparison.

The audience is still yelling and Dave strums a few chords while Tim sends some ethereal noises floating from his guitar. Dave begins singing without words and suddenly together they break into “Bartender.” The crowd cheers and no one is seated anymore. One thing that separates Dave Matthews from most performers is that you never know what a set list will be from show to show. I’m fairly certain he has no clue what song he will play next during the show. He finishes the song and tells us, “It’s awesome to be here!” Someone from the side of the stage brings him a new guitar.

7:40 pm- The fourth song in Dave begins picking the notes to “Satellite.” Everyone knows this song and it’s the loudest cheering thus far in the show. Seeing it with only Dave and Tim is special no matter how many times you’ve heard the song live. Dave’s voice has gotten better over the years, and he gravelly sings the words with a choir of thirteen thousand, comfortably cuing the different parts as we all sing together. He could stop singing and still the song would continue. From the front row on the floor to the upper tier of the balcony people are singing as one. There are thousands of phones opened and extended in the air. At what point in concert history did the cell phone replace the lighter? I would rather be trapped in a small room with a person chain smoking than a person talking on their phone any day of the week. There are flashes blinking across the audience on all sides, this is one of those songs.

They end the song and Dave switches guitars again. He introduces his stagehand, the guy bringing him the guitars, and says, “I never know what song I’m going to play until he brings me a certain guitar.” I knew he didn’t have a set list ahead of time. He begins telling everyone to register to vote, “Because we can, and so we should!” Then he mumbles something about dinner, followed by, “And if you already know who you’re voting for, that’s cool … but if you don’t know who to vote for, I’ll tell you who I’m voting for,” and he pauses, smiles and looks back at the huge banner hanging behind them and yells into the microphone, “Obama!”

7:53 pm – Dave is picking the opening to “Dreaming Tree” and a hush falls over the crowd. Silence is unusual at a Dave Matthews show, and you can sense a serenity dropping over the place. “Dreaming Tree” is an obscure song known primarily to his diehard fans, therefore “Dreaming Tree” played by Dave and Tim is a one time experience. Dave is committing himself to the song and it’s very beautiful. The two guitars are playing off each other and I drift into another place for a few minutes. His voice brings me back and he is screaming, “The dreaming tree has died… ” The song ends and the audience explodes again. Dave rambles on about the tooth fairy and his twin girls getting money under their pillows.

8:30 pm – “Crash” begins and everyone goes crazy followed by every couple slow dancing together in front of their seats. It’s all I can do to hold my lunch down, not because of the song, but because I suddenly feel like I’m at high school prom. This is a staple song that even people who hate Dave Matthews can sing along to. I recently read a blog about the top 100 songs of the ’90s, and one guy said, “I hate the Dave Matthews Band … I even hate their frat boy fans … but I can’t deny the awesomeness that is ‘Crash’.” It currently ranks #74 on the top 100 list.

Dave exits the stage and re-introduces for the 400th time his, “Good friend Tim Reynolds,” to play a song on his own. Tim Reynolds can play the acoustic guitar in a way few people can or ever have. He is playing some crazy strum patterns and again the audience is hushed. Quickly he transitions into “Stream” and the place erupts. “Stream” is a six-minute solo that was on the first Dave and Tim record, Live at Luther College, released in the mid-90s. It’s the song that made Tim Reynolds legendary and this is something most of us have only dreamed of. Dave enters the stage again amidst the flood of cheers and shouting.

9:00 pm – The duo break into “Dancing Nancies” after an ad-libbed introduction. Every person is singing along and dancing in front of their seats. They close the song and walk off stage. People are chanting “Dave Matthews” then “Dave and Tim”, but the stage remains empty. Most people are chanting and I lean over to my wife to make a wager on what songs they will encore with. My sister is texting furiously.

9:23 pm – Just when it’s been long enough Dave shuffles back onto the stage followed by Tim and everyone hurrahs together. He adjusts himself back into his seat and fixes his guitar. He’s done this very thing hundreds of times and his comfortableness is what brings people back time and time again. He seems to be one of us. He thanks everyone for coming out and reminds us once again to make sure and register because tomorrow is the last day to register in Indiana before the primaries. He gives the banner behind him another glance and looks to his good friend Tim. They begin “#41″ and it sounds like Tim is playing the violin on his guitar. This song is “Crash” for his true fans. I am happy and I feel like grabbing my wife and dancing with her. I refrain and instead close my eyes to drink in the moment. Tim’s guitar playing is worth every annoyance that goes along with big concerts and frat boys. Dave promises to, ” … bring his lover water … ” and all seems right with the world.

9:34 pm – “Ants Marching” rings out through the speakers and the place transitions into a hippie dance festival for a moment, and we all feel like maybe we belong to something bigger than ourselves. Maybe we will vote for a change. Maybe we will hope in our future. Perhaps this will mark the day of new beginnings for the younger generation. Maybe as Dave has suggested we will look out for one another, we will love one another, we will take care of the earth we inhabit. Maybe we will be the first generation to leave the planet better than when we found it. Maybe.

9:52 pm – I have to kick three bottles out from in front of my car door to get into the back seat. My sister’s friend backs out with his familiar maneuver and scrapes the car next to him with his front bumper. He looks up from texting to hit the brakes. We leave.

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