George Benson, and the Memories Ensue

What do you want from a career artist? Familiarity and freshness. George Benson is all that and more. He reminds me why I love live music, because he loves it.

At the Kennedy Center's acoustically (if not visually) stunning Concert Hall, GB arrived in support of his latest album, Songs and Stories. He had plenty of songs in the 100-minute set, but not too many stories. One was about one of his first visits to D.C. in the spring of 1976, just a week before he would release his new album, Breezin'. During a radio interview, the DJ persuaded him to give a taste of the new release, so he played a bit of the title number. The phone lines in the studio began to light up, GB recalled. Encouraged by the reception, he played another, a tune called This Masquerade. And all the phones in the building lit up.

I don't remember exactly when I first heard George Benson, but it couldn't have been too long after the release of Breezin'. Did I hear it on the radio? Most likely. I know I wouldn't have heard it from my college classmates' stereos. Do you remember the spring of 1976? That was the year Bruce Springsteen burst onto the scene. And he played Grinnell. How the hell did I hear of George Benson?!

But I did. At least one other person at Grinnell did too. Ah, Scott: the only would-be boyfriend I ever actually had an "our song" for. Too bad the relationship didn't get that far, though. Every time I hear This Masquerade, I think of Scott, just out of habit. Cut to 2010, and old is young again, but wiser. The melancholy, the frustration are still there, but the misconnections talked about in the song are now tinged with the reflection that missed connections may never reconnect.

GB saved On Broadway for the encore. (Movie fans may remember it as the number to which the cattle-call dance auditions are held at the beginning of All That Jazz.) Familiar, but fresh and with a mature grittiness. He gleefully growled out the line, 'cause I can play this here guitar... and the crowd roared its approval. Throw in an epically insane drum solo, and it's like you've never heard the song before. And that's how he handled all the familiar numbers, both his and the covers.

I couldn't help but wonder how a career artist keeps playing this here guitar for 35 or 40 or more years. I think it's that he keeps growing by staying open to influences. Irish? He made his guitar cry like a bagpipe, then launched into a jazzy Danny Boy. French Caribbean accents also penetrated the jazz of the night. He took Moody's Mood to giddy new heights. And from the new CD, he performed a cover by an artist he admires, James Taylor: Don't Let Me Be Lonely Tonight.

But in the end, the sound was always recognizably, reassuringly George Benson. The Benson sound is as distinct in its own way as the Glenn Miller sound was in its time. Familiar, fresh, and new again in the shared experience of a crowd who came to remember and rejoice.