Lightening in a Bottle: One Fan’s Story About Catching a Live Peter Parcek Gig

Hello, my name is Judd and I am a friend and fan of Peter’s. I have enjoyed his friendship and his music for close to twenty years. There was a period, when I lived in Boston and New Hampshire, that I would see Peter play at least once every couple of week…if not more. Those were the days.

I live in London, England now. I haven’t heard Peter play live since I left Boston back in 2002. I am crawling walls for some live Peter Parcek. Or at least I was until I heard his new album, “The Mathematics of Love”.

As soon as I listened to the opening track, “Showbiz Blues”, I could tell that this album was going to bring me as close to those special live moments we shared…as a musician and fan do…way back when I was clapping and whistling for one more song so many, many times before.

Peter and his band mates Steve and Marc, along with his producer Ted Drozdowski and everyone else who had a hand in this masterwork, should be extremely proud of this album. I could wax on with layers of superlatives and adjectives about it, but I think Peter describes it best:

“My first album was called Evolution, but this album really is an evolution for me. It’s the most focused, emotionally complex and complete artistic statement I’ve made under my own name.

Well said, well played and well done, Peter.

I am not a musician. I am a fan. As a fan it is my role to inspire and support the musician to do what they do best…make the music. One way to do this is to attend the gigs. As I said, I have attended many of Peter’s live gigs. There was one in particular that has always rang true for me, and I’d like to share it with you…

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LIGHTENING IN A BOTTLE…

I was already exhausted. I didn’t play a lick, but I gave that three-plus hour performance everything I had. I cheered at all the right spots. I cajoled the band with standing-o’s, foot stomps and fist pumps. I clapped for every searing solo and storming crescendo they played. When the time came for the customary call for the encore…I led the charge. As a fan…a true fan…a heart on his sleeve, lost in the moment, sign on the dotted-line-fan…this…this,…was my end of the bargain.

Little did I know, I was about to get more than I bargained for…

The band came back up onto the stage floor and the place up and erupted at the first sight of the geetar-man pulling his axe up over his shoulder. Could he actually have more juice left in the tips of those fingers?!? Could he…the band…have any more guts left to spill on the floor?

Hell, yes.

I was twenty-one, then. That was seventeen years ago. When I think about that exact moment, I still get the chicken skin. Moments like that are never lost. They get bottled up in a time capsule and with every year that passes, that memory, like the finest of reds, gets better with age. Don’t get me wrong; my memory of that exact moment has not been diluted by time and hyperbole. What I felt then and what I feel now are as true as tomorrow’s sunrise.

I am a music fan. I am a fan not just because of the sounds…but, also, because of the stories behind it and the significance that a single note or extended solo can have. As a student of music lore, I have read of many of these stories and moments: Dylan “going electric”, Hendrix’s Woodstock Star Spangled salute or Keith and Crew closing out the ’60′s at the Speedway in Altamont. These are all moments that will live on for an eternity…and if you were there, you were lucky enough to catch lightning in a bottle.

I have always wanted to be part of a “moment”…to catch my own lightning. Little did I know that my moment would come as close to home and as close to the bone as it did.

It was on a Sunday night in a local bar. This bar had been in my small town, hometown for many years. My parents met there in college. We lived around the corner from it for most of my youth. As a kid, I used to sit at the bar eating hot dogs while my old man played pinball and pulled pints with old time pals. “Penuche’s Ale House” was as much a time-honored tradition as it was a rite of passage.

I had been going to Penuche’s to drink since I had the gumption to flash a fake ID (a ripe ol’ age of eighteen years young). Each summer I came home from college, Penuche’ s was the nerve center for my cronies and me. Sunday nights were our nights to fan our tail feathers. 

Sunday night, every Sunday night, was blues night. On this one particular night (the night I caught my lightning) our absolute, bow-down, front burner, mountain moving, favorite blues man, Peter Parcek, pulled into town.

Hell, yes.

When Peter’s name was posted on the schedule, we cleared our calendars. Nothing…I mean nothing…got in the way of our attending a Peter Parcek gig. Peter and the band would go on around 9:00. We’d get there at 6:00pm to ensure we got the front table.

I can still remember sitting in those metal folding chairs, a table full of beers so we wouldn’t have to move, waiting for Peter and the band to start to play. What a RUSH! We always knew we were in for a special night.

This one particular night was extra special. Peter was out of his skin. He was playing sick licks while he walked across tables. He stretched his long amp chord out of the bar and played insane solos outside in the street while patrons clamoured for the door to catch a glimpse of him. The rest of us all sat inside waiting for him to return. When he did, he found the best looking chick in the bar, slid into her booth, took her beer bottle and played a slippery slide guitar with it; he melted her butter.

He was, as they say, on fire. By the time the band finished their third set, we thought we had seen it all…the best Peter Parcek band set ever. Period. That is, until they came back for the encore.

Could he actually have more juice left in the tips of those fingers?!? Could he…the band…have anymore guts left to spill on the floor?

Hell, yes.

Like I said before…I got much more than I ever bargained for on this night. This was the moment I had been waiting for. Peter played some Albert King, cum Stevie Ray for the first song…and then, like a full-on guitar tsunami, he and the band launched into a thundering, wall-rattling version of “Sunshine of your Love”.

I remember my muscles wincing with tension and trying to shout…but nothing coming out. I was thinking, “don’t black out…don’t miss this”. I could feel my eyes and mouth locked in wide-open positions. The band was so damn locked-in. The audience was an open nerve. I was able to snap my trance and took a quick glance around. The packed house was on its feet and creeping towards riot-level.

After the initial wave of the sound-tsunami hit and rolled back, the people lost their minds. The crowd up-front swelled until our table became overwhelmed with people struggling to get closer to Peter and crew. The owner of the joint was fighting to make his way to the front to create calm. Halfway there he gave up and peeled back and, seemingly, he gave in to hoping for the best.

Peter continued to play this all-instrumental version of “Sunshine”. He didn’t need to sing…his playing spoke for him. This was a mad-dash, sprint to the finish; give-it-all-you-got curtain dropper and he played it like a true champion. I had never heard anything like this…it was confident and earnest. It was a full force gale of sound. It was the purest live music moment I had ever had and had since. 

Lightning…in a bottle.