(Answered by Gary Peterson)
Two weeks ago, I saw Los Lobos. I have been following them since ’83 and have seen them live over a dozen times, but it’s been a few years.
The show happened in an outdoor venue, and I had a pretty good but obscured view seat. What I had a great view of was the band heading to the stage. The band looked old and graying. Conrad, the bassist, had a limp from what looked like a bad hip. David Hidalgo had taken a fall earlier in the tour, breaking his nose and left orbital bone. Even worse, he hurt ligaments in his wrist, requiring the use of a stand-in guitarist and guest organist.
So, Conrad sat part of the time, and David sang, and Los Lobos, well they did what Los Lobos does, they kicked ass.
One of the concert attendants noticed I was trying to see around the obstruction and asked me if I would like to change seats. Oh, please, I said. So, she came back and led all four of us to the front row center. Serious, maybe 20ft away.
Me, I am 70 years old and have been seeing shows for over five decades, and I experienced one of my top ten rock and roll shows of all time. Los Lobos jammed on a series of oldies taken from their new album, and they lifted the place off the fucking ground.
And they are old like me, and we grew old together, built lives, and did work that mattered. And we danced.
So, what’s an edge? We were all out at the edge that night, but it is not the same edge anymore. It is not the wild years, the crazy excess and madness anymore. That’s gone, or we wouldn’t be here.
No, we come from the hardest edge of all, mortality. We look back at our lives, knowing there ain’t that much left. So many are gone, and we will be too, but for now, we dance, make music, and inhabit the farthest edge of all.
The Rolling Stones, yeah, they are at that edge as well. And you know what, we are all still rocking, all still loving the music, and blessed to make it far enough down the road to get some real perspective.
Every Moment Has A Song 