Spontaneous adventures are a treat. They don’t happen often, and provide deep lasting joy. For some reason, when I got the call from an old friend Bobby Martin to join him to see The Doobie Brothers at PNC Arts Center in NJ (always known to me as the Garden State Arts Center)… I did not hesitate to say yes, and confidently said with big balls, “I’m in.”

It had been 25 years since the last time I was at PNC Arts Center… Neil Young with Billy A the night before I set off on another adventure out West. 3 days and 2 Nights to make it from NY to LA. Just me and me dog Max. A happy, happy memory.

The Doobie Brothers, especially Michael McDonald, were great! But tonight the side shows became the main stage. Watching Doobie Brothers on a picture perfect October night would have been plenty fun… but a last minute detour to barn full of local conservative activists set us on a path off the Yellow Brick Road. The last time I saw such a spirited Pledge of Allegiance and National Anthem was at the Rodeo Austin (click here for that story).

Like many of my favorite buds, Bobby M is a character. Big music guy. Gigantic heart. Friend for 35 years. Drummer (although for some strange reason he continues to make excuses for not setting up his new fancy set…. Rob, if you are reading this, just do it!). Retired NYC PD. Been to hell and back. Humbly grateful to be alive. Kind as a school crossing guard, and crazy as a loon. My favorite kind of lad.

The cast of characters I met last night for the first time were straight out of a Quentin Tarantino movie. Starting with the slick, jet-black hair and mustached retired NYC burglary unit cop to the soft-spoken renowned BBQ butcher that scared the crap out me when I opened a door in his house thinking it was a bathroom and found hundreds of massive blades designed to cut a hoof clear off with one swipe.

At some point, the owner (Seamus, a proud burly Irishman) of yet another Jersey backyard barn tried to convince me that one day he was sure I would have a drink from his prosthetic leg. His sense of confidence that this would indeed happen kept me on my toes as he poured drinks one after another. Please know, there is no f’ing way that would ever happen.

Among other Hunter Thompson-like decor, an artsy large picture of Seamus laying facedown buck naked on a pool raft without the detachable leg replacement was proudly displayed on the wall. I’ve never seen anything like it.

I’m not sure if I stated this out loud that night, but “there ain’t no party like a Diddy party”! The white, right-winged New Jersey inner circle version. An authentic, awesome slice of life. I am thankful for their hospitality, and regret not being able to make it to the annual Irish music ramble featuring the real-deal.

Now back to the concert!!!!

I had heard that Michael McDonald lost his chops. He has not. The energy of Michael and his robust style of piano reminded me of Eddie Van Halen. Powerfully unique music. The few songs he led were worth the price of admission. His playing is like a tornado. When he turns the corner on a song, it gets hot fast.

I did not like the music without Michael as lead man.

Although “Jesus Is Just Alright”, “Blackwater” and the rest of the large Doobie catalog absent of Michael McDonald… the band is old and flat.

To boot, I wish I didn’t, but I did…. get incredibly annoyed with the droves of fans hold their phones out to record a large video file that will clog up their phone and never ever watch.

Long live the Garden State Arts Center.