Have you ever had a time in your life where you were completely at peace, an absolute lack of ennui? I struggle to find the best word to portray this feeling. “Zen” seems too simplistic, and any other description cheapens the experience.
On Sept. 17, 2018 in an intimate music joint known as the Birchmere in Alexandria, Virginia, I experienced this unnamed feeling in a night of propinquity with my musical hero.
First, a little backstory.
Growing up as the baby sister to siblings much older than I, I was introduced to music from the 1960s, partially to turn me away from some of the 1980s pop that had me wearing lace headbands and neon colors. I was introduced to Jan & Dean, the Mamas & the Papas, and the Monkees. About that time, the Monkees, (minus Mike Nesmith), were experiencing a revival with new albums, conventions, and tours. One of my sisters took me to Chicago, LA, and Teaneck, New Jersey of all places to see Davy, Micky, and Peter at conventions and concerts – with the concert in LA featuring Mike Nesmith (aka Papa Nez) as well!
It was at one of these conventions that I was introduced to Mike’s television specials, videos, and post-Monkees music as a soloist and as the leader of the First National Band.
I never turned back.
Mike’s music always seems to heal, humor, and hearten me. He always has the right song whether it is the steel-guitar laden “The Crippled Lion” for times when I am restless, the humorous travel tunes “El Dorado to the Moon” or “Rio” when I need a good laugh, or the thought-inducing “Propinquity” when I feel emotions for my husband that are passionately overwhelming. His music was there for me when I dealt with breakups, the depths of depression, even when I was in labor with my children.
When I had the chance to see him in concert a few years ago as a solo act, I jumped at the chance. Then later when I got to meet him in person, with my heart in my throat, I did it. By the way, there is an expression “Never meet your heroes.” Wrong in this case. He was so kind to me as I rambled on about him being there at the birth of my children, my daughter learning his songs on guitar, and oh could he please autograph her American Girl guitar for me.
Fast forward to 2018.
Mike performed with the First National Band Redux for a few nights in California. Most of the original members of the First National Band are no longer with us, but backed by two of his sons, Christian and Jonathan and a freaking amazing talent of musicians, Christopher Allis, Jason Chesney, Jim Cox, Pete Finney, Circe Link, and Amy Spear, Mike performed where it all started for him, at the Troubadour in West Hollywood. Following this, he toured with Micky Dolenz in “The Monkees Present: The Mike & Micky Show.” It was HIS year.
Then came June 21, 2018.
I was on vacation with my family and was checking out Facebook when I saw that the Monkees concert scheduled for June 21 was canceled due to Mike falling ill. Knowing he is not a young guy at 75, I figured it was the flu or just exhaustion. Reports said it was a minor illness. One month later, it was reported that he had quadruple bypass surgery.
Minor illness?
It was then I realized that my musical hero, my knight in a Nudie Suit, was not immortal. Frantically searching to see if I could get to a postponed Mike & Micky show, I found Mike was coming to my home state on Sept. 17 with the First National Band Redux, and I would be damned if I missed seeing him.
My husband and I drove in the remnants of Hurricane Florence, with flood watches, tornado watches, Omega watches, and stood in the downpour outside the Birchmere, to see Mike Nesmith again.
Unlike his past concerts where he seemed to follow a script, this one was raw and full of emotion. Sure he shared the same stories on this tour in other concert venues, like how steel guitar guru Red Rhodes took his marijuana mixed with Jif peanut butter; or how one couple said that “Joanne” was their song because the woman’s name was Joanne and they even played at their wedding, not realizing that “Joanne” is a depressing relationship song. We got to see the Mike that hid behind the music. In almost every performance, when speaking about his first wife, Phyllis, he would break down in tears. In Alexandria, it was when he was trying to say that she gave him some of the best things in his life. He could not get out the words, but gestured to his two sons on each side of him. When Pete Finney played Red’s “Rene” on the steel, Mike sat on an amp, closed his eyes and smiled in a moment of intimate reminiscence that brought us all into the studio where Red played his ballad for Nez for the first time.
If I had to sum up the concert, I would say it was a concert of love. Love Nez had for Phyllis. Love he had for his former (and current) bandmates. His absolute love for his children. Better yet, their love for their father. Christian’s enthusiasm and adoration of his dad was stronger than that of any Nezhead. It was a night I never wanted to end.
Getting back to reality on Tuesday with a figurative punch in the face from a toxic person in my life brought me down from my high, but I was hungover for a good week. It wasn’t until I read that Nez was safe at home, resting from his tour, that I was able to feel normal again. I think most of Mike’s fans had a similar feeling – one of fear, that every pause he took on stage meant he would be ill right then instead of him taking his time with a story. That every missed line was a sign of age instead of being in the moment. That this one moment in time would be the last time we would get to hear him live.
But Nez has always surprised his fans in ways we could never imagine. He always keeps on keeping on doing what he wants – quadruple bypass or not. And I cannot wait to see what he has in store for us next.
Note: This post was written before Nez’s death in December 2021. Thanx for the ride Nez.
Lisa Sedlak 