Mike Keneally has been an Ambrosia fan since he was a kid, and it shows. 
Before the performance in West Springfield on Friday, August 25, he comes
over and introduces himself.  Like me, he was set on fire by SINT the first
time he heard it.  He returns to the stage, and while they run through
"Livin' On My Own," I check out his chops.  I like what I see.  Across the
stage, Tollak leans forward to handle vocals on the bridge: "She came into my
li-i-ife..." and as I watch, one of his feet turns in when he reaches the
high note.

 

 I feel so much tenderness for that man and his sneakered foot
that I tell Ebby later if she'd seen it she would have been taken out on a
stretcher, it was that adorable.  I'm wearing a tee shirt that says Danse
With Me George on the front, and in my purse are permanent makers with which
I hope to get signatures on the back.  I'm sorry Dave isn't around, but like
most Travellers, I know that some Ambrosia is better than no Ambrosia.

Joe, who has already finagled a lengthy neck rub out of me, concludes the
sound check, and the band goes to change.  They emerge a few minutes later
and return to the stage.  I keep thinking I should look around and see how
big the crowd is, but I am physically unable to take my eyes off the band. 

They break into "Nice, Nice, Very Nice."  One of my favorites!  Mike, singing
Dave's part, has just the right whimsical tone.  After "Mama Don't
Understand," Joe says his monitor has blown out.  He doesn't seem too
concerned however, and even though I'm listening hard for evidence that he
can't hear himself, he hits all the notes effortlessly.  Burleigh, hidden
behind his drums, keeps up an infectious beat, and delights me with his
performance of "And..."  As they flow into "Somewhere I've Never Travelled,"
I can tell the audience is really starting to groove.  I'm standing
practically at the feet of Chris North, and as I look up, he flashes a grin
and roars something I can't understand, but laugh at anyway.  He's his usual
amazing self, fingers flying.  He told me before the show that in order to do "George" he
requires a certain piano, and I have despaired of ever seeing it performed. 
I'll just have to wait for that live album!

Tollak wants to know why the audience is standing so far away.  Joe coaxes
them closer - "We've all had our shots" - and once they've joined me at the
stage, the whole atmosphere changes.  I notice a few more avid fans.  They're
easy to spot - they sway to the music, know all the lyrics, and nod
approvingly without even realizing it.  Later they will approach the band
shyly and say they've been listening to Ambrosia for years.  Some will have
albums they want autographed.  This is my fourth show, and I never get tired
of hearing stories about how the music of Ambrosia changed someone's life.

Joe is the one I can't take my eyes off.  He's hopping around on stage like a
boy, and by now the crowd is jazzed.  They're cheering after each song, and
when he invites us to sing during "Angola," no one is shy about it.  Mike
clobbers a solo in "Life Beyond L.A.," and forgive the cliche, but the crowd
goes wild! 

They finish up, pretend to leave, but oblige our pleas for one more song. 
Ricky Cosentino, standing in for Shem, comes forward to do vocals on "You're
The Biggest Part of Me," and everyone sings along with him.  Tollak takes
over, and as always, I'm startled by his sexy, funky soul voice.  When the song

ends, we beg for another, but they wave a final time and leave.

 

I go backstage with my markers.  Joe is first to sign.  He's writing big and
hard, and I wonder how long it will take for the ink to wash off my skin. 
Next is Tollak, who makes a joke about being used to signing body parts. 
Chris taps my back and laughs, "Oh no, who wrote that?" as if it says KICK
ME.  Mike, understandably pleased with his performance, signs too.  Burleigh
has borrowed one of the markers, and this gives me the excuse to follow them
to the restaurant where they will have dinner.  On the way, I meet up with
fellow Traveller Doug Tybor.  I'm glad, because apparently West Springfield
isn't the safest place for a woman to be alone at night.  Doug agrees to
protect me.  I ask him to show me his scariest face, and his eyes open wide
and his lips snarl grotesquely.  "Crazy is good, too," I say.  He has some
very impressive concert photos, and when we join the band at the restaurant,
we all look through them.  My heart aches when I see Dave - I miss him!  My
other favorite picture is of Chris, grimacing in his determination to pull
off another outrageous solo.

I back up to Burleigh and ask if he'll sign my shirt.  He inquires if he can
sign the front - thank God at least one of them suggested it!  but when I
turn to accommodate this, he politely declines.  He told me earlier that his
next album (Small Parade) is almost done, and that it's very different from Real World, which turns out to be my cassette of choice for the long drive back to Boston that night.

The next day I discover that the camera I borrowed because it was better than
mine failed to rewind, so that when I open it, I immediately expose the film.
 A couple of expletives cross my lips.  I'm grateful that Doug took a lot of
pictures, and all the band photos that accompany this review are his. 
Thanks, you guys, for another magical evening with Ambrosia!!

Robin