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GONE are
the hippie Jesus hairdo and the tacky three-piece suits
which he sported along with former partner Dan Seals,
back when they were still that famous pop-rock duo
England Dan and John Ford Coley.
Wearing
a sports team cap, perhaps to cover a balding pate, an
untucked, unbuttoned long-sleeve shirt (with the sleeves
rolled up) over a white tee, denim jeans and cowboy
boots, John Ford Coley looked like any hick who just
walked out of some bar in Nashville, Tennessee, the
“Music City,” where he and Seals first recorded their
demos, and where he still does most of his work.
‘England
Dan’ is no longer with him, and none of their usual
session musicians like Larry Knetchel, Tommy Morgan and
Hal Blaine were around either; they parted ways a
long-time ago.
For the
fourth time in the Philippines, it’s just John Ford
Coley. And in the middle of a sparsely decorated stage,
with an all-Filipino ensemble providing the session work
and back-up vocals, he was playing before an audience
that may have been big enough for a lounge act but
barely filled half of the Aliw Theatre, a concert venue
that would not have been able to accommodate the throngs
that flocked to their gigs during their heyday.
It
certainly didn’t matter though to the few who were
there, as Coley, who was to celebrate his birthday by
midnight, basically took out his song book and played
everything from the duo’s Very Best compilation album,
showing his musical chops by alternately playing guitar
and keyboards (Seals was the guitar player in the duo
and Foley, the classically trained pianist).
From
their biggest hit “I’d Really Love to See You Tonight”
to those which did not even break the Billboard Top 10
but became love anthems here, played as covers by almost
every band or sung in almost any karaoke bar, like
“What’s Forever For,” “Broken Hearted Me” and the
ubiquitous “Sad to Belong” and “Just Tell Me You Me”
(the concert’s title), you name it, it was in the
repertoire.
He sang
a few more which he thought the audience—most of whom
were fellow baby boomers—wanted, maybe needed, to hear,
like the endlessly listenable “Make It With You,” as a
tribute to his friend, Bread’s Jimmy Griffin, who died
of cancer two years ago.
Foley’s
spiels were more like conversations with old friends,
filled with warmth, wit and piercing honesty. He joked
about the half-empty venue and told stories about every
song, like the time a pretty and nicely dressed woman
accosted him at a record-signing. “She stuck the album
in my face, squeezed my hand and said, ‘I want you to
know my fiancée and I fell in love to your song ‘Nights
Are Forever Without You.’ We danced to the song. He
proposed to me through that song. We did everything to
that song.”
Foley
could only say, “Well, thank you very much.” But that
was before the woman got within an inch of his face and
in some voice he’s never heard before shouted, “And then
that ****** left me and I’ve hated your song ever
since.”
Before
singing “Sad to Belong” Foley said that back then, a lot
of people in America actually wanted to take if off
radio because they said it was about cheating. But his
first concert producer in the Philippines told him he
can’t go to the country without doing the song. So he
prayed about it and realized the song actually offers
good advice: Marry your second spouse first.
He
introduced “Love is the Answer,” from their regrettably
titled Dr. Heckle and Mr. Jive album, as the only single
at the time that was in the Top 10 that wasn’t a disco
song. It was, in fact, the last Top 10 hit of England
Dan and John Ford Coley before they split up, finally
succumbing to the disco and punk rock onslaught that
eventually heralded a new musical era and a new
generation—well, my generation.
I was
just a boy at the back of my father’s Ford Falcon when
England Dan and John Ford Coley songs were dominating
the airwaves, a cherub in the Dionysian circus of rock
and roll.
I
learned to appreciate them much later. They offer a
softer, simpler kind of rock that provides solace and
companionship, and speaks of a more innocent time,
perhaps before idealism collided with commerce, and
before passion turned into disillusionment.
I looked
around, seeing all these “more mature” men and women,
and had no trouble imagining them in those over-the-top
’70s outfits, wearing bellbottoms, hip huggers and gypsy
dresses, with those shaggy hairdos to match. I know
these songs tell their stories. They came to grips with
who they were, what they wanted to do and who they will
become with these songs serving as touchstones. But
these songs could very well have narrated my
coming-of-age too.
Tonight
there was no age or generation gap between us. For at
least an hour-and-a-half, we were all musical soul
mates. |
