I was eleven-and-a-half years old in the spring of 1978 when Electric Light Orchestra released their album “Out of the Blue” and Z-97 started playing “Sweet Talkin’ Woman” around the clock. I also heard “Sweet Talkin’ Woman” on 98-FM The Zoo and Q-102. In a ten year period from the mid ’70s to the mid ’80s, every radio station played ELO because the music was so good and the genre wasn’t really that certain. It was hard rock and it was really poppy. It was electric guitar and drums on top of violins and cellos. The electronic sounds and synthesizers made it almost (gasp!) disco-y, but the rhythm and chords made it unmistakably bluesy. ELO sounded at once like something from the far away future and something my dad would have enjoyed in the ’50s.

My parents gave me a massive stereo turntable for Christmas when I turned eleven, and the very first 45 I ever bought was ELO’s “Sweet Talkin’ Woman.” It was 89-cents at the Sears store at Town East Mall. The sleeve was solid, thick, slick, and dark blue–no cheap paper sleeve with the giant hole in the middle here–and absolutely pulsing with the bright colors of ELO’s iconic spaceship. The record itself was made of a transparent, purple vinyl that was probably the coolest thing I had ever seen at that point in my life. The B-side was a lightning fast instrumental called “Fire On High.” And I wore that record out.

I wound up buying “Turn to Stone” from that same album a little later that year. Then “Discovery” gave us “Shine a Little Love” and “Don’t Bring Me Down,” singles I also purchased at that same Sears store. In 1980, my sister, Rhonda, and I went in together and purchased the “Xanadu” album, the soundtrack to an awfully terrible movie. It was all Olivia Newton-John on one side and all ELO on the other, including “I’m Alive” and “All Over the World” (listen to the album; don’t ever watch the movie).

I was almost 15 when ELO released “Time,” their mind-blowing concept album about a trip to the future. I bought the album and memorized every line of every song, from the robotic voiceover on the prologue, through the soaring energy of “Twilight” and the tongue-in-cheek satire of “2095,” to the wistful “Ticket to the Moon” and the poignant laments of “The Way Life’s Meant to Be?” and “Here is the News,” to the hard pounding finale “Hold On Tight.” At this point, we were all ELO fans, especially Mike and Todd, my two best friends at church. They had singles I didn’t have. Todd had “Can’t Get It Out of My Head” and “Livin’ Thing.” Mike owned “Evil Woman” and “Strange Magic.” We would sing them all together at the top of our lungs; we knew every line to every song. I had the best stereo, but Todd’s aunt let us play the music louder at his house.

When ELO announced a concert tour in 1981 that included a night in Dallas at the brand new Reunion Arena, we all three knew we had to see them in person. Behind the scenes, we coerced Mike’s dad into agreeing to take us to the show. He would drive us there, sit through it with us, and drive us home. Todd’s aunt gave him the go-ahead, which left it all up to me. I figured I could talk my parents into letting me go; it’s not like we wanted to see Ted Nugent or Black Sabbath, this was ELO!  My parents were very familiar with their music. We would catch dad singing along every now and then on the way to school. But they said “No.”

Once my dad put his foot down on it, Mike’s dad backed out. I don’t know everything that went on between the parents, but we did not go to the concert. None of us. I got blamed for it. And ELO never toured again.

They didn’t tour a lot anyway. Jeff Lynne is a studio perfectionist and it brings him more life and satisfaction to tinker with 18-tracks of strings and drums and beeps and background vocals, to layer them perfectly together into a precise three-and-a-half minute masterpiece, than to play it live. ELO concerts were always rare, especially in the U.S.  And we had missed it. The band put out two more albums–“Balance of Power” in 1986 gave us “Calling America”– and then it was over.

Jeff Lynne continued to write songs and produce records for others. He famously teamed up with Tom Petty, George Harrison, Roy Orbison, and Bob Dylan to record and tour as the Traveling Wilburys. He produced Petty’s “Full Moon Fever” and “Into the Great Wide Open” albums.

Twenty-eight years later, in 2014, Jeff Lynne put ELO back together, sort of, and did some shows in Europe. In 2018, they did a short tour of America, including a sold-out show in Dallas that, somehow, I missed again. I had two girls in college; who knows what was going on.

This past spring, Lynne announced ELO’s “Over and Out” tour, the last chance to see the Electric Light Orchestra live in concert. I bought tickets as soon as I saw the Dallas date. My brother, Keith, had purchased his seats the day before. Neither one of us asked our dad.

It happened this past Friday night. Carrie-Anne and I met Keith and Amanda for some pre-concert shuffleboard at a trendy place in Deep Ellum and a hearty dinner together at a lovely downtown Dallas diner. We hustled over to American Airlines Center with 21,000 other fans and thrilled to 95-minutes of back-to-back, wall-to-wall, non-stop ELO magic.

The stage was dominated by that spaceship, a spinning centerpiece of lights, lasers, color, and effects. The orchestra was Jeff Lynne and 13 others on violins, cellos, drums, guitars, keyboards, and backup vocals. Everything was perfect, down to the smallest of details. It was evident that Lynne wanted everything to sound exactly like it does on the records, because it did. Precise. Crisp. Clean. Nothing lazy or sloppy about it. At 76-years-old, Lynne’s not moving around a lot on the stage but, again, he never did much of that anyway. His voice has lost two or three of the highest parts of his incredible range, but it was barely noticeable. It was an hour-and-a-half electric singalong with some of my all-time favorite songs. Twenty of them. Loud. Spectacular. That unbelievable blend of guitar and cello, violins and drums–it’s mesmerizing.

There was a mix of hits and deep cuts to start the show: “Showdown” and “Do Ya” in between “Evil Woman” and “Last Train to London.” I was almost overcome with delight when the opera singer in the back began belting out the opening lines of “Rockaria!,” one of my all-time favorite ELO songs that emphasizes their unique blend of classical symphony and hard rock blues. The last eleven songs went like this, in order, back-to-back: Strange Magic, Sweet Talkin’ Woman, Can’t Get It Out of My Head, Fire On High, Livin’ Thing, Telephone Line, All Over the World, Turn to Stone, Shine a Little Love, Don’t Bring Me Down, and then Mr. Blue Sky as the encore. Are you kidding me? I was exhausted. And hoarse. And grinning from ear-to-ear. It’s the best concert I’ve seen since Bad Company with Paul Rodgers in Austin five years ago.

In between songs, Lynne never said much more than “Thank you” and “You are so kind.” He seemed genuinely overcome and humbled by the continuous ovations. And I was reminded again of the power of good music and the way it connects us to our memories and relationships, the way it brings joy and laughter, the way it soothes our hurts and pains.

I forgive you, dad. We’re good now.

Peace,

Allan