On a cold and unfriendly Florida morning, I’m thinking about distance. How far those of us who live in the real world truly are from those who travel in what the Eagles used to call “the fast lane” of popular music. And the faster the lane, the further the distance.

When you see Bruce Springsteen, age 75, take the stage at a nearly full Gillette Stadium in Foxboro, Massachusetts, happily making eye contact with many of the smiling, joyous faces that ring that stage, like so many stages he’s trod across the globe, it seems like he’s greeting a bunch of friends. That’s certainly how he’d want us to feel, in any event. And the same goes for many rock and rollers who’ve been around for a long time, you have to make it feel like there’s a genuine connection between you, the star, and those who are there to worship, honor, root for you, us.

Whether it’s Rod Stewart kicking soccer balls or the extreme example of U2’s Bono memorably climbing down into the enormous crowd at Live Aid to wrap his arms around a young woman, screwing up their set -- they were supposed to finish with “Pride” — that bond, artist-audience - on the surface anyhow, seems essential.

The truth is, of course, they don’t know us. We might spend days, nights, hours, years, even listening to their music, writing about it, talking about them with friends, relatives, co-workers. But they don’t have a personal connection to us, not really, any more than you know the tattooed barista with the nose ring who handed you your latte this afternoon.

The one guy I did have a personal connection with — even if it was a minor one — died in New Mexico yesterday. The great Joe Ely — and many of you are saying “WHO?” — died after a brief but ferocious battle with Lewy Body Dementia, Parkinson’s and pneumonia at age 78.

Growing up in Lubbock, Texas — note the “Buddy Holly” inscription on his guitar — Ely definitely felt a connection with the previous Lubbock rocker and with his unique blend of Texas honky tonk, country and rock was able to carve out a niche for himself with dynamic, exciting performances, even serving as opening acts for bands like The Clash and Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, big-time bands that loved him and tried to help.

Though he sang duets with Bruce Springsteen, who was a fan, and The Clash, Ely never had that big hit, never quite broke through to a national audience the way he might have. He was a fine songwriter, a great interpreter of other’s songs, too, like Butch Hancock’s “Row of Dominoes.” He was the kind of performer that, at the end of the show, you were left saying, “Why isn’t he huge?” But he never was.

His 1981 album “Musta Gotta Lotta” climbed to No. 135 on the Billboard charts.

I got to see Joe Ely twice. Once in New York City at the Lone Star Cafe with a friend of mine, Phil Gallo. We even got to chat with him, briefly. He had just done a spectacular spot on the TV show Austin City Limits! I picked up a Joe Ely guitar pick, he left a few on the stage. It seemed like he was on the verge of a breakthrough. But it didn’t happen.

In 1987, I was working at the Middlesex News in Framingham, Massachusetts at the time and doing a lot of music reviews. Joe Ely’s album “Lord Of The Highway,” his first album in a few years, came in and I gave it a great review — particularly the tender closing song, “Silver City” which seemed to be Joe writing about his “almost” career. It hit home with me.

At the time, I identified with Joe and his situation, seeing myself as a really good writer with no great job, no big-time offers, wondering why? And I think some of that leaked into the record review, which, as I remember it, was my plea for the listening public to give this guy a chance.

For some reason, I found an address for him and mailed him the review, something I’d never done. I also enclosed a note asking where I might find his first two albums, since there was no Amazon in those days.

A while later, a package arrived in the mail and amazingly, it was Joe’s second album, “Honky Tonk Masquerade” - AUTOGRAPHED. “John, Here’s half of what you’re looking for. Enjoy, Joe Ely.”

It was a fabulous record and of course, I was beyond touched. His words had connected with me and mine with him. Wow.

Shortly after that, he appeared in Cambridge in a coffee house and my wife, Liz and I went and had a great time. It was a wonderful, generous show and near the end, he paused for a second and looked out at the audience.

“Any requests?”

I hollered out “Hitchhiking With The Son Of God,” an obscure, really cool song written, I think, by Terry Allen, that Joe never actually recorded. I’d heard Joe do it once before. He looked right at me in the second row and nodded.

“OK, I’ll do that one for you.” And he did.

I wish I could have told him I was the one who wrote that record review and thanks for the record and especially, the gesture. But the fact that I mentioned that particular song, you had to be a fan of his to know it. I’d like to think that hit home with him, too.

Some years ago, I read a wonderful book by Peter Guralnick called “Lost Highway” where Guralnick talks with a wide range of musicians, some of whom made it big - Merle Haggard, Hank Williams Jr., Mickey Gilley — and some who just missed like Charlie Feathers, Sleepy LaBeef and Hank Snow.

Though Guralnick doesn’t come right out and say it, the reader is left with the impression that luck, chance, timing, all play an important role in whether or not someone makes it big, it’s not always about talent. The cream doesn’t always rise to the top.

As a 72-year-old retired author pumping out Substacks for free for the past year and a half, acquiring my own little audience, that’s somehow comforting. Joe Ely had his audience and often enough, he delighted them, found ways to enrich their lives. Maybe that was enough.

And sometimes, twice in my case, he actually did requests.

Visit Youtube and check out Joe Ely’s killer set on Austin City Limits from 1984

(Just cut and paste)

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=XZG58Agl3aQ

John Nogowski is the author of several books, including “Bob Dylan: A Descriptive, Critical Discography and Filmography 1961-2022” that’s available locally at Barnes & Noble. His next book on music is on Neil Young and will be released in 2026. He has two books on baseball - “Diamond Duels” and “Last Time Out” - both available locally at Barnes & Noble, Books A Million, Midtown Reader and The Bookshelf in Thomasville. His other books include “Teaching Huckleberry Finn” about my experience teaching Twain’s classic at an all-black school and “Nashua: How Ronald Reagan led us to Donald Trump” - a look back at the 1980 New Hampshire primary impacted by my first newspaper job. All are available on Amazon.

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