Still in the Song at Eighty-Five

Last night wasn’t about miles ridden or borders crossed.

It was about time.

Eighty-five years old.

Onstage. Live

Jorma Kaukonen. Founder member of Jefferson Airplane and Hot Tuna. Inducted into the Rock n’ Roll Hall of Fame thirty years ago. The original. The real thing.

Still playing like that.

I’ve been a fan of Jorma Kaukonen for years. I’d seen him solo. I’d seen him with Hot Tuna. But it had been a long while. The Belly Up Tavern felt like reconnecting with an old friend you didn’t realize you missed.

No spectacle. No lighting tricks. No nostalgia-tour energy.

A merch table without a credit card tap device, QR code, or Venmo. Cash only.

Seated. Acoustic.Just wood and hands.

That guitar? It was a David Flammang J-35, hand-built in Iowa. I had to ask the roadie after the show. No flash. Just tone.

That rolling fingerpicking. Precise. Relaxed. Nothing wasted. The percussive slap landing right on the beat. Space between notes.

Restraint.

A master of dynamics.

• “Death Don’t Have No Mercy.”
• “Good Shepherd.”
• “I See the Light.”
• “Where Have My Old Friends Gone.”

Later, his friend of forty-plus years, John Hurlbut, joined him onstage. They slipped into Ry Cooder’s“Across the Borderline.” A couple Dylan cuts. An eerie cover of Daniel Landis’ “The Maker.” Then “She Belongs to Me.” That Lani’s tune surprised me

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t fast. It wasn’t trying to be anything.

It just was.

And that voice.

That throaty, almost grunting phrasing that creeps up on you and pulls you in. He doesn’t just sing the line. He drags it up from somewhere deep and lets it ache as it lands… and then fade away slowly.

He’s not new to this. He’s carved into it.

Kenny came with me on a whim. spontaneously. Didnt know anything about Jorma. Didn’t know the catalog. He took a chance, a student, if you will, of live music. By the end of the night, he was leaning forward in his seat.

And in the men’s room, a guy said what everyone was thinking:

“My dad is 85 too… and he’s in memory care. This guy’s out there playing like that?”

That stuck with me.

There’s something powerful about watching someone who has lived with a craft long enough that it’s no longer something he does.

It’s something he lives and breathes.

Longevity with edge.

Skill sharpened over decades.

No rush. No proving.

Singing. Playing. Feeling

And living inside the song.

Travel inspires me. Food inspires me. Good wine. Borders. Backroads. Conversations. And connecting

But so does this.

Lately I’ve been thinking about tempo. About how much of life we play too fast. How often we confuse speed with substance.

I’m finishing a new piece called Slower, Baby.

You can subscribe to my Inspired Life of Travel Substack and join me there. Don’t worry, I’m still here. But you might like what’s happening over there.

Because sometimes the adventure isn’t about going farther.

It’s about going deeper.

Waiting. In the groove. Sensual. Savoring every note. Every word.

Stay curious.

Stay in the song.