The box office window drew a line of roughly 60 people—almost all white, over 30 years old, in jeans and t-shirts. Trevor and I walked past the line because we had already purchased tickets, and I felt awkward and yet proud when the older people looked at us and asked each other how we had even heard of Hall & Oates. We walked in, and the ushers took our tickets—they didn’t search my bag or jacket, which was definitely a different concert dynamic than I am used to. As I walked through the venue, I noticed that there was not a large crowd, and then I turned the corner and found where most of the audience was—the bar! Trevor and I decided to head over to the merchandise table. There was no line, and limited merchandise available—two different men’s shirts, a women’s shirt, and women’s underwear. (Which said ‘maneater.’ Classy, right?)
I decided that I wasn’t going to buy anything, and as I turned around to leave, I came face-to-face with a very young girl. Confused, I said, “I’m sorry, but if you don’t mind me asking, how old are you?” She smiled and said, “Oh no problem! I’m fourteen.” It took a minute for this to register in my mind before I was finally able to spit out, “Cool. How do you even know about Hall & Oates? Why are you here?” She laughed and pointed at a woman in her 40s with huge crimped and curled bleach blonde hair and a sign that read ‘HALL & OATES 4EVER’ and said, “That’s my mom.” I felt sort of foolish after that—after all, the only reason I started listening to Hall & Oates was because my parents were obsessed with them. I decided to ask her if she liked their music, and she said, “Yeah, they’re pretty okay. Their songs are good to dance to.” Her mother called her over, and we said our goodbyes.
By this point, it was about 7.25pm and the show was supposed to start at 7.30, so Trevor and I headed up the stairs to find our balcony seats. I consider Hall & Oates to be a classic pop duo, so I thought the Orpheum Theatre would be packed—but at this point in the evening, I would say that only about 15% of the seats were taken. It made me feel guilty to see the Orpheum mostly empty…if Hall & Oates came out on stage to this, they would surely feel old and washed up.
The show didn’t end up starting until almost 8 o’clock, and by then, about half of the theatre was full, which made me slightly happier. The lights flickered, and the audience started cheering—a mixture of whistles and claps; there wasn’t much screaming. The band slowly trickled on stage; first, the keyboardist, then the bassist, the drummer, the percussionist—the only band member of color, the saxophonist/keyboardist, and then the famous guitarist T-Bone. And then the crowd started screaming and going wild—John Oates, a tiny guy wearing jeans and a white t-shirt came out with a guitar, and then Daryl Hall walked—no, strutted—out in a leather jacket, jeans, and huge cowboy boots, wearing sunglasses and a smile reminiscent of Gilderoy Lockhart. (I immediately wanted to punch him n the head. He had a fan on him at all times during the show so that his hair would have movement.)
The stage was packed—Hall & Oates is an eight-person band! There was an incredibly cheesy backdrop of a fake brick wall and the floor had about four or five oriental rugs strewn across it. Hall & Oates were sitting on two stools front and center, with spotlights on them, though it was clear that Hall was the one with all the attention—his mic was very obviously louder and he did ALL of the talking. They began playing their songs, but the first ten or so were newer songs that the audience didn’t really know. I decided to take this opportunity to look around the audience—about four songs into the show, people started coming into the Orpheum in waves, and by the 6th song, I looked around, and there didn’t seem to be an empty seat in the house. The crowd was about 90% white, and I would say that roughly 85% was over the age of 30. Everyone was seated—I had never been to a concert where people sat while the main act performed.
Then, Hall & Oates started to play their older songs—the billboard top songs. They played ‘Maneater,’ and then ‘Family Man,’ and by the time they played ‘Wait For Me,’ the audience was going mad. Considering how old he is, Daryl Hall’s voice is absolutely fantastic—it sounded just as good as their records from the 70s, and he did some improvisational singing (diva-esque) in which he hit some impressively high notes. The sound of the band in general was really great, including the balance of volume with the saxophone or guitar during solos. They played ‘Rich Girl,’ and about half of the audience was on their feet dancing by this point. Afterwards, Daryl Hall said thank you into the microphone, and the band started walking off. I was in shock—what a short show! And why wouldn’t they play their biggest hits? There were at least five more songs I wanted to hear, and I didn’t think they would play an encore to incorporate all of them. Regardless, I stood to cheer, like the rest of the audience, and after about 2 minutes of cheers, the band decided to come back, only this time, Daryl Hall didn’t take his place in the front with his guitar—he moved to the side to the synthesizer. (I was obviously excited—this meant business!) They played ‘Kiss On My List,’ which got the whole audience clapping along. They next transitioned into their slow jam ‘Sara Smile’ (Which I was named after, by the way.) and the audience was swaying and holding each other.
They left the stage again, and people cheered for a while and began gathering their things, and then suddenly—the band reappeared for a second encore! They started with one of their best songs, ‘I Can’t Go For That,’ and then played their biggest hit, ‘Private Eyes.’ The entire audience was clapping along, and I admit to dancing with my neighbor—a blonde woman in her 40s with acid-washed jeans. Daryl Hall introduced every member of the band, and then said his thanks and good night. The Orpheum Theatre, filled to the brim with people whose ages ranged from 14 to 70, was screaming, clapping, cheering, and dancing when Hall & Oates finally left the stage. The lights came back on, and there seemed to be a shared sigh of happiness from the audience. As I walked out, literally every person I saw was smiling. It definitely wasn’t the best show I had ever seen, but I think it was the happiest—just because the audience had members who didn’t seem to go to shows very often, and it was almost impossible for me to not feel good when 60 year-olds sang and danced with me.
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