Jackson Browne sang beneath whoops and hollers, the fans loud with praise. He sang some of his new songs, and at one point he qualified the decision. He told us how great we’d all been, to allow him to do this, when he must have known we’d come to relive those days when nothing but light touched us. He said his biggest hits had once been new, played to fans unfamiliar with the tunes.
I wanted to tell him that this is another time. We were babies then, I wanted to say, and we needed his songs to explain our lives, and we bought albums with money we earned at carwashes and in tomato fields and we influenced DJs and we played our music like it was a right we weren’t about to give up. Back then, when he sang “Somebody’s Baby,” I thought I was that girl. Now, I’m not even that girl’s mother.