I want to tell you about this one magical interlude, when Neil Finn’s guitar wouldn’t work.

That was a regular staple of the show, Mr. Finn switching guitars.  But this time, the new axe made no sound. At all.  To the point where a roadie entered from stage right and got down on his hands and knees and set to work.

You know how this goes.  The performer gets pissed, says a few words, smirks and then throws the crap overboard, the roadie takes the offending merchandise off the stage and the performer acts like he’s been the victim of a lightning strike, like everything he’s prepared for his whole life has been ruined and the audience won’t get its money’s worth and the evening is now a total waste.

But not Neil Finn.  He continued to smile.  Despite the roadie being unable to track down the problem.  Neil would strum, no sound would come out, the entire performance was now in jeopardy not even ten minutes in.

But as the roadie started tearing apart the effects, Neil began a running commentary.  The roadie plugged Neil’s guitar directly into the amp and Neil started strumming a now loud guitar and singing how he had no effects.

Then Neil strode to the mic, hovered over the roadie, and wrote a song about the experience.

And it wasn’t a shitty song!  The changes gripped you and the lyrics described what was going on.

Eventually Neil moved to a keyboard.  Well, this was after playing further on the mini-synth, creating 80’s-like material, that’s what he laughingly called it, 80’s music, and if you shut your eyes, you could be watching MTV.

And this goes on for fully five minutes.  Longer!  And Neil’s in a good mood, improvising…

You felt like you were witnessing a genius at work.  That this wasn’t a scripted part of the show, but this one screw-up had given you the opportunity to experience something unique, that you’d treasure.

And once the roadie got the guitar to work, once he had it plugged back into the effects pedals, he tested each and every one.  Usually, the roadie gets sound and strides off.  But now he was part of the show.  It was like you were in Willy Wonka’s factory and every wall was made of glass, you could see right through.

This is what we love about live performance.  Not the exact rendition of the record, to the point where the strings and backup vocals are on hard drive, but the spontaneity, the feeling that this one moment in time is completely different than any other, and if you’re not there, you’ve missed it.

The show didn’t make sense without the audience.  Neil alternately chided and inspired us, commented that the girl down front must be too hot in her winter coat, but not to take it off if she was comfortable, and led us in vocals.  He thought our ability to sing had vastly improved since the last century.  And he told us the end of the world was not near, he guaranteed the planet would survive at least until 2060.

Nonsense.  But the kind of nonsense that makes us love performers.  When they evidence a bit of personality, when they tell a story, when they show they’re just like us, but somehow better.