I loved last week’s blog on Harry Connick Jr. and it inspired me to tell my own Harry Connick Jr. story.
In early 2002 my boss appeared with a frown on his face and told me to meet him in his office. That’s rarely a good thing. However, it turns out that he was frowning because he’d just learned that he’d be unable to attend that evening’s Harry Connick Jr. show; he’d asked me in his office to offer me his tickets!
That season Harry, a savvy Finale user, had been working on replacing the music stands on his touring stage with computers running Finale. (This project is detailed in Teresa Riordan’s 2002 New York Times article mentioned in last week’s blog.) We’d been sent some concert tickets as a result of our collaboration on this project, and now two were mine.
Well, they would be if I hurried. The tickets had to be picked up by 7:00 p.m., and it was almost five. Kids needed to be fed, clothes needed to be changed, and my rush-hour commute home would take at least a half-hour. The race was on.
My wife and I arrived at the will-call window just in time. As I was handed our tickets I was delighted to see we were in the VIP section and invited backstage after the show. Our seats were perfect, second row-center. When the stage lights went down, no music stand lights were seen; instead there was only the dim glow of computer screens illuminating musicians’ faces. I felt a tingle of pride as I knew those musicians were all looking at Finale; and at parts that might have been tweaked only minutes ago.
The concert, of course, was fantastic, with the only caveat being that my wife, who already had an enormous crush on Harry, was now probably lost to me forever.
Afterwards we were guided backstage, where Harry came over and introduced himself (like that was necessary) and I made introductions all around. I have to admit I asked the first question on my mind: “What if a computer crashes?”
“Not likely,” Harry explained. “We only have one application on those computers – nothing else. No extensions, nada. Besides, the players are so good that if they did lose the music, they would just fake it. Those guys can play!” He went on to extol his band members’ talent, professionalism, and friendship at great lengths, and frankly we were charmed.
Later we floated away and enjoyed a late dinner discussing the utter coolness of the experience we’d just had – an experience that, only a few hours before, we could never have anticipated.
Fast-forward eight years to last week: Seeing Harry on American Idol was very fun. I saw the same sense of support of fellow musicians that my wife and I had admired so much when we’d met him (as well as his great sense of humor). And when he pointed to Finale on his computer screen, doggone it if I didn’t feel that same tingle of pride all over again.
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