The night I walked

Last week, I did something I've never done before. I walked out of a concert.

No, I wasn't reviewing it.

Otherwise, I would've stayed until the bitter end.

But typically, even if I hadn't been reviewing it, I probably would've stayed.

After all, I'm the one who hates to abandon a book, even if I'm not totally in love with it.

The other week, for example, I read a novel set in New York City. The author had a wonderful way with her prose, especially with her descriptions of the city.

But the dialogue was as clunky and wooden as a 2-by-4. Everyone sounded alike. Everyone gave lengthy, stilted speeches explaining their motivation.

The author certainly possessed an ear for description, but when it came to dialogue, she was tone deaf. I mean, no one talks like that!

But I stuck with the book.

I guess I just loved coming upon those gems of sentences that were interspersed with the awkward dialogue.

Plus, the cover made me homesick: a photo that looks out a window to a night view of an apartment building across the street, its windows warmly lit.

I guess I'm one of those cultural optimists who keep feeling that whatever I'm reading or watching will get better.

I suspect my years of reviewing arts and entertainment come into play too — no matter how bad a play or a concert is, I just stick it out and sit there until the final curtain. No matter how much I'd love to walk out at intermission with other disgruntled audience members, I have to stay there until the house lights come on.

But Friday night, at the Sara Evans concert at the Barbara B. Mann Performing Arts Hall, something happened.

Maybe I just reached the limits of my patience.

Maybe I suddenly realized that life's just too short.

About an hour into Evans's show, when the lights were down and I'd be unobtrusive, I slipped out of the hall.

Sara Evans, herself, was wonderful. When I could hear her, that is. I loved her "Born to Fly" album, released in 2000. I think I even interviewed her, back then.

And really, how can you not like a woman who sings "I keep looking/I keep looking for something more" ?

Sara Evans The show was far from sold out.

If you didn't realize that in the parking lot, where there were many more spaces than cars, then you noticed it in the hall, which had many empty seats on the main floor.

This was probably due to a number of factors: economically, times are tough. People don't have money to spent on tickets. Plus, it's not season yet; the snowbirds have yet to return. Also, though it makes no sense to me, it's a general rule of thumb that country fans will flock to male artists, but for some reason, aren't as supportive of the female artists.

I have no idea why that is.

While I'm still waiting for someone to book Dwight Yoakam locally, and I'd be thrilled to see Lyle Lovett in concert again, I'd also love to see Dolly Parton, Kathy Mattea, The Dixie Chicks, Shania Twain, Alison Krauss (again!) and Wynonna (yet again!)

But that's a subject for a column all in itself.

The people who attended the concert Friday night were obvious fans.

Both men and women sported Sara Evans T-shirts.

A woman in the front row wore a large pin that read in big, black letters: "I (heart) SE."

And throughout the concert, girls screamed, as if at a Beatles concert.

And when Evans walked out on stage for her first number, at least two dozen cell phones were lifted at arms length in the first few rows alone, to take photos.

A steady stream of fans made pilgrimages to the front with their camera, some kneeling to take photos of their idol.

Unfortunately, the sound was horrible, a muddy mess.

And while you could hear Sara Evans, it was impossible to make out the words she was singing, unless you already had the lyrics memorized.

There was one golden moment in the concert: Evans sang a capella with her two back-up singers, who were her sisters. Perched on wooden stools at the stage's edge, they harmonized on an old bluegrass song they used to perform together as young girls.

The women's voices blended and swirled around each other in glorious three-part harmony.

And you could hear how talented a singer Sara Evans was.

Then, it was back to the mud. Her six-piece band began playing on the next number, and Evans voice was relegated to the rear of the stage.

Working a soundboard is an art, and apparently was an art that her soundboard people have yet to master.

I've been told that there are two different schools of thought in mixing sound at concerts. Some feel that the artist's voice should be front and center, able to be heard over the music. (That's the school I agree with.) Others feel that the singer is just another part of the band, and should be no louder than any other instrument. (That seemed to be the theory Sara Evans's soundboard people were adhering to. It makes sense for rock music, or for those who don't have the best voices. It's also a trick used by those who don't want to strain their voices, or don't want their audiences to know that their voices aren't what they used to be.)

And then you have those behind the soundboard who just think that louder is better, and push the volume up as loud as they can, regardless of the venue, its acoustics, or the number of people attending.

To be truthful, the fans Friday night just didn't seem to care. They were in the presence of their idol, and they were thrilled to in the same room with her.

But I was growing more and more frustrated with the loud aural swampiness of it all.

It was like painting a beautiful picture, then putting it behind a opaque glass, smeared with fingerprints and dirt.

Sara Evans deserves better. And so do her fans.

And so, not wanting to be sonically assaulted any more, I walked.