I hadn't seen Jackson Browne in five years and I was really excited. The last time I did see him, all I can clearly remember was the beautiful gold trimmed bouquet of white flowers that Jackson had given me. This was the first gift Jackson gave me; I had no idea that it wouldn't be the last.

Men and women more than two and three times my age filled the lobby. I tried to listen into random conversations, but all the noise seemed to blend together. In the ocean of people, the attire varied; fan-wear of Jackson Browne, extremely fancy clothes, and sweatshirts. Most fans were in line for overpriced beer, probably asking them selves the same questions. What could they expect from the new acoustic tour? Would Jackson still be the same now as he was thirty years ago?

The auditorium was completely black. Jackson appeared onstage, a white light directly on him, and everything fell silent as he strummed his guitar; a shiver ran down my back. Browne sounded full and his voice was beautiful and all that interrupted him were his excited fans.

" Play 'The Patriot!' "
"You look so good, Jackson. Happy Birthday, man!"
" Play what you want!"

As if the audience were congratulating themselves on their worthy $45 dollar investment, they relaxed and let the music take hold of their souls. I laid my head back as my soul joined them.

Later I found out that the "acoustic" tour is different because Jackson usually plays with a band; but now singing solo the songs sounded even more dulcet. Also, they had a deeper meaning for Jackson. Most of the tunes included historical and political content-- based on events of the past. But now Jackson translated the songs into the present situations, stating his opinions on the "rulers" of our country, and bashing Bush.

The music was sugary to my ears, and no song was twin to another-- each carrying it's own personality. I was moved by the steadiness of Browne's voice -- sweet and flowery like the bouquet I received from him five years ago. Then I could not comprehend what I was hearing; now I could fully appreciate this gift of music that I promptly added to the top of my Jackson Browne gift collection.

There aren't any other artists of my time that can throw a tour, bringing only their talent to the stage. Jackson played three hours of pure music and didn't include any fancy stunts or classy dance routines, although he did switch guitars every so often and played songs upon request. Jackson Browne Later into the show, Jackson announced the presence of a friend in the audience.

"Jack? Is my friend Jack there? Stand up if you are Jack!" A front row attendee stood up. He turned bright red. How radical!

"Come up on stage! Let's play something."

I felt like we were sitting in a living room thirty-years ago playing Jackson Browne music, with Browne himself.

He and his red-faced friend and played two songs. Jack was quite good at the guitar, and had some fancy solos. The audience accepted his friend, as well as his politics and freedom of speech.

Jackson expressed his political views in references to the power behind the throne and also within his songs. Politics are a very sore issue to address to fans, especially at a concert. Nonetheless, Jackson voiced his concern for his country- risking the wrath of stark right wingers.

As the show ended, Jackson left the stage- soon to return again for an encore. The diction of the last piece was brilliantly chosen; a lesson sent that all Americans could take to heart. Perhaps the artists of my age could write intense pieces and sing pretty songs, but it's doubtful that I would find such soul and thought in the lyrics, as found in Jackson's.

"And the river opens for the righteous somedayâ€|and I ain't no communist, and I ain't no capitalist, I ain't no socialist, I ain't no imperialist, I ain't no democrat, sho' ain't no republican, I only know one party! And it is Freedom! I am, I am, I am... I am a Patriot, and I love my country, because my country is all I know."

In awe I stumbled out of the theatre, the words echoing in my mind. Leaving with a sense of sound, patriotism and tranquility, I was inspired. I thought the night was over, but to my surprise my plans to go home were delayed.

"Abbie, everyone, follow me!" My dad directed my family, hurriedly.
"Where are we going?" I asked.
"You know Jackson is a friend of mine," He explained, "he wants to see us."

And so the evening sadly was coming to an end, when in fact it was only another beginning.

I was enthralled by Browne's tunes, which captured all aspects of my thoughts. His politics, sensitivity and power to speak his mind were imprinted within his music. Jackson Browne had sung to me, in many more ways than one. I heard his footsteps coming closer, I couldn't wait to talk to him -- and that's just what I did.