The Tennessee Theatre in Knoxville is my favorite concert hall—intimate, yet full of history. With just about 1,800 seats, every spot feels like it’s the best in the house. It’s here where I’ve witnessed performances that still linger in my mind: Herbie Hancock, Esperanza Spalding, The Black Crowes, and so many others. Each of those nights is etched in memory, where music and place intersect in a way that only the finest venues can provide. So, when I saw Daryl Hall’s name in my inbox, I didn’t hesitate—I had to go.
The decision wasn’t instant. I almost talked myself out of it, considering the hassle of dates and plans. But as time passed and the show drew near, I realized I could do this solo. The adventure would be mine alone. I clicked “buy” on StubHub, securing a good seat at a price that felt right. Life’s too short to wait around, after all.
The drive from Kingsport to Knoxville took me down familiar back roads, and as always, the memories flooded in. That’s the beauty of these roads—old songs and places mix into the backdrop of your life. Sara Smile came on the radio as I cruised down Highway 1, and I couldn’t help but smile. That song was playing when I moved to Kingsport all those years ago. The connection was undeniable.
I had time to kill before the show, so I stopped by West Towne Mall. The memories there were thick—holidays spent with my temporary family, the joy and chaos of having teenage step-daughters. I recalled buying my first piano there, seeing concerts by Robert Plant, Journey, and Maroon 5. Those moments linger, much like the songs of our lives.
Driving past Neyland Stadium, I was reminded of the 1982 World’s Fair, just after high school graduation. I had just started my first big life chapter then. That stretch of road has seen it all: marriages, family moves, and milestones, each with a soundtrack of its own.
Knoxville’s Gay Street, lit up for the holidays, was its usual vibrant self. Despite it being a Wednesday night, the energy was palpable. I soaked it all in, the bustle, the lights, the freedom of being on my own. Then, of course, I made my way to Clancy’s Tavern, a small venue next to the Tennessee Theatre. It’s one of those places that feels timeless—narrow, cozy, and full of life. The crowd was lively, but I found my place, sipped my drink, and took in the sounds of people laughing and talking.
Back on Gay Street, I stepped into the Tennessee Theatre, and it was like stepping into a piece of my own history. The marquee was glowing, the excitement palpable. I settled into my seat—Row H, right on the aisle—just as Howard Jones took the stage. It was a nice surprise to see him open. Still a great singer and showman, he moved easily between keyboards, engaging the crowd with the same energy he had in the ‘80s.
At intermission, I stepped out into the lobby, not in any hurry. When you’re solo, you can just watch people—take it all in. That’s when I was grabbed in a big, unexpected hug. It was Steve Reece, a musician friend I’ve played with in These Undowners. We caught up, laughed, and soaked in the moment before heading back into the theater.
And then, Daryl Hall. When he stepped on stage, wearing his signature sunglasses and hat, the audience was ready. He began with “The Whole World’s Better With You,” a fresh track from his latest album. The crowd responded with energy, but it was the classics that really got people moving. “Kiss On My List,” “Private Eyes,” “Rich Girl”—the hits kept coming, and the crowd sang along, lost in the music.
As Daryl played “Sara Smile” on the grand piano, I was struck by how that song still stirs something deep. I’ve played it countless times, but hearing it live, with the nuances Daryl added, felt like rediscovering it anew. The band behind him was solid—especially Charles Dechant, the long-haired sax wizard who’s been with Daryl for more than 40 years. His playing is as sharp as ever.
The night ended with a collaborative encore with Howard Jones, a couple of his hits, and of course, “You Make My Dreams Come True.” The crowd erupted, and it was the perfect sendoff.
Driving home, the memories of the night echoed in my mind. The music, the people, the places—they’re all different now, but they’re also the same. The same theater, the same town, the same feeling of connection. I can’t wait to do it all over again.
