Concert at Harrah's proves you can still rock in America

Oct. 7—Last Friday's concert at Harrah's Cherokee Casino Resort — a quick jaunt through Maggie Valley and over Soco Gap — offered the opportunity for Margaret and me to relive our 1980s heyday.

We first met as students at the University of North Carolina-Chapel Hill in the 1980s, a time when permed hair and Members Only jackets were the hottest fashions, MTV ruled the airwaves and John Hughes' "Brat Pack" dominated the big screen.

When we learned that 1980s rock icons Loverboy and Night Ranger would be bringing their blend of arena-ready power chords, tight vocal harmonies and fist-pumping pop-rock anthems to Harrah's, we were eager to take a cassette-era musical trip down memory lane.

I even dusted off my trusty red bandana headband, a staple of my concert-going wardrobe "back in the day" and a look popularized by Loverboy vocalist Mike Reno. But when Margaret started snickering, I decided against wearing it to the show.

Giggling was not exactly the reaction I was hoping for.

As we snaked our way through the switchbacks of U.S. 19 and descended into Cherokee, Margaret exclaimed, "This will be the first time I have seen a band more than once." Well, not counting our son's band, Hellen's Bridge.

Back in the 1980s, I attempted — unsuccessfully — to convert my easy-listening future spouse to my hard rock/heavy metal ways. A 1983 concert at the Asheville Civic Center featuring Loverboy and opening act Zebra seemed like a good way to begin the conversion process.

Although Margaret enjoyed that show, it wasn't enough to make her renounce her affinity for the John Denvers, Linda Ronstadts and Gordon Lightfoots (Lightfeet?) of the world. When I dragged her to a Def Leppard and Tesla concert months later, she wasn't into it, even giggling when Tesla's guitarists played while horizontal on the stage and spinning like Curley from the Three Stooges.

Again, I suspect giggling was not the band's desired reaction.

Fast-forward some 40 years later to 2023. Walking toward the Harrah's Event Center, Margaret and I found ourselves surrounded by 3,000 similarly aged concert-goers with graying locks, receding hairlines and expanding waistlines, getting ready to party like it's 1989.

A murmur of discontent began wafting through the crowd, and the whispers became more audible as the concert's advertised starting time passed. Finally came the announcement from the stage confirming that the rumor was true.

Margaret's streak of not seeing a band perform more than once would remain intact. Loverboy would not be performing, as some group members had fallen victim to weather-related travel delays.

"I must be some sort of concert jinx," I muttered, realizing that Loverboy's no-show came exactly one month after my last concert experience was canceled three songs into the opening act because of torrential rain and frequent lightning. "Guess it was a good thing I left the red bandana at home."

When Night Ranger took the stage, the sense of disappointment running through the venue was palpable. After all, many, Margaret included, were there to see Loverboy. But what ensued was a masterclass in showmanship.

While Loverboy was unable to perform because of ED (entertainment dysfunction), Night Ranger lived up to the adage "the show must go on," ripping through an extended, 19-song set of the group's 1980s-era classics, including some I had forgotten.

The band performed several songs by supergroup Damn Yankees (which featured Night Ranger bassist/singer Jack Blades), along with covers of Alice Cooper's "Schools Out," Don Henley's "Boys of Summer" and Ozzy's "Crazy Train." Blades reminded the crowd that guitar virtuoso Brad Gillis stepped in on Osbourne's "Diary of a Madman" tour after Ozzy's axe-slinger Randy Rhodes died in a plane crash in 1982.

Slowly but surely, the band reeled the crowd from the precipice of displeasure and anger. Midway through the show, Blades and bandmates pulled on Loverboy signature red bandanas and broke into a light-hearted rendition of that other band's "Working for the Weekend."

By the time Night Ranger closed with the hard-driving "Don't Tell Me You Love Me" and the power ballad "Sister Christian," most of the crowd was thinking "Loverwho?" Night Ranger proved you can still rock in America...and in the sovereign nation of Cherokee.

Bill Studenc, who began his career in journalism and communications at The Mountaineer in 1983, retired in January 2021 as chief communications officer at Western Carolina University. He now writes about life in the mountains of Western North Carolina.