Avid Earth-tet fans, a BILLY JOEL Jones Beach concert update – sorry to have kept you in suspense:

Sadly, you’ll have to stay in suspense longer. Or you could just decide to stop caring about us. But, deep down, you know that’s impossible, perhaps even stupid. Because, when the Earth-tet makes it BIG, you’ll want to feel like an insider, someone who supported us with Likes and good vibes from the start. You don’t want to be like those new Deadheads who seem wholly disconnected from the band’s earthy roots. People see right through these wannabes, tag-alongs, and insecure types who were never really part of a scene and are playing desperate catch-up, throwing around terms like “bootleg,” “shrooms,” “cassette,” “Trey,” “Terrapin,” and “wasted years” without any real commitment or understanding of what it all means. No, you want in NOW, so you can grow WITH, even INTO PART OF the Earth-tet (so to speak) before it’s too late. You are a good person, and I am proud of you.

So on to the business at hand: Billy Joel broke his femur and will not be standing on stage as our guest for the big Long Island show. I know. I know. It sucks. Don’t despair, there will still be a show (t.b.a.), but Billy will be sitting, or lying, down, and in a considerable amount of pain.

Here’s what happened …

This past weekend, Billy and I, after meeting at a deli in delightful Seaford, Long Island, to review the set-list over ham sandwiches, cole slaw and Baked Lays (Billy’s on a diet), decided to charter a dune buggy for the purpose of exploring gig-site options in the vicinity of Jones Beach. We had been hoping to play the customary stage at Jones Beach, but were turned down for having an “insufficient fan base.” If you haven’t liked our page, please do so at this point.

Thanks.

So we figured we would do even better than “playing Jones Beach.” We would play it on our own terms. With a grass roots initiative, and a unique set of attractions, we would create our own “little” affair a few miles to the East of the traditional stage. I don’t want to give too much away, cuz this is still going to happen at a later date, but let me just say that circus performers will be involved (and probably injured), attendees will enjoy the option of nudity, and ham sandwiches will be included in the price of admission. More about all this later.

Anyway, Billy and I needed to scope things out and find a quiet nook on the beach with adequate road access, but remote enough that we’d have a few hours’ lead on the fuzz before being busted up. The illicit nature of this musical coup will no doubt be a value-add to the Earth-tet’s legend. Satellite maps gave us some ideas, and it was with considerable vim and vigor that we arrived at Lorio’s 135 Beach Supply Center on Route 135 in Seaford, NY. We asked the young man there if they rented dune buggies, and he said something that sounded kind of like “no,” but his Long Island accent was so thick that we couldn’t tell if he was actually saying “North.” We asked if there was a Northern branch of the store and we think he said “no” again, cuz it wouldn’t make sense to say “North” again in that context. Deciding we better check out another establishment, we turned to leave and were almost back at Billy’s 2008 Ultra Classic Harley with sidecar when we heard the young man yell out, “Elgopta.” He pointed to a large object on the side of the building, and we realized he was referring to the rental helicopter. Billy slapped me affectionately on the back. I sighed with relief, and also pride that a rock star had just related to me with such an intimate gesture. It was more than a slap. There was a little rubbing after the slap, and he lingered longer than he had to. I don’t mind telling you that it moved.

So, long story short, within 30 minutes we’re up in the air scoping out concert sites, feeling like kings (me about to perform on a famous beach with superstar, he about to perform on a famous beach with a guitarist who can superimpose one harmonic center on another and link together chord tones with rich chromatic passing notes (including the very rare B double sharp), all while wearing fitted jeans and staring lovingly at the audience. Taylor taught me that one. Thanks, Taylor.

But then something horrible happened. As we passed over a nudist beach, Billy thought he saw his seventh ex-wife snuggling with Joe Pesci. He demanded that the pilot swoop back around for a second look, and when the pilot muttered something incomprehensible with a thick Long Island accent, Billy lost his composure and, holding the pilot in a half nelson with his right arm, attempted to steer the elgopta into a quick 180. The result was instantaneous and devastating. The elgopta lurched and spun and dove. Billy somehow fell out. The pilot resumed control with seconds to spare as we plummeted toward unclad crotches. My disappointment in not seeing up-close naked people was quickly replaced with an incredible sense of relief at being alive.

But then I remembered Billy.

He was alive. He landed on a steep sand dune and rolled into the giant bosom of a naked octogenarian. If you believe Billy, her greeting words were, “Uhmagod, yaw Billy Joel. Muy tits hawt, but, fawk, yaw Billy Joel. And I think ya gawt a broken femaw.”

Alas, we still don’t know where near Jones Beach we will be performing. It will be epic when it does happen, and YOU will be the first to know.

Lawv,
Joel