I write in the morning after the Greta Van Fleet show.
For those who don’t know about Greta Van Fleet, let me introduce her. This rock band is made up of her three brothers and one of her childhood friends and hails from Frankenmuth, Michigan. The band’s name comes from Gretna Vanfleet, a woman in her 80s who lives in Frankenmuth. If you think their name is strange, wait until you hear them.
Although all four members are still in their late 20s, Greta Van Fleet conveys a pure classic rock vibe. Imagine if Led Zeppelin merged with Queen and dressed up like David Bowie, we would get close to what these young rockers accomplished.
Despite their obvious influence, last night’s show was, frankly, unlike anything I’ve ever seen.
It started with the curtain, a huge black sheet that came down from the rafters while the roadies set up the stage. When the curtains opened, the suspense and mystery increased even before the show started.
As soon as it started, it went off with a literal bang.
Orchestral music was replaced by fireworks and a dazzling pyrotechnic show. I stood there in awe, waiting for the curtains to come down, but they didn’t. The sheets were now silent, still hanging over the smoke-filled stage. I thought maybe it was malfunctioning. I was wrong.
A voice came over the loudspeaker, “We have a flair for dramatic production, don’t we?”
And, of course, the curtain fell to reveal four young musicians in jumpsuits in all their dazzling glory. The band came in behind him, and the voice rose to a deafening, alien octave.
The singer’s name is Josh Kiska, and to say he stole the show would be an understatement. I think the only way to describe Josh’s voice is like a mix of Robert Plant and Freddie Mercury, but even such a lofty comparison falls short.
Josh is thoroughly his own. He’s an enigmatic, shooting ball with unbridled energy packed into a 5-foot-5 frame. Did we mention he has a curly mohawk-like hairstyle? Oh, and he changed costumes five times during the two-hour show.
The other members of the band were equally impressive. Each member had their own time in the sun. Everything was shining. The drum solo lasted 10 minutes. The guitar solo is a solid 15. The bassist also played some mean piano.
The whole experience felt like it was from another era. It was like being transported back to the 60’s or 70’s and watching Jethro Tull and Uriah Heep in their prime.
Thanks to my dad, I grew up on classic rock. I listened to Magic 105, The Point, and 94.1. By the time I was a teenager, I could name every song and every artist that played through the speakers in my dad’s old Ford.
For years I admired bands like that. I wanted something with the same enthusiasm, the same musicality that I grew up with, and last night I found it.
It’s a little after 9 o’clock in the morning now. I have a sweet mouth and sandy eyes, but I will be proctoring my final exam in a few hours. It’s okay. I will survive. As they say, the show must go on.
Eli Cranor is the national bestselling and Edgar Award-winning author of Don’t Know Tough and Ozark Dogs. You can contact him using the Contact page at elicranor.com or find him at X (formerly Twitter) @elicranor.
