Players and Listeners
The summer air at The Rose Music Center in Huber Heights, Ohio, is thick with the electric hum of a packed house, a kaleidoscope of denim-clad boomers, vinyl-collecting hipsters, and curious Zoomers ready to be swept away. It’s 2025, and America, with the indomitable Dewey Bunnell at the helm, is about to spin a night of pure, sun-dappled magic. At 73, Bunnell ambles onstage, his lanky frame draped in a black vest over a crisp white shirt, acoustic guitar slung like a trusty companion. His silver hair catches the stage lights, and his grin—equal parts poet and rambler—promises a journey through the heart of classic rock’s golden era. The crowd erupts, a wave of love crashing across generations, all here for a taste of America’s eternal road trip.
The show kicks off with “Tin Man,” and oh, what an opening gambit. Bunnell’s voice, a weathered yet crystalline tenor, weaves through the song’s wistful chords, conjuring the Scarecrow’s quest for a heart with a melody that’s both tender and profound. The Rose’s open-air intimacy amplifies every note, the crowd swaying as Bunnell sings of “spinning round, round, round,” his lyrics a gentle nudge to find meaning beyond the yellow brick road. The band—vitalized by drummer Ryland Steen’s crisp pulse and guitarist Steve Fekete’s shimmering leads—locks into a groove that feels like a Midwest sunset, warm and endless. Rich Campbell, a journeyman bassist whose tenure with the band has added a soulful heft to their live sound, leans into the groove, Bunnell’s presence is magnetic, his eyes crinkling with joy, as if he’s rediscovering the song’s magic right alongside us.
The crowd leans in, spellbound, as “You Can Do Magic” glints with pop polish and “Riverside” brings a funky swagger, each track a testament to America's knack for crafting songs that feel like old friends.
From there, the set is a love letter to the open road and the human spirit. “Ventura Highway” rolls in like a Pacific breeze, Bunnell’s strumming conjuring “alligator lizards in the air” so vividly you can almost see them dancing above the Ohio skyline. His storytelling between songs is pure gold—folksy, warm, like a campfire chat. As the night at The Rose Music Center deepens, Andy Barr steps into the glow for America’s tender classic “Daisy Jane,” his voice a warm, honeyed embrace that carries the song’s aching love letter with startling clarity. Filling the harmonic void left by Gerry Beckley, Barr’s delivery is both reverent and soulful, each note soaring over Dewey Bunnell’s gentle acoustic strums, wrapping the Huber Heights crowd in a cocoon of nostalgia. His understated passion transforms the ballad into a fleeting, heart-tugging moment, proving Barr’s not just a stand-in but a vital thread in America’s 2025 tapestry.
Bunnell shares a nugget about “Sandman,” born from late-night talks with Vietnam vets, before plunging into its brooding, minor-key ache, his voice carrying the weight of sleepless nights and hard-won truths. He’s no mere nostalgia act; Bunnell is a living current, his passion undimmed after five decades. The new lineup, filling the void left by Gerry Beckley’s touring hiatus, hums with energy, their harmonies soaring in the spirit of the Everly Brothers and Brian Wilson. “Sister Golden Hair” sparks a singalong, the crowd belting “Will you meet me in the middle?” with such fervor it feels like a vow. Bunnell, ever the gracious ringleader, soaks it in, his hands tracing the air like he’s conducting the collective heartbeat of Huber Heights.
For the encore, he saves the crown jewel: “A Horse with No Name.” The iconic riff ripples through The Rose, a desert hymn that feels like it was written in the stars above. Bunnell’s voice, raw and soulful, carries the weight of every mile he’s traveled, every story he’s told. “In the desert, you can remember your name,” he sings, and the crowd joins in, a sea of voices merging into one. It’s not just a song—it’s a sacrament, a moment where time collapses, and we’re all just travelers under an endless sky. As the final chord fades, Bunnell stands tall, arms wide, basking in the love. At The Rose, Dewey Bunnell doesn’t just perform—he builds a bridge to America’s soul, and we’re all lucky to cross it with him.
