When Bon Jovi took to the United Center stage at 8p sharp on March 8, 2011 it was their thirteenth Chicago area appearance in 11-years. To put that in perspective, in the eleven years preceding this run, the band made a mere five Chicago area appearances. They've been in constant motion for a decade barely taking a break and expanding their popularity to heights no one could have imagined. Over that same time, I have grown with and apart from the Jersey brotherhood. This isn't a bad thing, it's merely life circumstances that make me feel a bit distanced from the band that made me fall in love with music. Once you see any artist more than a dozen times, you can't help but feel there is a sense of repetition every time you see them again. My life changed in insurmountable ways and while I was hoping the band would turn inward, like they did on the gleaming "Whole Lot of Leavin'", they delivered one rebel rousing stadium anthem after another album-after-album, tour-after-tour. They did this fiercely and without hesitation for a decade, but as I struggled to find my way through life, I had a hard time finding myself inside the songs, until last night.

Over the last decade I've seen blistering shows, high-quality shows, and some shows with rough edges. I've sung the band's praises and slammed them at the same time for a variety of reasons. However, I've always stood by all my reviews and op-ed pieces and always will. None of my words were ever meant to be mean spirited, it's just I felt this band had more to offer and I (probably foolishly) hoped the band would take my prose to heart. However, when Richie Sambora started the riff to "Blood on Blood", the cynic in me went into hibernation. It wasn't an epic show or a misguided show; it was simply a show I needed. I have experienced a series of life changes as of late. I have attempted writing about it for antiMusic, but could never bring myself to do it, until now.

Besides being on the search for a new job at this moment, my wife is closing down her stained glass store after 5-years. We feel like a pair of misfits, at a crossroad not sure which path to take or where it will lead us. It's scary. On the flipside, it's a new start for both of us. In the last few months, I've shunned live performances for the most part. I've seen a handful of shows for coverage, but have simply found solace in the most comforting of music; the Beatles. Nothing else has sounded as good to me, until Tuesday night. Even though the band took virtually no risks during their 2-hour 20-minute show, their body of work stood as a staggering reminder that they're one of the most reliable bands on the planet and that their long and encompassing career is more esteemed than many give it credit for. Even songs I dread listening to ("I'll Sleep When I'm Dead", "We Got It Going On") found the band in full on engagement with the audience. The sea of thrusting arms on "Lost Highway" and "We Weren't Born To Follow" further reminded me of the healing power of music. Both anthems, they found a way of connecting to the audience and it felt like an embracing hug. A radically reworked version of "Lay Your Hands On Me" with Richie Sambora on vocals was a welcomed surprise but was equally effective creating a community within the snug confines of the United Center (compared to Soldier Field where the band performed last summer).

A pair of new songs shined on the concert stage, "The More Things Change" and "What Do You Got" breathed amid the Chicago crowd and weren't weighed down by the production on their studio counterparts. The dual harmonies on "I'll Be There For You" hit me especially hard. I remember back in 1999/2000 when Bruce Springsteen reunited the E Street Band; Bruce and Steve Van Zandt shared a microphone every night on "Two Hearts". It was a transcendent moment that occurred every night on that tour and for 18-years prior, one no one was ever sure they would see again. Seeing these lifelong friends do what they do best and having an audience bask in their glory finding ways to adapt the lyrics to their lives is what art is all about. The same could be said about Sambora and Bon Jovi. They possibly were too active for the last decade, but there will be a day where they perform less often and it hit me Tuesday night. That was when I began to appreciate the moment. "(You Want To) Make A Memory" was equally stirring. I am not sure if any other song from the last decade has a more profound sense of wonder to it than this tune.

During this song, it struck me how Bon Jovi's music possibly was never meant to be experienced in a bedroom but a large room among friends. Like big dance beats are made for clubs where people dance their worries away, rock music often is best experienced communally where even a flat record track bursts to life courtesy of a sing-a-long. As one ages, they drift from friends and acquaintances and often see them once or twice a year. But in this moment, even if you trekked to the show alone, you don't feel alone. You are surrounded by friends. Hearing Jon and Richie harmonize about stealing a piece of time reminds you that it's people that define your life. Standing next to me for most of the show was my mate Adam from Australia. We met on a Springsteen newsgroup back in 1999 and what we had in common, we were the only people who also enjoyed Bon Jovi (or would admit to it). Over the years, we stayed in touch, traded bootlegs and became friends. We came into music at the same time on different continents, but regardless, the bond was there because of five guys from New Jersey. A few years ago, he experienced a loss beyond words. He has now visited me twice and he feels like family. He also is here to remind me that my current situation is temporary, it's not permanent. Sometimes how you experience life and everything that comes along with it boils down to perspective. At the same moment that Chicago was rapt with glee, Mike Starr, former bassist of Alice in Chains was found dead. He most likely died alone. He gave up the ghost probably a while back, but it's still a reminder, that we need to persevere during trying times. If you are blessed to be around people who love and support you, then you're half way there.

I've viewed Bon Jovi from a jaded perspective the last few years, but during their performance songs such as "Livin' On A Prayer", "Keep the Faith", and "It's My Life" take on new meaning, revealing dimensions of power and along with the strength of 20,000 vocal Chicagoans, proved that even if they play a static set list, Bon Jovi still has the power to lift souls. To see 20,000 people from the front row to the nosebleeds dancing the night away is still a sight few acts can capture for their entire set, but Bon Jovi makes it look so easy. Inside the confines of that area, I felt hope for me, my wife and my little daughter. Better days are ahead and how do I know? I (simply) believe.