Just last week we found ourselves, by accident of geography, sitting down to drinks in the Carlyle Hotel with a bunch of fellow thinkers in their late twenties and early thirties. Before we fled, driven away by wines by the glass starting at $19, someone pointed out a sign by the piano in the dimly lit establishment, advertising an upcoming show by none other than Christopher Cross. As one, the entire table erupted in enthusiasm for the idea — it turns out that everyone loves yacht rock, in a way that is both ironic and transcends irony. The first cassette we ever owned was Christopher Cross's first album, and we remember feeling really excited when Cross won his Grammys — the ones that, of course, are now held up as example of the Grammys' steadfast ability to get things wrong.
Anyway, in today's Times, Stephen Holden, no less, reviews Cross's Carlyle show. Holden didn't really like it — "pleasant, mildly romantic background music of meager substance," he calls it — but we have to admit: We think it would have been really great to see that show. Most of all, we'd have liked to see that voice ("Sailing…") coming out of this guy.