I turned into a Monkees fan as soon as their TV show began in 1966. I was 9 years old, and I loved popular music and general goofiness, so I guess I met the target demographic (assuming that such a concept existed at the time). I bought most of their albums along the way, and I still play them today, on my 1975 stereo system, as I sing along.

Back in the day, we each had to choose our favorite Monkee, just as fans of that other four-piece band each had to choose their favorite Beatle. Mine was Micky Dolenz. When Davy Jones, Micky and Peter Tork went out on a 20th anniversary tour in 1986, I caught their act three times that summer. In 2011, I saw the trio again. I had never seen Mike Nesmith in concert, since he had not toured with the rest. I knew that he was an accomplished singer-songwriter, and I heard that he put on a terrific show.

So here, finally, was my chance to see Micky and Mike together, now that Davy and Peter were already gone. I'm certainly glad that I did.

However: for all of the reasons for me to remember this night, what actually stands out the least to me is the music itself, even though it was what I had looked forward to the most. What I will always feel first is how drenched I got as I stood in line outside the theater, in a steady torrential downpour that somehow kept getting heavier and heavier as the minutes passed. Of course, I wasn't alone. Everyone in line was getting soaked. Nearly 2,000 of us were poised to funnel into the place. When the theater doors finally opened, the staff took no time to check the required COVID cards; they just aimed to get us inside as quickly as possible. Alas! Soggy paper tickets don't scan very well, so many folks had to move instead to the growing line at the nearby ticket office. What a mess! It would take two days for my raincoat, clothes, shoes and notebook to dry out. Still, I'm glad I went.

Due in part to our collective wetness, Micky and Mike had already won us over without uttering a word, as they took the stage with their seven-piece band. As our cheers and applause subsided, the musicians began the night with "Good Clean Fun," a great prediction for what lay ahead for us.

What followed was a mix of very familiar tunes combined with others dug deeper from the Monkees catalogue. I have to admit, I didn't know them all. Here were some of my favorites, though, including "Mary, Mary," "The Kind of Girl I Could Love," "You Just May Be the One," "For Pete's Sake," "The Door into Summer," "Sunny Girlfriend" and "Love is Only Sleeping."

Micky told stories about the group, about Davy and Peter, and about some of the origins of the songs. We heard again the tale that when Mike wrote "Different Drummer," it was deemed not to be a Monkees song -- even though a Monkee had written it -- and he reluctantly handed it off to young Linda Ronstadt instead. On this night, Micky sang it. Before he could launch into the "Randy Scouse Git," a roadie wheeled in a kettle drum for him to play. And in a touch of subtle detail, the roadie was wearing the same kind of colorful poncho that Micky wore for the original performance of that song. Nice! The first set ended with another all-time favorite, the Carole King-Gerry Goffin classic, "Pleasant Valley Sunday."

The merriment and the trip down memory lane continued with the second set. The group started with "Porpoise Song." And then again, I heard some of my favorites, like "Papa Gene's Blues," "The Girl I Knew Somewhere" and "A Little Bit Me, A Little Bit You." All along, most folks in the hall had been singing, and loudly. Now the energy ramped up, beginning with "(I'm Not Your) Stepping Stone." We got to our feet to clap, sing and dance at our seats, for the rest of the show. And together, everyone sang "What Am I Doing Hanging 'Round?" "Goin' Down," "Daydream Believer," "Listen to the Band" and "I'm a Believer." Wow! The guys on stage took their bows. There could be no encore.

Members of this band had long toured with Micky, including his sister Coco, who provided vocals and played percussion. And yet, as professional as they were, and as storied as the venue was, the sound that reached my ears was pretty muddy. The bass was far too heavy for me. The effect was as if I was hearing the performance in an alleyway, next to the concrete walls of a private club. Was it because my seat was in a direct line with the bass player? Or was this thumping mix hitting the whole audience this way? I have no way of knowing. And maybe no one else even noticed. Everyone was too busy singing and clapping.

If we hadn't already known that Mike Nesmith was not in good health, we would have quickly noticed the signs. He sat on a stool to sing for most of the concert; that is, when he didn't suddenly disappear into the wings for certain selections. He didn't touch a guitar. It was clear that Micky and the band had to revise their set list to accommodate Mike's presence on stage, song by song. And when Mike told two stilted stories from the past, it was distressing to hear that he couldn't quite find the right words to tell it.

Well, this was a farewell tour, after all. In earlier interviews, Micky confirmed that Mike had been committed to participating in the tour, no matter what. Kudos to Mike, in this regard. And to Micky's credit, he didn't interrupt or correct any of the details of Mike's stories. They were what they were. And the also-aging audience would have to understand.

Their two-month, 40-city tour ended on Nov. 14, 2021, at the renowned Greek Theatre in Los Angeles. On Dec. 10, we got the word that Mike had died at the age of 78. We who were lucky enough to see him this year may have been disappointed, but not at all surprised. I'd like to think that he was glad he joined the tour. He got to see hundreds of thousands of fans and to hear them sing along with words and tunes that he had written.

As John Denver once said: "Though the singer is silent, there is still the truth of the song." Safe travels, Mike. Be sure to tell Davy and Peter that we said hi. I'm glad I had the chance to sing along with you, on one very rainy night in Massachusetts.