The Girlfriend and I have seen the legendary blues guitarist B.B. King perform live several times, and every time we do, we seem to end up discussing the possibility that this might be the last time. That may sound ghoulish, but consider the facts: The man is 83 years old, and a plus-size diabetic to boot. Surely we can’t have that many more opportunities to see him in concert, as sad as that is to contemplate.

Age and mortality seemed to be very much on B.B.’s mind as well during his Tuesday night performance at Kingsbury Hall. He made frequent references to his advanced years, calling the audience “you young people” — funny, since I doubt many out there in the dark were below 30 — and telling stories about his grandchildren. At the end of the show, he asked us if he could return to Salt Lake soon, “if fate allows” (answered, of course, by a resounding chorus of “yes”). And most ominously, he played a show-stopping, Grammy-winning number from his latest album, One Small Favor (hence the title of this entry), which was called “See That My Grave Is Kept Clean.”

There were also physical signs that time is catching up to the King of the Blues. B.B.’s hair is now snow white (it was still salt-and-pepper when Anne and I first saw him about ten years ago), and he spent the entire show seated, and appeared to need a bit of help to get out of his chair when the show was finished.

And yet, for all these sad reminders of life’s inevitable conclusion, the mood throughout the evening was infectiously upbeat. As B.B. himself reminded us, the blues is as much about celebrating life’s good parts and it is lamenting the bad ones, and this show felt far more like a party than a wake. The charming old man spends as much time talking as playing these days, cracking jokes (many at his own expense), delivering snippets of his personal philosophy, and, most entertaining, teasing the doting members of his B.B. King Band and taking their crap in return. Most of them are getting on in years themselves and I suspect they’ve been touring with B.B. for a very long time; the warmth and intimacy between them, the shared history, is palpable. Somehow, through sheer charisma and showmanship, they manage to extend that intimacy out to the audience, to enfold us into their inner circle as well, so that the overall effect of the show becomes something like passing a lazy afternoon on your grandpa’s front porch, listening to him talk smack with his old war buddies. Like kids who have been allowed to eavesdrop on a grown-up conversation, you feel privileged to have been included.

And when the time comes to actually play a song, B.B.King simply amazes. Age doesn’t seem to have affected his fingers at all, and the music pours from his guitar Lucille as easily as water from a jug. I remember thinking ten years ago that when B.B. played, his years seemed to fall away from him and you could see the young man he’d once been standing there on stage. Well, I no longer see things quite that way — the years don’t leave him anymore, not even when he cradles Lucille — but instead something even more remarkable happens. It’s as if B.B. simply becomes a conduit for whatever it is that really makes the music. (And no, I’m not trying to suggest any kind of “Crossroads” thing here; that was Robert Johnson.)

At the end of the show, as B.B. was helped into his overcoat and a natty fedora by one of his bandmates before leaving the stage, I reflected again on the possibility that this might be his last appearance in Salt Lake City. I hope it’s not. I’ll happily continue going to Grandpa’s front porch as long as I can. But if, as B.B. suggests, fate has something else in mind, I consider myself lucky to have seen him as many times as I have. His flavor of old-fashioned showmanship and gentlemanly manners is a rare thing in our modern world. If anyone reading this gets a chance to see the King, I highly suggest you don’t let it pass by.

ADDENDUM: B.B.’s opening act deserves a mention, too, a young man named Lukas Nelson. He began his set all alone on stage and, with a high, reedy voice at times reminiscent of both Bob Dylan and Hank Williams, Sr., his first song sounded like the sort of blues tune you might’ve heard when B.B. King was first getting his start. Once he was joined by his band, The Promise of the Real, however, the sound became heavy and electric, much like Jimi Hendrix’s lesser known blues work. I had the opportunity to meet him and his bandmates during the intermission and found him — all of them, really — to be polite and genuinely appreciative of the praise he was receiving. I think we’re going to hear great things about this group before too long.

Oh, and incidentally, Lukas just happens to be the son of another musical legend, Willie Nelson. To his credit, Lukas never said a word about it; it was B.B. who let that cat out of the bag, right at the end of his set when he invited the kid to join him on stage for a final bow.