Penn’s Peak isn’t actually in the middle of nowhere — it lies in the heart of Pennsylvania coal country, not far from Allentown — but it certainly feels like it. Nestled high in the Pocono Mountains, with a stunning view across the Lehigh Valley, it looks and feels more like an exclusive Swiss ski chalet than a concert venue. A beautiful wood-paneled interior adds to the classy, intimate vibe. You couldn’t get a better setting for a show billed as “Welcome Back My Friends: An Evening with Emerson, Lake & Palmer.”

Back in the mid-seventies, when my musical tastes were still in their infancy, prog rock entered its golden age. My teenage ears were hooked from the first notes. Pink Floyd, Genesis, Yes, Jethro Tull, and ELP were in heavy rotation on my bedroom turntable those days, and I was extremely fortunate to have seen two of them at the top of their game in that decade.

But ELP eluded me during their first and subsequent iterations. So, this evening at Penn’s Peak was going to be my first, and possibly only, opportunity to see the last remaining member of the triumvirate in person.

That’s all I knew for certain going in. On my long drive down, questions start to pile up in my mind. Without Emerson and Lake, I wonder, is this going to turn out to be a mere exercise in nostalgia, an attempt to milk past glories? Then, as I take my seat and view the stage, more questions: Where is the massive keyboard rig? Can you even have an evening of Emerson, Lake & Palmer without one?

I get my answers right away. As the opening synthesizer loops of “Karn Evil 9: First Impression, Part 2” begin, there is Carl Palmer, sitting astride his gleaming double-bass drum kit, flanked by two video screens showing his long-lost compatriots in action.

Greg Lake sings the immortal first line — “Welcome back, my friends, to the show that never ends” — the nostalgia dial cranks up to 11, and I am right back in my teenage bedroom once again.

The video of Emerson and Lake with its pristine sound, coupled with Palmer’s live drums and impeccable timing, makes for dramatic and compelling viewing for sure. But you can’t live in the past forever, can you? Lake sings, “Roll up, see the show,” on walk Paul Bielatowicz and Simon Fitzpatrick, and the evening takes the first of many surprising and enjoyable turns.

As on the record, the song moves toward the inevitable Emerson synthesizer solo. But in the absence of Emerson and his massive keyboard rig, without the aid of huge Moog patch bays and miles of miles of cables, Fitzpatrick nails it impeccably on a Chapman Stick. (For the uninitiated, that’s the odd-looking instrument that cannot decide if it is a bass guitar, lead guitar, or something from the Star Wars cantina scene.)

It’s at this point that the evening reveals its true purpose. Carl Palmer’s vision for these shows is clearly not to rest on past laurels but to transport us back and forth in time, taking the best of the past, wrapping it in the present, and reminding us how music that was considered futuristic half a century ago can still sound fresh today. It all sounds incredibly vibrant, even on a cold mountain top in Pennsylvania in 2025.

And so, the evening oscillates from the past then back to the future. Fitzpatrick cleverly reimagines Pictures at an Exhibition on the Stick, then Palmer cracks us all up by singing “Benny the Bouncer” from Brain Salad Surgery. The three take on Tarkus, channeling all the sound and fury of the original. Bielatowicz effortlessly handles vocals and synth duty — on guitar this time — before tapping a delicate and delightful version of Debussy’s “Arabesque No. 1.” Palmer, always the most percussion-minded of the Prog drummers of old, solos through Carmina Burana with gongs and tympany mallets and a considerable degree of classical panache. Then, it’s a quick switch to bongos for a sweet and appropriately reverential “From the Beginning,” accompanying Lake once again on video.

The show climaxes by looking back one last time. First Lake, then Emerson, appear on the screens for “Lucky Man” and “Fanfare for the Common Man” respectively. The vintage footage of an over-the-top Emerson — bouncing off his keyboards, spray painting a fake brick wall with the ELP logo, then pulling his B3 on top of himself to solo backwards on the keys — satisfies the faithful as you’d expect. But it also gives the newcomers, including myself, a brief glimpse into the incredible showmanship they never managed to see in person all those years ago.

At the Q&A before the show, I ask Carl how he’s holding up physically, especially in the light of Phil Collins’ current situation. He’s doing very well, he says, but actions speak louder than words. Later, during the show, he plays with his usual incredible precision, but with all the power of a hungry kid still trying to prove himself. That, and the tease in the Q&A of musical offerings by this trio yet to come, is all the proof I needed that the ELP legacy is still alive and relevant.

In the end, my doubts from earlier in the day prove to be ill-founded, much to my delight. On the evidence of this night, for Carl Palmer, the past is most definitely prologue.

Do you have an ELP story to tell? Send me a message in the comment box below, or email me at elpfanbook@gmail.com. You could be featured in a new book about ELP called Welcome Back My Friends: A People’s History of Emerson, Lake & Palmer, to be published later this year by Spenwood Books!