For a guy who says he never loved the spotlight, Alan Jackson sure seemed to be having a good time for his almost-hometown crowd last night at Cruzan Amphitheatre in West Palm Beach.

It more than made up for the last show I saw at Cruzan.

Let me explain:

Like David Nail said during our interview, it’s about getting lost in the music. But so many people go to concerts and pretend that the performance is just a soundtrack for their lives. It’s not.

For one thing, those musicians on stage have devoted thousands of hours — if not tens of thousands of hours in a career like Jackson’s that has spanned three decades — to perfecting their craft, knowing full well that they can never truly be perfect. It’s disrespectful to talk and laugh and basically ignore the performance taking place 30 feet in front of you. And why did you spend $100 on tickets to behave like you’re in the corner bar? It annoys me.

Then there are the people who just can’t seem to stay in their seats. Are they are so bored they must interrupt you every half hour to go … somewhere? At the last show, I had just achieved that zone where it’s almost like you’re in a tunnel connecting you with band members. Everything outside of that is hazy, and the surface noise falls away. Just as I had reached that connection — it’s the same connection an artist strives for with his fans — a woman taps me on the shoulder: “Excuse me!”

No, excuse ME for trying to enjoy the show!!

The spell was broken and I never could quite get it back. It was like being awoken from a dream in the middle of the night and you never can get back to sleep after that.

Last night it was a blonde in a gray tank top with crystals on it. She passed in front of me three times in 10 minutes during David Nail’s set.

Bu thankfully, no one disturbed my connection with Mr. Jackson. For one thing, the audience was full of real fans. A totally different crowd from the Jason Aldean/Luke Bryan ticket, who come to party. Much more laid-back. More interested in the music. A lot fewer cowboys hats.

Of course Jackson had his signature white hat on. Underneath it, his hair is shorter, and even from the 20th row I can tell you he looks all of his 54 years. But those wrinkles: He earned them. In fact, a chronological video montage of his No. 1 songs allowed you to trace the career of the man who has left a remarkable brand on country music. And who didn’t have to change who he is fundamentally to sell 50 million records.

Jackson kicked things off with “Gone Country,” just to remind us where we were. The crowd swelled like a storm behind me as he sauntered on stage. Jackson’s eight-piece band, the Strayhorns, must bring two hundred years of picking experience with them. Jackson, on the other hand, keeps his guitar – this one had a beautiful gold lace detail on the body – close, but sometimes he just holds onto it. Sometimes he pats it, kind of like he’s burping a baby.

Jackson kept the pace up through “I Don’t Even Know Your Name,” while behind him three video screens played. Center stage was live video, and on the two smaller screens, scenes from his music videos played.

Jackson introduced “Living On Love,” as “one of my favorite songs” illustrated with old photos of his parents. Family is a common theme in Jackson’s show because so many of his songs are auto-biographical. Consider that “Small Town Southern Man” and “Drive” are in the set, and both about his father, Daddy Gene Jackson, who passed away in 2000.

When he introduced “Small Town” he said, “There are small towns all over the country, everywhere I go.” And it’s true.

During “Little Bitty,” the cameraman picked out children in the audience and showed them on the big screen, which reminded me that this is such a family-friendly show! And when Jackson spreads those long arms wide, it’s almost like he’s embracing the crowd in a big group hug.

A couple in front of me, arms wrapped around each other, swayed together, both hanging on every note, totally in the zone.

Behind me a three-quarter moon had risen, clouds blowing by in front of it. It was one of those magical autumn nights when you’re really thankful you don’t have to wear mittens or a hat or even a coat.

And Jackson seems to be expressing his thanks when he closes his eyes and tilts his head back as the first, instantly recognizable notes of “Where Were You (When the World Stopped Turning)” play. The song is still well received more than 10 years after 9/11. Behind him on the screens, stars twinkle. The crowd cheers. When he finishes the song, the screen shows the iconic picture of the firefighters raising the flag at Ground Zero and Jackson turns to look at it, to pay his respects. Jackson says he thinks people still want to hear the song because it’s “an old story” that is as meaningful today as ever. “And the greatest is love.”

It’s a testament to the man – and his band – that they sound just like the recording, just dressed up a bit. Lots of interesting intros and solos from guitar player Danny Groah, fiddler Ryan Joseph and steel guitarist Robbie Flint. Vocally, Jackson’s voice is as good as it ever was — and maybe better.

There’s a funny story about Jackson, who, when forced to play to a recorded track on an award’s show, made his dissatisfaction known by making his drummer, Bruce Rutherford, play without any drumsticks. You may think you’ve gotten one over on the tall Georgia boy, but Jackson has a way of coming out on top.

Jackson was talkative, and took the time in the middle of his set to talk about the circumstance surrounding his first hit (but his second single; the first “died a miserable death on the charts”) “Here in the Real World.” If that second song hadn’t caught fire, chances are we’d never have known Alan Jackson. But it did.

I first fell in love with Alan Jackson when he went waterskiing in his ol’ tore-up jeans in the Chatahootchee video, and I’m always happy when it’s included in his set. I miss those jeans though.

When the musical cupid hit his mark Saturday, I’m glad I was there, not just to see it, but to be a part of it.

I was also glad to see David Nail on stage again. I saw him a few years ago at a festival in Royal Palm Beach, right after his first album had been released. He’s an accomplished singer with perfect pitch, a vocalist more than an entertainer. If Luke Bryan runs wind sprints on stage, Nail runs a marathon, full of thoughtful pacing, attention to detail, timing and vocal stamina.

I loved a new song he played, called “Make You Mine.” Nail could have played his whole set acoustically; it’s not about the band – he’s got four pieces to Jackson’s eight – or the elaborate set, it’s about Nail nailing every note. This was not fast-food country. This was a simple but lovingly prepared 11-course meal.

Both singers have an authenticity: You know they’re not tuning their voices in the studio. I love that David Nail’s drummer has the State of Missouri seal on his drum, and that Nail has a PW on his guitar, his reminder that life is hard. It stands for Payton Wright who died of pediatric brain cancer in 2007. She was 5 years old. Nail has supported her and her foundation since his career began. The neat, graphic PW is a far cry from the one Nail first made using black electrical tape.

Once the lost woman in the gray T-shirt found her seat, things improved. The crowd settled into Nail’s set like you do into a broken-in La-Z-Boy. Even though about a third of his set was new material – hopefully we’ll get a new album soon – the crowd still responded to the energy of his performance.

And that is exactly what we – the performers and I — want.

Funniest thing: No red Solo cup here. Jackson drank from a gallon jug set on a stool on stage. Nail drank from a blue Solo cup.