jukeboxgraduate.com

anger can be power

coffins at the end of the march, entering union square

We weren't going to march on Sunday.

Well, we had talked about it, but in the end we were honestly concerned about getting arrested, and at this particular point in our lives, neither of us could afford to get arrested. But we wanted to do something, so we decided we were just going to head up to Central Park and have a "picnic" as our way of saying fuck you to Bloomberg. But, I had signed up for the noRNC bloc's text message service, and when we got the message that, at 11:40, most demonstrators hadn't left the holding area yet, it was clear what we were going to do.

I put on my Joe Strummer shirt - the one that says "One day truth and justice will reign" - and we headed out the door. I had planned on wearing that shirt this week, along with a Springsteen shirt at least once (and there is some imp of the perverse in me that likes the idea that a Bruce shirt is now seditious). I liked the idea of the first band to really teach me about the ties between politics/activism and rock music was represented. Joe would have liked to know that he was there in spirit, I believe.

We took the train up to 14th, walked over to 6th, and then followed an energetic group of young anarchists down to 7th Avenue... where we reached a protest roadblock as they were stopping feeder marches from entering 7th Avenue. (The New York Times from today has a diagram about how the parade route was 100% full until about 3pm.) We moved up a little and managed to get into the main march group not long before they opened up 16th Street.

Our favorite sign so far: "BUSH IS AN EVIL FUCKING LIAR" with "And Nader is an asshole" in smaller letters on the back.

So now we are just ahead of the Lesbian/Gay/etc. coalition, and joke that we need to move away from that before either of our parents see us near that sign on the news. We find ourselves for most of the march walking next to the protesters part of One Thousand Coffins. The boyfriend is particularly struck by this form of protest. It's real. It's physical. It's visually stunning.

It takes forever to walk a block. The amount of people is staggering. The level of intelligence and anger displayed is heart-warming. If there were any assholes in the march yesterday, we didn't run into one.

Slogans:
"I'm marching for my grandma, and she's pissed."
"Have another pretzel"
"Where's my country, dude" (held up by a 7 year old)
"Anti Bush, Pro Cock" (carried by a drag queen)

But really, no one beats "BUSH IS AN EVIL FUCKING LIAR," you know?

We were reaching FIT and could see Macy's up ahead, and so we knew MSG was getting close. At that moment, this group of young punk girls who were carrying a coffin stop, shift around, and turn to us and ask, "Could you take this? We have to go up there and take pictures."

Without hestitation, we moved into position - one of us in front, one of us in back - and started walking.

They were made out of cardboard boxes, and they were hollow - there was only 3/4 of a shell, for security reasons - but you would not imagine how difficult it was to hold them and walk with them and maneuver them through a crowd, try to keep them in formation, and as we approached MSG, to hold them UP above the crowd so they could be seen. Your shoulders hurt, your wrists are sore, your arms ache. A lot of the participants were wearing clothing suitable for a funeral - shirts and ties, even - as originally requested.

Earlier in the day, the boyfriend said something about how he imagined the procession past MSG would end up being a sea of middle fingers held aloft. And it was that, but it was also so much pain and so much anger, not violent anger, but very individual and yet very global anger being channeled out of every person there. People who had been quiet all day came to life and started yelling, "Shame on you! Shame on you!" or "How do you do this? How can you live with yourself!" with such real agony you wonder what their story was, what brought them to the march today.

There were children and parents and teenagers and grandparents, from every borough and every class and every persuasion. The gay couple who'd written "Second class citizen" in marker on their arms (along with the number for the legal advisors; as we approached MSG, I got nervous, found a sharpie, and wrote it on both of our wrists - they tell you to write it on wrist, stomach or ankle).

We got to pause in front of MSG for a little while, just so people could stand there and be angry and let those emotions out, and they were huge and overwhelming and so very very real.

And then we headed off, turning east onto 34th Street. You know that big video screen on the Macy's building on the corner there? (Or if you don't, take my word, there is one there.) Well, at that moment they are showing footage of Dubya and something about his profession of faith. And the entire crowd started to boo, so incredibly loudly, not like the booing at a Mets game or anything like that, it was unplanned and authentic. It was then followed by a chant of "Fox News Sucks" that was probably the boyfriend's favorite one of the day.

The protest route is lined by the curious and the exhausted and those supporting us, waving us on. Except at 34th and 6th, where we ran into the ProtestWarriors. I won't dignify them by giving them a link, nor do I want the pingback to this blog, but they are basically ultra-right-wing assholes who try to subvert any protest efforts by the left. For all their crowing about their presence at the RNC, their representation was pathetic at best. As soon as I saw them, I felt an anger that I hadn't felt for a very long time, and I pointed them out to everyone around me. After the booing started, we dissolved into a chant of "Go sign up". They just looked like a bunch of thugs.

At some point I imagine we thought we would hand over the coffin and head up to Central Park, but as we neared 5th Avenue I guess we both realized both that we couldn't and that we didn't want to. At that point, we felt a sense of responsibility to get the coffin back to Union Square. The crowd was lighter so it was easier to walk, and also the sun was down. We could turn around walking down 5th Avenue, and turn around and look up the slight incline northward, and really see how many people were still there, both behind us and in front of us.

As we reached Union Square, the organizers of the coffin march gently herded us to one side, and then they yelled, "COFFINS UP". Everyone held them aloft, and we heard someone asking the crowd to move aside so the coffins could come into the square.

I felt very proud at that moment.

On the sidewalk, we carefully took the flag off of the coffin - not ever having had a conversation about does the other one know proper flag etiquette, we realized that we both did - and all those years at Camp Francis did me well as I carefully folded the flag according to regulation, and we handed it back to the organizers.

Then, it was on the subway and up to the Great Lawn, which was packed. We laid on the grass for a while, and then feeling like we'd made our point - it's our fucking park, asshole - headed back to the Lower East Side.

Let fury have the hour, anger can be power
D'you know that you can use it?
--The Clash, "Clampdown"

end of the century

I loved the Ramones with all my heart. Like anyone who loved the Ramones, hearing them changed my life, my beliefs, my dreams, it literally altered my spirit. I couldn't be Patti Smith or Chrissie Hynde or Pete Townshend or Keith Richards, but I could put on my ripped Levi's and a white t-shirt and a pair of Converse, and save up my babysitting money to buy a motorcycle jacket and look JUST LIKE THEM. More importantly, they said themselves that they weren't that good, that anyone could do what they did, that everyone should start a band. I was never brave enough to do it but knowing that I could was almost enough in itself. They were freaks, geeks, outlaws, outsiders, comic book characters to some, superheroes to me.

An important part of the Ramones was the characters, the story, the myth, essentially. There wasn't tons of backstory or hours of indepth interviews in the NME you had to commit to heart in order to truly understand them - all you had to do with the Ramones was buy the records, go to the shows, and that was it: you got it. If you wanted it, it was yours to have, to believe in. Despite being one of those obsessive losers who needs to know as much as possible about the music I am listening to, you never really needed to with the Ramones. It was all there on the surface.

So for all these years I have been happy with this fact. But then, back in March, a friend gave me On The Road With The Ramones, written by their road manager, Monte. It's absolutely, utterly fascinating, and well-written to boot. I couldn't put it down, but when I did, my reaction was: "I really wish I didn't know all that stuff about them." The myth was shattered and I don't know whether I'm smarter or a bette r person or if I understand or enjoy their music more because of it. And, my prevailing feeling was that Johnny was a right-wing Republican asshole.

Thursday night, I went to the premiere of this movie tonight, as part of the East Village Festival. It was almost impossible to find out anything about the premiere ahead of time; I finally decided to just walk up to the theater earlier in the day and see if I could buy a ticket. They told me to be there half an hour early, and I was; however, I don't understand why. There was almost no one there, the theater was maybe 1/3 full, and the promised cast and crew attendance was nowhere in sight. I mention all of this because it seems to somewhat parallel what happened with the Ramones: a lot of sound and fury but in the end, they never got the attention and success they deserved.

There was a lot of controversy surrounding the movie; despite being shown at film festivals and gaining approval, they couldn't release it because of what amounted to internecine warfare. Joey left this planet before the filmmakers had a chance to interview him, and therefore the interview footage with him in the movie was insubstantial. Danny Fields (as in "Danny Says," as covered by the Foo Fighters, so I know you know it), former Ramones manager, was quoted as saying that Joey was afraid it was going to be from Johnny's perspective and Johnny was afraid it would be from Joey's perspective. It isn't until you read the book and see the movie that you start to understand what that really means. (I'm not going to spoil it for you if you don't know and wish to remain blissfully ignorant.)

But somehow it all worked out, Joey's story does get represented in the film, and now it's out for everyone to see (follow the link above for the nationwide schedule). This isn't the best rock documentary you will ever see, and it's absolutely not the definitive Ramones story on film. However, it's likely to be the only one we ever get. Joey's gone, Dee Dee followed soon thereafter, and I can't see Johnny being willing to go through all of that again. (Not only was my opinion of Johnny from the book confirmed, it was reinforced from the movie; however, now at least I just feel sorry for him instead of thinking he's just a total dick.)

The Dee Dee footage alone is worth the price of admission. Additionally, some of the last interview footage ever with Joe Strummer is also a centerpiece, Joe relating yet another mythological story, that of the then-fledgling Clash, Sex Pistols, Damned and the rest of the soon-to-be London punk elite turning up at the first U.K. Ramones show and meeting the band (while getting them to sneak them into the gig). Fantastic footage of the hysteria in Brazil surrounding their tour there, courtesy none other than Ramones fan club member Eddie Vedder. Debbie Harry making the unintentionally hilarious observation: "They were very organized." Legs McNeil getting emotional and ranting, "Those songs were classic American pop songs. Why weren't they played on the radio??!"

I understand him, though, because by the time the movie ended, I felt the same way. I felt as though the fact that the Ramones didn't become the biggest band in the world was the biggest travesty of musical injustice the world has ever known. To quote Chris Stein at the beginning of the film, the Ramones should have been like the Stones. There was no good reason they didn't make it. Of course, if they had made it, would they have still been the band that we all looked up to and worshipped, the band that caused dozens and dozens of known and unknown bands to be formed in their wake? Would they have been so beloved and so influential? Probably not.

I walked by Joey Ramone Place on the way home after the movie. As long as I live in a world where such a thing exists, it can't be all bad, can it?

return to the scene of the crime

little steven's underground garage festival
randall's island, nyc, 14 august 2004

I am still recovering.

Do you remember what it was like when you went to your first punk rock show - and it almost doesn't matter whether it was in 1978 or 1982 or 1992, because it's still about that moment when you walk in the door and everyone looks like you - or rather, you don't look different than anyone else for the first time in your life? That feeling of inclusion and solidarity and homecoming. You felt comfortable, you felt at ease, and the music kicked ass.

That's a good start at describing what it was like at Randall's Island this past weekend. I don't know that that was what Steve Van Zandt was trying to create, I think he was just pissed off at the current state of the War On Suck Ass Music and wanted to take a stand. But, believe it or not (depending on what side of this you fall on) Stevie knows a thing or two about solidarity and inclusion and brotherhood/sisterhood formed through music, because the E Street Band is pretty much about all of that.

When we got up to the x80 stop at 125th Street and my friend S. exclaimed, "Look at all the freaks!" she meant it in the best, most self-referential way possible. She meant it as: "Look, it's a bunch of people just like us!" It was ripped jeans and Converse and leather and every t-shirt imaginable. Everyone was in what looked good or what was comfortable or both. In our party, the weather had mandated giving up on skirts and fishnets (although S. did soldier on with that motif; then again, she always looks better than everyone) and feather boas and glittery makeup. It sucked, you know? I mean, how many times in my life have I had to decide what I was going to wear to see the New York Dolls??

I'd printed out multiple copies of the last-minute timetable - when bands are getting exactly two songs, the timetable *does* matter - and then promptly forgotten them in a friend's hotel room. For two songs, though, it doesn't matter if the band sucks, by the time you get out of the crowd to go get a beer, the next one is on anyway. For those of the MTV generation, it must've been great. For those of us who don't have ADD, two songs sucked.

The run of bands from 10am until 4pm went this two-song-per-band route. We arrived around 2:30 - I would have liked to get there earlier but, I mean, 12 hours of this? And I have to survive through the Dolls *and* the Stooges? Not likely. That meant we missed the Star Spangles and the Boss Martians from Seattle (funny that they had the real Boss, B.S. himself, introduce them) and Jeff Connolly's Lyres (amongst others, those were the losses on our personal taste scale). We arrived to see a band called the Woggles, who were pleasant but forgettable, and walked up to the stage just as the Chocolate Watchband made their debut. The revolving stage appeared to be out of commission (Stevie mentioned later that it broke after the 10th band) but the promised go-go dancers were deployed to great effect.

The MC's were Martin Lewis (this English guy that no one knew who he was - I'm sure you'll all write in now and tell me, do me a favor, put it in a comment), and Kim Fowley. Now, the novelty of having Kim Fowley in our vicinity wore off after the second set change we had to witness. By the end of the night, it was clear that the novelty had worn off of everyone pretty fast. No matter where we stood in the crowd, the volume and tone of our snarky remarks to Kim's attempt at stage patter made us friends very quickly. However, the best comment all night had to be just before the Stooges were about to hit the stage, and there is a slight delay, and Kim is going on and on and on and on, a gentleman in front of us yells, "Climb back in your coffin already!" (He did look pretty scary even without him being Kim Fowley.)

By 4pm, we've evolved into the bands rating a 10 minute set, preceded by the Chesterfield Kings, once again introduced by Mr. Springsteen (who stood at the side of the stage to check out the Kings as well as the first of the 4pm acts, the Mooney Suzuki. He is interrupted halfway through by none other than Handsome Dick Manitoba of the Dictators, with whom he has a lengthy and animated exchange. Oh, to be a fly on that wall). The Fuzztones, the band that opened for EVERYONE in New York at one time, or so it seemed. The Paybacks from Detroit (who we liked until the lead singer felt the need to talk at us during many set breaks later in the day). The Pete Best Band - okay, most of my party were thrilled, to tell you the truth, I could care less. Yes, he played with the Beatles in Hamburg. What's he done since then?? Whatever.

My dearly beloved D4 from New Zealand only got two songs - we'd learn later that they were starting to hurry people up due to fears of the hurricane breaking - and then the Romantics came onstage and we decided that this would be a fine time to go get food. They were followed by the Dictators, who opened with a spritely version of "New York New York". Honestly, they were great in this context, and none other than Top Ten, Scott Kempner, was back onstage with them. Nancy Sinatra followed, accompanied by a horn section (including La Bamba), Clem Burke on drums, and three other guys no one knew. She sang a couple of songs from her upcoming album, one song by Morrissey and the other by Thurston Moore. It was amusing in the extreme watching the go-go dancers try to figure out what to do during the latter number.

Big Star - okay, I fuckin LOVE Big Star, but my feet hurt and I think they were placed wrong in terms of energy and pacing. They were followed by none other than Bo Diddley, and the crowd just adored him. Camera phones were held aloft in great number when he walked onstage. He was followed by the Raveonettes, who were supposed to get a 20 minute set, but cut it down to two songs due to weather (or so we're told).

At this point, we are one band from the New York Dolls. The Pretty Things, who I would have enjoyed seeing, and who were supposed to get a 25 minute set - well, you know, they claimed that they were cutting their set down, but the last number was a song called "L.S.D." that I swear was at least 25 minutes long. And to be fair, they were preceding the Dolls.

"There could be Pete, Keith and Mick on that stage right now and I would not care, they would be in the way of the Dolls," I complained.
"You are so lying," I am informed.
"Hmmm... no, not really. I have seen them, I have not seen the Dolls."

We decide that the crowd really is very loosely packed and that we need to be closer. There was no way we'd get to the stage but we could improve our position immensely, which we did. The stage is ready - the screen flashes THE NEW YORK DOLLS - Clem Burke gives an impassioned introduction which is unfortunately premature as they are not ready - and then the band walks out, we hear David's voice dedicating the set to Arthur Kane - and then before I know it, they are on that stage and my heart is pounding so very very very fast.

You know, I have seen David and I have seen Syl and I have seen JT, and I got to see the Heartbreakers, and I have seen David and Syl and Johnny onstage together, but it was not the same, because of so many factors, drugs and attitude and past baggage. And now it is so many years later, and I am older and they are older and most of them are gone now.

It was like being 15, like remembering what it was like to know that rock and roll will save your life, it is promise and redemption and, again, INCLUSION, it is being in a crowd who is singing the harmonies to "Trash", it is life and spirit and hope. Watching it almost 30 years later, all the days in between when Johnny was fucked up and no one came to see Syl and Jerry Nolan became a stockbroker and David almost made it big but with the wrong fucking audience, goddamn MTV and that freaking Animals medley, and they either turned their back on the Dolls and that time and that music or conversely clung to it with a desperation that was depressing to watch. So you didn't, or you did and wished you hadn't.

And now, with only two of their number left, with mortality facing them, finally they can embrace it with not just the inexperienced joy of youth but with the blessing and passing of years and the lines on their faces, and the lines on our faces too. Because I am not a 19 year old Strokes fan there to see a band that I read about, I am 40 and this band was one of my first, very forbidden, undiscovered loves, no one, repeat, NO ONE in my high school knew about the New York Dolls. They were mine. They were the band that I would play dress up and sing in front of the mirror to.

It would have been a good thing if I had written down the setlist, wouldn't it, but I didn't. I couldn't. S. had her Palm Pilot and was trying to record and I know someone there had to be recording (please, hailing all deities). I couldn't write and I didn't want to think, I just wanted to FEEL it, I wanted to live every single second so hard that it hurt. Because I never thought this would happen - it isn't even that I waited for it to happen because I never believed that it would.

And then it was over, and we are hugging each other fiercely, and no one is looking at us strangely, at all. Because even if they don't really get it they do understand, because they are here, and they are standing in a muddy field for hours and hours with a hurricane threatening because they understand, too.

There was no way in hell I was going to be that close for the Strokes, being on the island was closer than I ever wanted to be, but also, I thought this would finally be the chance I could give them. I was going to be feeling charitable after seeing the Dolls and knowing that Iggy and the Stooges were next. A friend sent me a mp3 of them covering "Clampdown" a few months ago (without telling me who the band was) and it was honestly pretty good. So I went into this with an open mind.

Strike one was that they took longer than ANYONE to come out onstage; they took so long that it prompted someone to yell, "You better fucking rock you assholes, you're holding up the Stooges."

Finally, they come out onstage. H. gets a good look at Julian and exclaims, "Oh my god, I ran into him when I was on my way to the bathroom earlier." He looks pissed off. He dives into the crowd, which was a reasonable gesture, and it was cute seeing all the cameraphones in his face, but then he did nothing with it. You do that for reaction or for energy, I couldn't figure out what the fuck was going on. They played reasonably well from a mechanical performance perspective but there was no passion or fire or even anything resembling zeal. Julian kept getting pissed off that there was no crowd reaction - well, fucker, you don't just get it, you EARN it. You got a 4 star introduction from Stevie and you got the plum set - now go out there and take no prisoners.

Instead, Julian just whined a lot. Honestly, I will not ever listen to anyone trying to sell me on this band ever again. Done. Over.

So now we make our way back up into the crowd, cautiously, because we rightly assume that a Stooges crowd is gonna be rowdy (even though at this point it's been 11 fucking hours that this thing has been going on and if anyone has any mosh left in them, well, right on, really). And then Iggy gallops onstage and I realize that Watt is up there with them (we were worried he had a tour conflict) and BOOM! CRASH! BANG! HOLY SHIT! It's the fucking STOOGES.

Yeah, it's the same setlist they've been doing for over a year now. You know what? It doesn't matter, because it feels like you've never heard it before. It is big and loud and obnoxious and oh so very beautiful, it is what all the music we heard today goes back to. Even more than with the Dolls, everyone is singing along to every fucking word, loudly and with gusto. They rock, so very very righteously.

Iggy is trying hard to get into the crowd, but the security guys won't let him. He gets pissed off. During "Real Cool Time" he insists on the usual crowd participation level, swearing at the security guards to let the fans up onstage. The first guy gets up and proceeds to hug Iggy tightly. Fans continue to clamber onstage. People watching the show from the side of the stage start running out to join in the festivities: several go-go dancers, at least one Fuzztone, and we're pretty sure one of the Mooney Suzuki (who, after the stage was cleared, climbed up on the go-go dancer's platform and danced for the rest of the Stooges' set with the girls). Bob Gruen is standing stage center, taking pictures, as Iggy and a cast of thousands proceed to create a white riot on Randall's Island. I got a text message in the middle of it all from the boyfriend, stuck at a family event, asking how things were going. "anarchy here" is how I responded.

And then, suddenly, it was all over, and we turned back into pumpkins and made our way back into Manhattan for some late night Chinese food, ignoring the exhortations to head over to Manitoba's (the place is just *not* that big). Our feet hurt and we were wet and bedraggled and tired; now I'm just sorry I didn't stay up all night.

postscript:

Props to Stevie and his people. This thing could have been one enormous debacle; I don't know what it was like backstage but out front the thing ran great. I might have preferred the show to be held in the stadium there (it was in a field nearby) simply because you could go sit somewhere if your feet hurt or if you were tired; the only choices here was sit on mud or sit on wet muddy grass. Food concessions left a little to be desired. I appreciated the light security that confiscated S.'s umbrella but allowed me to get my hip flask in. The crowd was fantastic; if there were any real assholes, we didn't run into *one*. (The whiney little girl who got her boyfriend to stop the guy pogoing in front of them - stay home, go to a Dave Matthews concert or something.) Ticket price - fantastic. Sponsorship - it's DONUTS. Who has a problem with *donuts*??? (Except - where were the fucking donuts???? Free latte samples galore, but nothing to get your sugar buzz on with.) Transportation on/off the island was also more efficient than one would have expected.

My only complaint: Where was the MC5 in all of this???

the coolest man alive

Bob Dylan & Willie Nelson, Dutchess Stadium, October 10, 2004

"Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the poet laureate of rock and roll, the man who gave voice to his generation, who went from folk to rock and back, who toured with Rolling Thunder, found Christianity, became mired in substance abuse, was declared 'washed up' and emerged in the 90s with the best albums of his career. Please join me in welcoming Bob Dylan."

Now, *that*, my friends, is an INTRODUCTION.

I was lucky enough to be at what I believe was the first "Dylan on keyboards!" show, October 4, 2002, Key Arena, Seattle. While I'm hardly a Dylan expert, I'm no tourist either, and I knew enough to know that when he walked out onstage and started playing keyboards that something was afoot. Reading the fan backlash after the first few shows, I was just waiting for someone to yell "Judas!" again.

So it's two years later, and off we go to Upstate New York to this minor league baseball park in Fishkill. Bob has been playing a lot of these non-traditional venues in the last couple years, fairgrounds and the like; I generally stay away from those because my experience has unfortunately been that most people attending those kinds of shows are looking for Entertainment and not music. But this was the Field of Dreams tour, this was Bob & Willie, my companion had never gotten to see Dylan, so off I went.

It was a pretty rinky-dink stadium with similarly rinky-dink organization; we managed to get inside easily and grab a decent spot about 15 people from the stage. Everyone was lying around on blankets until Willie Nelson came onstage around 7pm.

I don't know enough to talk about Willie's set. It was billed as "and Family" and it definitely was a motley collection of folks up there. It was highly enjoyable, I'm glad I can say that I've seen him, but mostly I just enjoyed listening to Mickey Raphael.

Dylan's stage set up has him on far stage right, facing the opposite side of the stage, with the band in a semi-circle around the back of the stage. They're all wearing the same suits, long jackets, black shirts. They look like a gang of gunslingers than a kick-ass rock and roll band.

When the opening notes of "Rainy Day Women" began, I just started laughing and made some joke about pandering to his audience. By the time Dylan hit the stage, the friendly and comfortable crowd had evolved into drunk asshole central, combined with amateur hour. Not that many bands make it up to Fishkill. So there was a certain irony involved hearing the audience yelling "Everybody must get stoned!"

With the new arrangements, you can't always count on the music to tip you off as to what the next song is - name that tune doesn't necessarily work. So you have to rely on first lines, a lot. The first (and still only) Dylan lyrics reference I own has a first lines index and when I was a teenager, I'd amuse myself by picking out a line from the index and then tracking down and learning the song. So when I hear "You must leave now, take what you need" it's one of those instant recognition oh my god moments - "It's All Over Now, Baby Blue".

"Highway 61 Revisited" was utterly SCORCHING. I swear someone kicked the volume up at that song - I hadn't been missing my earplugs until towards the end of it. I have been mourning the loss of Charlie Sexton from this band, but oh my god - Stu Kimball? Un-be-lieve-able. And he does it without breaking a sweat.

Explain to me, please, why the drunk assholes don't talk through "Lay Lady Lay" (I've never liked this song, ever) but do want to have long, extended, loud and rambling discussions during "Not Dark Yet"? But even with that, it was riveting and heartwrenching at the same time. I would say something like 'You have to wonder how Dylan feels singing this when so many of his peers are leaving this earth' but then I feel dumb, because in my universe Dylan is not a mortal who bothers with such trivial notions.

On the other hand, I was at the show where he started playing the Zevon covers (and we got *three* that night), so I guess that's my answer.

"Masters of War" - okay, maybe a gimme, but I felt lucky to hear him sing that song right now. And the encores - sure, it's everything you came to hear (well, almost) but this band just plays the fuck out of them. "Watchtower" absolutely sizzled.

I have spoken with huge Dylan fans who can't be bothered to go see him now, who believe him to be a shell of his former self, a mockery, a travesty. And I understand that things have greatly changed, but Dylan has greatly changed. He can't play guitar any more - a huge loss to rock and roll, absolutely. He can't sing the way he used to - so he's found another way to interpret his songs. I mean, how on earth do you reinvent *Bob Dylan*? No one else has been able to, and seems to me that Bob himself has found a viable way to keep being vital and alive and performing. That band kicks ass all over the place. They're neutral (not in the negative sense), no one is grandstanding (kind of hard to grandstand when you're on the same stage as BOB DYLAN but you know someone out there would try if they had the chance), they can play just about anything. Seems to me that he's got this thing figured out - he plays the keyboards, he works with the band, he gets out onstage and does this little kind of Bob-dance at the ends of the songs; there's still a ton of vibrant, viable, valid energy in this man and his music and how he performs his music.

I also find the country - motif, as it were, to be interesting; it's the one genre of music in which there is already a proven strategy of how to grow old gracefully as a performer, it's not a genre strictly for the young. I think that we will start to see - we are seeing - rock artists find ways to grow old with dignity (or at least go out with their boots on) without having to give up, sit down, and feel like they have to compete at the level of a 20 year old musician.

The final image of the night: The band, standing across the stage, instruments on the floor and held perpendicular as though they were weapons. They just stand there; there's no gratiutous waving, smiling, nodding; Bob acknowledges the crowd in this odd Bob-like way, with a nod and a wink, and they walk off. That's when I said, "He's still the coolest man alive."

+ + + + +

1. Rainy Day Women #12 & 35
2. Tweedle Dee & Tweedle Dum
3. It's All Over Now, Baby Blue
4. Lonesome Day Blues
5. Stuck Inside Of Mobile With The Memphis Blues Again
6. Lay, Lady, Lay
7. Bye And Bye
8. Highway 61 Revisited
9. Not Dark Yet
10. Honest With Me
11. Masters Of War (acoustic)
12. Summer Days

(encore)
13. Mr. Tambourine Man (acoustic)
14. Like A Rolling Stone
15. All Along The Watchtower

people have the power

Vote For Change Tour Schedule

It's kind of astounding, isn't it? In the best possible way?

Many of the artists involved have been echoing the same thing we've been saying for months now: this is going to be the most important election of our lifetime. We have to do something.

To me it is such a wonderful thing that I forget that there is a whole faction of people out there that are not only astounded in a different fashion, but are outright appalled and believe that it is wrong and should not happen. These are the same people who allege that Move On are out to destroy the American Way of life.

My friend Lisa wore a t-shirt last weekend that said, "I Want My Country Back". I'm not much for flag-waving or jingoism, but I would have gladly worn that shirt and taken all the heat it would have generated.

On a personal note, seeing Bruce and R.E.M. on the same stage is going to be some kind of ultimate. R.E.M. were *huge* for me at one point in my life and I still love that music and those songs and think they are great.

And I am a little sad that I won't get to see PJ on this tour. I even ran the distance between St. Paul and Asheville (the one night there isn't a Springsteen conflict) and there's just no way, 16 hours. Even when I was hard-core I was never *that* hard-core. This would be a fine moment in which to see Ed rise to the occasion and I'm sorry I'm going to miss it; equally sorry that they won't be sharing the stage with Bruce.

Finally, here is the current list of the shows I am going to miss because of this tour:
Oct 1 - Ryan Adams
Oct 2 - Patti Smith/Televison
Oct 2 - Dead Moon
Oct 5 - Wilco

I don't even want to LOOK any more.