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i'm a human being: the dolls in nyc

The New York Dolls
Irving Plaza, NYC
28 April, 2005

So it is all very well and good to be on your high horse about reunions and how they pander to nostalgia of the worst sort, and let's just let it go, and I am glad, for example, that Westerberg never got any quasi-Replacements back together, and there is part of me that is thankful that my memories of the Clash are still pure (but on the other hand I used to dream about seeing a reunion. Honestly, I had this reoccurring dream about seeing them at Key Arena and pogoing around at the back of the floor with Mark Arm from Mudhoney). But, then, I could kill myself that I didn't see the Velvet Underground with Sterling Morrison, for that brief interlude in which Reed and Cale put their egos aside. That was beyond impossible and it happened and I missed it. Forever and ever.

So, now, the New York Dolls. The closest I ever came before was Sylvain, JT and David Jo on the very same stage (I have a photograph of this momentous occasion) at Irving Plaza during a three-night Thunders stand (I went all three nights. Did you even have to ask?) And of course, Underground Garage last summer, which was kind of this communal experience of being in the same place with the Dolls, not long after we lost Arthur, and while there was something absolutely wonderful about the experience, standing in a muddy field with several thousand other people was not exactly how I envisioned seeing the Dolls would be like.

True confessions: so in my fantasies about seeing the New York Dolls at, say, the Mercer Arts Centre, there was glitter and velvet and hair spray and lipstick and fishnets, and, to be honest, cigarettes and alcohol and illicit substances of some kind. I would have looked fabulous and been fabulous. Tonight, I had to settle for running home from work, and throwing together something that, if I was lucky, might perhaps live in the same area code as fabulous. There was velvet and lip gloss and hairspray and cleavage, and instead of a limo I allowed myself the cab up to Irving Place. I settled for a $9 Jack and coke and let any considerations of decadence, or at least mild intoxication, fall by the wayside. After all, nowhere in my fantasy figured having to get up for work at 8am the next morning.

After an opening band so forgettable I almost took pity on them, suddenly I could feel that forgotten yet familiar knot in my stomach, accompanied by more than a smidgen of beating heart, butterflies, ohmygodtheywillbeonthatstage, I am in the front row front row front row, teenage fangirl symptoms tonight, as the clock struck down to showtime. I didn't expect it, at all. I was almost sad, you know, I don't really have that anticipation any more, I don't have time for it. I am plenty excited when the lights go down and ecstatic when the music begins, but I miss the waiting. I miss looking at the calendar and being frustrated that it's so far away. I miss counting down the days to the show. I miss the pre-show ritual day-of, the checklists and the planning outfits and the small waves of energy that would pulsate every few hours when I would think about where I would be at 8pm that night.

But, tonight. The New York Dolls. At Irving Plaza. In New York City.

I know they wouldn't be doing this if it sucked, but they are so beyond just perfunctory reunion, this is an absolute labor of love, this is the return triumphant, this is claiming what is theirs by birthright. David Johansen has never sounded better than he does right now, and Sylvain is having the time of his fucking life -- as is the rest of the band, who are grateful and happy and humble to be there, and their love for the music they are playing is so incredibly present. I mean, look at Steve Conte: filling Johnny Thunders' shoes is an unenviable task, not just because of the legend - and it is The Legend - but people forget that with JT there honestly was so much brilliance there (even when he was fucked up you would see those glimmers which is why you would go to a three night stand at Irving Plaza). So you have the fans who are unforgiving and big ass platform shoes to fill and yet you want to bring something of your own to it, this wouldn't work with session musicians no matter how competent, you have to have that feeling or it would just fall down flat. And Steve Conte has all of this. He loves what he is playing and he loves being on that stage and he is unapologetic for his own talent at the same time, and while he thoroughly embraces it he does not try to claim it as his. I don't know if this explained it well enough but this whole operation would have fallen down flat with the wrong guy in the JT role, and having Conte's spirit there is, I think, a big part of why this reunion doesn't suck. My only problem was that being on the rail in front of Syl meant that Conte's blistering solos were sometimes a challenge to hear.

Looking at the setlist now, I am thinking "ah, fuck, I'd like to hear 'Babylon' or 'Vietnamese Baby'" but in the moment all I could think was that we were getting everything we wanted and then some. Johansen is still a master at commanding the stage. Dripping in rhinestones on every finger and so many on the wrists it's like diamond sweatbands, this is the man who invented glam. Realize this. Pay homage. Take notes. Hope you are half this fabulous now, much less at his age.

Syl: "David, you're such a fag."
David: "What did you say?"
Syl: "I said you were a fag."
David: "Oh, thank god, I thought you said I was fat."

Welcome to the Dolls comedy hour. Seriously, though, the affection present between the two keepers of the legacy who are left - as a fan, what a joy and a privilege to be able to witness them enjoying themselves and their music and the adulation it creates onstage. It's theirs. They created it. They deserve it, and it's about fucking time. They deserve to have a packed house jumping up and down and singing every word to every song back at them - and I mean every song. It wasn't just "Personality Crisis" or "Pills," it was "Mystery Girls" and "Jet Boy" (oh was it "Jet Boy." The place almost exploded) and "Private World." The mosh pit was inspired by "Frankenstein" (dedicated to our president) - that song is supposed to start a white riot and it did, bringing much needed life and energy towards the end of the set.

The one song I had to hear, had never heard a Doll sing, not David ever (and I have seen Johansen play live more than I have seen the Who, but let's also realize that there was a time you could see him somewhere in the tri-state area on a weekly basis) - I would have chased this song forever, but I could see it at the bottom of the setlist, in the encore position, and even knowing it was coming didn't ruin anything, didn't spoil the impact of actually hearing it.

And if I'm acting like a king
I'm a human being
And if I want too many things
Don't you know that
I'm a human being
And if I've got to dream
I'm a human being

And the crowd knows this one by heart, too, and it is loud and raucous but it is sweet and pure and light and positive, not to get all hippie or anything but it's the good stuff, the real thing, the heart of it all, right here, in this room. You come full circle, you go 20 years, 30 years, you come back to where you start from and you see the same people in the same place and it is, truly, homecoming.

The best thing, the sweetest thing, on top of all of this, was the smile, the sheer unadulterated joy on David's face at the end, as he looked at the crowd, the audience he deserved, finally, after all the years of not having what was rightfully his, there is grey hair and pink hair and kids who weren't even born when I was listening to "Human Being" through headphones and dreaming about (as Patti would say), I'm gonna go, I'm gonna get out of here, I'm gonna go on that train and go to New York city. They were all there, and I was there, and this was the band that inspired the big bad crazy secret fabulous dreams all those years ago.

I stumble out of Irving Plaza, slowly, not wanting to go anywhere too fast just yet. My voice is ragged and my feet hurt and 8am looms and I could give a fuck. I want to stay out all night, I want to take over a jukebox at a bar, I want to sing and shout and dance until the sun comes up.

And if I've got to dream, well, I'm a human being.

how can you like him? westerberg in nyc

Paul Westerberg
The Supper Club, NYC
27 April 2005

I am probably one of the only women in my age bracket (ahem) who never wanted to fuck Paul Westerberg. (No, that doesn't mean I wanted Tommy, either.) No, in my fantasy world, Paul was the guy who sat in the back row of English class and seemed like he was a slacker, none of the other girls would talk to him, but every time the teacher called on him, he knew every answer, could quote books you didn't actually have to read, and had the name of all the coolest bands written in blue pen on his notebook. He was the guy who would make you a tape of Metal Machine Music and had a nondescript but cool car before anyone else did, and you weren't really into each other but there would be that one moment at party one night where you probably almost kissed each other, before declaring that it would be a very bad idea because it would totally fuck up the friendship.

I mean, I absolutely adore Westerberg, always have, always will. I am lucky because there was a time in my life where I actually asked the question, "When does too many Replacements shows become, well, too much?" And I saw them in all their incarnations and phases (well, except post 88, only because I was not in the country). I am one of the few people in the world that seems to actually like Paul's contributions to the Singles soundtrack. I would wait in line for several hours to see the man sing a few songs.

And while I respect the artistic temperment and the Westerberg temperment, the one thing I absolutely will not do is let him off easy when he doesn't deserve it. There is a difference between Paul following his free spirit and Paul not bothering to try. The former I accept; the latter I won't let him off easy for.

So now we come to this tour, which has been all over the place. A dear friend in Seattle, the tour opener, who knows what she's talking about, related with much dismay how disappointing the show was. I heard similar reports around the rest of the country. The boyfriend saw Chicago and related that he had a fantastic time but was also a tiny bit disappointed (which I actually consider to be one of the more honest and accurate reviews of a Westerberg show). And then tonight, before the show, Lisa says, "I heard last night sucked" and my heart sank, just a little.

Okay, more than just a little. Because this man and his music means too damn much to me.

And we got off to a rocky start. It felt half-hearted and unfocused, and if it had been anyone else but Paul Westerberg up on that stage, I would have lost patience rapidly. About the third song in, he launched into a rock version of "If I Had A Hammer." I could not tell what the hell this was supposed to be. The acolytes (okay, point taken, but I have some objectivity somewhere) acted like this was the Ten Commandments handed down from Mt. Sinai while I stood there going, "whatthefuck?" Was it serious? Is it a joke I didn't get? Is this Paul being Wacky Paul? It just seemed lame and pointless.

"Requests?" Oh, god, the wrong thing to ask at a Westerberg show. "I heard 'The Ledge,' we don't know that one." Shocker. "How about a 25 minute version of 'Down By The River'?" I, for one, heartily applauded that suggestion, and Paul actually launched into a more than respectable version of the intro - but then tore into "Don't Cry No Tears" instead, fairly straight and more than enjoyable.

But, still, it dragged, despite throwing in "Merry Go Round" and "Someone Take The Wheel" (which should've been a mandatory singalong). "I Will Dare" got transformed into a hardcore polka number at the end. It dragged, Paul seemed blah, and I was just the tiniest bit sad.

And then he picked up the 12-string acoustic and it all started to change.

"Crackle and Drag" and "Skyway" and another song I am spacing on (Paul didn't have the lyrics and was getting them, verse by verse, from someone down front). They were beautiful and he was trying hard and I felt Paul in the songs.

But once he started singing "How Can You Like Him," and he embodied the song, he threw himself into it as though it just happened, as though he just wrote it:

How can you like him better than me?
How can you like him?
After all, it's me
How can you like him any better than me?
Any better

He was fully, completely, 100% present, it was like he forgot he was supposed to be "Paul Westerberg" and just sang his fucking song the way he should sing it. He was focused and just - himself. And as a result, this song made me cry. Not "Someone Take the Wheel" or "Valentine" or any of the other songs I have 20 years of emotional resonance with.

Earlier in the evening, during the between-songs shout-out (while I appreciated the sentiment of the guys yelling "Unsatisfied" every fucking chance they got, after a while it was just annoying), Paul said, "'Bastards of Young' and 'Bastards of Young' and -- another song -- those are all REPLACEMENTS songs." He seemed so much happier when he was playing the newer songs, but the audience wasn't outsinging him on "Let The Bad Times Roll" or "Stain Yer Blood" (what made him drag THAT out? It was only released on the "Friends" soundtrack I think) or anything released in the last few years. It's a heavy monkey to shake and I'd like to see him find some middle ground, somewhere (which is what I think happened toward the end of the set).

The rest of the show was full of power and presence and fine performance and good humor - he's still Westerberg, he can't play it completely straight and I wouldn't want him to - and it fucking KICKED ASS. He covered "Different Drum," and then someone yelled a request and Paul replied, "We're in the Sham 69 phase of our careers." Ha ha, funny. Except they slammed into a spot-on version of Sham 69's "Borstal Boys" and I couldn't stop laughing.

"Can't Hardly Wait" is, well, "Can't Hardly Wait," except that at the end, the audience continuing to sing "I can't wait," while everyone in the band switches instruments (Paul on drums) and they finish the song with the bass player on lead vocals. Very Mats-on-SNL moment (they switched outfits, though, not instruments). And the encores included of course "Nevermind" and "Left of the Dial" and with that last song, it was a timewarp, it was deja vu, it wasn't about crying it was just overwhelming, it was wondering if the kids next to me understood what "Left of the Dial" was about, when that was where you went to get the good music, that's where all the college stations were, and would Miriam (who was my partner in crime back in the left of the dial days) remember who it was supposed to be about, was it Linda Hopper or someone else?

Encore end. Bows. Paul leaves. Roadies dismantle stage. I am walking away, ready to leave (amazed that it is 10:30 and he started at 8:15, I expected an hour and a half at the very most). And then the audience is cheering louder than I have heard a New York crowd cheer in a long time, and it just gets louder, and just as I'm about to tell Lisa about that Replacements Beacon Theater show in 1987 when the band was gone and the roadies were clearing the stage, and Tommy walked back on to get something, I mean, it was probably 10 minutes after the show ended, and then all of a sudden they were all back onstage and played an encore for the 1/3 of the audience that was still there because they were still trying to decide where they were going to drink -- there's Paul, and they're all back onstage. As our reward, we got "Alex Chilton," sharp and hot and sweet.

I am happy and sad and bittersweet and smiling and relieved and wondering if I roll the dice and try to hit another show, or just wait for the next time around. Because there will be a next time, and I will be there as long as Paul Westerberg wants to get up onstage and play.

Don Letts' "Punk: Attitude"

This documentary by the infamous Don Letts had its big screening tonight at the Tribeca Film Festival. By 'big' I mean there were so many legends in attendance I gave up sending text message updates to my friend Heather, because it was going to be easier to say 'Everyone was there' in a phone call after the screening. There was also supposed to be an introduction from Letts before the screening (which we mostly got), and a Q&A with him afterwards (which was disappointingly perfunctory at best).

For those of you who aren't aware, Don Letts was the DJ at the Roxy in London, the club of the infamous "100 days of punk" at which every band in the UK punk scene in its heyday performed. When the Roxy began, there were no punk rock records to play, so he played hardcore reggae and dub and is widely credited for helping bring that influence to UK punk rock. He also had his video camera with him, and filmed the embarassingly amateurish Punk Rock Movie, which is nothing more than a bunch of raw footage crudely spliced together (a three year old with a pair of scissors could have done an effective editing job).

The point is, Letts had the access, and the footage, and certainly has the credentials. I remember seeing Don Letts in the car with the Clash as they arrived at Shea Stadium to open for the Who in 1982. So the thought of a documentary on this subject from Letts now was goosebump-inducing.

The film opens with Henry Rollins stating, "All we need is one person to say 'Fuck this' and everyone points at them: 'Voice of a generation! Thank you! I've been thinking that all this time but haven't had the courage to say it myself!" Rollins ends up serving as de facto narrator simply by virtue of the fact that he speaks in soundbytes, is incredibly articulate, and is more than a little knowledgeable on the subject.

Letts operates from the assumption that the audience for the movie will know who the bands are and why they are important, and it doesn't pander; it will be slightly alienating to an outsider but so is punk rock. He nails many important points that so many of his predecesors have gotten wrong: connecting the likes of Chuck Berry and Jerry Lee Lewis and Elvis with punk, pays the proper homage to the MC5 and the Stooges, more than acknowledges the likes of the Sonics, ? and the Mysterians, the Count Five and the rest of the bands that appeared on the original Nuggets compilation put together by Lenny Kaye (who would end up as second in command of the Patti Smith Group, of course). Warhol gets props for his vision of the Velvet Underground: "When their record came out, it was actually listenable," says David Johansen.

The chronology is precise, moving through the early punk bands, getting Hilly Krystal on camera, going to the UK and while he doesn't get it absolutely right, giving the Ramones credit where credit is due, there is at least an acknowledgement of the difference between US and UK punk and a good basic explanation of the political aspects behind UK punk. David Jo gets to diss Malcolm McClaren ("He claims to have managed us, he was there for the last 10 minutes of the Dolls.") There is priceless interview footage with Sylvain Sylvain and the late Arthur Kane that are worth the price of admission alone. There are great interviews with Jim Jarmusch (also another de factor narrator), Roberta Bayley, Mick Jones and Paul Simonon, Siouxie, Steve Jones, Tommy Ramone, Handsome Dick Manitoba, James Chance, Glenn Branca, and Thurston Moore (just to name a few).

But then, once punk has ended, the film begins to flounder. There's an exploration of post-punk and Sonic Youth gets some time on camera, but there is no mention that Thurston used to play with Glenn Branca's guitar orchestras (or even a mention of the guitar orchestras, despite the fact that Branca was interviewed and appears about half a dozen times in the film). Although they certainly belong, it feels like Sonic Youth are worked into the film because Thurston agreed to be interviewed, and there's very little attempt to tie them to the rest of the scene.

However, that's not as bad as what felt like the three minutes the LA punk scene got, a segment that rightly devoted a lot of time to the Screamers, but nothing to the Avengers or the Germs (except in passing), and somehow, John Doe and Exene Cervenka don't exist at all. (I was going to ask Letts about that in the post-screening Q&A, but he tired of it after two questions and cut the session short.) DC punk somehow gets tied in with straight edge (for about thirty seconds), and there's some early Minor Threat and great Fugazi footage, but I can't believe he couldn't get Ian Mackaye to be interviewed for the film.

But none of that compares to the sudden introduction of Nirvana as the prodigal son of punk rock, the master plan come to fruition. There's no discussion of the entire American independent rock movement spearheaded by R.E.M. that was singlehandedly inspired by all the bands that had just been discussed; no Replacements, Husker Du, Minutemen, Pixies -- just suddenly, Nirvana (and zero discussion of Olympia and the K Records scene, also inspired by punk). Even Rollins gets it wrong, saying that once Nirvana were signed, then Alice in Chains got a deal (true) and so did Soundgarden (wrong, they had one about FOUR YEARS EARLIER). There were so many bands in Seattle and "grunge" that were influenced by punk rock that it is an absolute crime that Nirvana are held up as some kind of messiahs.

Then, Letts closes the film by having people -- but not everyone, which I don't understand -- talk about what punk rock meant to them, what the message was. All due respect to Roberta Bayley, but I would have liked to hear more of the musicians chime in on this subject than Letts managed to capture.

In short, "Punk: Attitude" is nice to have, but hardly essential. It is great that we have so many legends captured on film talking since we seem to be losing them every five seconds. But where was all of Letts' fantastic Clash footage? And, he couldn't talk Bob Gruen (who was interviewed for the film) into loaning him two minutes of the Dolls footage that everyone knows he has? Almost all of the live footage has been seen before, and that was probably the most disappointing element of all.

On the other hand, for the 13 year old kids, wearing Ramones shirts, who were there with their parents, this was probably like watching The Ten Commandments, so maybe I've seen too much and expected too much. In the end, I got to sit in a room with Martin Rev and Tommy Ramone and Handsome Dick Manitoba and Arturo Vega and Danny Fields and watch them watch themselves and their friends onstage, so I'm going to stop complaining and feel lucky that I got a chance to do that, and I'd still recommend that you go see it if it comes to your town.

finding trancendence: springsteen rehearsal shows

Paramount Theater, Asbury Park, NJ
22 April, 2005

My expectations for this show - what little there were - were joyously blown to smithereens the second it began. After Bruce greeted the audience (invoking the Tom Joad rules), a rhythmic backing track came through the PA. He stood centerstage, silhouetted in the spotlight, crouched over and began to play vicious searing blues harp, and began to sing-- okay, it was more like a testifying, shouting blues, processed through a distortion effect that echoed the Jon Spencer Blues Explosion. It took several lines of the song until I realized he was singing "Reason To Believe" because the song bore no resemblance whatsoever to the original version on Nebraska - but yet it would have fit Nebraska perfectly in that it was haunting and possessive and impactful and utterly mindblowing. I was absolutely transfixed and astonished and delighted.

So when he picked up the acoustic guitar and stood center stage and began to sing "Devils & Dust," the unconventionality and surprise of the first number meant that you were already viewing the performance through another lens whatsoever, and all bets were off for the rest of the night. Almost every song was a highlight, a gleaming jewel in the crown that was this performance. "Long Time Coming" was as triumphant and joyous as it should be, "For You" as heart-wrenching. I'm not a huge fan of "Part Man, Part Monkey" but used as a political platform and performed in a psychobilly style that Lux Interior of the Cramps would have applauded, it was kind of hard not to like it.

"Further On Up The Road" never realized its potential as a rocker; it usually ended up plodding on the Rising tour, and when it started to be cut from the setlist, no one really minded. I think he's found the answer in the acoustic version, which had no pacing or plodding problems. The other new songs held up more than admirably; I do wonder if "Reno" will last in the set simply because he seemed to have trouble getting the rhythm just right (and not for any other reason. It's a good song.) "Maria's Bed" was sweet, and "The Hitter" felt more comprehendible than it does on record.

But, of course, the two real Moments in the show, two once-in-a-lifetime chances, are the ones that will stay tucked in my heart. The first one came out of nowhere, a mention that it was a favorite of "Mr. Lan-DO" and that some guy had yelled it out the night before -- nothing could have possibly prepared the audience for the third performance ever of "Real World". If you only know this song from the record, I don't blame you for saying "so what" - if you ever heard it live, on the bootleg from the Christic Institute benefit shows in 1990, then you know that it is almost another song entirely.

I wanna find some answers
I wanna ask for some help
I'm tired of running scared
Baby let's get our bags packed
We'll take it here to hell and heaven and back
And if love is hopeless hopeless at best
Come on put on your party dress it's ours tonight
And we're goin' with the tumblin' dice

Those words were written pre-therapy, at least 15 years ago, even before his first child was born, when Bruce was just starting to realize he had questions that needed answering. And the best of his work since then, in my opinion, has been the exploration of these very grown up, very adult issues, of having "run way out of road" (as he referenced it at the Somerville shows in 02). He sang it like he meant it in 1990 and in 2005, there is a whole other layer of understanding and joyful acceptance, having lived it for more than a decade. The performance - Bruce at the grand piano - playing with strength and proficiency, an instrument that he has worked at for years and always feels slightly less than competent at. Some of the best moments in concert over the past five or so years have been when he sits down at that piano and is able to find the same connection with the instrument that he does with the guitar, when everything flows and he can let go and his voice is sure and his playing matches it and everything just soars above and beyond and for one moment or two you have found sheer fucking transcendence.

Which is how it was for "Real World" last Friday.

And while that alone would have been more than enough, he had to sit down and play a song on solo piano that he has never ever played on solo piano, and give away more than a few secrets about how it was written (and I love this stuff more than the average bear, I realize this): how there were originally two versions, one with a girl and one without. Bruce related how Obie (long-time veteran Springsteen fan) said, "I like the one with the girl," and that when he played it for Steve (Van Zant), that Steve said that he liked the one with the girl because that's what happens in real life. You can have the boys' club for a while ("And we'll ignore the homoerotic tendencies," Bruce joked, causing me to erroneously write down "Backstreets" in anticipation -- long-time Bruce fans will get that joke) but then one day, the girl comes along, and it changes everything.

I don't even know that I have the words to adequately describe hearing "Racing In The Streets" on piano. It is such a dramatic song that sometimes I wished there wasn't so much music behind it, so I could concentrate on the words and absolutely feel the emotion in the lyrics pure and unadulterated. On piano, it was like that moment in The Wizard of Oz when the movie switches from black and white to Technicolor, the story felt bigger and a thousand times more vivid in my head. All I could wish was for time to stand still at the end, wishing that we had one of those endless rising codas that happened from time to time on the Rising tour (never got to see it, only hear it), because I never wanted it to end. The fact that he can continue to imbue songs from 30 years ago with such genuine emotion -- whether or not it's the same emotion that was there when he wrote it is irrelevant -- is equal parts magic and artistry. But mostly magic.

There is a sense of calm and self-awareness, mixed with a healthy dose of humor, reflected from Bruce onstage in the past year, starting with Vote For Change, and most evident both at Storytellers and Friday afternoon in Asbury Park. It's clearly the product of someone who has lived and examined his life, most likely the fruits of both the therapy he went through in the 90's and just plain old living and getting to his particular decade.

The show is powerful, relevant, enjoyable, challenging. It won't make the fans coming to hear "Thunder Road" very happy, but for those of us who want to see Bruce continue to grow and take chances and evolve, this tour has surprisingly turned into an important part of Springsteen's musical history instead of just a footnote.

SETLIST:
Reason To Believe
Devils & Dust
Youngstown
Lonesome Day
Long Time Coming
Silver Palomino
For You (Piano)
Real World (Piano)
Part Man / Part Monkey
Maria's Bed
Highway Patrolman
Reno
Racing In The Street (Piano)
The Rising
Further on Up the Road
Jesus was an Only Son (Piano)
Leah
The Hitter
Matamoros Banks
Waiting On A Sunny Day
Bobby Jean
Promised Land

now i wanna...

taken on avenue a and 2nd street.
i love new york.

new york dolls to release third album?!

According to Jason Gross (majordomo of Perfect Sound Forever), there is going to be a NEW New York Dolls album in our future! (See Ye Wei Blog aka Wild Taste).

He makes the excellent observation that 1) we will be deaf from all the cries of "blasphemy" but that 2) even if JT and Jerry and Arthur were still around, it would hardly be 1975 at the Mercer Arts Center anyway.

Frankly, David Jo and Syl are entitled to make hay while the sun shines as long as people are willing to go see them. And the best thing is, so far, they haven't sucked, and David is embracing his Doll-ness like never before. You know what? Right fucking on.

marah & nick hornby

Coming to Bowery Ballroom on 6/5. I already have my ticket, go buy yours now before it sells out.

(Also, in Chicago on 6/11 at Schubas.)

I saw this production back in December down in Philly. If you're not a fan of Marah or haven't quite 'got' it, but you dig Hornby - then GO! The enthusiasm of one fuels the other and both parties bring their A game and then some.

[My review of Marah's Thanksgiving shows]

johnnie b. goode

Rock and Roll Hall of Famer Johnson Dies

The legend goes that Ian Stewart always used to remind Keith Richards: "Remember, Johnnie Johnson is still alive and still playing in Kansas City."

Bruce Springsteen: Storytellers

"Tell me I can't cry because my mascara is going to run," I pleaded.
"You can't cry because your mascara is going to run, and you're going to be on television in a few hours," the boyfriend kindly offered.

It was Monday afternoon at 3:15pm. We are at the Molly Pitcher Inn in Red Bank, New Jersey, and have just walked out of the conference room in which VH-1 was handing out tickets to the lucky attendees of the Bruce Springsteen Storytellers broadcast.

I am sitting on a lavishly upholstered bench and hyperventilating, hovering somewhere between panic attack and freakout. I'd known since Thursday that we were in the door, but it wasn't until I actually held the tickets in my hands that the reality of everything finally sunk in. I never do this. I never freak out until I'm in my seat or in front of the stage. Tonight, however, that reaction would belong to the boyfriend, who went into speechless shock when we took our seats. "When do I wake up?" he finally asked after a few minutes.

The brand-new Two River Theater is tiny: legal capacity is 352. There weren't many more people than that in the audience. They removed the last row of seats (or weren't allowed to use them yet) and had the sound crew up there, along with what looked like the Sony VIP's. There were also some rows of chairs on the stage, behind Bruce; allegedly these were supposed to be for people in a younger demographic and were classified as "bleacher seats" but ended up being rows of folding chairs. There were monitors facing them so they could hear just fine, and at least half of them had a view of Bruce at the piano I would have gladly traded places with them for.

Our seats were in the house proper, left side. When we walked in and sat down, there were cameras on tripods on both corners of the stage. This meant that there would be a tripod in front of our seats. Not long before the broadcast began, the tripods were suddenly removed and the cameramen hand-held everything. I think we would have been fine but it was certainly stunning to have this utterly unobstructed view of Bruce Springsteen literally feet away.

The setlist consisted of eight songs (remember, this is for a one hour broadcast that will probably in total end up with 46 minutes of actual program time). I know, eight songs seems like nothing, but imagine the feeling of Bruce Springsteen playing a private concert in your living room. Eight songs would seem like an eternity, especially if he decided he didn't like how they came out and played them more than once.

Devils and Dust: I liked this song live a lot better than I did studio, but the boyfriend felt the opposite way. Bruce used this song to outline what I called "Advanced Songwriting 101," in which he took the song apart line by line, but it wasn't so much an explication of the song as it was an explanation of how he writes a song and how a song comes together for him. He puts a lot of stock in a title, somehow a good title makes everything click for him (significant to me because I feel the same way). Line by line, what role each element was playing, tradeoffs made, symbolism, the tie between the melody and the lyrics and its role in not only propelling the song but creating tension and feeling. "Did I know all of this when I was writing the song? No! Did I feel all of this when I was writing the song? Yes."

Blinded By the Light: Here we realized that the night was likely going to be a smaller version of Somerville, based on the song choice and what he was saying. (If you don't know what I'm talking about, go read this article and then come back here.) He had to be quicker than he was in Somerville (time constraints), and there were some lines that could have been grouped under the "self-explanatory" category he's fond of using that he chose not to (do I need to draw you a picture? No, I don't think so). It was hard not to sing along, but he encouraged us to do so at the end for the "I was blinded" refrain. Talked about burning up the rhyming dictionary, the mention of Manfred Mann and how this was his only number one hit.

Brilliant Disguise: This was an obvious choice, and I was glad to see Patti come out to join Bruce for it. Here, the explanation preceded the song, Bruce talking about how some people might feel that it was a song about betrayal, but that it was more about questioning. Here is when he began to discuss the issue that I felt was nothing short of a completely jaw-dropping revelation: the disarming, matter-of-fact acknowledgement of the differences between "Bruce Springsteen" and bruce springsteen. The latter gentleman used to favor strip clubs back in the good old, pre-lap dance days (these are his words, not mine; I'm having a little trouble with this); but "Bruce Springsteen" could never be caught dead at such an establishment. He then related running into a couple outside of such a place (leading me to think for a sinking few seconds we would waste precious time on "Pilgrim In The Temple of Love," and then common sense set in), and how they said, "Bruce! You're not supposed to be here!" And his response was a highly amusing, quasi-existential subterfuge about the differences between the two people and how "Bruce" didn't even know that bruce was there at that moment.

This was, of course, the perfect moment for Mrs. Springsteen to make her entrance, and I would have loved to have heard their off-mic conversation when she walked onstage. And I am struck, yet again, by how much love there is between the two of them, it is glowing and visible and undeniable.

Nebraska: He played this one twice; immediately upon finishing the first version, he stopped and said that he was going to play it again: "They told me I could do it over if I wanted to." The explanation was almost identical to Somerville, except that he didn't discuss the point that I feel is so critical about this song in particular - his role in taking his audience to places they might not normally find themselves. Considering that there are people in the fanbase that think Bruce was "wrong" to have written about the Starkweather killings, it's not a small point. (Later, driving home and analyzing the show, the boyfriend offered that he wished this one hadn't made the setlist, that it was a fine song but he didn't like the music. I offered Bruce's point from his commentary about "Devils and Dust" and that maybe we weren't supposed to like the music.)

Jesus Was an Only Son: Moving to the piano ("Oh, the possibilities," murmured the boyfriend, salivating). This is a new song from Devils and Dust. As soon as it finished, I said, "Gosh, I wish he'd decide he didn't like how that one went because I don't think I got it all" and sure enough, one more time. I don't want to turn this into a D&D review based on two songs but I will say that I wasn't that impressed. Sure, it's The Greatest Story Ever Told but - as Bruce himself said later, if you don't push yourself into the song, then it's just flat. I thought the explanation about the song and what was behind it, writing about Jesus as a son, from his mother's perspective, and how that relates to his feelings about his growing teenage sons was fantastic, given the role that the father-son dynamic has played as a theme and a catalyst in Bruce's work, but if a song needs that much of an explanation every time to make it a good song, then it might not be isn't all that good.

It did, however, lead me to consider how Bruce's work may change in perspective over the next few years. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to look at the ages of his sons and to realize that he's got to be thinking: "They're leaving home soon. Did i do a good job? Will they be okay? Did i give them what they needed to become good people?" It's logical that he'll be wanting to explore that, but likely it's going to be less "Adam raised a Cain"and more along the lines of "Jesus".

Waiting on a Sunny Day: "Sometimes the reason you write a song is so you can hear an audience sing it back at you" is what we heard about Bruce's relationship to the pop tradition at Somerville, and once again, he talked about that tonight -- except here, he spoke lovingly of wanting to sing like Smokey Robinson (and actually attempted that legendary falsetto for a heart-stopping 30 seconds).

The Rising: Another do-over. I am not sure I was fond of the arrangement of this one, especially compared to how it was performed in Somerville. But given the do-over, I'm not sure Bruce was all that thrilled with it either. For me, the arrangement was too passive, and not driving enough. It was interesting to hear the line-by-line on this one because he saw it as far more general as we as fans interpreted the song, and how there was even significance in the "li-li-li"'s.

Thunder Road: Another one he had to play twice, struggling with the piano outro a bit, but my god, I could have sat there and listened to him play it all night. This was, without a doubt, the moment of a lifetime for a Springsteen fan. In my humble opinion, "Thunder Road" is the mother of all Springsteen songs. In Somerville, the quote was that "Thunder Road" represented the moment when everything seemed possible. Here, Bruce expanded on that theme, line by line, summating with the thought that "This was my invitation to the world." Driving home later, the boyfriend (for whom this is #1) said, "It's his invitation to everything about rock and roll" and I replied, "No. It's his invitation to EVERYTHING." The invitation, the themes of freedom and liberation and escape and life and living and seizing the moment and attempting the impossible, he touched on all of it in his comments. I was so overwhelmed by what he was saying that it is hard for me now to recall it with any precision whatsoever, but I do know that it was a vicious battle inside to not start weeping openly.

This is probably a good time to talk about the audience. While everyone was on their best behavior, I did want to kill the inconsiderate Neanderthal behind me that felt the need to say something OUT LOUD DURING THE PERFORMANCE about the fact that Bruce clearly sang "sways" and not "waves". I will quote the boyfriend here, since he says it better than I do: "Oh my god. IT DOESN’T MATTER. It does not change the song, the performance or the image of Mary walking across the porch one iota whatsoever whether it is sways or waves. I will personally kill anyone who asks that question with my bare hands.” Springsteen fans: get over it. There is no issue more irrelevant in Springsteen fandom than this one, except maybe whether "Terry" in "Backstreets" is male or female, and of course, why Bruce has a song called "My Lover Man".

::getting off of soapbox::

The Q&A: many people are up in arms over this "lost opportunity" so I guess I must be one of the only people on the planet who (despite the Backstreets contest) had zero expectations from anything related to MTV Networks to provide an environment in which real fans would get to ask the real questions. I do not think that the questions asked were as horrible as many of my colleagues there that night did, but I also didn't expect them to be good so I didn't much care. I did think it was hysterical that Bruce said, "You know, we've done this before [Somerville] and one night was great, but the other one, as my kids would say, totally sucked." (I hope that anyone who asked one of the asinine questions at Somerville night two feels appropriately humiliated; however, I doubt it). Anyway, so a commercial music television outlet fucked up fan-based questions. In further news, Generalissimo Francisco Franco is still dead.

I don't know that I am more pragmatic, or realistic, or if it's simply a matter that I'm so astounded to have access to things like this that I find no joy or interest in picking it apart. This was a commercial production for television, after all, so I didn't imagine for half a second that Bruce would walk onstage and say, "Okay, so let me explain exactly how I wrote 'Meeting Across The River.' One afternoon, I was listening to a movie playing in another room, and I heard a random line of dialogue: 'Hey, Eddie, can you lend me a few bucks?' Suddenly, I had the whole story running through my head. I picked up my notebook and started writing the song, it just kind of came out the way it's written, not many changes. What's that? Did I then just sit down and start writing 'Jungleland'? No, that came much later. When did I decide to connect the two as a song suite? It was kind of complicated and I'm not sure I remember exactly. Wait, let me get my cell phone and see if Stevie remembers more than I do."

You know what, part of me says, in our fucking dreams. And then the other part of me says, no, actually, I don't think I want to know everything. Or I want to know a lot about how he works, but I don't necessarily need or want it down to that kind of granular detail. And, I don't know that he could actually do it even if he tried, we are talking an extensive, prolific body of work stretching back 30 years and he may not remember what the catalysts were. I am also probably far more interested in this detail than many people, given that I am a writer (disclaimer: oh, write it yourself) and listening to him talk about how he does his job is encouraging and inspirational on an almost religious level.

There is a certain truth to the fact that if you take art apart too much (if you even can) then it starts to lose its magic. Bruce tried to make that point both at the beginning and at the end of the evening: that talking about music is like talking about sex. He laughed when he said it, but it’s really the same issue at the heart: music is about magic and the divine and the inexplicable. I walked out of the theater Monday night feeling like, for a second, that I had gotten a little bit closer to all of that.

~~~~~
Storytellers will be broadcast on VH-1 on April 23. You can read more about the performance at Backstreets (although, blissfully, I am not covering this performance for the magazine this time).

young neil

I'm not going to talk about Neil being sick - the news story has been everywhere so I'm not going to be adding anything by posting about it.

I am in denial. I will continue to be in said denial. I'm not going to write a big post about what I think and feel about Neil Young because I just am not ready to have to do that yet.

To quote John Doe from the other night (wait for it, it's coming, I swear), "Aren't all of the Eagles still alive? And what about those people from the Fleetwood Macs?"