October 19, 2005
city of blinding lights
U2
Madison Square Garden
11 October 2005
Nick Hornby has a wonderful essay about the life-changing power (or not) of rock and roll. His point is, essentially, that most people's lives actually largely go on the same despite having witness of of those so-called life-changing gigs.
I couldn't quite agree. Even if all a rock show does is temporarily pick you up and set you down somewhere else, sometimes that's all you need. Or, sometimes, the change isn't immediate. People talk of being influenced at age 7 by seeing the Beatles on Ed Sullivan, just a glimpse of something you barely understood can lay the groundwork for who you will or want to become.
For me, one of those moments was a glorious night at Wembley Stadium during the Zooropa tour, one of those fabulous big loud large moments U2 have mastered pulling off so well, with majesty and flash and zero irony, utterly and completely fabulous. Back then, there was almost no one I would have been caught dead seeing in a stadium - hell, I even skipped Springsteen on the stadium run for Born In The USA - but I cheerfully went off to Wembley because I knew U2 would pull it off.
It was Wembley, which of course had its own inherent magic, and yes it was a blimp nest and yes it was cavernous but none of that mattered. When the band went into "Even Better Than The Real Thing" and the lights came up and the Trabants came down and it all exploded and came to a screeching halt all at once, it felt like you were onstage with them or at least in the front row, it was bigger than life and twice as bright. BOOM! In a flash, things changed. Not immediately, not overnight, but I wasn't the same woman walking out of that show that I was walking in.
It doesn't even need to be as dramatic as that. Sometimes it's just for a moment that it feels like the klieg lights are illuminating the insides of your heart, and that can be enough to give you hope or make it all seem easier. It can make you even temporarily feel bigger and stronger and part of something, you can feel less alone. As Bono said in an interview about this tour, the reason they were keeping "Where The Streets Have No Name" in the setlist was because it was the one moment that they would be guaranteed that God would walk through the room when they played it.
Now, if you don't like U2 much, think Bono's a bit over the top, and don't know rock and roll as salvation, that statement will seem utterly ludicrous. But if you've seen them, and you've been there, then, well you know. There are moments where it can feel like God is walking through the room, even if you're not entirely sure the gentleman exists.
I was lucky enough to catch the infamous Brooklyn Bridge show (although I'm still sorry that the tradeoff for that was missing them driving through Manhattan), and I kind of felt lucky and sated, in a way. And then there was the Propaganda fiasco and the ticket price lunacy and I was going to sit this one out...until I got a phone call around 5 p.m. Tuesday.
"Would you like a GA ticket to U2 tonight?"
Two hours later, I'm standing in the Edge's corner on the outside of the ellipse, heart beating just a little bit faster. Aside from the Bridge gig, I hadn't seen them since Pop at the Kingdome (Elevation came to Tacoma on a Thursday. Feh). I can remember gigs at the Mudd Club and the Palladium with Echo and the Bunnymen and Teardrop Explodes, one at Toad's Place during October, and of course, one of the few dozen gigs I can still close my eyes and see clearly, the Palladium during the War tour. I feel like a casual fan with U2 but, um, not.
Sure, it is different now, different even than Wembley Stadium, everyone knows who Bono is and he's become the guy you go to see when he's in town. People around me were talking about how "he" was coming back in November; no sea of camera phones was held aloft when any band member that wasn't Bono came down the runway; and there was zero crowd recognition for "Out Of Control". It's like there is the side that goes on Oprah and then there is the side that is playing "Miss Sarajevo" to Madison Square Garden, where at least 3/4 of the audience probably had zero idea what they were hearing. Did the band care? Probably not.
It amazes me that it is still the four of them onstage, no keyboards or violinists or multi-instrumental percussionists in a corner somewhere. It would probably so much easier for them if they did, but I love and respect the pure unadulterated rock that leaving all that out means. Even if there are mistakes and garbled lyrics or a few clams (okay, more than a few).
The setlist was not exactly what I had hoped for or expected for night five of a six night stand; not that I exactly expected to get "Ultraviolet" in the encore, but even the diehards were muttering something about a standard setlist. And of course, they broke out the one song I would have killed or died to hear -- "Party Girl" (hi, Sharon) if you are wondering -- on Friday night. And "Fast Cars" is a rarity, absolutely, but I'm not sure it's one that anyone quite cares about hearing all that much.
But in the end, no one does the big rock and roll gesture, the unabashed theatrics like this band. The lights and the runway and starting the show with confetti and blinding lights (pun intended). It draws you in and catches you hard and sharp and if you are smart, you will just let them take you where they want to go.
October 16, 2005
keep on rockin in the free world
Pearl Jam
Wachovia Center, Philadelphia, PA
3 October, 2005
I hate the Wachovia Center; it has no soul. On the other hand, the (deservedly) legendary Spectrum across the way has tons of soul, but also a severe shortage of women's bathrooms (trust me I am not making this up). And I guess the same thing that makes Philly sports crowds near-homicidal is what makes their rock and roll audiences some of the best I have ever been in. Doesn't matter who the band is, but when you have a great live band with a loyal audience, like Pearl Jam, you have something in the night (to quote the gentleman whose influence had been floating around the band for the past few shows).
On that subject: Philly is also a decidedly Springsteenian city; he was big here early on and some of his first champions hailed from this area. So, for anyone to come onstage here and play a Springsteen song, even to a sympathetic audience, was going to be a big challenge. A few of us have debated whether Vedder came on with Sleater-Kinney and did "The Promised Land" as the first number in the set because the house was nowhere near full (a shame, because he.fucking.nailed.it) or because the sight of Jeff Ament dressed as Glenn Danzig, wig and all, deserved the spotlight more (this during S-K's cover of "Mother" for which they were joined by 4/5ths of Pearl Jam).
So let's back up to "Promised Land." I mean, harp and all. Good enunciation, fiery spirit, nerves felt a little frayed perhaps (see above re: Philly), and yeah it helps that S-K have played it before many, many times (there's even a live version Springsteen has on his pre-show music), but DAMN! PROMISED LAND! IN PHILLY! HARP AND ALL! The dogs on Main Street howled for sure.
(I'm sorry.)
This is, still, a BIG DEAL to me, and something I had waited years for. (As Dave Marsh introduced me at the Springsteen Symposium, he and I are the Springsteen-Pearl Jam connection). I was seeing Bruce across the street at the Spectrum before anyone thought about there being a Pearl Jam. So, Vedder doing "Promised Land" in Philly was m'f'in, goosebump-inducing cool. I thought I had already seen the greatest Vedder-Springsteen moment last year; clearly, we're just beginning.
So while I am no longer in the business of reviewing Pearl Jam shows, I did really want to talk about "Rockin In The Free World". There was a time in 98 or 2000 where I (among many others) was a firm advocate of the theory that they need to get another cover, please. The problem was, though, that when they were on fire, RITFW was guaranteed to levitate the venue a few feet off the ground, your ears would be ringing, and the crowd would be a few centimeters to the right of a white riot. So it was kind of hard to say, "Could you please figure out another song you can do that with." Conversely, when the song plodded and went on too long, few songs were longer and more tiresome, or seemed more of a lazy or gratuitous setlist selection (more the latter than the former).
But! Tonight! Live! In Philly!
Here's the picture that says it all, I think
[image removed inline because someone's using it as an avatar. but you can click here to see it.]
Levitation in full effect. A million guitars, seemingly, Carrie and Corin and Janet up there for good measure, it was the moment when you were immediately best friends with the guys behind you (even if they felt the need earlier to talk through "Hard to Imagine"), where you were hugging the girls next to you, universal health care is around the corner, world peace is imminent, and after coming onstage to sing "Spin The Black Circle," Springsteen is waiting out in the back lot in a Pink Cadillac to drive you home.
(Actually, there was a moment in the set, when they started the intro to Elvis' "Little Sister," that the backbeat sounded an awful f'in lot like the aformentioned "Pink Cadillac" and I was waiting for the song, along with the full blown "Born In The USA"-era intro complete with map of Mesopotamia and the revelation that the location of the Garden of Eden was just a few miles south of....)
(Sorry. I'll stop.)
Walking out of the venue, I was reminded of that quote about the Grateful Dead: Pearl Jam aren't just the best at what they do. They're the only ones doing what they do. And it's good to see they're still doing it.
(For TommyT and the others who have asked for the photos from this night)
October 14, 2005
4th of October, Asbury Park
Bruce Springsteen
Paramount Theatre, Asbury Park, NJ
4 October 2005
:::chasing the myth::::
Faded romanticized Asbury. Playing the KISS pinball machine in the arcade off of the Casino. Riding the carousel, princesses in Converse high-tops. Walking down the ancient grey splintered boardwalk in fog and sun. The Palace rising ahead of you at that turn - it really DOES exist! - of Kingsley and Ocean and other street names you murmured like a mantra, of the ferris wheel rising behind it all.
Except that I am not sure if that last memory really exists or it is burned into my brain from a million imaginings that occurred long before I ever saw Asbury Park for the first time.
Photo by Zoe Strauss. Used with permission.
I was 10 in 1974 so there was no way Asbury could exist as more than fairy tale. It was the hometown we were all trying to escape so by rights we should have shunned it, not embraced it as some kind of magic kingdom. At a time when it seemed like we had nothing else to belong to, when we had no memorable past of our own, the New Jersey in Springsteen's songs was a legend we could cling to and try to make ours. So silly, because at that time we were busy making our own history every second of every day.
And now, and now, when you come down Asbury Avenue to Ocean and Tillie is gone and the Palace is gone and with each successive visit you watch the Casino slowly disintegrating, like a sand castle at high tide, I don't know where to place my memories. Asbury in the 80's was dirty and dilapidated and dangerous when I first came down here at age 15, chasing maps and legends, and not some hidden jewel of a ruin in the jungle. We cared because he made us care. His gift of elevating the mundane to sacred gave us hope on so many levels.
The years of surprise Shore club appearances aside, most of us are not carrying authentic memories of him in Asbury. We carry the memories he gave us. They were so vivid and heartfelt they became ours. The place and its spirit (and spirits) spoke to him and infused his music and sensibility.
All of this is what I was thinking about when Springsteen played "4th of July, Asbury Park (Sandy)" at the pre-tour rehearsal/benefit show on October 4 at the Paramount Theater in Asbury Park. "Sandy" is not my favorite song. It doesn't even make my top 50. I don't even think it's all that good and believe that its status in the pantheon is slightly overblown because it has the words "Asbury Park" in the title. Hearing it played in its namesake should have been, I imagine, deeply meaningful. Maybe I can be cynical because I have those memories; I know plenty of folks who would kill or die to remember what the Boardwalk between Convention Hall and the Casino looked like before it was all torn up, closed down and shuttered. But even then it was past its prime.
Do I take it for granted? His sense of place of is one of Springsteen's most powerful gifts. And as I get older, I feel like I didn't pay enough attention to what did happen. I wish you could know that in 20 years you would long for every detail, every dumb and mundane thing that happened: drinking Jack Daniels for breakfast on the train, giggling madly at everything as the stations sped by; of sitting up all night at the donut shop on Sunset and Main after a show at the Pony or the Fast Lane, when our ride back to the city didn't materialize and the first train home was 5 a.m., dragging ourselves to the NJ Transit station in greying gently silvering light, too tired to talk. Of the Clash at Convention Hall, our own Woodstock; of driving the circuit in someone's mom's car and flirting with the bikers parked in front of Mrs. Jay's; swimming in the ocean at Long Branch (NEVER at Asbury); and the trains, always the trains, we were silly New York girls so cars were a luxury and a rarity.
All I can think is: do I remember it right? Do I remember it well? Is it worth remembering? Is it important to remember?
The greatest most overpowering memory that flashed in my mind while "Sandy" was being played: all of us, fast asleep on the train after another minor adventure, with your leather jacket as pillow or comforter, sprawling across two seats, set face to face, attracting leers and stares equally made of disapproval and envy. It's not a memory that has anything to do with Springsteen specifically, but I wouldn't have had it without him, because we wouldn't have been drawn to this place without his words.
And now, tonight, another one, a vision to access from the memory banks in 10 years, feeling grateful that the Shore is an hour away and not six hours on a plane, of walking up to the ocean pre-show through a vague salty mist, my boots ringing solid footsteps on the boardwalk as I approach the theater, where I get to sit and listen to him play the songs that a such a large part of who and where I am today.
October 07, 2005
shark jumped. officially.
Interior Design: The Final Frontier - New York Times
When the New York Times finds it upon itself to write about the BATHROOMS at CBGB.
IN THE INTERIOR DESIGN SECTION
something has come to a screeching halt with this. Not sure what.
October 06, 2005
death or glory: social d in nyc
social distortion
nokia theater, nyc
10-5-05
Ness is still Ness, tattoos and eyeliner you could see from the back of the room, but he's aged handsomely, with humor and grace. Novena candles flicker on his amp, screaming Southern California through every pore. Now, he is a hero and an idol and although he would probably at least wince a little bit to consider it, a role model to many.
The young kids were there, and those of us who would be the band's contemporaries are lurking around the edges of the floor, out of the spotlight, some still sporting colors, others looking a little more sedate and a tad out of place. This is our band but we know our time has come and gone and we will follow Ness' lead here.
But we still know all the words, every one, the band hasn't lost one iota of conviction even if the energy is, well, maybe gentler and a little bit slower. There is no one quite like Social D and god knows they should be bigger than they are (unlike the gazillion SoCal bands that mimic them, poorly), but they do what they do in an exemplary fashion, through plain old sweat and hard work. I went for inspiration and to get some energy from Ness and to see for myself that 2005 or not, he can still do it. And I can't help but think of Joe Strummer tonight, the grandaddy in this equation.
I am rooting, still, for my fantasy that Social D back Bruce Springsteen on an album some day. He's a bigger fan of them then they are of him (I have been told that it confuses Mike Ness more than anything, in a good way, like, 'What does this guy from Jersey want with me?'), and if nothing else it amuses me to think it could happen. The two men's approaches to getting onstage and doing what they do are not all that different.
postscript: the new nokia theater in times square -- I agree with those who thought it was sterile and cold, not very rock and roll, not LOUD enough by any means, although the sightlines were reasonable, at least with the half-layout they used tonight for Social D. There are seats in the back which were curtained off, but using those would make the place seem very long and narrow and I do not think it would be an acceptable experience if you were stuck up there. The Disney-fied Times Square also means you have to go *very* far afield if you want to eat something that isn't Olive Garden after the show.
October 05, 2005
for high fidelity junkies
This would be a lot cooler if it JUST said "Championship Vinyl" but it is a fund-raiser for a good cause (click the link
to find out more).
(Yes, I'm getting one, make the big "L" sign now, thankyouverymuch.)