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Seattle review now up at brucespringsteen.net

Subject says it all. If you come late, you may need to scroll down a bit. (Philistines with no anchor tags.)

IS THERE ANYBODY REALLY ALIVE OUT THERE?

rose garden, portland, or, 3-28-08
Happiness is: getting wristband #668 and having number #670 pulled as the start of the line.

because the night

bruce springsteen & the e street band
nassau coliseum, 3-10-08

I feel like a lapsed member of my religion, not paying attention to setlists and show reports (at some point I realized I was in setlist blackout so decided to stay that way until Seattle and Portland). We weren't even going tonight, until the better half announced that we should, and found us two tickets behind the stage for under face. It was unexpected and I feel unprepared and a tiny bit out of place, until the band comes onstage and slams into "Night." Hey, ma, I'm home.

So I am still not consulting setlists, although I do know that tonight's rarities were not the rarities that sparked the purchase of tonight's tickets. However, needless to say that a setlist where I get "Night," "Adam," "Incident," "Jungleland" and "Because The Night," "She's The One" and (even) "Ramrod" certainly is well, well worth the money, even if the energy onstage was more than a little off. When Bruce came to the back of the stage for "Living In The Future" all I could think was how tired he looked. But, as we discussed on the way home, average performance + super-rarities = excellent. I would be feeling much differently, and much less charitable towards "Waiting On A Sunny Day" (hey, at least it wasn't "Out In The Street" as the family of five [two parents + 3 Bruce-bait] in the front row were requesting) if it had been this sloppy, out of sync performance with a very average setlist.

Moments tonight: "Because The Night" - Nils played a solo that Patti would have approved of. I was struck how this song was for so long the bridge between my two worlds. Bruce did it, Patti did it. It was the song that J. Michael Stipe guested on with Bruce during VFC for obvious reasons. This song was visible reconciliation at a time Bruce would go uncredited on Street Hassle to avoid guilt by association (as per Lou). I have written about this and spoken about this but it was a big, huge, enormous deal for me to have this tangible connection between two artists who were so vital to my existence at the time. Age 14.

Age 14. There was a young boy in the front row of the pit tonight who couldn't have been more than 14 or 15 and to watch this kid totally lose his shit when the intro to "Jungleland" started was a treat to behold. Not that I wasn't totally losing mine. "This one's for Nassau Coliseum" was the invocation - not that a set that opened with "Night" wasn't highly referential already - but he was doing his best to invoke the vibe. I never saw him at Nassau but I know this vibe, it is in my bones, it vibrates as part of my daily frequency. On good days it drives the car. On bad days it's sitting in the back seat but it's always there, reminding me of who I am.

"Jungleland," Bruce standing in the spotlight with the guitar aloft, that archetypal pose, the rock and roll warrior, guitar as sword, as instrument of battle. He faced the four directions, the four sides of the audience in tribute and in homage, to who he was and who we were, and then the song began. I think again, age 14, when allegiance to that record was a battle cry, a stake in the ground, a position statement. I hate the whole cell phones aloft thing at concerts these days (fuck you, Hewson) but the little blue lights glowing in the crowd that indicated that hundreds of people all over the world were listening to this moment with us was genuinely moving. Who do you call to play "Jungleland" to? Now there's a question.

All of this aside, the setlist still has pacing problems and thematic disconnects. He keeps doing this odd, fucked up trainwreck segue where he goes from something deeply spiritual into something trite, or vice versa. Tonight it was "Sunny Day" into "Incident." At MSG it was "Meeting"/"Jungleland" into "You Can Look..." For a person who is so invested in the art of the setlist this is inexcusable.

I do not like "American Land" any more than I did four months ago. We did the reprehensible, which is edge up the aisle towards the exits as though we were amateurs. Ah, the earth-quaking, booty-shaking, sexy-making E Street Band. See you in a few weeks. We're bringing a sign for "Hungry Heart".

gutter twins: debut

Bowery Ballroom, NYC
02-14-08

So there was no way this project was going to be half-assed, or unprofessional, or in any way not worthy of your time, or somehow not together. And I have seen Dulli in every incarnation now (although, thankfully, missed some of the truly fucked up ones) and while he is someone who has earned carte blanche in my house, I can still be critical (although the remarkable fact is that I have never had to be).

But this, my friends, was outstanding.

I don't ever think Greg isn't working hard, or trying his best, but sometimes I think that it is - not easy, but not difficult for him to do what he does. He shows up, he works hard, and he's got discipline. The old adage about 50% inspiration and 50% perspiration is true more often than not.

My odd thought about tonight was that this show was just - grown up. I haven't seen the lyrics and haven't lived with the songs enough, but this is not about Are you here to make par-tay or even the themes of loss and, well, loss that have hung over acres of Twilight Singers material. Don't get me wrong, this is still a collaboration between Dulli and Lanegan and it's not rainbows and puppies and roses, and it's plenty fuckin dark. But it was just at another level, and maybe because Mark's ass is also on that line (and not just Greg's), but I have never seen the band this whip-smart and sharp and just totally together, like Greg can put up one hand and conduct the band and they turn on a dime.

It was outstanding, even beyond the gimme that Dulli's earned and Lanegan deserves. The voices in perfect shape, Lanegan more than ever that cask of deep rich whiskey you just want to float in. Greg moving from frontman to sideman to piano to guitar and back again, inhabiting the songs like he was conducting them with his body.

We got the record, and then a break, and: "Would you like to hear something you know?" The assessment from a colleague in the audience pre-show was: a good mix, and that it most certainly was. I'd like to see a little more redemption and a lot more hip-shaking at the end, though; the NY audience was well-behaved and attentive and gave the new songs the space they deserved, actually acting the part of: we are here to see this and if we get anything else that would be cool, yo.

Greg only broke a smile a few times and I would have liked to have seen more visible signs that he was enjoying himself. But when he did, you know that grin, and you enjoy it more knowing that he is too.

Only regret: too close at Bowery, which means the mix was mud to me. Less than a month to Webster Hall, where, again, the mix will be mud because I cannot stand to be anywhere that is not close. The price we pay.

the boston tea party: magic, part 3

Springsteen in Boston
11/18 & 11/19/07

So let's get a few things straight: Sunday was not the epiphany that people made it out to be. I know a lot of people who had fun on Sunday because they were with friends, or hadn't seen a show in a while, but let's call a spade a spade. Bruce was not feeling well, his voice had very little power, and the E Street Band was playing on different frequencies for more than a few songs. He mumbled the "Living In The Future" rap and forgot a key line (the one about "your circumstance") and then he trivialized (I thought) the end of it.

But, the good things: "Tunnel" was amazing to hear and "Jackson Cage" also a nice visitor, and it's hard to find anyone sane that's going to argue about "Jungleland," ever. The big difference that made the show for me was the crowd. The crowd is what made "No Surrender" into a goosebump experience instead of a shrug of the shoulders. MSG night 2 may have been a better show, and maybe a better "Jungleland" in terms of pure musical performance, but the crowd was flat and empty. In Boston, the crowd elevated the band, and Clarence nailed the sax solo with incredible power and precision.

But if I had had to fight for tickets to this show (they were put in our hands by yet another wonderful ticket fairy) I would have been pissed. There, I said it. I know, I know, every show is a wonderful gift and if I don't like it I don't have to go. This is an argument I am so tired of having. Going to multiple shows gives you the perspective of being able to differentiate between average and outstanding. Night 1 in Boston was average. Average in the Springsteen world is still better than many bands' soundchecks, but still a disappointment. It made me feel that the tour had not progressed one iota past the last time we saw the band, and made me wonder if the band being on what can only be termed "long rest" (to be tiresome and use a baseball analogy because I am lazy, and because it is the only other comparable thing) between shows is a very very bad idea.

And then we had night two, which came out of nowhere. The band was tight, Bruce was focused, and the setlist brought you shock after shock - to people who take a lot to shock at a Springsteen show. You want to think you're going to get some tour rarities at the last night of a leg, but no one expected every goddamn organ song in the world to make its way onto the setlist and be played with love and joy and energy befitting 10 or 20 years earlier. "10th Avenue" was a shocker but then again it shouldn't have been, not this night. But "E Street Shuffle" *and* "Kitty's Back" in the same show? And then "Sandy" for good measure?

(Astounding to me sometimes that I can say "20 years earlier" and be speaking from experience.)

There are other things to note, that "Working On The Highway" is retaining the water spray from Reunion, and I still like it as much as I did on Reunion, and that the redeemable thing about the performance of that song is that Bruce is channeling Elvis on the Louisiana Hayride, which can never be a bad thing.

We have decided that even with the Joe Torre benefit and Steinbrenner seats aside, that Bruce Springsteen is a fairweather baseball fan. No self-respecting Yankees fan would have given the Red Sox that kind of moment. And to bring back the Fenway shtick about "that team from - from- from - New - HAVEN" was silly. Except, of course, the Red Sox fans will cheer anything they can right now, and good for them to. MMmmmphf. (That's the sound of righteous indignation.)

There were about 20 enormous BIG MAN or CLARENCE banners behind the stage on Monday. Was there an anniversary I was unaware of? The winning signs were the person in the front row of the upper deck with the florescent "Be True" sign (that said "Thanks Bruce" on the other side), and the big bedsheet THANKS BRUCE, WE [heart] YOU that appeared during the encore, also in the upper deck.

And I know I am finally old, because the waving of the cell phones during the encore break just breaks my heart. The boyfriend blames Bono, but it is not entirely his fault. On the one hand I am glad we are not smoking so we do not have lighters in the profusion we did even 10 years ago, on the other hand I will go grumble about the good old days and go put on my first pressing of Wild & Innocent (with the yellow title). I will accept my curmudgeon-dom with good grace. Let me know if I am making room for you there.

(I am aware there are things I may not have touched on but I have another piece I wrote for Backstreets and until I know if it is to be published I do not want to recycle the ideas here.)

MAGIC, PART 2.

Bruce Springsteen & The E Street Band
Madison Square Garden
October 18, 2007

Wednesday night was spent in a drop line that was ultimately disappointing. Given the ginormous drops of Hartford and even Philadelphia - Philly! - MSG should've been a piece of cake. Wait in the line, put in the time. When security came out around 8:30 - when we were about 50 people from the front of the line - to tell us there would be no more tickets, we went home, grumbling, praying for a setlist full of things like the world premiere of the "My Lover Man" into "Reno", followed by "Mary, Queen of Arkansas" and Bruce being so enamored of the crowd response to "Out In The Street" that he did it twice in the set, a la U2 and "Vertigo." We didn't miss much, and kept hoping that the usual "second night is the best night" truism would hold.

Night two we were ticketed and said our blessings to the drop line as we walked by them on our way into the Garden. Once inside and on the floor, it was crystal clear why there was a miniscule drop: the guest list. After a while, we stopped counting the passes that were initialed BS and JLM and the gazillion people who were likely sponsors or advertisers for Stevie's Underground Garage, and that's before Sony and the attorneys and the accountants and the random corporate whoevers, like the investment bankers to our left that had no less than 16 seats, all together, 4 rows of 4 seats. If you think that sounds like your worst nightmare come to life, let me assure you that it was and it wasn't: for the most part, they STFU, and their worst offense was taking photos of themselves being the High Fiving White Guys with their iPhones. No, I'm not kidding.

I haven't talked about the calliope yet. I love that it's a tribute to Terry, but I think it needs to be the last thing on stage as the band leave, and not the first thing we see. It does not fit and without the audience knowing that it's a tribute to Terry, and understanding who, exactly, Terry was, again, it makes no sense.

Am I the only one who wishes Bruce would come out with Nils and do "Open All Night" into "Radio Nowhere"? I know it's obvious, but opening with "Radio Nowhere" is already the superhero of obvious.

"Night" in the #2 slot and it's clear that Bruce has found his groove 9 shows in. The set is baked. This is where I'd like to talk about the imposter who looks unmistakably like Sugar Lips Miami Little Steven Van Zandt, the guy singing harmony and playing guitar - wait, let me try that again - PLAYING GUITAR. The curmugdeons always gravely insist that Patti's guitar is not miced, blah blah blah, when in reality it was Steve's guitar that was low in the mix most of the time. During Reunion, we were just glad he was back onstage. During Rising, we expected a little bit more, but were okay that it was mostly color he was providing up there. This time around, if he hadn't plugged in and practiced - well, most of the fan base still wouldn't care, but his presence onstage would start to be a joke.

"Lonesome Day" and now it's my turn to talk about Clarence. When Rising finished, we all talked in low, hushed tones about how tired he looked, how bad he looked, and the fact that the Big Man is easily 10 years older than a group of guys who are already in their 50's. It did my heart good at CAA and in Philly and now, again, here, to see him owning the stage not just by right but by active claim, to own it energetically, for him to be the Big Man.

"Gypsy Biker" is stronger but still needs work. "Magic" is the chatterbox song, but no one seems to be leaving the arena yet, which is some kind of miracle. The energy level is odd, and flat. I know we had the investment bankers in large number but to my right the entire 100 section from the front of the stage onward seems to be sitting on their hands, here we are now, entertain us, while the other side is going apeshit.

SPOILERS AHEAD.

"Reason To Believe" is still a powerhouse. It's funny to watch the audience - a little confused at first, with some recognition of the technique (not the song) from anyone who saw Devils & Dust, and then when the band careens into the bridge and that "La Grange"-ish knockoff, there's a cheer that's almost as loud as would be later for a certain setlist rarity, proving my point that the high fiving white guys that make up 80% of a Springsteen audience are suckers for any 8 bar blues riff. It's a delight, though, to see them successful wrangle a Nebraska song into something that still fits the song but also fits the setlist, unlike that trainwreck known as Johnny 99 on the Rising tour.

END SPOILER.

"Candy's Room" into "She's the One" and all I can offer as theory about the Darkness slot is that it's the sex slot. Magic is such a dark record, none of the other relationship songs would really fit into the set.

"Living In The Future" is next, complete with Bruce testifying about all those great American attributes:
"The Jersey Shore!"
*cheer*
"Cheeseburgers!"
*cheer*
"The Bill of Rights!"
The two of us cheer loudly and lustily, revealing ourselves for the colossal dorks that we are.
"C'mon! The Bill of Rights has got to get louder applause than cheeseburgers, I'm sure."
*feeble cheer*
"Damn, people? New York City?"
*cheer*, mostly because they're cheering New York City, even though most of the people in the room probably have zip codes from outside of the five boroughs.
"What else do we love? The Statue of Liberty!"
*cheer*
"Technically in New Jersey of course..."
"Great," I say to the boyfriend. "I see where this one is going."
"It's not in New Jersey any more."
"Thanks, you tell him that."
Bruce: "The NY football teams, the Jets and the Giants!"
All I can think is: Wow, we're really going to reprise the MSG Reunion tour rap for 'Light of Day'? Because, you know, no one was at those shows, no one bought the record, no one bought the DVD or saw it on PBS.
All of this was forgiven, however, with this excellent addition/clarification:

"Now, because of the color of your skin, or your circumstance, or your religion, you may feel that these things don't have much effect on you. But all of these things are an attack on our Constitution, which means they are an attack on our very selves. On who we are, and our moral authority, and the pride that we have when we get to stand up and say, we are the Americans. So this is a song about sleeping through things that shouldn't have happened, but happened. So we're going to do something about it right now - we're going to sing about it! It's a start, the rest is up to us."

Memo to Mr. Springsteen: if you're going to put your face up to the camera and sing right into it, please 1) take some lessons from Mr. Hewson about how to do it correctly, and 2) GET BIGGER VIDEO SCREENS. If you are going to charge $90 for the 400 level seats, they shouldn't need binoculars to see the screens.

"Are there any lovers out there tonight?" "Tougher Than The Rest" is something I never get tired of seeing, and on this tour, in the "Patti spot," it's touching, and appropriate. I love watching Bruce and Patti up there playing guitar together, and if I say something about shades of Johnny and June all sorts of folks will keel over at the sheer blasphemy of it, but it IS, and it's nothing but wonderful, and I'd like to see the two of them do a tour, together, with his stuff and her stuff and stuff they both love.

"As I was saying to the folks last night, patti's got a new record out, on sale at the concession stand, along with some lovely t-shirts, and a new line of E Street Band sexual toys. What we use in the comfort of our own home, you, too, can use in the comfort of yours. Go on out there and check it out."

It's kind of refreshing that he's still a horndog at age 58, isn't it?

The stage darkens, and Bruce starts with "This is a special dedication tonight to an old friend of mine," and my first thought is OH MY GOD PLEASE LET IT BE ED NORTON, because the last time Ed Norton made a setlist request it resulted in "The Promise" and "Incident" and "For You" at the Staples Center (and suspicion is high that the "Ed" getting recent setlist dedications is the same one.). I've got the world's tallest men in front of me, so I don't have a 100% clear vantage at all times, so when the boyfriend grabs my arm and murmurs, "There's a double bass onstage, and there are only two songs that feature a double bass," my mind immediately goes to the one song I am still chasing, and I clench my hands and pray hard and also pray just as hard that the bozo crowd doesn't ruin whatever this is going to be.

Bruce starts talking about his friendship with Peter Boyle, which is touching, and completely random, and when he dedicates the next song to him you know that it's not going to be some random Seeger Sessions song that they reworked with the double bass, fooling us all. And I know that they soundchecked "Jungleland" and I know it's been on setlists, but if you expected to get "Meeting Across The River" into "Jungleland," let me get your stock tips, too.

I have seen them before, too, and when the boyfriend was giving me random tour updates I was all, "Well, sure, okay," but it's not like it's on my active list, and if that sounds jaded, it's because there are only so many tours left and so many songs I still need or want to hear, and the magic required to invoke Meeting/Jungleland isn't exactly around in droves. It doesn't mean that I didn't stand there with my eyes closed, willing myself to absorb the song in through every pore of my body. I didn't want to watch this one on the screens, and didn't want to do the swaying-back-and-forth-on-tiptoes thing required to give me a vantage of the stage. And - Meeting! It's a favorite for me, because the lyrics are so sparse but yet so vivid, completely economical but yet paint a complete picture in your head. Their impact has not lessened one iota since the first time I listened to Born To Run, sitting on my purple carpet in my purple room, back against the door, Radio Shack headphones on, album open to the lyrics on my lap.

Of course, there was no guarantee that they would go into "Jungleland," and when the first notes sounded, it was the sound of 18000-some people being relieved and delighted and excited and every other possible emotion. Even the ones that didn't get the exact, precise significance of this song being on the setlist still know that it's "Jungleland" and it's a fucking great song. And for the rest of us, it's, well, "Jungleland," and I realized that until you are standing there listening to it you don't realize how deep it will hit you, how profound the experience truly is, especially in New York, especially at MSG. It makes you feel alive and sad and enlightened and brave and the same tumult of emotions I felt the first time I heard it, mixed with some level of OMFG, JUNGLELAND, and Jungleland with the boyfriend for the first time. The investment bankers look bemused and kind of stop with the high-fiving for a little while, because they are surrounded by people who are clearly enraptured and they don't know why, and suddenly seem a little sheepish more than anything. For me, it is the rallying cry of the tribe, and the rallying cry of my tribe, and who I am, and who I chose to be the first time I heard that record and let the words paint the pictures for me. I have tried to write about "Jungleland" for years and have always fallen flat on my ass each and every time. It is the ultimate example of one of Bruce's key traits, the ability to raise the mundane to the sacred.

We get like half a second to catch our breath before being thrown into "You Can Look But You Better Not Touch", which is odd, and bemusing, and I grumble that if they were going to trainwreck us like this they could have done "Crush On You" or "Held Up Without A Gun," but with the next song it's clear, because "Devil's Arcade" becomes the beer run song, and he didn't want that to happen immediately after "Jungleland." Okay.

I've discussed the end of the set before, and while I think it holds up thematically, I think there is still too much sludge there, that there is probably another order in which to present those songs. And "Badlands" as the set closer is fine, but "Last To Die" or :"Long Way Home" would be equally strong IF THEY WERE MOVED TO THAT POSITION because they would have no choice but to become strong enough to close the set.

Before I go and trash the encore again, let me say that I liked "Thundercrack" being there, and that it works in the back of the house, that people paid more attention to it than they did to the Magic material, and there are enough random people to keep it moving energetically. So I hope it makes it through Chicago and Minneapolis and everywhere else. But the rest of the encore is just a trainwreck. I don't[ care that Bono thinks "Girls In Their Summer Clothes" is the hit of the record, get it out of the encore. And dude, Brian Wilson called.

Waiting for the floor to empty out after the show, the boyfriend looked on the floor and found a $20 program lying there, discarded by someone. We happily picked it up and gave it a good home, only to discover that it's probably the worst program ever. It's a glorified, overgrown Magic cd booklet, and my word, we are heartily tired of Danny Clinch.

Walking home after the show, I couldn't escape the feeling that 1) the set is baked and 2) the band is baked and 3) I am not sure how many more of these I need to see. I know I was thoroughly disappointed by the energy level at MSG, which is part of the problem, but was not all of the problem. I am concerned that it's going to start being like D&D where people were chasing shows in ridiculous multiples because Bruce was cracking open the back catalog and you'd sit through a set for one or two miracles, but it wasn't like the rest of the set was evolving or expanding as the tour went on. I don't see the place in this setlist for the band to expand or evolve; on Rising, you had things like "World's Apart" and "the Fuse" where they had to find a way to enliven and develop the material or it would have had to get killed from the setlist. There are songs on Magic that could serve that purpose, but the songs on Magic are also not as challenging for the band as the Rising songs were; Bruce already admitted he wrote the Magic songs with the band in mind.

The encore has got to be reworked. i know bruce likes American Land, but the energy it's generating is artificial and forced, they're relating positively to the music because it's some kind of macho Irish jig and it's an excuse to jump on chairs and act like fools after 2 1/2 hours. I don't mind the party encore, but I also kind of still want the serious encore, too, and this is where I'll talk about how some ways I feel Bruce shortchanges the set - the band introductions seem like an afterthought, for example, and while I don't need an 18 minute 10th Avenue to accomplish that, the introductions for a 9 piece band are necessary and a tradition I do not want to lose in 2007 just because we're trying to keep the show shorter. On the other hand, there are parts of the show that could be tightened up - the instrumental end to Radio Nowhere, for example, doesn't need to play out to the very last note, and there are other parts of the show where things could be tightened up for economy of time and space and attention.

The encore is high fructose corn syrup, empty calories. As much as I like "Thundercrack" getting out of Asbury, I think that it's a random catalog pull and not, let's treat the rest of the world to something special. The encore is not solid, it's not constructed with the same detail and care as the set is, it's everything jammed together into 30 minutes and there is no City of Ruins or other anything thoughtful to inspire you or make you think. I understand that we're done with City of Ruins and If I should Fall Behind but there's a missing gravitas that is not doing the audience any kind of favor. It's unfortunate. I'm thankful I have the Boston shows before we move onto the stadiums, because I can't see this problem being solved there. And let's remember, the stadiums got City of Ruins too, it's not a case that the stadiums can't take the serious encore.

Ultimately, who knows. It's just a rock and roll show, 12 shows into the tour. Maybe it all works just fine for everyone in the audience except for the trainspotting geeks like yours truly. It's a dirty job, but someone's gotta do it.

--

Coming next: Boston

MAGIC: Première partie

State of the Union: Two nights on the Magic Tour

NIGHT 1, REHEARSAL SHOW, Continental Airlines Arena
Friday, September 28, 2007
"E Street Boot Camp!"

This is the first tour since I've been back east that I've missed the Asbury rehearsals, which was nail-biting regretful until this show popped up on the horizon. It was downright surreal to walk into the expanse of CAA and find it 10 percent full, to stroll across the floor and assume a spot at the stage with no effort at all whatsoever. Multiply that when the band walks onstage.

Once again, these 9 (okay, 10) people are together and there are things that happen when they are together that just do not happen any other time. The only other connection that goes back further in my life is my family.

The new songs are still in need of work and growth, they are still Bruce's, the band does not own them yet, but that's just a function of time. It is nice to genuinely like the new album, and not have to pretend, or count the minutes until an old song is presented. The raw spots and the scars are interesting to a geek like me, the evolution is always fascinating, which is why I love the early shows. And the early shows are key for something like the acoustic version of "Town Called Heartbreak," because by the time I see it on Philadelphia one week later, has morphed into a full band version, much to my dismay.

My first reaction when they started the song in Jersey was for my jaw to hit the floor, and then, immediately: THEY NEED TO DO MORE OF THIS. It was real and honest and adult, and the performance spoke volumes about their relationship. I liked it because I knew it would piss off many, many people who consider the E Stret Band stage to be their personal sacred ground. "Fuck the sacred cows" is what my notes say from that night. In any event, by the time we get to Philly, it wasn't what it was a week ago, and that's too bad; now it's just another song in the set. However, that may prevent the inevitable beer exodus this way - which is simply not preventable no matter how hard Bruce tries.

You would think a 3/4 empty CAA would be devoid of the legendary Jersey yakkers, the people there to see and be seen, but alas, they were not, and wanted to chat behind us for all of the new songs. The advantage to the empty CAA was that they took the hint after a few glares, and moved somewhere else just before I was about to walk over and explain to them that we paid for our tickets.

What I didn't know, and wasn't expecting, was the finale of "The American Land," which would be like stopping at McDonald's for a Quarter Pounder after a delightful meal at your favorite steakhouse. He's got this thing about the encore, and the type of crowd participation that has to be there for it to be successful, but - he HAS it already. Either work up a new song, get a cover or work up an E Street version of the song (and not just a juryrigged Seeger Sessions version). The only time I want to see two accordions onstage is if Wild Billy is in the house.

Afterwards, I'm trying to piece together the story arc, and pieces of it fit - "Radio Nowhere" into "Ties" into "Lonesome Day" makes sense, "Livin' In The Future" into "Promised Land" into "Reason To Believe" also makes sense. But it's the last five songs of the set where the theme is about as subtle as the proverbial flying mallet: find me someone who can't follow BITUSA into "Devil's Arcade" into "The Rising" into "Last To Die" into "Long Walk Home" into "Badlands"? The previous five songs are nicely summed up in the last five lines of that song in case you didn't have a lyric sheet at home.

NIGHT 2: Wachovia Center, Philadelphia, PA
Saturday, October 6, 2007

I wasn't even supposed to be here today.

No, seriously. Despite the fact that I haven't seen Bruce in Philly since Tunnel of Love aside from VFC, I had never made it to the city of Brotherly Love for a show in recent times, and this time we had to skip it due to a baseball playoff calendar that got yanked out from under us. The tickets were offered to us on Thursday, and we took it as a sign we should go.

For this show, we were in the first row behind the back pit barrier, almost dead center, somewhere I never get to stand, which made up for missing the pit by one person. And night two in Philly will make up for just about anything, the band coming out and careening into "Night" as an opener, before heading into "Radio Nowhere." As much as it irritated me when I first heard it, it's growing on me now and it fits nicely. The crowd is starting to know the songs, and I forget that most people haven't had the album for a month already.

The story arc feels more scattered tonight, and I can't believe BITUSA is out of the set, although the set closer seems to be cast in stone now. The "Darkness" interlude feels like just that (Friday night they got the one-two punch of "Candy's Room" into "She's The One" we had at CAA). It's making more sense, but not enough yet. Then again, we're on show number 6.

The Philly special: the inevitably delightful "Incident on 57th Street." And, the thing is, knowing that it's coming isn't going to detract the experience for me. At CAA we were sidestage enough that I could read the setlist perched on the monitor board, and it didn't matter. I liked knowing that "She's the One" and "Candy's Room" were coming, because I could enjoy hearing them instead of spending the first three minutes freaking out that they were being played. "Incident" is a Philly setlist chestnut, thanks to Ed Sciaky (of blessed memory).

When "Incident" started, I wanted to extract myself from my spot against the back barrier and go find a spot in the back of the arena so I could just kind of hug the song and the moment to myself. "Incident" is instant bliss, you cannot help but be transported, it patches the cracks in your soul for a little while and makes you whole. The last time I heard "Incident" was on a crazy 24 hour trip to Montreal from Seattle where I took a non-Bruce friend and sat behind the stage and even though there was no way she could completely understand what it meant to hear "Incident," the song and the music and the audience reaction made it easy for her to get it. Imagine "Incident" at your first Bruce show.

On the note of sacred cows, let's discuss the reinvented "Reason To Believe." This didn't surface until the CAA rehearsal, and is the best of both worlds, the Devils & Dust bullet mic and amped distortion, with a hard rocking blues version sandwiched in the middle. It makes you wake up and pay attention and remakes the song completely. The bullet mic instead of an acoustic guitar lets him be physical and move around the stage, and the one thing I liked about the Seeger Sessions band was that he had the ability to dance around and shake his ass. (Note how I said "the one thing". I saw one Seeger Sessions show, plus the Good Morning America gig, and I was quite fine with that. Still am, for all the noise I made about needing to see 'the phases of the evolution of Bruce's career.' Feh.)

I was pleased "Living In The Future" retained its full pre-song rap about the woes of America even on the Today show, and while the boyfriend thinks the "What are we going to do about it? We're going to sing about it, right now," has to go, I think that's the critical message here. Bruce already tried direction action in 2004. This time around he's going to do what he does, which is sing about it, a fine tradition that goes back to "What can a poor boy do/cept to sing for a rock and roll band" because sleepy America is no place for a Street Fighting Man, either.

I expect to hear "Thundercrack" in Asbury because, well, that's where you can find 2000 people who are pleased as punch to stand in place for 8 minutes and 28 seconds (usually longer live) and participate in a call and response that is much needed, and is an essential component of the performance. One could argue that "Thundercrack" could be brought out at any special Springsteen moment (say, the last night of Devils & Dust in Trenton). Pulling it out at CAA kind of made sense, because it was a benefit and a rehearsal and we're still in Jersey and there are likely to be some of the usual suspects present.

But hauling out the angel from the innerlake on the road is a decision I am a little concerned with. Even on Saturday night in Philly, getting the pit to chime in when they needed to was a little tentative, and I have no idea what it was like in the back of the house because I don't know anyone who sits in the back of the house. And Bruce needs to be concerned about what the back of the house is going to do for 10 minutes during the encore. I like the fact that he's willing to slay another sacred cow by taking it out of Asbury, and I like the idea that he's trying to set it up as special and rarely played (but let's lose the 'never played' intro, dude, because anyone can go to your web site these days and find out that it was more than a bit of poetic license). Time will tell what happens with this chestnut.

So if you got an encore that consisted of "Thundercrack," "Born To Run," and "Dancing in the Dark," wouldn't you go home happy, sated, delighted? Of course you would. Why we needed "American Land" thrown in for good measure made it feel like the party guest that overstayed its welcome. Where is "Seven Nights To Rock" when you need it?

Still to come:
3 & 4, MSG
5 &6, BOSTON

hail hail rock and roll

Chicago, IL, 7:16pm, 8/2/07

Thanks to a previously planned trip to Milwaukee and Chicago to see the Mets, I was in the right place at the right time. Some here, more later.

the rolling thunder review, 2007

bright eyes at town hall
may 31, 2007

I think I have reached the conclusion that my current perception of my own personal rock ennui is not based on the rock, but the performance thereof. The standing onstage, making noise, playing the songs, applause, encore, applause. Standing in front of the stage at the club with a beer in your hand. Standing in front your seat in the arena or theater. I know. The art form was Good Enough for the canon, but I'd argue that the canon is itself always trying to redefine: Townshend smashed guitars to change the energy. Punk changed the canon (and now is the canon).

I ponder all of this when trying to talk about the recent 7-night Bright Eyes stand at Town Hall. I think that people just didn't know what to think of it, and didn't know that that was okay. That some of it would be successful and some of it less so, that maybe Conor himself was bored with what is canon for Bright Eyes. Let me get a different kind of band. Let me get a big band that can make a big sound, or any kind of sound that I want it to. Let me get great musicians to come along. Let me get Janet Weiss to play drums. Wait, let me have TWO drummers. Let's all wear white, because we constantly wear black.

In essence: let's try to make a different noise than the one I have always made. I don't know if it's going to work or work all the time but I'm going to try. He could have kept on going with what he has always done and still sold out Town Hall seven nights in a row.

And I went through the comparisons in my head, was it Greendale or was it Stop Making Sense or was it the Seeger Sessions? And in the end I realized it was closest in my mind to Dylan's Rolling Thunder Revue, which was also uneven and imperfect at times and ethereal and cosmic at others. I like Conor Oberst, a lot. I think he's immensely talented. I don't think he's the second coming, though, so my expectations are a lot lower than a lot of other people's, it would seem.

I saw Steve Earle walking up to Town Hall (talking on his Blackberry, no less) as I arrived yesterday, so the special guest thing was blown for me. I know others were expecting Springsteen and others expecting Stipe, and given that last night was the only night I could really go, given work and baseball conflicts, it is likely that those will happen tonight. Have fun. I thought it was genuine and touching and for those reasons, the segment worked.

I loved the Joey Light Show (for lack of a better term) . It took me a little bit to realize it was live and then I wasn't sure, and then I just loved it for its joy and its fun and its childlike simplicity.

< flame on > I have a personal shortcoming in that although I fully appreciate the talent of Gillian Welsh and David Rawlings (they are ridiculously, incredibly talented), I cannot stand to watch them perform live. I liked the integration of David into the show, but I felt that the encore crawled to a anticlimactical halt with them. < flame off >

We had a long discussion on the way home about two things: Janet Weiss and the incredibly high level of idiocy in the screaming crowd.

I said that Janet Weiss is my favorite modern drummer since Matt Cameron. Not to say that Matt's still not a favorite, but I just love Janet. I could not have seen her physically on that stage and I would have said, "Hey, is Janet Weiss up there?" because her sound is distinctive. I love her power and her talent and her presence. And yes, I love that it's a girl drummer on my list.

As for the idiots in the crowd, that the boyfriend termed "Dave (as in Matthews) -level bad," I think it has to do with the lack of comfort and not knowing what to do (that, and people have no manners, cannot handle their drink, and don't get out enough). They weren't in a club, they weren't in an arena, they were in this theater and they couldn't handle quiet or the lack of traditional rock cliches, so they yelled the stupidest idiocy I have probably ever witnessed. I will not dignify them by repeating any of it here.

Finally, I think they should have sold a limited number of seven-day passes and told the people who bought them it was a grab bag of seating - some days you'll be down front, others in the back, another in the balcony - hell, that would be a great deal, and people would have gone for it. Hell, I would have thought about it.

Conor should do this again. Except - not exactly this. More musicians should try to go out on a limb and do the extra work to make these things happen. It's in the space between certainty and uncertainty that the magic can - will - happen.

twilight singers at warsaw

I really, really would like this to come out. And not just because I'm in the front row.

wake up (arcade fire at radio city)

My bones and my ears were glad this show was at Radio City, two blocks from work, and not the schlep up and back to 173rd St., but my heart and my spirit probably would've been happier uptown.

So I will cut to the chase by stating up front that this show reminded me - stunningly - of a show I attended on May 11, 1983. That night was the night that everyone I knew - and I knew A LOT of people at that show - felt that everything changed for the band in question. I was in the front row (with a broken ankle in a cast - another story for another day) and remember being so focused on the show that I never looked behind me. When I finally did, just as the encore was beginning, every single person in the Palladium (RIP) was on their feet, screaming their lungs out, down to the last person in the last row of the upper balcony (a place I was well familiar with). You felt like anything could happen at any moment. You felt like you were part of some secret revolution that no one else really knew about.

Again, tonight.

I'm sure you are asking yourselves: why did she upload that crappy cell phone video? Well, I shot that sucky video because May 11, 1983 is a show that is burned indelibly into my brain - quite literally, I can close my eyes and still see that moment I turned around to watch the audience behind me - and I believe tonight will also be one of these moments, and I wanted to capture it for posterity, somehow, in some place besides my brain.

I do not pretend to not be late to this party, so I will tell you the things you already know: this will be the last time you see Arcade Fire in a venue this small. You do not write songs that big for tiny rooms (although the irony is that in a tiny room, the show probably seems like a performance art piece and has its own character).

Scatter o' light earlier this week was talking about being a nerd, being tired of it, and wanting to rock - but that she was headed to see Arcade Fire next. Um, this band rocks, or I would not be here. They rock unashamedly. There is no irony, not when Régine Chassagne sings every word to every song like she's singing lead vocals. She is a cheerleader for her own band. She plays drums! (I have a total girl-crush on her after tonight.) People are spending a lot of time trying to figure out why people like me (old, jaded, classic rock, etc.) are drawn to Arcade Fire, and for me, at least, it's because they aren't up there pretending that they're not having fun. They SMILE! They run around! They work hard! They don't pretend that it's not a performance and that they're not there to perform.

Arcade Fire played Radio City like it was an underground hardcore house show. The freneticism, the energy, the multi-instrumentality, I hate to say it but the comparison to, say, Springsteen era 75, when a tuba could show up onstage, and there was a Monopoly game onstage so they could say "Yeah, I'm in Doctor Zoom, I play Monopoly" - c'mon, would that kind of theater been that out of place on that stage tonight? Or ever? I don't think so.

The boyfriend commented earlier tonight that this was the first show he'd been at in a long time that felt dangerous. (I could mock him by pointing out that Dave & Tim solo at Radio City is not where one goes to look for danger, but I will not.) It wasn't so much danger as anarchy, trying to alter the dynamic, raise the energy, turn it around and back. Win Butler didn't want people in the aisles to piss off security, he wanted them there to engage the energy from the audience, because as a band they feed off it, it keeps them going. Maybe there are hundreds of new bands out there these days doing that on this scale, but I doubt it.

I avoided Arcade Fire for so long because of all the hype, and now of course the place is full of tourists mixed in with the faithful. And I'm stupid, because the next time I'll see them will be MSG, and after that, Giants Stadium. They'll find a way to make it work and show all of us something we never expected.

--
footnote: The last time I saw a show at Radio City was August 31, 1985. (Points if you can tell me what band I was there to see.) I know, ouch. I was out of the country for a while, and then on the west coast for a while. However, not much has changed: they are still smoking pot in the bathrooms and the security acts like it's never policed a rock concert before. It was moronic in the extreme on both sides - pick another venue or find a way to let the audience have some energy. If you don't, you get complete anarchy, and grown adults being marched out of the venue by security for probably doing nothing more than jumping up and down a little too animatedly.

UPDATE: more on the security fracas:
Gowanus Lounge

the carnegie hall springsteen tribute

Damon Gough is my new hero. No, wait, I'll explain.

Listen: Patti was, well, Patti, and there's no way in hell Steve Earle could fuck up "Nebraska". The Bacon Brothers were passable. Joseph Arthur played a "Born In The USA" with strength and guts. Pete Yorn made me like him despite my best intentions, mostly because he was more than happy to give us a pre-show interview and because the interview was lacking artifice on any level. M. Ward was unfortunate, as the band was playing the full band version while he was playing a solo acoustic version of "I'm Going Down" and it was a little bit of a train wreck. I thanked the deities for a piano-only version of "Serenade" and wanted to shoot the Low Stars, whoever they are, for butchering "One Step Up". Jesse Malin and Ronnie Spector was well-intended, but poorly executed, and it just made me sad. The Jersey Guys made everyone around us say the same thing: Why is someone playing a Tom Waits song?

My top five performances:

1. Badly Drawn Boy aka Damon Gough: Thunder Road. The only Born To Run appearance. More below.
2. Odetta, "57 Channels": may I some day be this cool.
3. The Hold Steady, "Atlantic City": and I don't even like them. At all. (That might change.) Noted that I DO NOT SEE ANY SPRINGSTEEN COMPARISON WHATSOEVER except that once upon a time Bruce used a lot of words in his songs.
4. Josh Ritter, "The River": a musician not even on my radar grabbed my attention with the Springsteen-esque introduction and heartfelt (but not identical) performance.
5. Marah and "The Rising". Major props for playing something recent. Kudos for accomplishing what Bruce could not, using bagpipes onstage. And Adam Garbinski clearly knows every single word to "Rosalita" and doesn't care who knows it.

Special props to Elysian Fields for "Streets of Fire" (hell, Bruce doesn't even do it any more) and the chops to be the house band all night in front of a very tough crowd.

But Badly Drawn Boy was something else altogether.

We wanted to talk to him before the show, because he's on record as being THE Springsteen fan of all Springsteen fans, the musician that wears his Bruce heart on his sleeve shamelessly. He's obsessed. He's one of us. All of this was clear. And he was the only musician with the guts to not just take something from Born To Run but take THE song from Born To Run. "Thunder Road" is Bruce's touchstone, it's his doppelganger, it's his nemesis, it's his salvation. It's the one song - to him.

And Damon knows this, I mean, there is no way he doesn't know it because he's a songwriter and because he's a fan and he's read everything there is to read and knows everything there is to know, and hell, he may have read my article in Backstreets from the Somerville shows in 2003, where Bruce laid it on the table for us in re: "Thunder Road".

At Carnegie Hall. In New York City. Across the river from New Jersey, full of people who sincerely applauded every time the state was mentioned, not the usual knee-jerk "Bruce is from Jersey so we applaud New Jersey" response, but people with actual pride in being from the state. Fans who had "Stand On It" as their ringtone (it was funny the first time it went off behind us. Not so funny the second time.)

Forget the audience, look at the musicians onstage. You're playing with a diverse group of accomplished folks, including Rock and Roll Hall of Fame nominees - okay, fuck that, you're playing with Patti Smith and Ronnie Spector and Steve Earle to start with, and other people who are hardly small shakes.

Badly Drawn Boy walks out on the Carnegie Hall stage, harmonica in hand, a little uncertain: "I'm thrilled but I'm terrified," he said. That was when we realized he was doing the full band version, none of this wussy singer-songwriter acoustic "Thunder Road" crap for Damon, no, this was his chance and he was going to go for it. All the accolades in the world, all the positive reviews, all of the stars in Q and Melody Maker don't matter much now. This is the culmination of a lifetime (and I realize this is a dramatisation, because the guy has a rich and successful songwriting career, but there's no way this wasn't a monumental thing).

He began tentatively, almost like a guy in a bar singing karaoke with his friends, and then relaxed into it some more, he realized that he could do this and that we were with him, and as he sang, I got goosebumps. It had to be the rawest, most naked thing I'd seen on stage in years. Not raw as in unpracticed, but raw as in honest and true and real and unadorned. This was a fan singing Bruce for Bruce and for himself and for us. In that moment, more than anyone else who had been on that stage, or was going to be on that stage, he was one of us. I am rooting for him to kick ass and take names and I don't even know him or know his music all that well, but it didn't matter. This was the kind of feeling I had when Patti or the Ramones or the Clash got inducted into the Hall of Fame: one of us finally makes the big time.

He could have picked any other song, he could have picked "Mary, Queen of Arkansas" and played it safe, done it acoustically, kept it standard. But he didn't.

I'm still kind of dazed about Bruce showing up. Of course, the problem was that, for me (and for probably 1/4 of the audience) the jig was up once we spotted Kevin Buell (Bruce's roadie) onstage. (And to be fair, I did know ahead of time, because we were at the press reception - but it wouldn't have been the first time Bruce was unofficially slated to appear and then changed his mind for whatever reason.)

I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm glad and all (beyond all possible gladness) but it was so - unexpected - and so much had happened onstage and now, here he is, singing a version of "Rosalita" that will go down in history, and not just because of the attempt to summarize the song during what would have been the bridge.

The encore: Was a cast of thousands coming on the stage, Dave Peterson (who plays drums in Marah) bringing out his relatively new baby to be part of it all.
"Volunteers for verses?" Himself asks.
Badly Drawn Boy steps forward before the words are out of his mouth.
Craig Finn steps up next, raises a hand.
Jesse Malin comes up last.

And it's "Rosalita," again, but it's like the last day of class in the auditorium, it's that Phoenix 78 version come to life with a dozen Bruces being goofy and abandoned onstage. Everyone is going crazy and dropping veneers of cool, jockeying for the front, dancing around like crazy, unabashed geekiness, people goodnaturedly jockeying for position at the microphone with Bruce and knowing that they were doing this because they don't ever know when they'll do it again, and the crowd is of course almost louder than the stage at this point, three hours of sitting quietly and behaving (for the most part, thank you) are now over. "I ain't here on business, baby, I'm only here for fun." I get to sing "Rosie" with the boyfriend, and with Bruce, and with Marah, and everyone else on that stage.

The best part of it all is this: it was a GREAT night before he walked out on that stage.

photos from last night

From the lovely and talented Debra L Rothenberg.

Badly Drawn Boy is my new hero.

all-star tribute

ALL-STAR TRIBUTE TO BRUCE SPRINGSTEEN ON APRIL 5, 2007,
PRODUCED BY MICHAEL DORF, TO BENEFIT UJA-FEDERATION OF NEW YORK'S MUSIC FOR
YOUTH INITIATIVE

The lineup includes some of the recording industry's top stars, each performing
one of Bruce Springsteen's masterpieces on the famed Carnegie Hall stage. The
artists announced and scheduled to appear are: PATTI SMITH, BACON BROTHERS
(INCLUDING ACTOR KEVIN BACON) STEVE EARLE, BADLY DRAWN BOY, PETE YORN, JULIANA
HATFIELD,JOSH RITTER , URI CANE, LOW STARS, M. WARD, MARAH, JERSEY GUYS w/ BOBBY
VALLI, THE HOLMES BROTHERS w/ YOUNG PEOPLE'S CHORUS, JOSEPH ARTHUR, NORTH
MISSISSIPPI ALL STARS, ROBIN HOLCOMB, ELYSIAN FIELDS, ODETTA, MARAH, THE HOLD
STEADY, JESSE MALIN & RONNIE SPECTOR *.

Funny: Jewel was originally on the bill. One can suggest that Patti was a late replacement for Jewel (who is the best-selling poet of the 20th century - no, I am not kidding) in a wry sort of way.

The boyfriend and I are covering for Backstreets including press reception. Should be fun.

may all beings be happy: Tibet House Benefit 2007

Tibet House U.S. Benefit Concert
Carnegie Hall, NYC
26 February, 2007

TONIGHT'S TIBET HOUSE HIGHLIGHTS:

5. Patti reading from Allen Ginsberg's "Wichita Vortex Sutra" with Philip Glass on piano:
I lift my voice aloud,
make Mantra of American language now,
I here declare the end of the War!

4. Ray Davies and Debbie Harry duetting on "Lola". It worked so seamlessly that it was though it was written for the two of them. Yeah, it was predictable, but Ray is a showman and it's a benefit, he's going to sing the songs that people know.

3. Ray singing a semi-accapella version of "Days" that was simultaneously otherworldly and heartbreaking. No one spoke. No one rustled a program. Even if people didn't know who the fuck he was, the performance told them all they needed to know.

2. Michael Stipe debuting the first ever live performance of "Chorus and the Ring," prefaced with a classic story about Kurt Cobain, William Burroughs and Karin Berg. [You can download a rehearsal version at murmurs.com.] *

1. Patti Smith and Michael Stipe duetting on "Everybody Hurts," string section and all. If your jaw did not hit the floor the minute the song started, you're either not human or you were just there to see Ben Harper (e.g. people sitting behind me). Michael sang it straight, but Patti was pure torch song.

Other minor notes:

Laurie Anderson: Too short and I suspect her set was a casualty of Sigur Ros, who I accept that I do not understand or like or enjoy, and were not needed on the bill. She presented Philip Glass with a shiny gold buddha as a consolation prize from the previous evening.

Lou Reed: God love Lou, but every time I see him in these situations he drags out the most obscure and inpenetrable numbers possible. You just wanna say, "Hey, Lou - there are people here who have never seen you. It's a benefit. Just play 'Walk On The Wild Side'." Then again, god love Lou Reed, because he is obscure and inpenetrable. And I can't believe Laurie let him out of the house wearing that jacket.

Ben Harper: always rises to the occasion (his Bridge School performance in 2001 was unbelievable) but out of his league here. Not his fault, see above.

Debbie Harry opened with a countrified number, which was perfectly acceptable. She was in excellent voice. I didn't much care for the unplugged-ified "Heart of Glass" because it had no balls. Yes, the performance in the original is full of ennui, but that was deliberate and the music itself was daring, going outside the canon (as it were) at the time. The version tonight could have been piped through a dentist's office.

Stipe solo: my first time seeing him without the band, and REALLY FUCKING WEIRD to see him sans R.E.M. Not bad weird, just - weird. He can absolutely command a stage, it's just that in my mind the voice is connected with a certain context, which was missing. But he was dressed for the occasion and suitably nervous and I love seeing him with Patti onstage, dropping to his knees, same pose he adopted during Vote For Change when he was watching Bruce take a guitar solo.

Patti: needs to play more places that accommodate a grand piano, because she has someone who can play it. She continues to take "People Have The Power" and makes it stronger each and every time she performs it. It doesn't get tired. It is never anything less than electric. She hopped off the stage, exhorted people to get on their feet, called for truth and no more war. If you didn't have goosebumps, it's probably because you thought you could leave after "Everybody Hurts".

P.S. I didn't forget about Patti Lee dedicating "Within You or Without You" (probably from the upcoming cover album - or, then again, who knows) to George Harrison, whose birthday was yesterday. But, with everything else that was going on, almost forgiveable if I did.

"the embodiment of love’s dark sisters"

SUNDAY NIGHT.
[more here]

What does it say about me that I was more excited when I heard about this going on sale than I have been for almost any other musical event in a very, very long time?

I once owned three copies of Berlin and then someone gave me a fourth (original pressing, with the booklet). I kept the fourth and got rid of the rest, and I do not believe I own it on cd. I had to stop myself -- no, more like *forbid* myself -- from listening to it after a while.

It would change you. It would darken you. It would produce tiny little knife-edges everywhere. You would burn yourself, cut yourself, trip over invisible objects. It was a poltergeist. Never, ever, listen to it as a couple.

The boyfriend is not going. It would be edifying, for sure, but not exactly enjoyable. He is curious, but this is definitely the borderland between our musical worlds. I am fine with this particular division, and am actually the tiniest bit relieved on some level that there is no meaning in this record for him.

Sunday night will be like visiting a country that one used to live in. Not a city or state or coast, but the difference of oceans and real borders. Don't worry, my passport is valid.

the last chord: cbgb's last day

There was no enormous emotional wallop as I got off the 6 train and walked down Bleecker to CB’s, probably because that was never the way I walked to the club back in the day: the stop was too dangerous and that block of Bleecker to be avoided at all costs. If I had been thinking, I would have gotten off at Astor Place and walked down Bowery; to my mind, in my mind, that's the 'proper' approach. Chapter 2 of my novel starts with the main character running to CB's that very route. But I was nervous, and 100% certain that, previous evidence to the contrary, there would be 1000 people in line already, so I opted for the quickest route instead of the most ceremonial. Now I'm sorry I didn't.

Like the lunatic that I am, I arrived at 4pm to get on line. There were maybe 20 people ahead of me, and only half of them had tickets. We were unified by the fact that we became zoo animals instantaneously. Every person who walked by took a picture, bought a t-shirt, gawked at non-stop. Tour buses, SUV's with Pennsylvania plates stopping, rolling down a window, arm with a camera sticking out. it's been here for 33 years, I wanted to yell. 7 days a week, you could have come down here and gone inside. most of us are slightly aghast at the entire thing. We contemplate providing all photographers with "the CBGB's salute" as their background; instead, I make a sign reading STOP GENOCIDE IN DARFUR and hold that up instead. It's not that I'm particularly active in that cause, it's just that the complete and total out-of-proportion coverage, and willingness to interview the lamp post in front of the club began to wear a little thin.

Patti walks in, she is engulfed in cameras. The freak show is in full force. Crazy babbling homeless guys, random village idiots, some long-haired moron with a harmonium that we start calling Kenny G, and David Peel (as in David Peel and the Lower East Side). He later joins forces with a handful of other musicians and they start playing a song for the cameras:

"goodbye, CBGB's
Punk rock forever
Forever punk rock!"

The composition was soundly derided by just about everyone in our group, but I did feel the need to point out that, on some level, it wasn't that far from "Hanging out on Second Avenue, eating Chicken vindaloo".

I had brought a book, a radio, things to keep me occupied. None of it got used. Morons walk by and ask "is it sold out?" along with the classic, "where's the line for ticket holders?"
We point towards Houston St.
"No, no, we have tickets," they stress.
"So do we."
They look at us in disgust and go ask at the door. We see the bouncer's arm pointing south.
Later, a noted line jumper of my acquaintance attempted the classic line cutting move entitled "But I'm Just Going To Talk To My Friends [Gesture At Front Of Line]". Unfortunately for her, she tried it right next to me.

And this was all before the fucking door opened at 8pm.

I couldn't get my mind over it being the end, or how I was supposed to feel about it being the end. How many clubs have I seen close in my lifetime? I never cried because the Marquee Club closed, or the Fillmore shuttered its doors. As I like to remind people, I didn't make it to CB’s until well after the fact. My years there were chasing Sonic Youth and a whole host of other bands of the post-punk/new alternative era, some forgotten, some less so. I can't even tell you the name of the band who I used to go to see every Tuesday night over about three months, always in the 1am slot, because I wanted them to hire me to take their promo photos. By the time I snuck into CB’s for the first time, everyone was long gone. The closest kinship to those days (aside from spirit) was the ritual of sitting on the sidewalk outside the club and saying hi to Lenny Kaye as he walked his dogs down Bowery. I seriously impressed a whole gaggle of bands from Austin one night in 1985 when Lenny walked by and we started talking. After their jaws came off the concrete, I made the introductions, and for the rest of the night the bands treated me as though I was some kind of punk rock goddess.

I remember the club in tunnelvision, which is not exactly inaccurate because the club is a tunnel. I was either arriving late and running to the front, arriving early and running to the front, or arriving really, really early and helping some band carry their equipment in. But I never paused much between the front door and the stage. I always stood in the same place - well, after getting kicked in the head at an unfortunate toasters gig in the 80s I always stood in the same place: far house right, against the speaker stack. I would bring one earplug so I could stand there and not lose half my hearing.* I also liked that side because I didn't want to be in the interminable procession to the bathroom or the dressing rooms. I never sat at the bar, I never played pool there, I never went to the ladies' room, I never had to order bad white wine to fulfill the two-drink minimum at the tables, and I never ever bought a fucking t-shirt.

Last night was not quiet communion or ritual contemplation. It was a media circus, a colossal hassle, a shoving match inside. You had the one chick who always complains that you are trying to get in front of her (no, seriously, she does this at every show), you had the enormous guy and his wife who shove you out of the way to get to the stage (and this dude was a Mets fan, I was trading scores with him all night until he knocked this tiny little photographer chick from Olympia sideways), the wacko in the front row who lectures you on how they know the band so you better not touch them, the drunk moron walking sideways through the crowd, and as always, the skinhead idiot in a Ramones shirt who wants to slamdance through every single song and when people attempt to calm him down, lectures us all that none of us really understand this music.

In short, a typical night at CB’s.

She began with the book held open, reading. Reading "Piss Factory," and the emotional resonance is so obvious and so overwhelming I wonder how I'm going to get through the rest of the night. I have a necklace that has the last two lines of that song engraved on it:

"and I will travel light./oh, watch me now."

And to think that for about half an hour I debated whether or not I needed to be here tonight.

The first half of the show was quieter, lacked a little punch; the monitors were bothering all of them (except Lenny) and they had to start several songs over again because of bum notes all over. The cameras, the live radio broadcast, none of this boded well - "Pale Blue Eyes" and "Kimberly" into "The Tide Is High" and Richard Lloyd onstage for "Marquee Moon" notwithstanding.

They took a short break and came back, and the radio was supposed to be off; apparently it wasn't, but thinking that it was seemed to help, as Patti had more energy. Then again, coming out and starting with "Sonic Reducer," one of the CBGB top 10, certainly didn't hurt. OMG, that was fucking awesome. There was a Ramones medley from Lenny and Tony Shanahan that was sweet, and they did a phenomenal cover of "Gimme Shelter" that gave me goosebumps. "We just learned this one, you might be familiar with it, so if you are, please sing along." Pause, beseeching look: "FEEL FREE."

Just before what would become "Rock n Roll Nigger," Richard Lloyd comes onstage, and as one would expect from Richard Lloyd, there is much discussion about tunings. Patti turns around: "Lloyd. *I* just played guitar. No one is going to notice if you hit a few wrong notes." It was the directive of one long-time friend to another, and we just happened to be eavesdropping.

I would guess that I haven't heard Patti do "My Generation" for 30 years. This is the one that made the most sense to me, the one I would have wanted to hear if you'd given me the cover list and asked me to choose. This version was so blasphemous when it was released, Who fans are still up in arms over it. Flea did a kick-ass Entwistle interpretation (note: not imitation) during the bass solo. "WE CREATED IT, YOU TAKE IT OVER," she exhorted us. When it was over, the woman next to me, with whom I had bonded around the time of "Free Money," noted: "Now we're part of history!"

"Land" at the end, not as incendiary as it can be, but it was already well after Patti Lee's bedtime and it did the job just fine. This all changed during the segue into "Gloria," where the sense of finality and farewell started to sink in, and I started to cry, and the grey-haired woman with the elegant cheekbones in front of me started to cry, and then Patti is openly weeping, which didn't help either of us.

"Elegie" is to be expected, but what was not expected was the reading of the list of names, those in the family who are no longer here. I cheered loudest for Lester and for Helen Wheels and for Peter Laughner and for anyone who was lesser known, JT and Jerry Nolan did not need my applause. She choked up at the end, second-to-last name, Richard Sohl.

But it was the last series of names read that did us all in - at least if you have any semblance of a heart and soul. Slowly, shakily, haltingly, Patti reads:

"Johnny, Joey, Dee Dee."

I am crying now, again, writing this here, and all bets were off when I am standing two rows from the place where that band was born.

"Patti, you forgot someone,” from a voice in the crowd.
"Who?"
A bunch of names are yelled.
"Fred." the voice insists.
She stops, I am unsure whether that was inappropriate or touching, and then she smiles:
"They're all here, whether I read their name or not."

As soon as it was obvious it was over I said brief goodbyes to the people in my immediate vicinity and made my way out. Everyone was pushing forward, wanting something, wanting to not have to leave, wanting to not say goodbye, wanting the evening to not be over. It took forever to get out, and I was almost glad, taking the mental photographs: the bar with its roof and railings that I always tripped on. The canyon of neon signs. The uneven floorboards. The ancient band fliers everywhere. The stickers, likewise. Jesse Malin at the bar. Bob Gruen holding court.

I slow down as the exit approaches. Snap, snap, snap, all in my head, as though I couldn't build a movie set from my memory as it already existed.

The door. I pause, touch the door jamb with my palm as though a mezuzah is there, but I meant the gesture in the same way.
Prayer.
Benediction, for myself as much as for the place.
A breath, a goodbye, and I push open the doors.

A million people taking my photo, a huge crowd, someone offering to buy my wristband, other people asking me if I knew what the score was (I was wearing my Cliff Floyd t-shirt, who is my favorite player for the Mets) - of course I forgot to mention that I was keeping up with the playoff game during the show, via text message and an insane friend who was listening to the game and the show. I grab the boyfriend's hand, I start to walk, I feel like lot's wife in that I don't want to look back but I can't not look back. What will that block be? What will happen here? Will people still come here on Joey’s birthday and leave flowers? Where do we go when the next one of us passes?

But for now, we say goodbye, and we mourn a little.

flickr feed here
--
*I did do serious damage to my hearing at CB’s, but not when you think I would have: it was at a Dictators reunion show during the CBGB anniversary week in December 94. I remember sitting in Kiev after the show and being asked to leave because we were all screaming at each other because our ears were ringing so hard.

esta noche: twilight singers live

Irving Plaza
New York, NY June 1 2006

True confessions: I avoid Dulli, sometimes. No, really, I do.

That said: I don't know that there is a more heavily travelled playlist on my iPod that what I have labelled "Dullimania" (Afghan Whigs + Twilight Singers, doh) and there are times it is on replay, over and over and over again, because it will elate me or excite me or impel me but no matter what, IT MAKES ME FEEL, even when I would rather be dead or numb or detached or absent because FEELING HURTS TOO FUCKING MUCH.

With the last record Dulli cut his heart out of his chest and burned it onto cd's, and now he is out of the 40 days of mourning, writing songs that sound like the finale of an epic musical -- there was more to that one cover from Jesus Christ Superstar back in the day than most people get -- and he never, ever, EVER phones it in.

That's the thing. There is no halfway with Dulli. There is no going to a show and standing at the back bar (okay. AS IF I COULD EVER DO THAT. theoretically.) You could be back there and unless you were completely dead, I'm talking zombie here, that voice and that attitude and that charisma and that voice that purrs and soars and screams will reach across the room, grab you by the throat, and bang your head against the bar until you had no choice but to pay attention. HE MEANS IT.

And this is maybe, halfway, sort of kind of getting close to describing Irving Plaza tonight. Nevermind that I left the house throwing fate to the winds, wherever I ended up I ended up, only to arrive and find that THERE WAS NO LINE and I was first and I was, like the dork I am, front and fucking center, tossed into the maelstrom. There was no sitting this one out. There was no being a casual observer. It was baptism - by fire, by whiskey, by sweat. This audience was not just singing along, they were testifying at the top of their collective lungs, outsinging Dulli the entire night on every song, the new songs as though they were 10 years old, the last Twilight faves anthemic -- "Teenage Wristband" felt more like teenage wasteland, like I was singing something as near and dear to me as "Baba O'Riley" or "Jumping Jack Flash" -- and by the time we reached "Fountain And Fairfax," those astounding guitar crescendos and all, it was the fucking Mormon Tabernacle Choir.

Powder Burns did not grow on me immediately. Or even on fifth or sixth listen. But that wasn't Greg, that was me with blinders on, plowing through and hanging on and let's not add anything that can tilt the balance any way but dead on center because if it wobbled the fall was going to be far and hard. See it live and it all falls into place, one more listen and - CLICK - the penny, as they say, dropped. But I didn't doubt Dulli for one second, you know?

Glorious: "Bonnie Brae" finishes, a slight shadow bounds onstage, impeccably dressed: STEVE MYERS! the one and only. Jerome to Dulli's James Brown, now with his very own, very Steve, ensemble called the Mighty Fine (billing themselves as the Stooges meet the Temptations). Steve still has the voice and the moves and he compliments Greg as though it was yesterday they shared a stage together. We were applauding the now and the then; ain't no one in that room gonna tell you they wouldn't pay $100 to see the Whigs back together -- except that Twilight Singers isn't a paltry substitute and no one is showing up just to hear those songs again. What's being served up here and now is -- not just as good, but different, and better in another way. (Although to hear Greg introduce "Fountain and Fairfax" with, "I wrote this song 13 years ago to remind myself to stay out of trouble, I'm gonna sing it now to remind myself again" could be, perhaps, a little disturbing.)

For me, it was the combination of "Esta Noche" and four songs later - I could see the setlist all night and it didn't make it any less glorious - the ecstatic cascade that is "Teenage Wristband" -- the latter with twirling yellow lights that made me feel like a child spinning around until I got dizzy and fell down -- that delivered, that gave me what I came for, what I needed. Standing front and center at Dulli's microphone like the old days in Seattle, when I would sit on the edge of the stage and light Greg's cigarettes with my Rolling Stones lighter -- those days are over but these days are what they are, what they will be, still as ripe and full of promise. It doesn't matter what Dulli does or what he calls it -- I'm there.

Footnote: I know he's been doing it every fucking night - and today with the 90 degree heat it was especially appropriate -- but yes, I freaked the fuck out when he came out for the encore and said, "As your neighbor in New Jersey would say, 'I'm On Fire'," and then sang the first verse as an intro to "The Killer". Dork with a capital D, that's me.

i can't hardly wait

Marah live at the Abbey Pub, Chicago, February 17, 2006

REASONS WHY THIS RULES:

A. It's Marah.
B. It's Marah covering the Replacements. I think there are about three bands in the world who can cover the Replacements and get away with it. (Or rather, three bands in the world whom I would allow to cover the Replacements and get away with it.)*
C. It very much resembles an actual Replacements performance, because
 1. There are about three other songs in this one song
  a. two of which are covers
   1.) one by a southern rock band and
   2.) one by a heavy metal band
    i. who the Replacements would have mocked at all times if they had existed during their tenure
    ii. and, funnily enough, who a charter Replacements member is current/sometime member of now
  b. one of which is another Replacements song, "Take Me Down To The Hospital"
   1.) A song which it would appear Mr. Kirk Henderson has no idea how to play - demerits here because that small fact would not have stopped any member of the Replacements from playing it anyway, nor would any individual present at the performance (including any member of the Replacements) have noticed if he had made any errors.
 2. Dave stops for a smoke break in the middle of the song.
 3. there is a guy giving the band the middle finger during the performance (which, if you ever saw the 'Mats live, you know happened EVERY SINGLE SHOW)
 4. this performance takes place the night after a band member spent a night in jail for public drunkenness (no names)

*The Wallflowers would not be one of these bands.

Marah are going back on tour. GO AND SEE THEM.

that daring young man on the flying trapeze

Bruce Springsteen & The Seeger Sessions Band
Convention Hall
Asbury Park, NJ 4-26-06

So, Bruce is now out on tour with the Seeger Sessions Band. I don't know if you're going or not, but you need to think about going, if it comes to your area. Even -- especially -- if you don't like Springsteen with E Street.

The essential concept to understand is this: This show is not, at all, what you think it is going to be. Not only is it not what you think it is going to be, it is a million times more than you could have ever imagined it would be.

Don't judge it on the record; in my opinion, the performances on the record are flat, and with a few exceptions, probably won't resonate with you strongly unless you've seen the live show. Don't worry about needing to listen to the record before you see the show -- this is one show you don't need to do your homework for. The songs, along with the exuberance onstage, are inviting enough.

is it a straight-ahead rock and roll show? no. it's not Bruce solo, it's not Bruce with the 92 band, it's not Bruce with E Street. You can't compare it to any of those things because it's nowhere in the neighborhoods of the above. You can't expect to react to this show the same way you do to a Bruce Springsteen show in the past simply because his name is on the ticket. It is not the same animal. The band does not possess the dynamics of longevity present in E Street, and the material doesn't provide the emotional touchstones you are accustomed to. This can end up feeling disconcerting if you focus on their absence, instead of looking beyond that to what is going on onstage.

Bruce gets to be Bruce; as he astutely pointed out at the last rehearsal show, the whole reason Frank Bruno Jr. is on that stage is so that when he's out front shaking his ass, someone is actually playing the guitar. And that comment tells you a lot about why Bruce embarked on this project: they're not his songs, so there are no sacred cows to worry about slaughtering. There are 17 other people on that stage for you to look at -- there is a LOT going on, besides the aforementioned ass-shaking. Compare that to Devils & Dust where you could, sometimes, hear a pin drop (by royal command). He doesn't have to hand out little flyers as you walk in the door insisting that you engage in all nose-blowing before the show starts, lest your coughing disturb the maestro. And (also very much unlike D&D) it is the kind of show for which cold beer at a reasonable price is almost a downright necessity.

You will know these songs. I know them from Girl Scout camp and from my father (who learned them at Boy Scout camp); Bruce mentioned that other people have told him they'd learned them in Sunday School. If you have never heard them before, one of the beautiful tenets of folk and gospel is true: they're written for everyone to sing. And everyone can sing along, without ruining any part of the experience, unlike the off-tune bozo who feels the need to belt "I got a 69 Chevy with a 396" (or name the equivalent, before you start arguing with me about how many times, exactly, Bruce has played "Racing In The Street" in the last five years) into your left ear, every single time.

When I was relating the show to the boyfriend, I slipped and said, "You've got to hear this cover of 'Cadillac Ranch'". Now, it can't really be a cover when it's his song, but the subconscious error was telling, because it feels like a different song. "Cadillac Ranch" works (even if he was singing it in the wrong key and was gently but firmly corrected by Patti walking over to him in the middle of the song and gratuitously displaying the chord her fingers were forming on the fretboard. Oops.). It is bigger, grander, bolder, and it makes me wish he'd bring out the map of Mesopotamia from the BITUSA Stadium leg because that would fit here like it was invented for this show.

"Johnny 99." What is it about this song, in particular, that he turns to it for reinvention? We're on the third incarnation now. I like this one so much better than what got presented on the Rising tour, but it was not the strongest of the revised originals presented. Same with "If I Should Fall Behind." If he needs a love song, and the show does, then bring out "Valentine's Day" or "Tougher Than The Rest" or pick some lovely Johnny Cash/June Carter duet.

"Open All Night." I was listening to a Chuck Berry compilation on the way down to the show, and not that this is new news or a revelation or anything, but I was drawn to once again affectionately observe how much "Open All Night" is an almost "Tweeter And The Monkey Man" homage to "You Can't Catch Me," and therefore, by extension, for it to be part of this show's setlist was nice synchronicity. However, I did not expect it to turn into a 40's swing number, complete with Andrews Sisters intro from Patti, Soozie and Lisa Lowell. It's fucking legendary. Were we in Convention Hall or at the Brooklyn Paramount?

The other -- see, I wanted to type 'covers' again -- rearranged originals -- varied wildly. Of note, "Adam Raised A Cain" was not too far from a recent version, but still filled with fire and ice, and owed an awful lot, I thought, to Johnny Cash, and "You Can Look (But You Better Not Touch)" -- both songs that have been reinvented before, but the latter closes the set and it felt like I was watching the closing number from "Oklahoma". A throwaway song becomes grand and encompassing and while it feels completely unfamiliar in one sense (because the new arrangement turns it inside out) it is still the song you know.

The songs are big, and the arrangements are broad, and sometimes there might be too much instrumentation (at one point toward the end, Bruce yells, "Did the glockenspiel make it?" and all I could think was - my god, enough already! But there it was, stage left.) They are flavored with everything, folk twang and gospel shouting and swing and jump blues and funk and cajun and rockabilly. It is like watching the Mad Professor experimenting with musical test tubes, and trying his hand at leading a BIG band, and from that perspective it is not just enjoyable, it is fascinating. I realize, however, that I am in the trainspotter minority on this.

So, now let's talk about the band, this cast of thousands (seriously, we're approaching Solomon Burke territory here) onstage with Bruce this time out. They are all strong and competent musicians, some stronger than others, but the clams weren't coming from them.

The horn section: I had serious complaints about the new horn section not having a stage presence.
the boyfriend: "Is that they don't have a stage presence, or is it that they're just not La Bamba and Pender?"
me: "They have negative stage presence AND they're slobs."

I realize that I am holding them to an impossibly high standard but I expect my horns to be sharp dressers and have the choreography down. They certainly played well, but not exceptionally, but I have hopes that might improve.

Chocolate Genius is Bruce's new male on-stage foil and HE NEEDS TO DO MORE THAN HE DOES RIGHT NOW. Because when the two of them click, it is compelling and just this side of breathtaking. Keep this guy around and let him re-arrange an original of his choosing.

After running down the stage presence of the remainder of the band (give the band a name. it will give them an identity and they are entitled to that. Think about the Ex-pensive Winos for an example.), it's clear that the people who have presence and personality are the ones who have played onstage with Bruce before, and so feel comfortable. It'll be interesting to see the evolution of the band as the tour goes on: will the band develop a personality, or will it just become this slick collection of very competent professional musicians? (Which is where LaBamba and Pender come in; yes, they are slick, but nothing can be too serious with them around.)

I know it was a rehearsal but I thought "We Shall Overcome" was flat and a serious anticlimax, "Eyes On The Prize" (where Chocolate Genius was mindblowing) was far more moving. "Johnny 99" (as previously mentioned) and, surprising, "Adam Raised A Cain" didn't do that much for me. It's not that it's my favorite song and so he can't touch it - by all means, take it apart and put it back together again as many times as you want - I just think he could have pushed the envelope in a different direction, or perhaps chosen another song.

A ticket fell in my lap and since it was Convention Hall, I didn't much care where I sat. But I ended up not near anyone I have ever known or met, and, gratefully, was not surrounded by people introducing themselves by their screen name or by whatever message board they hung out on. (I long for the days where people at shows introduced themselves by name and where they were from.) In other words, normal, average fans, people who cared enough to spend $100 and get out of work early to make the 5:30pm show time. People who the stereotype might dictate would be there to yell for "Born To Run" and be going on beer runs all night.

Except they didn't. People were entertained. People were amused. People were moved to standing ovations for numbers like "Jacob's Ladder," and to sing along wherever they could. People knew the songs, applauded when they recognized them. I witnessed little impatience and a great deal of attention paid to what was going on onstage, far more than I ever saw as a result of the artificial gulag of silence created during the Devils & Dust tour. I still think the ticket price is too fucking high, because the people who should see this tour won't be able to afford it, but I think people will come, and people will enjoy it more than they would ever expect they would enjoy a non-acoustic, non-E-Street Bruce Springsteen tour.

This show is part summer stock, part revival tent, part Vaudeville; it owes as much to Sister Rosetta Tharpe as it does to Elvis and as much to Garrison Keillor and Prairie Home Companion as it does to the Grand Old Opry or the musical numbers of every Elvis Presley movie ever made (even, and especially, the really bad ones). It is Americana, pure and simple, it is based on a common denominator designed to appeal to a wide group of folks, just like its influences of origin were. All we need is a Chautauqua tent and you'd have everything you need. Knowing Bruce, that might just be next.

Seriously, this show isn't a reinvention, nor is it a drastic departure, but it is uplifting and joyful and at times contains as much fire and intensity as you've seen him evidence in a more classic rock and roll format. Like anything the man does, if you're willing to go along for the ride, he can take you to some amazing places. I look forward to seeing where this journey takes us and how it might inspire him next.

SLEEP DEPRIVED GMA RAMBLINGS

Bruce Springsteen and the Seeger Sessions Band
Good Morning America
Convention Hall, Asbury Park 4-25-06

It was very, very early.

You can wax rhapsodic about the beauty of the early morning hours, and the tiny slim silver crescent moon that hung over the ocean as I drove south on the Garden State Parkway was beautiful, but it was ridiculously EARLY. I left Brooklyn at 4:00 am.

You don't go to these things for the performance aspect. Not just because of the television factor, of course, but mostly because what true rock and roll icon is a morning person? No, you go for sights like the one we were treated to, Bruce shuffling onto the stage about three seconds after he arrived, that sleepy reluctant foot-dragging walk you may have witnessed your children or young relatives performing, *major* pillow hair, big sunglasses he probably swiped from Bono. Every bit of his body language indicated that when he opened his mouth, it would probably be to yawn into the mic. The audience cheers loudly.

"This is awesome," he says.
We cheer again.
"I salute you early risers."
I cheer again, but I am already starting to get tired. It is just after 7 a.m. I am quite sure he just rolled out of bed, into his car, and drove down the road. I had been awake since 3 a.m.
"I must REALLY wanna sell records," he giggled sleepily. He mumbles something about putting on his stage clothes (which he did... not that I noticed any kind of major difference) and stumbles off the stage.

The off-camera moments were the priceless ones, of course. Bruce joking with the horn section, stage directions: "We need a shorter version, due to the gods of television" (in reference to "Jacob's Ladder") and promising the horns, "And I will remember the outro" (which had obviously been forgotten at a previous performance). (Hey, there's a reason the current APCH shows are referred to as rehearsal shows.)

"Throw that fiddle solo back in the middle -- that's why we got - confused - last night," Bruce mutters, as the 17 piece ensemble (this band needs a name. more on this later.) gets ready to perform "O Mary Don't You Weep," just what suburban housewives want to be watching as they get their kids off to school. Or maybe they do. What was fun to watch was Bruce turning from bruce, when the cameras were off, into BRUCE SPRINGSTEEN, once the cameras were on. There was nothing artificial or inauthentic about it -- that's why they call it performing, after all -- but it's rare that we get to see it happen in front of us.

He had no internal monologue this morning, either. Holding up two plastic cups, he informs us: "I drank into one of these, and spit into the other."
Pause, regards the cups, tilts them into the light, clearly attempting to discern which is which. Not calling for another cup from Kevin. Not keeping this information to himself.
"There should have been a red cup and a blue cup." He squints into the cups again, makes a choice, swallows.
"I should have picked the other one."

After watching two versions of "When The Saints Go Marching In" (I preferred the one you didn't get to see, the more plaintive, unadorned one), he looks at the crowd.
"So what are your plans for the rest of the day?"
People yell various nonsense.
"I'm going back to bed." Pause. "I actually have my pj's on under these pants--" and then proceeds to inform us that this is something he usually does, when he takes the kids to school, just pulls on his pants over his pj's and then climbs back into bed when he gets home.
His wife is attempting to ignore most of this exchange.

The stage manager strolls over and tells Bruce he has about two minutes. Bruce looks around, realizes they can't play another song in two minutes, so he starts whistling aimlessly.
"WHen they come back, I'm gonna do that. 3 minutes of whistling."
He whistles again.
"I like that. They'll call me - The Whistler."
More whistling.
"The Whistler's coming to town."
Pause.
"The Whistler played last night."
Pause.
"I like that, it sounds -- mysterious."
Patti rolls her eyes.
"Patti is complaining about me just out of earshot."
Giggle.

So that was about it. Three songs, four songs, most repeated at least twice, not as much as I'd hoped to hear, but it was free, and it was cool as hell, and I'd do it again tomorrow, um, afternoon.

Oh, wait.

Which is when you will get your full report on what I think of THE SEEGER SESSIONS.

UPDATE: Grab a mp3 of "Jacob's Ladder" from this morning here. http://ickmusic.com/index.php/2006/04/25/bruce-live-on-gma/ [from ickmusic.com, via Scatter o' Light]

[And in case you are going to ask, "Why aren't there any photos of the performance?" you clearly have never been to a Bruce Springsteen concert before. When they say "no cameras" it isn't a suggestion.]

the dolls @ cb's, 3-28-06

I couldn't get out of the house and so resigned myself to sitting at the bar or something, because there was no way I was getting there until after 6, and the show was at 8, and and and.

And as I walked down Bleecker St. from the 6, I couldn't see a line. I just assumed it had gotten horrific and was blocking the doors to the mission upstairs and the gallery so they moved it down.

But no. It was well after 6 when I got there and THE LINE WASN'T EVEN PAST THE FRONT DOOR OF THE GALLERY. I know it's a school night, but, c'mon.

So I ended up sitting on the stage, completely unprepared, feeling ridiculously, ashamedly under-dressed for the occasion, wishing I'd brought the good camera, but felt happy for my earplugs and my tiny little digital and CBGB and what's left of the Dolls and Sami Yaffa singing along to "Private World" like he probably did when he was 15, and Debbie Harry in the audience, and what sure looked like Martin Rev in the mosh pit, and knowing some of the people around me for the better part of 10 or 20 years. I am lucky, jaded, infuriatingly spoiled, and blissfully grateful, simultaneously.

flickr set of the show here
Irving Plaza 05 review

reminder

I really, really need to remember that I'm going to see the Dolls at CBGB tomorrow night.
I also need to remember that the L train is not running after midnight for the next two weeks.
But it would help greatly IF I COULD REMEMBER THE FIRST ONE

harry and the potters

"2nite's HARRY & THE POTTERS party has moved from the Polish & Slavic Center, in Greenpoint, to OUR LADY OF CONSOLATION CHURCH REC CENTER @ 184 Metropolitan Ave btwn Bedford and Berry, in Williamsburg. The P & S Center had a boiler explosion, apparently.

OUR LADY OF CONSOLATION CHURCH REC CENTER is all ages and features a donation bar (with ID). Please be courteous if you get there early, as mass doesn't get over until 8:30 or so."

That tells you everything you need to know. The venue was a church rec hall basement, with directional signs in Polish and streamers and crepe paper adorning the ceiling. It was absurd. It was perfect.

10:34pm txt message: "The sock puppets are still onstage. I may be home later than I thought."

There were two opening bands. The first one was trying to be an ironic G-rated White Stripes, attempting to sing songs like "Theme from the Muppet Show" and "Rainbow Connection" in a pseudo-Dean-Martin attitude. Thankfully, they were quick.

The second band, Uncle Monsterface, featured the aforementioned sock puppets and a guy dressed as a big sock puppet and a dvd and would have been fine except they were TOO LONG. Despite this, I sat in the back drinking PBR and thinking that even with all of this absurdity, they were still more interesting than 99.9% of the opening bands I have seen in the last few years.

Harry and the Potters. So there were 10 year olds with their parents and gaggles of high school girls wearing American Eagle and then unabashed grown-up dorks. I couldn't get near the stage to take pictures because it was mobbed. The PA sucked but that didn't matter because the crowd was outsinging the guys.

bf: "So there's Harry Potter..."
me: "No, they're both Harry. One is Harry Year 4 and the other is Harry Year 7."
[The boyfriend has not read any HP so this is completely lost on him.]
bf: "And who else is in the band?"
me: "It's them and an iPod."
bf: "And they're called Harry and the Potters?"
me: "Yes."
bf: "And all the songs are about the books?"
me: "Yes, they're awesome!"
bf: "Punk rock songs about the Harry Potter books?"
me: "Well, punk in spirit, absolutely, but there are great tunes and good riffs and the lyrics are funny. And they are geeky, but not in a Star Trek fan kind of geeky. They have a sense of humor about being geeks."

Harry, year 7: "DOES EVERYONE HERE FEEL GOOD TONIGHT?"
Crowd: "YEAH!!!"
Harry: "DOES EVERYONE HERE FEEL LIKE A WIZARD?"
Crowd: "YEAHHHH!"
Harry: "Okay, this song is called 'I Am A Wizard'!"

It was completely fucking righteous, start to finish, all of it. It was honest and enthusiastic and fun and they were having so much fun and they so clearly love doing it. The PA sucks? So what else is new. No one can hear us? No big deal, we'll keep playing anyway. They had energy and enthusiasm and were so clearly excited to be on stage and that people come to see them and have a good time. No irony. No sardonic asides. Paul kept trying to jump up and down but he couldn't because the ceiling was so low. Maybe I dig it so much because I know what it's like to be a geeky fan? Especially a geeky fan of books and music? I don't know and I don't care.

Take your niece, borrow a neighbor's kid, go track them down as they zig zag around the country playing libraries and community centers and colleges. This is so fucking punk rock it hurts.

Check out their MySpace page for music and tour dates.

Review: Rock The Line by Kathleen Warnock

This play is about fans waiting in line for 8 hours to get into a concert.

Okay, that's a gross oversimplification. But this is not a situation that is foreign to me, as most of you know. I have always maintained that waiting-in-line time is in its own dimension. Emotions are high, concentration is nil, you are liberated from mundane life for the most part, even now with cell phones, even back then when there are photographs of me waiting in line for the Who while studying for a history exam.

I bring this up only because the world Warnock brought us into is one I know intimately. So I am sympathetic to the subject matter.

This is why I was slightly disappointed in the story she presents. The characters aren't archetypal enough to extend out of the community she was inspired by, and weren't unique enough to make me care. They weren't strong enough to be a tribute, nor were they honest enough to make me believe in them.

Waiting in line is the great equalizer. The first one there is the first one in. Money, education, job title, none of it matters in the line. You find yourself having conversations with people you simply wouldn't have the opportunity to in everyday life, whether it's a district attorney, a waitress, or a clerk at Wal-Mart. Some of that was conveyed in Rock The Line, but not strongly enough.

"It's 12 o'clock. The door doesn't open until 8pm. What are we doing here?" one of the characters observes, early in the play. I wish this question had been addressed more honestly. The characters explore their reasons for being there, but it was all too cliched for me: the object of their affections, Patti Roxx, saved their life, gave them hope, was a source of inspiration. All of which are the kinds of things you'd hear in any line for any concert. The question to me has always been - but what makes you sit here for 8 hours when 90% of the people coming to this concert are just going to show up at 7:30, and probably feel that they have been as moved or inspired as you are? It's a question that begs exploring and it wasn't done here. A character who questioned that and engaged them was missing, I think. It sometimes felt as though the characters would be so recognizable to those in on the joke (like half the audience; I've never been to a *play* where audience members had attended multiple times and half of them seemed to know each other) that she was afraid to be truthful.

The moral of the story: there is more to life than the show. This felt hollow and weak, probably because I didn't believe the defining moment, where one character makes a decision not to attend the show and convinces another to go with her. We suddenly abandon everyone else and I felt short-changed. "There is more to life than the show" is something my mother would have said when I was 15. To women in their 30's, like the characters, that lesson has already been learned and rejected, and their sudden embrace of it seemed unconvincing.

Of course, so many things were just right on: everyone dressing alike, or at least within an accepted dress code; the shorthand that everyone speaks in - Warnock nailed it, while keeping it accessible to the audience; the little details, like numbering everyone's hand with a sharpie to keep the line in order. There is so much here that could be ridiculed or glorified, but since it was written by an insider, I was hoping for a little more truth. And since this was, ultimately, my story, I held it to a higher standard and expected more.

my pal joel on marah in LA

My dear friend, the sublimely talented (and girls, he's single) Joel R. Graves went to see Marah the other night in LA. (It's the last paragraph.)

Excerpt:
I went to see Marah (from Philly,... oh Philly) the other night. They really made me smile. It was so great to see a New Enlgand band that was just up there to fucking RAWK. They were loving being on stage, they were rawking without any self-conscious baggage bullshit, and they looked like they would take a rusty-blade stab wound for one-another. Fuckin' A. It reminded me about everything I love about music and it reminded me how fucking fun it is to rawk.

Check out his band while you're on his Myspace page.

P.S. He also owns a very cool recording studio. And as he will tell you, it is partially my fault that he does.