Even I am not immune to the year-end listing process. Here’s my list of favorite/best shows of 2011. It’s so skewed as to representative of nothing except my particular universe – but it’s not like I’m pretending that 2012 isn’t going to be a laundry list of Springsteen and Afghan Whigs shows.

1. Twilight Singers, San Francisco
2. Wild Flag, Bell House
3. U2, Montreal night 1
4. Big Audio Dynamite, Roseland
5. Horrible Crowes, Bowery Ballroom
6. Twilight Singers, Webster Hall
7. Gaslight Anthem, Asbury Park Convention Hall [I feel the need to footnote this show by pointing out that it was amazing before Bruce showed up.]
8. U2, Giants Stadium
9. Bryan Ferry, Beacon Theater
10. Patti Smith & Lenny Kaye, St. Mark’s Church

If you liked my best shows of 2011 you may be interested in my novel, "B-sides and Broken Hearts": http://www.bsidesandbrokenhearts.com/

Tonight, Gorman Bechard’s Color Me Obsessed finally made it to New York City, and #1 Mats Fan Jesse Malin organized a homecoming party worthy of the movie, the band, and the fans. Highlights included Patrick Stickles from Titus Andronicus absolutely nailing “Sixteen Blue,” Kevn Kinney’s lovely “Here Comes A Regular,” Tommy Ramone (who, you may remember, produced Tim) singing “If Only You Were Lonely,” – the list goes on, and on, and on, but was capped off (in my opinion) by the video above, Craig Finn and Tad Kubler doing “Within Your Reach.” (I apologize for not continuing into “Color Me Impressed,” which was the next number and was mindblowing, but there was no way I could have kept the camera steady the whole song.)

There were some numbers that were slightly questionable–Robert Gordon wanted to do well with “I Will Dare” but, regrettably, did not, and no matter how many times he jumped around, Willie Nile did not convince me that he had ever heard “Can’t Hardly Wait” until last night. On the other hand, several musicians I was completely unfamiliar with delivered incredibly, highly convincing performances of deep catalog cuts: Bree Sharp conquered “Unsatisfied” with aplomb, Dave Hause brought much needed energy to spot-on versions of “Anywhere Is Better Than Here” and “I.O.U.,” and Alex Levy covered “Portland,” even. Matthew Ryan pointed out he was singing along to a lyric book because he had previously made up his own stories to the songs and Todd Youth wanted him to get it right. Jesse Malin gave us a joyous “Alex Chilton,” and D-Generation bandmate Danny Sage’s “Answering Machine” (prefaced by a great Bob Stinson story) hit the perfect emotional notes. And I need to give props to a backing band, led by Todd Youth, who were crisp and sharp and professional, with just the right degree of raucousness. For a Replacements fan, it was a tremendous event.

There is something about standing in a room surrounded by people singing along as loud as possible to songs that you love, especially when it’s not something you get a chance to do any more. I am always appalled when Jesse Malin covers “Bastards of Young” because no one knows the song and worse, no one cares to know the song. There was an incident at a Justin Townes Earle show where I was openly mocked for singing along to “Can’t Hardly Wait” despite Earle’s encouragement. Even when Marah would cover the same (sometimes with the horns, even!) there would be disgruntlement around me. So it was good to be surrounded by kindred spirits for the first time in a very long time.

Having spent 20 years of my life carrying the torch for the Replacements, it’s been a crazy couple of years for me. I finally made it out to Minneapolis, had a drink at the CC Club, sat on Bob’s Bench and paid my respects, went to a show at the Seventh Street Entry and sat there singing along to Replacements songs. Like, these were not just things I did to tick them off a list, they were as real and as vital to me as visiting Abbey Road, Cap Rock, 315 Bowery, or the corner of 7th & Main in downtown Los Angeles – the list goes on (and hopefully you get the idea). Standing on the Bowery again singing along at the top of my lungs to my old musical compadres, just up the road from a place I saw the same songs performed a long time ago, was sad and sweet and satisfying. I just felt lucky, lucky to have the memories and to have seen the band and been there when so much of what people miss and long for and wish they were there for happened.

Jesse Malin and the Todd Youth All Stars doing “Alex Chilton”

Encore with everyone, “Bastards of Young”. Watch Patrick Stickles walk around filming everything.

If you liked Welcome to Mats City: the NYC “Color Me Obsessed” afterparty you may be interested in my novel, "B-sides and Broken Hearts": http://www.bsidesandbrokenhearts.com/

THIS IS NOT A BAD THING.

Up close, pressed against the stage on Saturday night, Wild Flag were once again awe-inducing. They are amazingly tight for a band that has just barely been together. What seems to be my problem with the album, that there isn’t enough room for it to breathe, is an asset live. There is little chatter, the occasional “how are you all doing” seems more like an afterthought, not in a bad way, but because they are so immersed in each other and what they are doing. They careen from song into song. Everybody plays. Everybody sings. Everybody dances. Mary Timony raises her guitar in the air and above her head and into the amps, generating feedback. Janet Weiss remains one of my favorite drummers ever to watch, I could pick her style out blindfolded. Rebecca bounces behind the massive keyboard. And Carrie Brownstein, is a guitar hero more than ever. More than ever, she is mixing Patti with Pete and watching her windmill over her SG was one of those OH MY GOD moments. There were girls over my left shoulder dancing and screaming and waving their arms in the air every time she kicked a leg out.

If there was a negative, it was that there aren’t enough songs yet, even extending some of the interludes on the songs from the album doesn’t quite do it for me. I want more. I need more. It felt like we were just getting started when they walked off the stage and came back on again, three sharp chords in a row and I high-five a friend as they zoom into “See No Evil,” right, fitting and proper, although far more physical than Television ever would have been, it was just right.

If you liked Wild Flag, the Bell House, 10-15-11 you may be interested in my novel, "B-sides and Broken Hearts": http://www.bsidesandbrokenhearts.com/

This was only my second time seeing Bryan Ferry, believe it or not (and I can’t find any documented record of the first time I saw him, more on this later). I bought this ticket without knowing anything about the tour or having heard his new solo album, or even knowing if it was good (it is), but more because at this point I start to worry about ever seeing certain artists. It was an indulgence, and I was prepared to be a little bit of a tourist or an outsider at this show in exchange for being able to see Bryan Ferry on stage and hear him sing live.

I needn’t have worried. The show was way more accessible than I anticipated; when I leave the show thinking, “Gosh, it would’ve been nice to have seen ‘Virginia Plain’,” you certainly weren’t hurting for a solid coverage of hits. I didn’t know about, but wasn’t surprised at, the production values, from the 7-piece band (including Andy Newmark on drums and Chris Spedding on guitar), the 4 backup singers, and two occasional dancers, to the elaborate visuals used as backdrops. While this was a thoroughly adult show, I was glad to see enough weirdness in the first ten rows to make me feel like this wasn’t totally adult AOR land.

I just wanted to spend 90 minutes watching Bryan Ferry live and in person, so the combination of all of the above was like one gigantic, lush treat. I had an amazing seat in the 7th row, the sound was flawless, and the performance was fantastic. And the man in person did not disappoint. Superficially, no one wears a suit like Bryan Ferry, even if it didn’t have gold lame on the lapels and he wasn’t wearing eyeliner, like in those first photos of Roxy Music I ever saw that drew me in initially. He was always some kind of punk rock James Bond for me, playing baccarat in the South of France while listening to the Stooges, or something like that.

Ferry’s instrument didn’t seem aged or weak or flawed, and the selection of songs, again, was completely satisfactory, ranging from Roxy favorites to solo hits: “Kiss and Tell,” “Avalon,” and “Casanova.” There were three Dylan covers, and I had forgotten about the “Watchtower” cover (although it owes more to Neil’s version than Bob’s). Ferry was animated and engaged and appeared to be having a great time with the other musicians onstage. I would have liked a stronger horn section, but, you know, not everyone is Andy Mackay. I would have wished for more songs from the new record, but I always wish for more songs from the new record no matter who I am seeing.

The clincher for me was the closing number, which has, apparently, been his trademark closing number for years: “Jealous Guy”. I had forgotten about the song, almost, and when the opening notes came out of the PA it was one of those moments of recollection and memory, just a tumult of emotion where I was almost snapped back in time to 1981, when that song was on WNEW constantly, when I lived within blocks of the Dakota. Time stood still for a few moments, especially as he stepped to the mic to whistle the bridge. It was surprisingly moving. The encore was yet another cover, “Hold On, I’m Coming,” which of course was carried off deftly and with aplomb.

I was glad I went, I was glad I finally got to see him now, I am thrilled he is still so vital and vibrant and the show is so worthwhile.

===
Addendum: I am positive that I saw Bryan Ferry at a benefit concert at the Ritz in 1987 or thereabouts, with Johnny Marr on guitar. I cannot find documentation of this anywhere, and it’s possible that one or the other was there, but not both. I found a listing for a SNL performance the two did in December of 87 and that seems like the right timing, I was worried about getting home from a rally in DC the day of the show and literally had to run from Port Authority down to the Ritz and didn’t get to change. All the dates match up but I can’t find a listing anywhere that confirms my memory (or fantasy, as the case may be).

If you liked Bryan Ferry, Beacon Theater, 10/6/11 you may be interested in my novel, "B-sides and Broken Hearts": http://www.bsidesandbrokenhearts.com/

The emotional continuum of Blackberry Belle is a tough one for me. It’s a record that got me through an agonizing, lengthy breakup that I just could not get free of. I didn’t need to listen to music that was positive or uplifting, I wanted to hear the audible representation of how I felt inside and dig out of it that way. It’s kind of like the Whigs’ version of of “Come See About Me” – the way the Supremes sing it, it’s a cheery little ditty that’s hiding the main character’s true feelings. But when the Whigs did it? They turned it into a howling, dark, dissonant beast of a song that made you feel like you’d never heard it before. It owed as much to Husker Du as it did to Holland-Dozier-Holland – but make no mistake, it very much had a foot equally planted in both camps. Which is, of course, how I fell in love with the Afghan Whigs in the first place, and Dulli still does this shit. I mean, “Teenage Wristband”? Nevermind the direct Baba O’Riley reference (which is always guaranteed to get my fucking attention), he writes classic, anthemic arena rock music behind a tale of desperation and madness: “you wanna go for a ride/i got 16 hours to burn/and i’m gonna stay up all night”: that can be a statement of purpose, of despair, or triumph. I still listen to that album – it hasn’t left my iPod since it came out – and it doesn’t do the same thing that it did the first time I heard it but it still does something, each and every time. It’s been almost 10 years since Blackberry Belle came out and it’s been almost 20 years since I first saw Greg Dulli onstage for the first time. There aren’t that many other artists who are still working and playing on a regular basis that I have that kind of enduring relationship with. This explains why I got on a plane for San Francisco, no questions asked.

The Great American Music Hall, an ornate jewelbox of a venue built in 1907, was a suitable, intimate setting for this performance- and let’s get this straight, it was a performance, not just a show or a gig or any kind of standard rock show, but yet, it was a loud and raucous and frenetic evening from start to finish. I’ve always taken Blackberry Belle as a song cycle, as the representation of a specific period of time, I could blaspheme here and invoke Born To Run but where that started in the morning and ended in the evening, Blackberry Belle started at twilight and ended back at twilight. On Saturday, they tried their hardest to keep the momentum going and allow the audience to experience the album as a whole, from start to finish with as few distractions as possible. It was absolutely magnificent. They paused as briefly as possible, and there was little to no chatter between numbers (and if you’ve ever seen Greg Dulli live before, you realize what an accomplishment this is.)

The exceptions were an invocation of “Esta Noche!” prior to that song, uttered with an exultant tone that sounded to me like it was missing a “motherfuckers!” right behind it, and prior to the performance of “Feathers,” Dulli noting that this is what most of us travelled to the show to see, given that it had never been performed before – not that that stopped the crowd from singing along to it as loudly as they had every track that had preceded it. I hate the off tune dude singing in my ear behind me as much as you do, but when the band is loud enough that you can’t hear them except as another layer of sound in the background, it’s just adding to the performance, it’s fueling the performers, it’s sending the love and the energy back.

Sorry to get all hippie on you, but this was a profession of love between the band and the audience. These were people who had travelled, these were people who were here not just because it was another Dulli show or another Twilight Singers show or because maybe he’ll play “Debonair,” this was a destination show in the town that invented the destination concert. (When I walked into Slim’s Friday night and they were showing “The Last Waltz” before the band came on, I took it as an omen.) And it wasn’t just an event for the fans, it was an event for the band: scheduling it on a Saturday wasn’t an accident, giving us plenty of notice wasn’t an accident, and practicing all week before the gig as well as the day before and the day of wasn’t an accident, either. Greg tipped his hand there with the comment before “Feathers”. I felt that this was right and proper and respectful of everything and everyone involved.

I ended up front and center, not by design, but by situation: I got to the venue when I did because the hotel was playing fucking Billy Joel at a party in the courtyard and I couldn’t take it for one second longer, so I walked up to the venue and got on the line and they opened the door and I walked in and that was the space that was there. This meant I had Dulli’s amp pointed at me all night, and being on the receiving end of the scratchiest, funkiest, most soulful guitar I have ever heard him play was about as raw and overwhelming as you might think it would be. I had to put the earplugs in for the second set not just to save my hearing but just to emotionally be able to handle the physical impact of that sound hitting me in the center of the chest all night long. He was playing that big black Gretsch he’s been favoring for the last couple of years, different than the Telecaster he used to sling with the Whigs, and it and it would be overwhelming on someone else, it’s a perfect foil for Dulli. “Decatur Street” was an especial highlight of this moment; on record it’s smoother, more laid back, but in San Francisco it was like he was a member of the fucking Bar-Kays or something. I mean, it’s there in the song, it was always there, buried in the background, but Saturday night it was along the top, wide open, big and loud. By the time Mark Lanegan – in a suit, no less! – had joined the band for the final track, “Number Nine,” and Petra Haden had carried the band off the stage with her magnificent voice wailing up into the lights, you were ready for a drink, a cigarette, or both: even if you didn’t drink and didn’t smoke, you suddenly wanted to. It was very post-coital at that moment. It was hard to imagine that they were going to walk back out onstage and do it again.

But the roadie scurrying out to place fresh setlists was the reminder that we weren’t done, not by a long shot. There was another full set, with two encores, still to come. In this case, it would be easy, very easy, for Dulli to fall back on a set of favorites or classics or drag out a Whigs medley, but the second set was a judicious mix from the Twilight catalog, both new and old, with plenty of songs from the last album in the mix, and a Lanegan solo number to boot. And I’ll give the props to the audience who — as always, at least from my experience — cheered the new songs as loudly as they did the old ones. I love watching the songs transform, from the first round of shows on the tour to the next tour to the one after that, how they grow and morph and transform and become bigger or sleeker or something else completely different than what they were originally conceived on record.

The highlights there, for me personally, had to be an extended “Never Seen No Devil,” an ecstatic “Candy Cane Crawl,” and the mind-blowing “Too Tough To Die.” The latter, especially, becomes this ever-changing vehicle for Dulli, as he finds thematically suitable songs to bring into the midpoint of the song – “Breakdown” by Tom Petty a recent personal favorite – except that tonight was “Something Hot” by the Whigs (selected as a birthday dedication to a fan in front), and it became one of those hold your breath moments, as Dulli sang the interlude acapella, off-mic, with the crowd keeping their I LOVE YOU GREG DULLI to themselves long enough to actually let him do it, that moment without electricity and amplification, the ones who were singing sang in quiet hushed tones so they could also hear… and then he circles back into the song which is classic rollicking New Orleans romp, a song originally delivered by a woman, which of course he flips around and (to my mind) is always singing it from both sides – okay this isn’t about San Francisco, which is the point of this, the point of this is how the performances Saturday night were probably the strongest or best performances of those songs you could ever hope to hear – everything you loved about them live was solidified and crystallized and cranked up as high and as strong as he and the rest of the band could make it.

The guests, the aforementioned Mr. Lanegan, Dave Catching on guitar, and Petra Haden taking the place of Apollonia (probably the thing that bummed me out the most was that cancellation, because after all these years I dearly wanted to watch Dulli channel his inner Prince Rogers Nelson for a couple of songs there), were all on their best game, as was every single member of the Twilight SIngers ensemble. They all wore smiles almost as big as the audience for the entire night, and they played as hard as you’ve ever seen them. I truly admire and appreciate every single musician on that stage every time I get to see them play, and Saturday was absolutely no exception to that rule.

And then, for the last song of the night, Dulli announcing it as “the song you can’t play anything else after it,” the amazing Dave Catching is brought on to compliment the barrage of guitar noise as they stomp like giants through Young Neil’s “Hey Hey, My My,” full on 1978 Crazy Horse mode, channeling Rust Never Sleeps and the Cow Palace and Big Black and as loud and crunchy and thudding and colossal as you can possibly imagine it, and, yes, being the song that nothing could be played after. It was affirmation, it was statement of purpose and if I want to read too much into it, it was a statement of things that wouldn’t be happening to Dulli and this band, and it was just plain big rock and roll fun, which was the best way to send us out the door, into a clear, starry and moon-filled San Francisco night.

Second set:
Last Night In Town
That’s Just How That Bird Sings
Bonnie Brae
God’s Children
Live With Me
Boogie Boogie
Gunshots
Too Tough To Die
She Was Stolen
Candy Cane Crawl
Never Seen No Devil
On The Corner
–
Love
Annie Mae
Cigarettes
–
Hey Hey, My My

If you liked The Twilight Singers perform Blackberry Belle: Great American Music Hall, San Francisco, CA; 9/17/11 you may be interested in my novel, "B-sides and Broken Hearts": http://www.bsidesandbrokenhearts.com/

But that was a while ago, and I am now the person who buys the poster from the Radio City show because it was the first Radio City show, and who blocks an hour in her calendar to run down to the Mercury Lounge at lunchtime to make sure I will get tickets to the first ever Horrible Crowes concert, at the Bowery Ballroom September 9.

It is easy to write off some of the songs as sounding just like Gaslight Anthem, and the same pop sensibility and melodic habit is there, for sure, but I’m not sure that’s a bad thing. The name “Greg Dulli” was invoked a few times when Fallon was talking about this record, and I hear that, too, the attempt to make the focus darker and less brightly inspirational. You will – and we did – sing along on plenty of choruses, but you sing along to the chorus of “Milez Is Ded,” too.

The Bowery Ballroom show on Thursday night was a breathtaking, buoyant affair. Despite this not being a permanent ensemble, the band was rehearsed within an inch of its life, or did a remarkable job of appearing to be thoroughly rehearsed. (Then again, while waiting on line to get into the venue, I eavesdropped on a soundcheck that was so solid I started to wonder if the band was doing some kind of press showcase.) Fallon, wearing a snazzy new suit, was proud and buoyant and a tad apprehensive, it seemed, as the band ran through a set consisting of the 12 songs from the album and 2 covers. He needn’t have been, because the crowd of mostly young Gaslight enthusiasts sang every word back at the band, with genuine enjoyment and appreciation. They were there because of him, to be sure, but this wasn’t de facto hero worship; they were articulate and clear about why they liked this project and these songs.

The set’s highlight, for me, was the trio of songs at the end of the set, the crescendo of “Mary Ann,” “Black Betty and the Loss” and “Blood Loss,” and ending the set with “I Believe Jesus Brought Us Together,” a masterful four song segue which was bookended by two covers (more on that in a bit). Fallon channelled all of his heroes, the Tom Waits rasp, the Springsteen soul shout, the Dulli growl, with the band behind him every step of the way.

I was sad that I heard most of the soundcheck because the covers weren’t a surprise. Fallon is the modern king of covers, at least for my money – listen to their version of “State of Love and Trust” or “Straight to Hell” some time – so I was looking forward to some carefully curated choices. He didn’t disappoint, with versions of “Teenage Dream” (yes, that “Teenage Dream,” Fallon talking about being the guy hiding in the bushes outside your bedroom window, turning the song into far more than a disposable pop anthem) and a mindblowing cover INXS’ “Never Tear Us Apart” as the final encore.

I don’t mean to sound like their mom, but the Gaslight Anthem kids are fucking awesome. They take their fandom seriously, studiously, in an almost old-school manner – talking about how they had to buy two copies of the record so they could put one away, discussing the pros and cons of investing in a turntable (if you weren’t lucky enough to have a parent or other relative who had one to give you), and generously sharing tips on where to find this rare track or that early recording. There was the kid who came up from Baltimore without a ticket – “I know it’s New York City, but how hard could it be?” – the kid who wore a black shirt and white bow tie because Fallon told people to dress up, the girls from the Netherlands who extended their vacation by two days so they could stay for the show, , the father and son who knew where you could find just about any Brian Fallon-related rarity. It was the closest I have been to sitting on the sidewalk in front of CBGB’s and exchanging phone numbers and copies of my tape list than I have been in 20 some years.

At the end of the show, everyone around us traded handshakes and hugs and email addresses, while I was drawing a map for the kid from Baltimore so he could find the Joe Strummer mural on the side of Niagra and the corner of Joey Ramone Place. Rock and roll can use more of that, any day.

If you liked The Horrible Crowes, Bowery Ballroom, 9/8/11 you may be interested in my novel, "B-sides and Broken Hearts": http://www.bsidesandbrokenhearts.com/

I could, and should, someday write a long treatise about hauling myself from Tel Aviv to London (en route to the US for my sister’s wedding) in August of 1993 to see U2 at Wembley Stadium on the Zooropa tour, and how it altered the course of my life completely. That time is not now, but it would go a long way in explaining why I would spend 4 days hauling myself up to Montreal to see U2 play a show in the middle of a race track along with 79,999 other people, why I would get up at 6:30 on my day off and go sit on said racetrack for 8 hours, waiting on line, to then sprint down the racetrack in the heat and then hug a metal barrier for the next five hours until the band comes onstage… and I get a shot like the one above.

That shot is one I almost didn’t get, because I was so full of the moment, so conscious of the fact that all I wanted to do was just stand there and watch them. In my life these days, just standing and watching is a revolutionary act, when everyone around me is photographing and recording video and Tweeting and texting and Facebooking. There were so many of these moments, the reason that I sat and ran and stood and spent close to $30 CAD on plain old water (it was very hot), to stand feet away and watch Bono and Edge sing to each other. You can try as hard as you want to to convince me that it’s fake, that it’s an act, that it’s Bono and the Edge playing the characters of Bono and the Edge, and I will tell you that yes, you are right, but you are wrong, because I think the only way U2 could keep going is if there still wasn’t some kind of human connection they can only get from each other.

Of course, the other thing that will get me to withstand adversity is the presence of Achtung Baby dominating the set, that tremendous opening with “Even Better Than The Real Thing” and “The Fly” and “Until The End of the World”. The crowd around us had their cameras up in the air during the “Space Odyssey” opener, tiny blue screens glowing as far as the eye could see, and then once everyone had a photo of Bono, they went back to doing what they were doing, oblivious to what was transpiring musically around them. I will invoke 1993 again, I will tell you that “Even Better Than The Real Thing” would be my walk on music if I was a Major League Baseball player, by the time the band moved through the first four songs (“I Will Follow” on Friday, “Out Of Control” on Saturday coming in after that trio) I was ready for a cigarette break, if I still smoked. Instead, I drank water during “Boots” while everyone around me got excited.

I am disappointed that so much of the last album is now missing from the set, that in order to do things like play “Stay” or “All I Want Is You” with just Bono and Edge and an acoustic guitar in front of 80,000 people, they have to bookend it with “Beautiful Day,” that the only way they can get away with “Zooropa” (which was absolutely, utterly phenomenal) is to put down the honeycomb video screen and follow it with the fireworks of “City of Blinding Lights”. I will tell you that I think the set has lost cohesion and thematic arc with the removal of new songs like “Magnificent,” that the pairings of (say) “Elevation” into “Pride” or “I’ll Go Crazy If I Don’t Go Crazy Tonight” into “Sunday Bloody Sunday” are trainwrecks (even if “Crazy Tonight” is wonderful and delightful and the kind of reworking I wish they would do more of), that the older songs feel like they are jimmied into the setlist with the subtlety of a crowbar.

There is no other reason that this is happening now, at the end of a tour, except that subtlety is hard work in an enormous space, and it’s the tradeoff for playing these enormous places, which they have to do in order for the people who just want to say they were there and scream at Bono and spend lengthy parts of the show getting their picture taken with the claw in the background. These are the people I have to share this band with, which is why I don’t have a show total for U2 like I probably should have. (It was bad enough having to share Bruce with everyone during the BITUSA stadium era, which I successfully avoided.) There is only so much of the casual show going that I can take. In Canada, amazingly, we stood halfway back on the field for night two and no one talked through every slow or unfamiliar song, which still went on when we were in the inner circle night one, most notably by the people wearing hospitality room passes who showed up just before the band walked out onstage. (I still do not understand this mindset of going to a concert and talking through it, especially if you like the band who are onstage, no matter how hard I try.)

But the tourists and the thematic dissonance doesn’t ruin all of it, or much of it, it’s the thing you think about for a half second before returning to be in the moment. Part of the deal, sometimes, is that willing suspension of disbelief, your ability to throw yourself into the moment and stop analyzing and processing and just be there, be part of that moment where (to quote Bono, who was quoting Quincy Jones, before you take him to task) God walks through the room during “Where The Streets Have No Name”. It is magic, most of the time, if you are willing to let it be magical, if you can drop whatever you are hanging onto in your brain and just pogo up and down for those first 30 seconds before Bono starts to sing, to throw your arms in the air and sing along at the top of your lungs. Those are the moments I live for, those are the moments that give you hope and remind you of what rock and roll was supposed to be about. Those are the moments that U2 do like no one else does, and that is the reason I still show up, hang on, and let go.

If you liked U2, Montreal 2011 you may be interested in my novel, "B-sides and Broken Hearts": http://www.bsidesandbrokenhearts.com/

This was a wonderful evening, jam-packed with stone favorites from start to finish. Any set heavy on the Imperial Bedroom / Blood and Chocolate continuum will ring my chimes.

He did, however, perform the second-worst cover of “Purple Rain” I have ever seen.

If you liked Elvis Costello, Beacon Theater, 5-24-11 you may be interested in my novel, "B-sides and Broken Hearts": http://www.bsidesandbrokenhearts.com/

So I read twitter from the “Our Band Could Be Your Life” show, and no one fucking said, “Craig Finn came out to do the ‘This is the Minneapolis police, the party is over…’ intro for ‘Kids Don’t Follow’”. They just said “Craig Finn came out in a police uniform to introduce Titus Andronicus.” DID NO ONE THERE GET THE REFERENCE?

Someone must’ve, because they yelled “FUCK YOU” exactly on cue (in the alleged Dave Pirner part. But in Minneapolis, everyone claims to be the person yelling FUCK YOU).

This is dead fucking on. Dead fucking on. Like, I would have probably exploded had I been there.

If you liked Titus Andronicus & Craig Finn & “Kids Don’t Follow” you may be interested in my novel, "B-sides and Broken Hearts": http://www.bsidesandbrokenhearts.com/

One of the things I have always loved and appreciated about Greg Dulli is that he’s not ashamed to be a frontman. The word “showmanship” isn’t anathema to him. When he is on stage, he is ON STAGE. So on a night when he’s filming the show for what I can only assume is commercial release, he’s going to turn it all the way up, hard. I’ve seen him do this with the Afghan Whigs, I’ve seen him do it with the Twilight Singers – even on the solo tour or with Lanegan on the Gutter Twins tour, Dulli is a like a magician the way he can grab the energy, flip it around, find it if it’s hiding, beg for it if he has to, demand it if it’s not meeting his needs, cajole it out from a shy crowd.

It was clear from the minute the band walked onto the stage that their energy was off the charts. The first four songs – “Last Night In Town,” “Blackbird and the Fox,” “I’m Ready” and “Forty Dollars” felt like you were being steamrolled. The sound was perfect. The band was tight. The energy was just absolutely insane. I’ve seen a freakish amount of Dulli project shows and this has to be in my top five. I don’t mean to insult other performances, because I’ve never seen Greg phone it in, but last night was just something other.

Everyone was in a great mood. Dulli smiled the entire time – hell, everyone smiled the entire time. The band is – I would say ‘just short of perfect’ but they’re perfect for Greg. Dave Roesser is a guitar wizard, Scott Ford was reminding me of Entwistle last night with his solidness and fluidity, and Greg Wieczorec on drums is absolutely what Dulli needs. He’s an amazingly physical drummer, but incredibly focused.

There were reports that he had been covering “Main Street” (yes, Bob Seger) in Europe (and I could go into a long post about different Bob Seger songs I’d rather see him cover) but instead tonight we were graced with Tom Petty – in the middle of “Too Tough To Die,” Greg comes to the edge of the stage and off-mic, begins:

It’s all right if you love me
It’s all right if you don’t
I’m not afraid of you running away
Honey, I’ve got the feeling you won’t

There is no sense in pretending
Your eyes give you away
Something inside you is feeling like I do
We said all there is to say

Greg took it all the way into the chorus, a capella the whole time. It was one of those moments where I’m singing a song I know by heart but I cannot in that instant place what song it is. The giveaway here was that my long-suffering boyfriend, who has now seen Greg 5 times because of me, was suddenly singing every word loudly. And I’m thinking, “Seriously? He knows a Dulli song by heart?” and then in the next line I was all – “Oh, wait, Tom Petty.”

And then he came barreling back into the song, which was the uncontested highlight of the night. (Also in that running: “Candy Cane Crawl,” the best I’ve ever seen it, and “King Only” which rarely impacts me at all.) It felt like 12 people in the entire venue knew the song, which is deplorable, but not surprising, I guess: gone are the days that Greg can talk Ted Nugent and find a dozen guys who grew up listening to the same stuff he did.

Another highlight of the night was the visual backdrop, cycling through a series of photographs that whoever mans the @twilitekid account on Twitter posts every couple of days. It definitely added to the performance without becoming a distraction; the shot of Jerry Lee Lewis with his 13-year-old wife told me what the next song was before Dulli’s hands touched the keys for “The Killer”.

At the end of the night, as the final chords of “Esta Noche” rang out, Greg put down his guitar, faced the audience, and raised both arms in the air, his smile enormous and finally, relaxed. He didn’t need our applause to know he’d knocked this one out of the park this time, but he soaked in the applause for a second or two before leaving the stage, letting the band play him off.

If you liked Twilight Singers, Webster Hall, 5-13-11 you may be interested in my novel, "B-sides and Broken Hearts": http://www.bsidesandbrokenhearts.com/