The Dead and Company

The first week in November was a big one, two shows and both on school nights. And not small ones like at The Fire, but big ones. Joan and Mavis on Wednesday in New York and then The Dead and Company on Thursday at Wells Fargo in Philly. Where do I start with my love, connection and history of The Dead?   First, I have seen a lot of Dead shows in my time. A lot. A lot when I was in college and I will leave it at that since my folks are some of my biggest blog fans (you know 2 of the 12 followers I have). No need for them to realize what I was doing during the Spring of 87 when they were scraping together my tuition bill. Enough said.

I will say that in a convoluted way, The Dead led me to my public interest calling. I went to a very small and conservative liberal arts college in the 80s. I never felt I fit in politically those days. While my classmates were looking to make a lot of money, this was during the Reagan years after all; I was yearning to figure out my place in the world and searching for my community. Dead shows were my first real community I chose as an adult. And while the whole hippie thing was not going to be sustainable for me, I did realize that there was something out there larger for me. I even moved to California right after graduation so I could see more shows. Ironically, I got so busy that the first Dead show I saw after I started my “real” job was at the Spectrum when I came home to visit my folks one vacation. Additionally the Dead, without knowing it at the time, instilled my future love of bluegrass. Bottom line, the Grateful Dead are a part of me.

During the summer, there was some flirtation of going to Chicago to see their reunion tour, but just could not justify the expense. So I was excited to see they were coming to Philly in this new alliteration of the band. For those haters out there, this was not the Dead, yup, you are right; this was not a Dead show. I get it. It was a show with folks who used to be in the Grateful Dead. I am OK with that. Over the years, they were always about collaboration and trying new things, this should not be a surprise. There is no Grateful Dead without Jerry Garcia, folks yell. Also true, so that is why they were calling themselves Dead and Company, or as I was referring to them as “Dead Lite. “All of this fine, I was off to the Spectrum, I mean Wells Fargo.

My good friend AT accompanied me on a rainy Thursday. First, the parking lot. I always loved the parking lot during a show. A cast of characters selling weirder stuff you cannot find. This was no different. My initial excitement of the parking lot scene was quickly replaced with a low level depression. Also, very typical. I think some people are still touring with the Dead selling veggie burritos. Not sure what they did for those 25 years when there was no band to follow, but the cast of characters was exactly the same.

As we were waiting to go inside I saw a friend from high school who I have not seen, well, since high school. She, of course looks exactly the same. I yelled her name and her response was perfect “Sheila, we probably went to some shows together back in high school.” True and a great start. It was going to be stroll down memory lane and I was fine with that. We went in, grabbed a beer and headed to our seats.

You never actually sit on your seats at a Dead show, or I don’t. This show was no exception. We hung out in different hallways and eventually made our way from the tippy top of the arena to the floor for the last couple of songs. That is a successful seat surfing show.

Onto the music. So, here’s the thing about Dead shows. I am not really a great deadhead. There are people who could tell what song they were going to play and when from a flick of Jerry Garcia’s ear. I am not that type of Deadhead. Possibly by the chorus, I could recognize the tune, but their songs were always so different, so I would just enjoy the music and let it wash over me until I figured it out or, in some cases, not. This show was no exception.   John Mayer was pretty good and I am a little uncomfortable saying that. I just never really liked him that much, but he definitely has some mad guitar skills. Most importantly, he did not to pretend he was anything but someone sitting in and did not try to pretend he was a member of the band. The only time I really missed Jerry, which I know sounds incredibly pretentious, was during Sugar Magnolia. That was Jerry’s song and one of my favorites. I almost rather they did not play it, but no one asked me. Additionally, when you used to go to Dead Shows, you would see 2-3 in a row, so if you didn’t hear your favorite the first night there was a chance you would hear it the next night or the night after. However, one and done is tricky. I did not hear any of my favorites though I found myself humming “Candyman” for the next week. I just had never considered that one of my songs. And therein lies what I love about the Dead, the ever changing nature of their songs and the shows. Though the show and experience was a trip down memory lane, I came out with something new and fresh. This show was very different for many reasons, but ultimately it still came down to the music. And that is really cool.

20 shows to go, 209 days left…

Joan Osborne and Mavis Staples

If you recall, Joan Osborne is one of my all time favorites (June 21 “Phonics” post). My brother and his husband have been insistent that they wanted to get in on this whole 50 shows thing this year and we needed to choose a good one. When I saw that the Solid Soul Tour featuring Mavis Staples & Joan Osborne was going through New York City, but not Philly, I knew I found the perfect one. That is how I found myself on the train going north on a recent November evening. After an outstanding dinner together, including my sister, who was weirdly in New York and a drive-by by our friend Chad, we made our way over to the 92^nd Street Y for the show.

I thought maybe the venue was an old YMCA that now was a theater, but no, it was a working YMCA that also had a beautiful and intimate concert hall.  We went inside among the yoga carrying upper east siders. They get some seriously good shows and I can only dream that one day my local Y on N. Broad Street does the same.

Again, as you may recall, I see a lot of Joan Osborne. She just really speaks to me. Whether she is rocking out with her own band or singing names out of the phone book, I would go see her. From all the shows I have seen her, this was unique. First, she did not sing with her band, but was backed up by Mavis’ band, she was the opener and she was very demure. She usually dresses modern hippie, but this evening she was definitely conservatively dressed. She did not do any rocking out and there were all new interpretations of songs I had heard previously. It was absolutely beautiful. She also told more stories about the songs she chose to sing that evening, which was unusual. And, of course, her version of the Dead’s Brokedown Palace was absolutely haunting.

Mavis Staples then came out to do her set. There is a reason she is in the hall of fame, an icon and from blues royalty. While I was so glad to be there to witness her in person, I was a little worried about her health. She seemed to be out of breath more than not and had to rest during songs. As the show progressed, though her voice go stronger. And don’t get me wrong; Mavis Staples singing David Byrne’s “Stop Making Sense” was a real treat in addition to her staples (see what I did there?) of “The Weight” and “I’ll Take You There” is a real treat. And when you have Joan Osborne singing background, well, it does not get much better than that. But, this was not a show about seeing a woman in her hey day. This was a show about paying respect to the women who paved the way for the Joan Osbornes. I will happily do my part of paying respect and giving tribute to the great ones. And on that November night, I did.

21 shows to go, 210 days left…

Holly Golightly

This was a big week for me and Susan. We had shows 2 nights in a row and in between we were celebrating my parents’ 58^th (!) wedding anniversary. Friday, before our show, we had the pleasure of dining at Vetri for an absolute stellar meal. Good thing I am not blogging about food- I could not do this meal justice.

After dinner, we headed off to the Fire at 4^th and Girard for the Holly Golightly show. It was quite the switch from the finest dining in the city to the diviest bar in the city. I know there is a metaphor in there somewhere….

A couple days before, I had gotten a text from my lovely friend Karen Gross, who was asked to open for Holly. She was most pleased to learn it was already on my docket, but even happier to open for one of her heroes. So we go there in time fro Karen Gross and the Love Notes (nee love Notes). They were spectacular as usual. If you remember, the Love Notes were a super band formed by friends for another friend’s wedding. They are now branching out and I was happy to listen to originals. Total bonus to the Holly show.

In case you are not familiar with The Fire, it is a bar first, music venue second. One could describe it as intimate, charming, small or really, really tiny. It holds a max of about 25 people. And that is with everyone standing. So, though my knees buckled a little, I was kind of thrilled (ok, really thrilled) when Holly hit me with her guitar case on the way to the stage.

Holly Golightly is a British singer songwriter named after the character in Breakfast at Tiffany’s. Really. She came out swinging, singing and strumming. It was just her and her partner/ husband/ friend? playing the keyboards and they just played for about an hour. She chatted the whole time. She responded to comments (great boots), she drank whiskey, she

played her heart out. As I was listening to her, I kept thinking badass. I know that I used that word a lot in reference to Brittany Howard from Alabama Shakes. Don’t get me wrong, Brittany Howard is a badass, but there is something to be said for the musician that is still in the game and playing where she can. Sure, everyone wants to play the Mann and the big venues. But how many people play the little halls, the dives, the Fires? She has been around since 1995 and has produced 26 albums and she is playing The Fire. The Fire. That is as badass as it gets.

22 shows to go, 222 days left…

The whole ticket

Old 97’s

When I first announced this quest for the next year, friends from far and wide offered suggestions and offers to attend a show with me. It is so great to share the gift of music and a lot of these suggestions are bands that I may not necessarily see or are the favorites of the suggestee. Thursday was the both and off I went to join my friend Happi to see the Old 97’s at Union Transfer. The show was actually a birthday present from her and Christa, sadly for us Christa (not for her, she is in Italy) was away and could not join us.

We got to the show during the second opening act and somehow got talking and I almost forgot my own rule- go listen to the opening band. So, we are chatting away and I was like ”hey guys,’ do you hear that? We should head in.” Wow, was I glad we did. The Banditos were amazing. “Originally from Birmingham, AL, Banditos is a group – more like a gang, actually – of six 20-somethings, nowadays operating out of Nashville.” Fronted by a woman with five burly hipster guys rocking out (one with a boisterous banjo) behind her, she was a cross between Brittany Howard from Alabama Shakes and Janis Joplin. They ended with a version of “I put a spell on you” and they sure did. I cannot wait to see what they will do in the years to come.

You can actually see her face here, usually she was a swirl of hair.

Now, I was even more psyched for the main act. The Old 97’s, as my friend Karen perfectly put it when I asked if she wanted to join us “I have a feeling the show would be one of those how-am-I-not-listening-to-this-band-all-the-time-already.” Over the summer, before I even knew I was going to see them, I got enthralled by their song “Longer than you have been alive.” To me it was an instant classic, the likes of “Turn the Page,” by Bob Seger about being on the road touring. Except not depressing.

The crowd was age appropriate, i.e. old and my age, and they were all really psyched to see these guys. I love the anticipation of the crowd before a show starts. The band came on stage during a Gipsy Kings version of Hotel California, which was a rumba/ salsa version of the tune.   Usually when a band starts coming on stage, the background music stops. Not this time, the Old 97’s came out dancing to the song for about 30 seconds. That was a very good start and I knew I was in for a treat.

Rhett Miller definitely had a Jackson Browne vibe to him. He could have been 25 or 72 years old. I am sure there is a Dorian Gray photo somewhere in his attic.

The band came out and did not stop. I mean, did not stop. They are like the greatest bar band you would ever want to see. High energy, fun, thankful you are there and just ready to rock and roll. Audience members would yell stuff out to them and they would answer. And not in a snarky way, but more like in a “thanks for coming out, let’s chat in between songs” kind of way. I would describe them as speed alt country. I know alternative music, I know country and now I know speed alt country. They do a lot of high-energy songs, and on the surface kind of frat boy stuff, i.e. “let’s get drunk and get it on.” However, I think there is so much more to their songs, it almost seems like they are making fun of the good ole boys. I could not get Happi or Susan to agree with me on that, but, hey this is my blog so I am putting it in and now it is true. Rhett Miller also kept doing this swirly arm thing, which he made look effortless. So much so that I tried it later, not on stage, not singing, not playing an instrument and I twisted my arm immediately. For the encore, Rhett came out and played a solo and acoustic version of a song, which was hauntingly beautiful and could not have been more different than the set of rollicking music. Murry, the bassist and a crowd favorite, then also came out for a solo. There was this really sweet moment when Rhett handed Murry his guitar and stepped into the background to provide some background vocals. It was just such an intimate moment. After all of the rocking and rolling, the encores are what I most enjoyed. “Rock and roll’s been good to them (and me) so far,” for sure.

23 shows to go, 223 days left…

The Festy Experience

With my long relationship with music, it may be surprising that I have not been going to music festivals my whole life.  I only got into the whole thing after my oldest, in terms of knowing her not her age, friend Susan’s wedding in 1991.  And it was a throwaway invitation.  After a wonderful, bonding type wedding weekend, one of my new best friends casually mentioned over his shoulder as he was driving away, “hey Sheila, you should come to Winterhawk with us.  I think you would like it.”  Boom, I did not need much more.    Note: do not invite me to something if you don’t want me there.  Seriously. I will show up.  Really.  I mean, I once attended a wedding I was invited to the day before.  You have been warned.

Our group then spent the next 25 years, off and on, heading to the Berkshire Mountains the third weekend in July for a weekend of camping, cooking, laughing, and most importantly, hours and hours of bluegrass music at the Greyfox Bluegrass Festival (nee Winterhawk).  It was there when I first saw Allison Krause at a mere 17 years old, Chris Thile at 16, learned how to air yodel and the difference between a mandolin and a banjo.  I sent back Kazakh vodka the year I lived abroad and kissed the campground when I returned the following year.  We slowly went from the young kids who stayed up all night long and got shushed by the old timers we made fun of to becoming the old timers and shushing the young’uns.  Sadly, we have not gone in the last few years as it started to feel more like an endurance test than a fun weekend.  This is a long way to say I was totally psyched to be invited to join friends for a bluegrass festival that was a 15 minute walk from their home.  I bought my ticket before they could change their minds.

I showed up at Jennie and Scott’s beautiful vacation-but-they-live-in-full-time home on the Thursday before Columbus Day weekend for the Festy Experience.  The Festy Experience is in its 6^th year and held annually at Devil’s Backbone Brewery (DB) in Nelson County, Virginia.  Nelson County is known for having more breweries than stoplights. There are 45 miles of the Appalachian Trail in the county all nestled within the Blue Ridge Parkway. DB is one of the fastest growing breweries in the country that not only has some tasty beer, but incredibly smart management, because they hired my friends away from me, I mean Philly, no, I mean me.  Jenny and Scott’s whole set-up is pretty sweet, if you know, you enjoy beautiful scenery, ideal weather, gorgeous mountain ranges, easy to hard hiking trails, access to national state parks, an excellent Saturday farmer’s market and nice people.  You know, only if you are into those type of things.

We headed down to the festival Friday afternoon to check out the set-up and have a plan in place for the weekend.  It is hosted by the Infamous Stringdusters and they are in a full blown set by the time we got there.  These guys are good.  Fun, hip, tight, tight band with a bit of new grass but with lots of respect to old school Del McCoury/ Bill Monroe bluegrass as well.  I immediately started wiggling (someone’s recent, and sadly accurate, description of my dancing at times) and took a deep bluegrass breath.  After missing a couple years of Winterhawk, I was glad to be home.

On Friday night, we seemed to only catch the Stringdusters, so we saw a couple sets of them. Not true, we did go over to the smaller stage and caught a Pennsylvania bluegrass band. During the first song, Jen and I turned to each other and simultaneously said “these guys are bad.” Now, if you can guess anything from me, it is an unusual day when I don’t like a band, let alone think a band is bad. I mean, I am seeing 50 bands this year.   Cripes, I love music. I am not a music critic, I am music fan. So, I do not say a band is bad lightly, if ever. These guys were bad. We left that stage and headed back to catch another Stringdusters set. This one from backstage. Yup, for the first time in my life I had an all access pass and I was not letting go.

   It was exactly how I imagined back stage, musicians wandering around, clean porta potties, food trucks and beer, not free, mind you, but for $2 a cup I was very happy.     Best of all, I was allowed just to walk up the steps and hang out on the side of the stage and watch the show from there. I was in heaven. It was from this vantage point when the Stringdusters played a sweet Grateful Dead cover of “Jack Straw.” Only one of my favorite Dead songs and there is very little I love more than a bluegrass Dead cover. I was in heaven. I am not sure my feet touched the ground on the way home.

The next morning we set out for our next day of behind the scenes listening. Unfortunately, there was no backstage at the smaller stage but we had to see the Love Canons, a 80s cover bluegrass band. They were fun, really fun. I mean where else can you find a bunch of aging hippies singing at the top of their lungs “you have to fight for your right to party.” As it turns out, I just don’t love a Dead bluegrass cover, I love any bluegrass cover. I am not sure how else to explain that I dug the whole set of songs that I would never describes as loving, including Sledgehammer, Centerfold, Danger Zone and Maniac. Though I think they could have used even more banjo, they were the most fun band I saw during the weekend and my festival find. We then headed back to the main stage for Lyle Lovett and John Hiatt, the headliners.

As were back stage getting ready, I see a very familiar head of hair. Before I even knew what I was doing, I was sprinting across the space yelling “Mr. Lovett, Mr. Lovett.”   And then we chatted. Yup, I chatted with Lyle Lovett and have the picture to prove it. He then needed to get ready for his set so headed back into his bus. Interestingly enough, right after that encounter, the roadies put up police caution tape around his and Sam Bush’s buses. I am not saying that our chat and that action was connected, but the timing was definitely curious.We headed out front and listened to a beautiful and intimate set. Clearly friends who admired each other, John and John traded songs and stories as the sun set over the Blue Ridge Mountains. While there is always a new music find at each festival, there is always a “moment” too. The culmination of the music, your friends, the comraderie of the crowd, the accumulated dirt, the scenery, etc. All of this leads to your festival moment. And, this was mine.

As we reflected the next day, Jen and I came to the conclusion that it is much different camping at a bluegrass festival than attending one on a daily basis. The music was good, but not enough. I was too clean. I got a good night’s sleep each day and I took real showers. Bluegrass is not just a type of music, it is a lifestyle and it hard to truly incorporate as a day tripper. I also realized that I am not quite done with Greyfox, endurance test be damned. (Chawbacon, see you on the hill 2016!)

25 shows to go, 235 days left…

24 shows to go, 234 days left…

Dear Joni. An Evening Celebrating Joni Mitchell.

I am not sure I am all that unique in my love of Joni Mitchell. I think it was pretty typical, if not inevitable, that I discovered Joni and her poetry during epic late nights with friends discussing life and love over cigarettes and wine in the 80s. However, most have probably grown out of it. Me, not so much. I stubbornly stick to my love of Joni.

I have only see Joni twice in concert and both shows were in the same week. I am so grateful that I did get to see her that Tuesday and Friday the week of my 35^th birthday. Both shows were epic for a variety of reasons, one being that she was backed by a 70 piece symphony. So, I was very excited, bordering on inappropriate, when my good friend Patty McMahon, told me she was producing “Dear Joni- An Evening Celebrating the Music of Joni Mitchell.”

There are a couple of things you need to know about my friend Patty. One, she has an absolutely awesome voice. Two, I think I am more confident in her awesome voice than she is. And three, her love of Joni rivals mine.  I knew that if she was doing this- it would be good and there was no chance it would be a disservice to our gal, Joni. I have always secretly hoped that she was going to do something like this where I could spend a whole evening listening to her sing. And, on an unusually cool night for October, I got my wish and made my way to Fergie’s Pub for a warm night of Joni.

I was enthralled from the first note to the last sing along verse of the Circle Game. I would go as far as to say I was downright giddy throughout the evening. In addition to Patty, she put together this wonderful assortment of people to sing and play. And I was so happy to learn that my friends Karen and Dan were a part of the evening. At our friends’ wedding last year, there was a super group of musician friends who came together, the Love Notes, to perform for the happy couple. Almost as rare as a Joni concert, the Love Notes were reunited (except for one) for this show.

Karen Gross and Dan Creskoff, 2 of the 4 Love Notes.

As the evening wore on and different musicians played their interpretations of Joni songs, I realized that I was not alone in my stubborn loyalty to this musician. Love for Joni stretches far and wide and spans years. It was nice to be part of this new Joni community for an evening.   As I listened to the music, learned some new Joni anecdotes that Patty turned me onto, I thought of my own “Joni” moments. While some were cringe worthy, some were also hopeful, which seemed like a perfect allegory for Joni’s music.

Thank you, Joni Mitchell, and thank you, Patty McMahon, thank you.

26 shows to go, 240 days left…

ANDY: A Popera

It took me a while to like opera.  Growing up, there was a lot of classical music playing in our home.  I remember my first, and one of my all-time favorite, dates when I was very young and my Dad took me the orchestra on a Saturday night.  We had a very fancy dinner at H.A. Winston (corner of 15^th and Locust) and then enjoyed the orchestra.  You never forget your first time in the Academy of Music and, to this day, I am still in awe of that majestic concert hall every time I am fortunate enough to see a show there.  I even took a classical music class my first semester in college, as all good liberal arts majors are required to do, but even after going to see La Boheme at The Met in New York, I still was not enamored.  Until the movie “Philadelphia.”  Mara Callas’ La Momma Morta may be the most beautifully haunting song I have ever heard.  And I finally understood how one could be moved by a song in a language that you did not speak.  I cannot articulate how that works, but I now know.  And that is how I came to enjoy and appreciate opera and welcome it to my repertoire of music.

The usual photo, you know, with a Andy Warhol tomato soup can costume.

When I saw that the Opera Philadelphia and the Bearded Ladies Cabaret were collaborating for an opera, Andy: A Popera,  about Andy Warhol during the fringe festival, I was…well, if you have been paying even the little bit of attention to these blog posts, you can fill in the rest of that sentence, and in many different ways.

On a September Sunday evening, Susan and I ventured to a warehouse on American Street in Kensington for the production. Immediately, I knew this not going to be my momma’s opera.  We were encouraged to wear name tags, with any name we wanted.  I chose Edie, Susan chose Lili (for Lili Taylor who starred in “I Shot Andy Warhol”) and directed to have some “punch.”   We had time to take a selfie in a giant tomato soup can and then we were ushered into the warehouse next door.

The general first act of the opera was Andy Warhol trying to figure out how to fit best into America.  He decided to do so by replicating himself and then we have a bunch of Andys all around him/us, a bunch of Marilyn Monroes, Edie, Valerie and Joe also joined him/us.  It is one big chaotic party that ends the first act.  Oh, after Valerie shoots the first Andy, that is.

We walked by Andy, after going through the giant vagina of course, to get back to our seats after intermission.

We come to the second act through a different entrance (I also had to walk through a giant vagina) and pass Andy’s hospital bed where he is half alive, half dead surround by his other Andys.

It is now Valerie’s opera who goes on, just a tad long, about how Andy has appropriated everyone’s own uniqueness in the name of art.

The death scene was truly operatic- drawn out, over top and breathtaking.

Then Candy mounts her own, quite breathtaking, death scene that immortalizes her forever.  Valerie is jettisoned and Andy is back.  Scene.  Throughout the whole opera, the cast is continually coming into the audience, encouraging selfies, turning the video camera on the audience, etc.  I felt like I was a part of the production and I did absolutely nothing.

It was pretty extraordinary and I kept thinking back to it during the week.  I just could not come to any conclusion as to what is art and what is opera.  And, I am pretty sure that was the intention all along.

27 shows to go, 253 days left…

Ride

One of the things I love about this year of 50 shows is that my friends are so generous in sharing their music and concert experiences with me. In keeping with that spirit, I believe that it is my duty, obligation and responsibility to say yes when asked. And, I have yet to be disappointed.

Last night, my good friend Michael invited me to join him and others to see Ride at the TLA. Michael has this group of, besides being some of the greatest guys I know, friends who see a lot of music that I have literally never heard of. Bands, that at times, I think they are making up just to mess with me. Ride was no exception.

I love the TLA. This intimate (capacity around 800), but mighty club, on South Street was one of the first clubs I went to see live music when I moved back to Philly in the early 90s. It just feels rock and roll. At least, that is my positive spin on a club where the bathrooms have never been updated, the floor is always, I mean always, sticky and you can barely see in front of you it is so dark. And that is when the lights are on. That being said, I rarely turn down an invite to see a show there.

I did not do any research before the show except to ask people if they had heard of Ride. The most common response as “yea, they still playing?” Then, “they are shoe gazers.” According to Wikipedia- “shoegazing (also known as shoegaze) is a subgenre of alternative rock that emerged from the United Kingdom in the late 1980s and reached peak popularity in the early 1990s. The term “shoegazing” was initially devised by the British music press as a gibe meant to ridicule the stage presence of groups of the period, who stood still during live performances in a detached, introspective, non-confrontational state, often with their heads down.”

No Shoe gazing here.

Someone described them as a psychedelic band and one should consider wearing earplugs during it, since they are so loud. What? That doesn’t make sense to me. Hmmm. At this point, I am convinced they are not a real band. In fact, I am starting to think that they are like that band in the movie “High Fidelity” that the clerks would ask you if you liked, just so they make fun of your lack of obscure band knowledge.   An inside baseball game type of band. So, imagine my surprise when the show was sold out and the place was packed. It should also be noted that if you saw these guys in the late 80s, you were ahead of time, now they were presented by XPN and you can buy earplugs in the lobby. Sigh.

We got some psychedelic thing going on here.

The bottom line is I really liked these guys. And a lot. Still unclear how I would classify them, but they knew their stuff and played incredibly well together. I found myself dancing almost immediately and getting in the grove from start to finish. They were definitely psychedelic, but not overly so. I know that because I did not morph into my deadhead dance, which is a sure sign. And I am happy to report that I did not purchase, nor need, earplugs. They also played this one song where the music and the black and white light show mesmerized the crowd into silence and stillness. It was really intense and I am not sure how that happened. One of the great things about seeing a totally new band is that there is no anxiety of “I hope they play my favorite song.” It is quite liberating to just be able to enjoy every song as played. And that I did.

28 shows to go, 255 days left…

Alabama Shakes

Back in March when I made my annual pilgrimage to the Mann box office to buy my season’s tickets (to avoid the dreaded service fees), I thought the last show of the season would be a tempered time in fall weather and a mellow way to end a great Mann season. Boy, was I wrong on all levels. Alabama Shakes was the most crowded, most raucous show of the season in 80-degree weather.

Let me get this out of the way- Brittany Howard, Alabama Shakes front woman, is a badass. Bad. Ass. Badass.

Drive By Truckers. We had a great seats.

We got there in time to catch the opener, Drive By Truckers (DBT). Interesting fact about these guys, a couple of years ago Alabama Shakes was opening for them. DBT discovered this group and took them under their wing. Now they are opening for them. I love the humility of it all. Obviously, I do not have any real information, but I like to believe that it means artists are completely supportive of each other, they are all about the music and as along as everyone gets to keep playing, who really cares who headlines the show. Again, that is what I choose to believe.

DBT had a longer than usual set and they were pretty good. I am not sure I would go see them alone, but I enjoyed them. They have that Americana sound, sometimes like Johnny Cash, sometimes like Willie Nelson from the “Across the Borderline” album. They have been playing together for a while, so they had that great playing together for a long time vibe. I was sad I didn’t like them more than I did; after all they backed up Bettye LaVette on her comeback album and wrote a fictional opera about a Lynyrd Skynyrd type rock band. I guess the best thing I like about them is that they discovered Alabama Shakes.

Brittany Howard came out on stage to thunderous applause. The Mann was the most crowded than my previous other shows and the wooden roof was vibrating with energy when she launched, almost assaulted, her first song. From there, it was game on.

This 26-year-old African American, not model thin, woman is fronting a 5 member rock and roll white male band with 3 back up singers. They are described as a roots rock band, but they are so much more. I guess they are described that way, because there is no neat description for their music. There was huge gospel influence, lots of blues and rock and roll, and hard-core rock and roll. I read somewhere that one of their first shows they covered the likes of Led Zeppelin, James Brown, Otis Redding, and AC/DC. That gives you an idea.

Here is what I do know. It was an incredibly emotional show. Just when you thought you could not dance, hoot, clap harder, Brittany took you on to another level. She screamed, wailed, whispered, shook her glasses and gave so much of herself during the show that I actually started to worry for her. I am unclear how she will keep this pace up for a long career. Good lord, she is only 26. What was also interesting is that while she had a huge stage presence, there was absolutely no chit chat or crowd interaction. Maybe she said hello in the beginning and thank you at the end, but that was basically it.   While I continue to worry about her pace and her voice for longevity, my main takeaway is “Badass, Bad, Ass, Badass.”

29 shows to go, 257 days left…

Dr. Dog, The Swamp is On

For the past 18 years, September means Fringe Festival. It is a 17-day extravaganza of performances, art, cabarets, happenings and very late nights. In the beginning, it was a lot less curated and you never knew what you were going to see. One year, my friends put on a show on four corners of Old City as couples arguing about being late. Folks walking by had no idea if it was a real argument and/if they should intervene. It is interesting to note that the only time a bystander intervened was when an interracial couple was arguing. For a couple of years, I would bartend at the late night cabaret and saw a ton of acts, some really good and, some, well, some were really good. I miss those old days when I could stay up all night and still got to work the next day and function. Sigh…Anyway, as the Fringe totally exploded it gets overwhelming to pick some things to see. To make sure I see at least one thing each year, I always make a point of seeing whatever Pig Iron Theater Company is doing.

Pig Iron is experimental and experiential theater, but approachable. I know this, because I get it. I am always excited to see what they will produce. So when I saw that Pig Iron was producing something in collaboration with Dr. Dog, I immediately bought tickets.

I had never seen Dr. Dog live, but knew about them, local guys done good, XPN favorites, etc. I was intrigued that this little band could come up with something that Pig Iron would want to be part of.  I was a little surprised to observe that the crowd was more Dr. Dog and less Pig Iron, which to me was good and means Fringe is continually evolving and bringing younger folks in.  The more I read ahead of time, the more confused I became and finally let it go and was ready to enjoy it. Here is the basic outline:  for years, Dr. Dog has been receiving strange and psychedelic messages from a swamp dweller, Phrases. The idea is that Dr. Dog and scientists are going to do everything possible to make contact and figure this whole thing out. Seems pretty clear, right?

When we got to Union Transfer, I could not quite figure who was part of the show and who was not. Clearly the folks walking around looking like secret service were part of it, right? I don’t know; it could have been pre-pope preparation. The guy selling bootleg cassettes outside the theater beforehand was just a little kooky, right? Nope, part of it. I think. The guy yelling he wanted to have Scott’s (band member) baby? Still unclear. Here is what I do know. It was brilliant, absolutely brilliant.

The boy band goes gently into the swamp….

The band members were really good actors. Of course the Pig Iron folks were great, but it was also interesting seeing them somewhat take a back seat to the band. There was one song that was really trippy and the essence of the whole psychedelic vibe. I found myself slowly being enveloped in the music right along with them without realizing it. By the end of the song when the guitar player playing upside down on a member of Pig Iron’s back, it just made sense. I was sleepy right along with the cast and did not even know how it happened.

The whole thing was kind of dreamy like that and there is still some question if Dr. Dog sold their souls to get the “song of the century” or if the swamp creature was the devil and made it happen or was the boy band always in Dr. Dog’s destiny. See, lots of questions. That, my friend, is the fringe festival right there.

I took a lot of really great and clear photos of the swamp thing, until I looked at them later. hmmmmm

Dr. Dog then played a concert after the show, clearly two very different shows, but to not cause any sort of controversy, I will count this as one show. And I will definitely go to see Dr. Dog when they come back through town. I need to support artists like this who are so creative and not just your average “boy band.”

30 shows to go, 263 days left…