Concert Review: Wilco – Murat Theatre, Indianapolis, IN (06/15/07)

We had three tickets to see Wilco and only two people to go. A friend who belonged to the other ticket had to cancel at the last moment. I had posted to message boards and asked friends to come, but no one responded.

Free tickets to see one of the greatest live bands playing today and no one responded. I think I need to find new friends.

So we arrived at the venue early, hoping we might find some hapless soul willing to buy the one ticket. Almost immediately we found some guys on bikes with signs saying they were buying tickets. There was a little haggling, and I found myself on the losing end of that. Ten bucks and I was free one ticket. That’s a lot less than I paid, but a little more than nothing.

The Murat is a beautiful old theatre in downtown Indianapolis. Having arrived early to unload the ticket and having already done such, we walked into the entryway of the theatre to await the doors to open. Many folks were already there. An odd thing this was to me as we had assigned seats so there was literally no reason to arrive so early, but there we were.

Our earliness was paid off as a young man came out stating that the band had asked him take fan requests. My mind went racing. I was dying to come up with something obscure and unique – something that the band would see and love and no doubt talk about from the stage. Maybe even ask me to come on down and sing it with them.

Instead, I came up with something off the new album, something they would undoubtedly play even without my request. “Hate it Here” is possibly my favorite song off of Sky Blue Sky, and I was most anxious to hear those Stones riffs live.

Sitting back down I encouraged my wife to choose something but she’s shy about these things, and couldn’t come up with anything. I suggested “Outtasite (Outta mind)” off of an older album, Being There, and she stood up to make the request.

“No, wait,” I said, “pick something off of the Woody Guthrie tribute.” “What’s the name of the one with the repeat? Oh yes, it’s ‘Walt Whitman’s Niece,’ choose that one.”

Yes, I know that’s one that Billy Bragg sang lead on, but Wilco played most of the music and they did the backup parts, which would be awesome live with all the audience singing the repeat.

The wife goes and makes the request coming back with a puzzled look. A few minutes later she begins cursing herself, when I ask why she says, “Walt Whitman’s Knees.”

What?” I ask.

“I wrote the song down as ‘Walt Whitman’s Knees.’ I knew that wasn’t right when I wrote it but I couldn’t think of the right name.”

We laughed and laughed at that. I hoped, I prayed Tweedy would see it and laugh with the band and say something about my silly wife from the stage.

We had quite literally the last seats in the house – upper balcony, last row, very last seats stage left. My view was a little obstructed by an archway, but overall the stage was quite visible.

A band I had never heard of, Low, opened. I won’t say they were bad, but I won’t deny it either. I normally do my best to dig an opening band. I usually get very angry at the crowd when they talk through the opening act. This time, I was kind of with them.

It isn’t that the music wasn’t any good, it was they were in the wrong venue, opening for the wrong band. They had a very relaxed, ethereal feel – think Mazzy Star or Luna and you’ll come close. For the wide-open acoustics of the Murat, they sounded too muddled. When we’re all jazzed to hear the loud, ruckus of Wilco, relaxed and ethereal is not what we want, or not what I wanted anyway.

Luckily their set was short and Wilco came out with a fury. I tried writing down their setlist, but it was so dark in my little corner that I quickly realized there is no way I would be able to read my scratchings. And looking at them now, they are all a mess.

This is the tightest band in show business. Even though half the members have only been with the band a few short years, they play like a well-oiled machine. Nells Cline, the guitarist, is especially amazingly awesome. The guy simply tore it up. The roof was on fire, let me tell you.

They stuck primarily to songs off of their last three albums. I don’t know if this was because Tweedy likes his newer stuff more, of that most of the band hasn’t been on board for longer than those albums, or these are just the songs the fans prefer to hear. This fan would have appreciated some more older stuff, but I take what I can get.

From our in-the-rafter seats the sound was a little less than spectacular and I struggled to differentiate between some of the instruments, but the band was playing like Moses on fire. Enthusiasm oozed from everybody as they jumped and shook and moved like a giant, twitching snake.

About mid-show they played “Hate It Here” and I had to poke my wife with a little “they’re playing this for me” even though most likely they would have played it without my request. Still, it added a fun element to the show, which I would guess is the very reason they do the requests.

It was a darn fine version too, what with the big sing-along chorus and the fun lyrics about washing clothes and what-not. The whole show was filled with a nice little moment and fun sing-alongs. Although, every time I see Wilco I am reminded of how few of their lyrics I actually know.

I’m just not a lyrics guy. I have a terrible short-term memory and as such, I have difficulty remembering lyrics past the moment they are sung. Instead, I concentrate on the music and turn into one of those flailing arms to the beat of the guitar riff guys.

There was a lot of arm pumping this night. After a double encore with the surprise old album shot of “Outtasite (Outta Mind)” we went home happy.

They never did play “Walt Whitman’s Niece” and no one but me made fun of my wife’s mistake, but even so it was a darn fine night of music.

Setlist:

1. A Shot In The Arm
2. Side With The Seeds
3. You Are My Face
4. I Am Trying To Break Your Heart
5. Kamera
6. Handshake Drugs
7. War On War
8. Impossible Germany
9. Sky Blue Sky
10. Jesus, Etc.
11. Hate It Here
12. Walken
13. Shake It Off
14. I’m The Man Who Loves You
15. Hummingbird

Encore 1:
16. Sunken Treasure
17. Spiders (Kidsmoke)

Encore 2:
18. Heavy Metal Drummer
19. Outtasite (Outta Mind)
20. California Stars

Thanks to Wilcobase for the setlist.

Concert Review: Bill Monroe Bluegrass Festival Featuring IIIrd Tyme Out And Ralph Stanley, 2007

My wife and I have lived in Bloomington Indiana now for the last five years or so. While living here there are several things we have always planned to do: see an IU football game, not for the game (for no one wants to see the Hoosiers play football) but because my wife is a band geek, and she’d like to see the marching band perform. We’d like to go to a basketball game, as basketball is the one sport IU consistently does well. We feel we ought to see the Indy 500 and the Kentucky Derby just once, though neither of us can gather up any kind of excitement for that. And we always plan to attend the Bill Monroe bluegrass festival.

Until this week, we’ve seen exactly none of those things. Since we are headed to China in August, we finally decided to buckle down and attend the bluegrass festival. Even then, we had plans to attend every night of the eight-day festival, but due to problems of infinite proportions, we were only able to make it Tuesday and Saturday.

You could say bluegrass is in my blood, though I didn’t know it for many years. My great-uncle played with Dolly Parton when she was little, and my cousin plays guitar in Ricky Skaggs band. Most of my dad’s family plays some sort of instrument, and they say family reunions are a sight and sound to behold.

None of this information was actually known to me for many years. I thought we were a pretty boring family for most of my youth. In fact, I can remember my parents deciding to go to a bluegrass festival when I was in my early teens and I had to ask what the heck bluegrass was.

“It’s like country, but faster and with more twang,” Mom told me.

The Bill Monroe Bluegrass Festival is the oldest bluegrass festival in the world. It has been picking and a grinning for the last 41 years. Everyone who is anyone in bluegrass has played this stage. This year over 50 acts played morning, noon, and night for 8 straight days.

On Tuesday we saw Karl Shiflett, Anita Fisher, Bluegrass Strangers and IIIrd Tyme Out. It was a full day of fun, sun, and good music.

There were rows and rows of lawn chairs set up in front of the stage and we couldn’t quite figure out if they were all owned by individual concertgoers, or if they had been set up by the venue. They were all unmatched, but most of them were empty and they were perfectly set up. It seemed strange to me that so many people would have come in and set up their chairs in neat little rows and then abandoned them.

This worked perfectly on Tuesday, and we found great seats just a few rows back from the stage, and right in the middle.

IIIrd Tyme Out was the highlight of Tuesday. Russell Moore has some of the best vocals in bluegrass and the rest of the band can pick right along with him. They can play traditional bluegrass like the old folks, but aren’t afraid to add something new to the mix and update those old sounds. Plus they are a ton of fun to listen to and watch.

Saturday was much fuller than the Tuesday afternoon crowd, and we were all there to see one man, Dr Ralph Stanley. Legend is too small a word for the man. He is the living embodiment of bluegrass music. He is distinguished and incredible. A giant in a little man’s shoes.

We took seats again up close, but after a few songs, someone approached us stating that we were, in fact, in their chairs. Looking around and seeing how full the venue was getting, we decided to pull our own lawn chairs out of the car and sit to the side so as to not miss anything.

We saw very enjoyable performances from Alecia Nugent, Paul Williams, Jim Lauderdale, JD Crowe and of course Dr. Ralph Stanley. As I said though, the crowd was all holding their breath for Ralph Stanley. When the time finally came, and the announcement was made, we all went nuts.

For the first few songs Stanley didn’t sing a note. He allowed his band to play instrumentals and his guitarist sing a tune or two. I began to wonder if the good Dr. hadn’t fallen ill and couldn’t sing, or if he was too old to do much more than joke with the band between songs.

My worries were unfounded, it seems, as Stanley finally took center stage, and enchanted us all with his distinctive voice. His voice is not what I would ever call beautiful, it is certainly original, and it delivers a perfect old-timey sound. It roared and called out to the crowd on this night.

Stanley is a generous performer and spent much of his long set talking about the records his band mates and children have recently put out. Most of the band got to perform at least one song, and in a very sweet moment a little boy from the area came out and nervously belted out an old Stanley Brothers tune.

Even with three encores the crowd screamed and begged for more. Stanley closed with an a capella version of “O Death” that I believe must have stilled the entire state.

We left a little after 11. Kids were still playing ball and freeze tag, the food vendors were still churning out their unique brand of edibles, the stars were still shining brightly, and the music was still playing. But we were hot, covered in dirt and completely exhausted.

You could do worse things on a summer Saturday night in Indiana.

Dreamin’ Songs – “Believe It Or Not” By George Costanza

Yeah, that’s right. The song stuck in my head is the Seinfeld spoof where George’s answering machine is him singing the theme song to the Greatest American Hero with lyrics changed to match an I’m-not-home message.

I loved Greatest American Hero growing up. I don’t really remember much about it except for the red suit and how the guy never could really fly. I picked up season 1 from the library but didn’t get past the first episode.

Some things are better left to nostalgia.

The Seinfeld episode is the one where George’s girlfriend takes him to a ball in a beautiful dress and George thinks this is his one chance to make a great entrance. Of course, George now thinks the girl is trying to break up with him, so he is avoiding her. We hear the answering machine’s outgoing message (one too many times) as he is screening his calls.

Not a bad episode, but not a great one either.

I saw that episode not too many days ago and I guess it got recycled in my sleep.

Random Shuffle – The Cure, David Grisman And Smokey Robinson

the cure greatest hits

“Just Like Heaven” – The Cure
From Greatest Hits – Acoustic

Does anyone remember the days of scrambled television? Growing up all the cable stations that we weren’t subscribed to (HBO, Showtime, etc.) and all the pay-per-view movies we had not purchased were scrambled in such a way as to make us not want to watch them. The images came out in negatives, and often the picture was split into pieces. The idea, of course, was that no one in their right mind would actually want to watch television in this manner.

The idea was often wrong. I used to watch all manner of programs in this way. I can specifically remember watching the first 48 Hours in this manner. The audio remained good, so I got most of the jokes and could figure out what was going on, and occasionally the image was unbroken enough to actually see what was happening.

There were also, I must admit, a few late-night fumblings watching some adult pay-per-view. You couldn’t see much, but if you squinted right every now and again you might see a negative of a nipple. For a pubescent teenager, this was sometimes enough.

During the early ’90s, when alternative suddenly became a musical buzzword, The Cure did an acoustic pay-per-view special. To say I was a sullen, depressed teenager seems a little beyond the point because aren’t all teenagers sullen and depressed? The Cure, of course, is the poster band for sullen, depressed teenagers the world over. So, of course, I watched the special. And of course, I watched it in the negative, scrambled version.

It was a darn good show, even if Robert Smith looked like some kind of space alien. Come to think of it, maybe I could see him better than I thought.

“Track 02” – David Grisman Quintet
From 04/11/99

Now “Track 02” isn’t actually the name of this song. I’m sure it has an official, proper name, the thing is, no one seems to know it. The majority of Grisman’s songs do not contain lyrics, so you cannot use words to identify the music. Live, the DGQ uses a lot of improvisation and thus the songs don’t necessarily sound like they do on the studio albums.

The show list on etree.org is also silent in terms of song names. This is a database run by thousands (or tens of thousands) of fans that basically has information on every bootleg of every concert ever played in the last hundred years. The fact that no one has updated the show with a single name says a lot.

I once even contacted some of Grisman’s own people asking if they had any setlist information. They replied that they don’t keep track of the songs played, but that if I wanted to send them a copy of the tapes, they’d be happy to identify them for me.

And there we have it – Track 02.

Whatever you want to call it, this is a fine tune. The David Grisman Quintet has been creating its own mix of “Dawg Music” for several decades. It is an odd mix of bluegrass, folk, country, blues, calypso, and Spanish music that comes out in the strangest and most beautiful of ways. There really is no way to describe how it sounds, but it is always worth checking out. Especially that guitarist. Man, he cooks up something exquisite.

smokey robinson

“I Second That Emotion” – Smokey Robinson and the Miracles
From Songs That Inspired The Motown

I attended exactly one semester of graduate school. I moved to Abilene, Texas for such a thing, and while on the drive there I imagined the entire state rising up to sing me Lyle Lovett’s “That’s Right (You’re Not From Texas,)” but mostly nobody noticed my arrival at all. Texans are a strange brew, and that’s all I’ll say about them.

There was a beautiful, kind woman who worked at my apartment office and we became close friends. Initially, I made up small complaints so I could drop by and talk to her, then I gave up all pretense and just started stopping by the office and sitting for a spell.

She’d invite me to dinner, or to help her make popcorn at the local hockey rink, all the while making sure I understood it was nothing but a friendship kick. I didn’t care, it was someone to talk to and I really needed that.

She had a two-year-old son who was just precious. We also became fast friends and would play together for long hours. Once I had to use her facilities, and I could hear him outside saying, “Matchew, Matchew, where are you?” My heart is still broken.

“I Second That Emotion” became a little two-and-a-half-minute piece of ecstasy during this time. It is a song of impenetrable joy. You simply cannot listen to it and not feel happy. I used to write my little apartment friend sticky notes for fun, and one of them read, “‘I Second That Emotion’ makes Mat the happiest.” And it still does.

Plus, it is great fun to agree with someone by saying “I second that emotion.”

Concert Review: Ryan Adams, Paula Cole, Suzanne Vega, Charlie Louvin – Louisville, KY (05/19/07)

After the whole Ryan versus Gillian debacle, I had settled down into a wonderful Ryan Adams groove. I’ve been listening to his music for weeks and generally freaking out about seeing him. My mantra has been “I’m going to see Ryan Adams, I’m going to see Ryan Adams.” The world’s troubles melt away with these words.

We made a day of Louisville, eating some fine food at a Hookah bar, and digging through the record bins at Ear X-Tacy. The doors at the Brown Theatre opened at 6, so we arrived at about 4:30. We weren’t the first. Fanboys and girls abounded.

As a general rule, people tend to annoy me. As a solid, never-bending absolute truth, fanboys piss me off. I get fandom. I get solid adoration of an artist. I simply cannot understand slovenly devotion to a single musician. As we stood in the lobby waiting for the doors we had to stand the asinine fanboy conversations. One boy claimed he would not befriend anyone who was not a Ryan Adams fan. Another made the bold proclamation that the Eagles were better than the Beatles and the Stones, though all three really sucked and Ryan Adams blew them all away.

Someone, please school these boys.

In ways, the fanboys shaped my entire concert experience. We landed a seat in the third row, center, and the hardiest of fanboys were in front of us. I couldn’t help but gauge their reactions and observe their behavior.

Paula Cole started the show. I’ve never much cared for her music, but she carried herself well. The voice wavered from time to time, but the band backed her up sufficiently and it was a good time. After some new songs, and some very awkward talk where she proved herself way too aware of her time out of the spotlight, and the audience’s indifference to her come back she simply nailed “I Don’t Want to Wait.” I had never liked the song before, but it shimmered and glowed on this night.

The fanboys sang along, their faces tinged with irony and scoffing laughter. I may not like Paula, but I respect that she can write her own songs and have the balls to get up and sing them. With feeling.

Next was Charlie Louvin and he tore the roof off. He completely lives up to his legendary status. Even the fanboys were enjoying themselves, even if they were pretending that enjoyment was only in an ironic way.

Even with the irony and a few mocking laughs at his more sentimental songs, Louvin was the consummate professional. He noted that some of the young people might not understand his type of music, but if they listened closely, they just might have a good time anyway. During “Cash on the Barrelhead” he leaned forward inviting one particularly obnoxious fanboy onto the stage to sing along. It was a brilliant moment – embarrassing the fanboy without being vicious or mean, yet still staying within character.

Suzanne Vega was up next and I wondered if most of the audience even knew who she was. She was very much a total professional too. Where Paula Cole seemed too aware of the precariousness of trying to make a comeback in this business, Suzanne let it all roll off her shoulders. She seemed to be saying that she had never left the business, and while the fans may have slipped away, she was always around making her music. Her performance was as unique and quirky as ever. She did a few songs with just her and her bassist and it was beautiful. She closed out with “Luca” and “Tom’s Diner” and the house did seem to remember.

A new NY band, Vietnam hit the next spot. I won’t say they were bad, but they were not what we needed at that point. We were all exhausted and ready for nothing but Ryan Adams. They had their 70’s era Allman Brothers band schtick down pat. Except it wasn’t really schtick, but done completely seriously. It was all rock, no subtlety.

And then he came. Stools were set in a half circle towards the back of the stage. The lights were incredibly dim. Mood I guess. The Cardinals came and then Mr. Adams in a shower cap, hoodie, and dark sunglasses. The recently torn ligament and subsequent cast kept him from playing guitar, but his voice has never sounded better.

He played about half the new album, which hasn’t been released and I didn’t know, but it was all good. The record should be brilliant – kind of subdued and sad, more Heartbreaker than Cold Roses, but genius in the way only Ryan Adams can be.

Throughout everybody’s performances, there was trouble with the monitor speakers. Every performer complained about it and was followed by stagehands running around on stage for a bit. During Ryan’s first song, you could tell it wasn’t fixed for he pointed at the speaker then his finger went into the air dozens of times. By the second song, he had called a stagehand over to chew him out.

“Please don’t piss Ryan off,” Holly begged, for Ryan Adams is a bit notorious for walking off the stage early when he gets pissed. Pissed or not, the performance was magic.

The dim lights turned from blue to red and the shower cap came off. They played an Alice in Chains cover, “Down in a Hole” that turned the auditorium inside out. Just as I began to think this might be the most amazing concert experience of my life Ryan let out a “Thanks” and took off.

Twenty minutes and he’s gone.

Bastard. Son of a monkey. Words I cannot write for my mother might read.

Man, I know you have to keep up your eccentricities. I know it is part of your allure to pull this crap. But it is called being a professional. Did Charlie Louvin walk off because he couldn’t hear himself? Did Paula Cole or Suzane Vega? Man, the Vietnam guitarist just moved over to the one working monitor. We paid good money, drove long distances, and generally did what we could to see you perform. You should at least do your freaking job.

Much cursing ensued during the drive home. But then a fanboy posted videos, and I watched, I listened, I teared up just a little, and I have to say, I forgave.

“Goodnight Rose” – Forgive the lousy video quality, as I said the lighting was terribly dim. But the audio is good.

“Rip Off”

Ryan Adams Versus Gillian Welch

I’ve been putting off telling this story, but as we’re very close to time, and new horrors have occurred, the time to tell is now.

So, a few months back I realized that the lovely, wonderful Gillian Welch was coming to the Ryman in Nashville. This particular performance was in support of the always-interesting Connor Oberst and whatever supporting people he’s calling Bright Eyes. I’m generally a fan of the Bright Eyes and dig the idea of catching them live, but let’s be honest here, it was Gillian at the Ryman. I was so there.

Me, the wife, and my newfound friend Holly procured tickets faster than you can say, “Slap me silly with a ping-pong table.”

Those who know me know my undying love for the lovely, wonderful Gillian Welch and that I have unfortunately missed her last two performances in Bloomington. My soul weeps to this very day due to this fact. I swore a blood oath that I would never miss another Gillian Welch concert. I’d gouge out my eyes rather than do such a thing.

Fast forward a few weeks and I get an e-mail from the good people at the Kentucky Center in Louisville of upcoming events. Turns out a local radio station is doing a listener appreciation thing with Charlie Louvin, Suzanne Vega, Paula Cole, and Ryan freaking Adams. Tickets are $20.

I don’t think, I don’t breathe, I call and purchase three tickets. I anticipate the excitement from Holly who will totally freak out and worship me for days.

As the ticket seller is wrapping up, I get a funny feeling in my belly. The show date is May 19, which suddenly sounds familiar. When are we to see Gillian at the Ryman?

May 19.

No. Freaking. Way.

I have now just purchased tickets (ahem, three tickets) to see Ryan Adams in Louisville on the same date I have tickets to see Gillian in Nashville.

The wife is called in, and the phone is called to Holly. We all cry out.

After days and weeks, we finally decide to see Ryan. Frankly, I was outnumbered, but the consolidation was that Gillian lives in Nashville. Holly lives in Nashville. We’ll catch her some other time.

I’m sorry Gillian. Truly, truly I am. The eyes are being gouged this very second.

Breathe. Feel bad for a moment. Stop listening to Gillian and throw in a little Heartbreaker followed by Gold followed by Cold Roses.

Ryan Adams, here we come!

An interesting, heartbreaking addendum just occurred to this story. Holly sends me an e-mail explaining that the White Stripes will be playing a fairly limited (though she can get tickets) show in Nashville the Friday before Gillian/Bright Eyes/Ryan.

I know it’s you, Gillian, teaching me a lesson. I have learned. Please forgive.

Another heartbreaking newsflash just happened. Ryan has apparently hurt his arm and cannot play guitar for our show. Gillian, I said I had learned, please stop tormenting me!

Dreamin’ Songs – “Damn, Sam (I Love A Woman That Rains)” by Ryan Adams

You really shouldn’t expect more out of me this week than Ryan Adams, Ryan Adams, Ryan Adams. My excitement, while not yet peaking, is reaching all-new heights. I’ve also been listening to him pretty much non-stop for the last week, which explains why he is serving up Dreamin’ Songs twice in a row.

There actually was a non-Ryan song in my head when I first woke up this morning, but instead of waking and writing it down, I drifted back to sleep, and when I awoke a second time this song was stuck in my head.

“Damn Sam” is off of Heartbreaker, which is sometimes my favorite Ryan Adams record (when it isn’t relinquishing its throne to Cold Roses or the unreleased Destroyer.) It is also his most, well, heartbreaking. I simply can’t listen to most of those songs without drowning in a depressed stupor. And this particular song constantly sees me in a puddle of tears.

The thing about it this morning is that I couldn’t remember the opening line. I kept singing, “As a man, I ain’t never been much for….” and I couldn’t remember the rest. I got the follow-up line, “I’m as calm as a fruit stand in New York and maybe as strange,” but that first one kept ending in question marks.

I kept adding in words that might make sense: “picking up dames?” or “lying lame?” I knew it had to rhyme somewhat with “strange,” but that doesn’t leave a lot of options. It tormented me out of bed, into the shower, and through breakfast. Finally moments ago, after finally leaving it alone for a bit, it came during laundry. “as a man, I ain’t never been much for sunny days.”

Ah, that makes tons of sense, since Ryan is kind of a dark dude, and this song is all about his manic obsession with the rain. Seriously the guy throws in a line about the rain at least once an album. He’s the John Cusack of the songwriting business.

Dreamin’ Songs – “Tennessee Sucks” – Ryan Adams

Amazingly, I have not yet mentioned the Ryan Adams/Gillian Welch decision around these parts. I shall surely do my best to discuss that very thing soon. For now, I shall only say that I’m going to see Ryan Adams in less than two weeks.

Because of this, I have been listening to my Ryan Adams records with great dedication. The queer thing is that despite my obsession with Mr. Adams, there are a few records that I have not listened to very often.

The full blame goes to my bootleg collection. I have quite a large stack of bootlegs, and I have a tendency to go for those rather, than the studio albums – with the exception of Gold, Heartbreaker, Cold Roses, Jacksonville City Lights, and occasionally Love Is Hell. That’s a big exception, I know and for the record, the records that have not received a lot of spins are – Demolition, 29, and Rock N Roll.

With the newfound studio dedication, these less-loved albums have received my full attention. I am learning to really love Demolition and 29 is growing on me, though I don’t know if I’ll ever much care for Rock N Roll.

All of this brings me to “Tennessee Sucks,” which is off of Demolition. The album as a whole has continued to grow on me with repeated listens. Where, at first, I found it too soft and depressing, I have learned to appreciate its simple melodies and poetic lyricism. This song is a good example of that with its pretty piano emphasis and it’s the refrain of “Tennessee sucks in the summer/what have you got that can put us under?” Which gets bonus points for mentioning one of my favorite states, and nails a certain teenage feeling I often receive.

The Listening Room: Garth Brooks – “Shameless”

Yeah, I know, Garth freaking Brooks. But I grew up in Oklahoma, which is pretty, much ground zero for Garth Brooks. Every time I go back home my mom tells me about another time she saw Garth eating a sandwich at Burger King or wherever.

I was mostly a metalhead in high school, but the behemoth that is Garth Brooks still kind of got to me. I can remember sitting up in my little attic bedroom late at night, listening to this album really low. Say what you will, but this Billy Joel cover has a mountain of energy and just the right amount of cheezy swagger that still bowls me over.

In my continuing effort to put every piece of music I own on my iPod, I went through my Garth Brooks box set (yes, I have a Garth Brooks box set, it was cheap and you’ll get over it.) I gotta say I went all nostalgic with it and had a few listens and might have dropped a tear or two in my beer.

Be sure to check out what the rest of Blogcritics has in their players.(sorry the blogcritics link no longer works)

Bootleg Country: Pete Seeger and Big Bill Broonzy – Evanston, IL (10/25/56)

There are many thoughts that come to mind when I hear the name Pete Seeger: Socialist, outspoken folkie, encyclopedic knowledge of music worldwide, compatriot to Woody Guthrie, Pinko-Commie, and axe-wielding madman running after an electrified Bob Dylan. It is his love and gift for folk music from around the globe, though, that I hope he will always be remembered.

Listening to Pete Seeger, in concert, is like being with a historian and archaeologist of the world’s music. He seems to know every song ever sung, and to be friends with their writers and singers. He is the soul of America, a true treasure trove of song.

I have a handful of concerts by Seeger, some official, others not, and in everyone is a historical road map of folk. Though he often plays by himself, with banjo for accompaniment, he is never short of musicians, for he makes everyone in the audience part of the band. No, Pete Seeger concerts are not Holy Places where the music is sacred, and the audience mere worshipers. We are part of the song, singers and clappers, and performers one and all. In nearly every song, he points out a chorus or a repeating line that he encourages the audience to sing. Where they can’t sing, he says they can clap and hum.

To be honest, I was not at all familiar with Big Bill Broonzy before I listened to this concert. I’m not particularly well-versed in the blues, and Broonzy is a name that circumvented my musical heritage.

To be even more honest, I’m not one to particularly care for the blues. For the most part, I just don’t *get* it. For his part, Broonzy makes me wish I did. He is of the acoustic blues school, and his tunes are jaunty, even happy at times, and it is a simple pleasure to listen to him sing.

As for positioning, each performer takes turns singing his tunes, song for song for the most part, while the other one sits in the back ground listening. They perform together on a couple of songs, and they spend a lot of time conversing, talking about music, and telling jokes. But mostly it is a solo show, split between two people.

Seeger likes to talk, and I for one, could listen to him talk for days on end. He tells stories about the songs, about the writers of the songs, and of his life. And what a life! He’s been everywhere, done everything. Most people talk in hushed tones about the night Bob Dylan went electric at a folk festival. For Pete, that’s personal history. He was there. He’s the exciting part!

In no way would I consider this a brilliantly performed performance, musically speaking, for Pete doesn’t show off. He seems more interested in creating a community of music, than coming off as a musical savior. In doing so, he creates something special, something different than a simple concert. It is a communal experience akin to a religious service, or family reunion. I don’t suppose there’s anyone who has heard a Seeger concert that will ever forget the experience.

Broonzy is less talkative than Seeger, but shows his own gift of humor by asking if he can sit down whenever Seeger launches into one of his long stories. He plays his guitar with the fervor of a true prodigy and his songs bridge the divide between Seeger’s folk and children’s music.

The highlight of the show is when Seeger plays what he calls the “Goofing Off Suite.” Folk music, he says, needs its own version of chamber music, for the thinking man, so he’s writing his own high-minded piece. If you’ve ever seen the movie Raising Arizona, you will instantly recognize the number. It consists of what must be the main theme of that movie, which if you’ll remember is composed of this incredibly goofy bit of banjo and the wildest bit of yodeling known to man. He even throws in the humming and banjo version of “Ode to Joy” as the middle section.

The first time I heard this I was driving in a heavily trafficked piece of down town. I’m surprised I didn’t get pulled over for all the swerving I did from the tears rolling down my face from laughing.

I am quite saddened to know that I will probably never be able to attend a Pete Seeger concert. His age and health keep him from appearing much in public. But I am heartened by the knowledge that there are these recordings, and that a man like Pete Seeger ever lived and shared his love for great music.

You can download the show over here.