I'm unsure what to do with this blog. It started as a place where I could record my thoughts, post photos, write haiku, and post an occasional concert or music review. Somewhere along the way, I succumbed to Facebook, and this blog was shelved.
If there is such a thing as digital "dust" this thing would be covered in it. I still get a few hits every day, but no one stays long. They're just here for the free mp3s that have long since evaporated into the ether. Haha! The joke's on you... those things flew the coop a long time ago (for the most part.)
edit: For any of you keeping score, this post may seem quite familiar. Due to some anonymous persistence, I've decided to re-post the files and spread a little Christmas cheer. The version I have of "Christmas Time is Here, Again" from the 2000 Holiday Package is truncated, so if any faithful readers has this song, I'd be much obliged to replace my copy of this song.
I was a member of the R.E.M. fan club for many, many years. Somewhere along the way I let my membership slide and I keep forgetting to renew my status before the Holiday Fan Club packages are sent out. This year, once again, I lived up to my potential and forgot to re-up in time for the annual Christmas package.
But that doesn't mean I don't have a slew of Christmas-themed R.E.M. goodies from yesteryear's packages. Pipe these babies into your ears and drown out that holiday muzak that the malls push on you. You know better than to listen to that pap.
* If anyone has a complete version of this song, please let me know. This one seems to be truncated, and there's no need in spreading a lousy file around.
Glitter And Doom: Tom Waits In Concert Hear A Stunning Performance, Recorded At Atlanta's Fox Theater By Robin Hilton
NPR.org, July 28, 2008 - A trip through the world of Tom Waits can be disorienting. His ramshackle story-songs, with their creaky instrumentation and dusty poetry, usually leave listeners with more questions than answers, and his persona outside of his music revolves around a playful but guarded mix of fiction and reality.
Even Waits needs to celebrate Independence Day... and with the generous offer of a stellar pair of Raindogs Tom and Sherry, we celebrated the holiday halfway between Birmingham and Atlanta, in a town called Oxford, AL. It was one of the best 4th of Julys I've ever had!
So after a wake-up in our rented motor lodge, we were once again on the road to Atlanta.
It's very clear that Tom cares about his fans. Even the ones that are still outside waiting to enter, as it became very evident this show wasn't going to start on time. No matter—none of these shows started at 8:00 PM. I'm cool and the gang with that. But for the punctual, I think there were some slight grumblings that he didn't start at the scheduled time.
For the show to be a tour closer, I was halfway expecting a slightly different show, but looking back, it was not much of a departure from previous stops along the way. But, it's still Tom, and sharing the room with such a commanding presence is reason enough to drive 6 hours.
I would be remiss in failing to mention the sax player Vincent Henry, who quite literally "doubled on sax" as he skillfully played two at a time during several points of the night. He was also behind the harp and could certainly give a Mr. Musselwhite a run for his money when it comes to playing harmonica.
Casey Waits has certainly matured as a drummer in the last two years. He was, in fact, the only returning member of this incarnation of the band. Waits' rhythm and tempo changes are frequent and can often change at abrupt moments during any given song, and Casey followed along near flawlessly as his father played the role of conductor, often giving very slight body movements as visual clues to the musicians.
All in all, this band played very very well together. Though I have never witnessed a searing Marc Ribot guitar solo, I find myself very content with the musicians Tom picked for his touring ensemble. It's the mark of a good band leader to surround himself with good musicians, and I applaud his choices.
Oh, one other thing... the version of "Eyeball Kid" played in Atlanta featured a brilliant mime of Tom plucking his own eyeball from its socket and tossing it up in the air. The band, who certainly had rehearsed this—they were spot on—provided sound effects to the playful tossing, juggling, and yo-yo-ing of the imaginary eyeball. At someone's shouting: "Go DEEP!" Tom did indeed throw the eyeball wayyy into the audience, and just as a yo-y0 would behave, pulled back on an imaginary string to retrieve the thing. It was brilliant, and brought a lot of laughs.
[edit: Here's a great video of Tom doing this bit in Paris.]
And while the tour has been over for me for a number of days... I still find myself thinking back to this final night, when all was seemingly right with the world. From the anticipation leading up to the show, to meeting 'dogs from all over the world, there was certainly no place I would have rather been on this night.
Sadly the road called me home, and quite possibly with the divine help of a tiny, bonafide St. Christopher, (courtesy of Dorene — It's still riding with me, too!) I chased storms all the way back to North Carolina.
Till next time...
Atlanta Setlist:
Lucinda / Down to the Well Down in the Hole Falling Down Chocolate Jesus All the World is Green Cemetery Polka Cause of it All / 'til the Money Runs Out Such a Scream November Hold On Black Market Baby 9th and Hennepin Lie to Me
(at piano)
Lucky Day On the Nickel Lost in the Harbour Innocent When you Dream
(off piano)
Hoist that Rag Make it Rain Dirt in the Ground Get Behind the Mule Hang Down Your Head Jesus Gonna Be Here Singapore
(encore)
Eyeball Kid (w/ mime) Anywhere I Lay My Head
Once again... this set is courtesy of the inimitable Raindog-of-the-Year in my book, Shane C. via The Eyeball Kid.
Once again, the road beckons. Tom Waits, having wound his way through the constellation Hydra, was now in the deep South for the final two nights of the North American tour. Me and my good buddy Jason, a long-time fan (I take credit for his conversion) converged upon the city of Birmingham, he from Florida, me from North Carolina.
Once we were settled in our rented room, and with growing anticipation, we left our hotel and had a spirited walk through downtown Birmingham, cutting through Lion Park on our way to 3rd street. The Alabama Theatre is a gorgeous original grand theatre of yesteryear, and it's very evident why Tom chose such a venue for this stop in Birmingham.
Waits and his band were in full stride from the first song, and as he stomped his way through the raucous, but predictable "Lucinda / Down to the Well" medley, each boot stomp raised a dust cloud from the platform and hung in the spotlight like smoke.
The divinely inspired flamenco intro on "All the World is Green" by Latin guitarist Omar Torrez didn't immediately register, but nonetheless, the flurry of notes melded beautifully into the familiar, slow progression of the song from 2000's Blood Money. It was a beautiful addition, and I think even Tom bowed in his direction and barked: "Omar Torrez" just in case we didn't know who was playing such beautiful guitar.
Waits performed over two hours again on this stop, allowing us to ride with him as he took us on an imaginary trip, complete with off-beat characters, such as the never-before-performed "Poor Edward", and the somewhat of a rarity: "Frank's Wild Years" (performed 3 times on this tour of 13 dates.)
Birmingham Setlist:
Lucinda / Down to the Well Down in the Hole Falling Down Hold On Chocolate Jesus Cemetery Polka Poor Edward Lie to Me Hang Down Your Head All the World is Green Black Market Baby Frank's Wild Years Misery is the River of the World
(at piano)
Tango 'til They're Sore On the Nickel Always Keep a Diamond in Your Mind Innocent When You Dream
(off piano)
Jockey Full of Bourbon Make it Rain / band intros Jesus Gonna Be Here Cold, Cold Ground November Hoist That Rag
(encore)
Singapore Dirt in the Ground Come on Up to the House
setlist provided by Shane and The Eyeball Kid to be cont'd...
The anticipation for Waits had plenty long to stew. For some, the wait had been a lifetime of listening, for others a couple of years, and for a lucky few, a matter of days. Be that as it may, the crowd in Knoxville was nearly overflowing with eager fans even when the hour of 8 PM came and went, and our idol didn't show.
"The anticipation will all disappear" I said, "once he takes the stage."
Knoxville was richly rewarded for their collective patience on Sunday night. All at once, the theatre grew very dim. There was movement on the stage... musicians taking their respective places... and then, the unmistakable chapeau, the scarecrow movements, the contorted fingers... and there he was.
What followed for close to 2 1/2 hours was nothing short of a carnival of sorts. Waits preached to us his own sort of gospel: "Way Down in the Hole", "Jesus Gonna Be Here", and "God's Away on Business." Stamping his feet on the raised platform, kicking up dust like a depression-era traveling evangelist, he took us through an inebriated travelouge that was at times very poignant "On the Nickel" (!) "Come on Up to the House" (please note: I want that song played at my funeral), and "Lucky Day".
Much like a cobra charmer, Waits has that rare capacity to completely captivate his audience, and he did just that in Knoxville. Though the set list relied heavy on "Doom", "Glitter" certainly did make an appearance. During "Eyeball Kid" Waits replaced his bowler with a mirrored Stetson hat and, with spot lights on cue, cast a disco-ball lighting effect upon us all. And true to the song "Make it Rain" he summoned a shower of silver confetti that covered the stage.
"Fannin Street", was a beautiful encore, followed by an equally beautiful rendition of "Come on Up to the House." Once the lights came up... the spell had lost some of its hold, as we were released into the Knoxville night, but the Raindog post-show gathering allowed us to relish the event we all were privilidged to see.
See you in Birmingham!
Lucinda/Ain't Goin Down to the Well Way Down in the Hole Falling Down Hang Down Your Head Chocolate Jesus God's Away on Business Get Behind the Mule Metropolitan Glide Trampled Rose Cold Cold Ground The Part You Throw Away Black Market Baby Rain Dogs/Russian Dance On the Nickel Christmas Card from a Hooker in Minneapolis You Can Never Hold Back Spring Lucky Day Innocent When You Dream 9th and Hennepin Lie to Me Jesus Gonna Be Here House Where Nobody Lives Eyeball Kid Make It Rain
I didn't even know they did this type of thing anymore, but apparently Tom Waits can now come and go as he pleases in the city of El Paso, TX.
From online accounts, as Tom was sitting down to tickle the ivories in a fashion that is all his own, a peace officer came out on stage to "serve him". Tom then started ad-libbing alibis for himself, when a woman came out and presented Tom the above plaque with the key to the city.
It's been a long time since I've been on an R.E.M. high like this one. I suppose the last one peaked in my High School years, when Out of Time was released and "Losing My Religion" was all over MTV and the airwaves. That was back when the Public Library still lent LP Records... and subsequent cassette tape copies of Life's Rich Pageant, Document and Fables of the Reconstruction road shotgun in my first car.
In the days since R.E.M.'s latest tour brought them through the city of Raleigh, I've been on another binge. Each commute to work and home again has been peppered by the old songs, as well as some of the new.
I realize that I'm over a week late in posting any thoughts on this show, but this is more or less written for my own benefit, as well as any others whose memory will likely fail them when trying to recall little nuances of the show.
The one-time quartet of original members is now a trio with a couple of other musicians on stage, when on the road. Stipe performed in a bona fide suit, that was without a doubt very uncomfortable, as we were in a heat wave down in NC, with temperatures in the high 90's and even 100's. I didn't envy his attire in the least. But heat or not, Stipe put on a showman's show, and held nothing back. He even came off stage and into the crowd (although there was a barricade in place on the crowd level) nearing the close of the night.
The band treated us to several chestnuts during the course of the evening. Most notable to me were: "1,00o,000", "7 Chinese Brothers" and "Sitting Still". (I still don't know exactly what Stipe is singing on this one. I still get it wrong to this day singing: "Silly try for the big hill... wasting time, sitting still.") Good old Murmur. There's never been a more aptly titled R.E.M. album. Another highlight was a sweet rendition of "Let Me In" that was performed around a single mic, with Mike Mills at the piano. (I think this was the song, please correct me if I'm wrong on that.) And of course... seeing my long-time guitar idol Johnny Marr join them on-stage for my all time favorite R.E.M. song: "Fall on Me" was a moment I won't soon forget.
R.E.M. has such an extensive catalogue, that every time I've seen them (this was the 4th time around) I've been left wanting more. Be that as it may, they delivered the goods, and then some.
Long may you run. Long may you run.
Harborcoat Living Well's The Best Revenge Bad Day Whats the Frequency, Kenneth? 1,000,000 Man-Sized Wreath Welcome To The Occupation Accelerate 7 Chinese Brothers Hollow Man Imitation of Life Houston Electrolite Walk Unafraid The One I Love Final Straw Find The River Let Me In Horse To Water Auctioneer (Another Engine) Orange Crush I'm Gonna DJ
Encore: Supernatural Superserious Losing My Religion Pretty Persuasion Fall On Me (w/Johnny Marr) Sitting Still (w/Mitch Easter and Don Dixon) Man On The Moon
I lifted this from a Washington Post article from a number of years ago, but things really have changed very little since then, so this entire lexicon is still accurate—except for maybe all the smoking.
Just One Request Going to A Concert? Don't Play The Fool.
By David Segal Washington Post Staff Writer Tuesday, July 20, 2004; Page C01
Nick Lowe has just finished 90 minutes of solo music at the Birchmere, a set that included all of his best-known songs -- except one. The silver-haired daddy of British pop hasn't played "(What's So Funny 'Bout) Peace, Love & Understanding," a track that he wrote and that helped make Elvis Costello famous in the 1970s. So everybody knows what's coming when Lowe returns to the stage for an encore. He strums the opening chords and a ripple of delight rolls through the room.
Then stops. A man in a striped shirt has wobbled up to the stage, a hand-drawn sign in one hand, a drink in the other. He edges so close to the spotlight that Lowe has no choice but to ask what he wants.
"Zmmuphhmen," comes the reply. Or something like that. Lowe looks baffled.
"What?" he asks, politely.
"Zmmuphhmen!" There's a Web address on the sign, and Lowe gamely tries to read it out loud. By now, whatever spell had mesmerized this room is gone, replaced by confusion, which is soon replaced by rage. All at once, fans realize what has happened. Their joy has been killed -- at least for the moment -- by a Concert Fool.
There is no escaping the Concert Fool. He (and every once in a while, she) is the chronic carbuncle on the butt of rock, an inflammation that makes it hard to really get comfortable. The Concert Fool is either unglued by music, or drunk, or unaware of the invisible line that separates civilization from anarchy. Or aware of the line but past caring about it. Mostly, the Concert Fool is having a great time because these guys rawwwwk and because it's a concert and up top, dude. Rock and roll!
Ultimately, the Concert Fool is confused. He believes that the rules of courtesy have been suspended during showtime, which isn't exactly true. Though it's not entirely false, either. At a typical rock concert, you get far more leash than you do at, say, the theater or the symphony. The Concert Fool, however, misconstrues limited license for an excuse to vomit on your girlfriend's pants.
Decorum at a rock concert is actually venue-dependent; what will fly at the 9:30 club, where bands skew loud and young, will get you tossed from the Birchmere, where the acts are generally quieter and pitched to adults. You need to sit down and zip it at the Birchmere and halls like it, which seems proper for a singer like Nick Lowe, whose distorted-amp days are well behind him. But even at 9:30 -- as well as the Black Cat, MCI Center, Merriweather Post and other venues -- you need a set of manners, even if those manners fall somewhere between the standards of decency for a baseball game and the standards of decency for a kegger. Most fans settle comfortably within that fairly broad range, finding a way to exult in the show without thrashing the collective buzz.
The Concert Fool, on the other hand, finds inventive ways to annoy. A wide variety stalk the nation's pop venues, and during my years as a pop-music critic, I've seen them all. So here's a field guide to what's out there -- a taxonomy, if you will, of show-going morons. Avoid them if you can.
The Singer wants to the world to know he's got a great voice. So he sings. Really, really loud, during the lulls, during the shrieks. All the time. Fans of James Mercer met a prime example of this genus of Concert Fool last year at Iota, when Mercer, the lead singer of the Shins, closed a showcase for the Seattle label Sub Pop. Toward the end of his set, Mercer played "New Slang," his most popular tune, but suddenly you could barely hear the guy. A Singer had chimed in -- eyes closed, shot glass hoisted -- at a volume loud enough to drown out the man everyone had paid to hear.
The Reckless Smoker -- A cigarette is a dangerous weapon around people packed together tight. At a Guided by Voices show in New York -- before that glorious smoking ban went into effect -- fans were so jammed one night at a club called Tramps that you had to applaud with your hands above your head. This didn't stop a guy behind me from lighting up -- and then singeing some unlucky fan standing in front of him. "Sorry, man," the Smoker said. No doubt this made the burn victim feel a whole lot better.
The Angler -- They arrived late, and they don't want to stand in the back. So the Anglers connive to get close to the stage, which is tricky -- and rude -- at a show that's sold out. The most inventive Angler I've seen waited till right before the first song and pretended to be on the verge of vomiting as he waded toward the lip of the stage. People leapt out of his way. When he got to the front, he just smiled.
More recently, at a Bob Dylan show, a woman murmured "That's my husband" as she nudged her way to a place at a forward section on the floor of the 9:30 club. She slipped an arm around a tall man and smiled as if greeting her mate. Which he wasn't. The man gave her a confounded look and a polite brushoff. Why she thought this would work is a mystery, but I had the sense it wasn't the first time she'd tried the gambit. In this instance she retreated, muttering: "What a jerk."
The Requestaholic -- They came for one song, and they're going to hear that song if it kills them. Which it nearly did at a couple of Bruce Springsteen's solo shows during his "Ghost of Tom Joad" tour in 1996. The Boss asked fans at the outset not to shout for tunes, and in those cities where the Requestaholics wouldn't stop, Springsteen threatened to ask fans nearby to take matters into their own hands.
For performers, you can imagine the frustration, especially at a show for an album like "Joad," which was somber and low-key. Anyway, most set lists are cooked up well before a tour hits the road, so shouting is nearly always pointless. It's just annoying. One of the few things I remember about the Steve Earle show at the 9:30 two years ago is a twit who screamed "Jackalope Eye!" at least 25 times over the course of the show. Earle tried to shut him up by doing a belittling impersonation of him. But the true Requestaholic won't let a little humiliation get in the way.
"Jackalope Eye!" he screamed during the very next break.
The Talker -- The bane of nearly every show. A shocking number of ticket buyers regard rock concerts as ideal moments to catch up with friends. I can remember a pair of women nattering through a My Morning Jacket concert, a guy flirting shamelessly with a mini-shirted damsel at a Peaches show, a half-dozen drinkers at Iota who didn't seem to realize a band was in the room. The most stupefying Talker I've seen was at a Melissa Etheridge show at the Warner Theatre, a woman who called a friend on her cell phone just as Etheridge hit the stage.
"I'm at the show! Yeah, Melissa just came on! Yeah! Can you hear me? What? Can you hear her? What?" There were murderous stares from everyone in her vicinity -- and then verbal threats -- but it didn't matter. The dedicated Talker doesn't care.
The Stander -- Ordinarily, this is not a big deal. But if everyone else is sitting, it can lead to violence. At a Peter Gabriel show at MCI Center, one Stander, a thirtyish woman in jeans, had the misfortune of blocking the view of a true Concert Fool (see Grabber, below) who slapped her rear end when she refused to have a seat. She ran for the cops, and he hustled out of that section of the arena, presumably to watch the show from another seat.
The Grabber -- One who grabs. See above.
That's the list. If you recognize yourself in any of these categories, let me ask a favor on behalf of everyone else who loves live music: Stay home and wait for the DVD.
As I'm writing this, I'm on a comfy couch back in my home state of NC. The Residency shows are still being played over in my mind, and, lest I forget, I want to write a few lines about the last couple of nights.
Tuesday was frigid. I think the wind chill temperatures on that day alone put all the others to shame. Something like minus 19 Fahrenheit. If you're dressed warm... it doesn't kill ya. While stamping out the cold in line, there was a snaggle-toothed jolly old chap armed with a bottle of vodka, and a never-ending cigarette that made his way up and down the queue of concert-goers. He was quite a dancer, too. It was all good.
The show on Tuesday was broadcast on the web for the masses, and one thing was soon evident: the "free-range" Andrew Bird wasn't on stage. Perhaps it had to do with a music labeling issue. The show was bookended with the same song, essentially: "Outta Mind (Outta Site)" (slow) and "Outta Site (Outta Mind)" (fast). I'm not sure if they'd ever played both in a single set before now. Only Wilco could pull that off!
At the end of the night, fatigue was beginning to set in, and with one more show left to go, many opted, myself and companions included, to forgo any late-night festivities and head on to bed.
We rested some more on the following day, choosing to conserve our energy and nursing our developing colds in order to maximize on the rocking later that night. At this point, many of our new friends were coughing and sniffling, and there were even reports of flu-like symptoms going around. (An aside: We are all sick a week later.)
To those keeping score, we knew that Wilco had played 90-some percent of the promised catalog, and we were really poised for an off-the-hook show for the final night. And that's just what we got.
A few highlights for the night: "Pieholden Suite." In all honesty, I never imagined this song could sound as good as it did. The "Total Pros" horn section really drove this ditty home, and I have a newfound appreciation for this Summerteeth track. "When You Wake Up Feeling Old" seemed especially apropos on this night, for reasons already mentioned. "Blood of the Lamb" from the Mermaid Avenue recordings was a sweet gospel song that would have made Woody proud.
The night didn't end w/ the raucous "Dreamer in My Dreams" although that was the last track they played. We made it down the block to the Fat Cat where we celebrated for a couple hours afterwards. Dehydration had begun to settle in, and it was simply too early to call it a night. Our new-found friends were all there, although some of them regrettably had to get an early start on the trip home. In the end, the warm relationships formed over the Residency were no match for the Chicago winter.
Night Four
Outta Mind (Outta Site) I Must Be High Impossible Germany Radio Cure Leave Me Like You Found Me Company In My Back Handshake Drugs War On War Shake It Off Summerteeth In A Future Age ELT A Shot In The Arm Poor Places Reservations Spiders On And On And On
-break-
Hotel Arizona Too Far Apart Was I In Your Dreams? (w/ horns) Misunderstood Someday Soon California Stars Hate It Here (w/ horns) The Thanks I Get (w/ horns) Walken (w/ horns) I'm The Man Who Loves You (w/ horns) I'm A Wheel (w/ horns) Kingpin Outta Site (Outta Mind)
-encore- The Late Greats
Night Five
Sunken Treasure One By One Shouldn't Be Ashamed You Are My Face Side With The Seeds Pot Kettle Black War On War Pieholden Suite (w/ Andrew Bird & horns) Muzzle of Bees (w/ Bird) It's Just That Simple Nothing'severgonnastandinmyway (Again) I Thought I Held You What Light (w/ horns) When You Wake Up Feeling Old Summerteeth Jesus, Etc. (w/ Bird) Walken (w/ horns) Hummingbird
-break-
Via Chicago Blood Of The Lamb (w/ Bird & horns) Can't Stand It (w/ Bird and horns) Boxful of Letters Heavy Metal Drummer Hate It Here (w/ Bird & horns) The Thanks I Get (w/ Bird & horns) Just A Kid Red Eyed & Blue (w/ Bird) I Got You (w/ Bird Casino Queen I'm A Wheel Less Than You Think (13 minute drone w/ Bird) I'm The Man Who Loves You (w/ horns)
If you like the music, please support the artists by getting out and catching a show, buying a hip t-shirt, or purchasing the CD. If you really want to impress, buy the vinyl.
