In 1999 I turned 40, which felt like a crossroads. Janet and I had just been to four pretty good concerts, and I found myself writing this. I wanted to put it in the blog so it would be out here in the cloud for all time. I didn't change a word, but I corrected a couple of grammatical errors, and a typo or two.

(I will note that eventually Brian Wilson DID tour SMiLE, and when he did, he took the Wondermints out with him.)

A Concertgoer’s Diary

Around the event of my 40th birthday, we (me and the chick who lives here and moved in all her stuff, so it looks like I'm gonna have to marry her) caught 4 concerts in a relatively tight time frame-- Van Morrison; Brian Wilson; Ani DiFranco; and Tom Petty, with Lucinda Williams opening. Taken together, these four gigs have positively reinforced my faith in the power of music to enhance, enliven, entertain, enrich, excite, exalt the spirit (it does some other things too, but they didn't start with "e" so I left 'em out). Not that I needed the reinforcement... But it's nice to recharge the old batteries every now and again, and the circumstance of the milestone added some extra profundity to the whole affair...

Monday night June 14, a beautiful late Spring evening at Jones Beach. The theater is outdoors and backs onto the water. The sound is typically great, the ambiance sublime (or waterlogged, depending on whether or not it rains.) We missed Taj Mahal but were seated in time for Dr. John, who's N'Awlins gumbo was true, legitimate regional folk music, and for a brief while it was as if we were transported to a nice scummy Bourbon Street bar... like all New Orleans acts, the good doctor is required by local ordinance to include either "Iko Iko" or "Man Smart Woman Smarter" in every set; we got the latter...

Morrison's band hits the stage, goes through an instrumental version of "This Weight" from The Healing Game... then into a lazy version of "Moondance", during which the man casually strolls onstage, gets to his mike just in time to toss off the song's first line... sings the verse... and as the band goes into the instrumental middle, he walks just as casually off the stage! Quintessential cool.

For about the next hour forty, the man stood there at his mike-- black suit, black hat, black shades, looking like the Blues Brothers' dad, singing with as much soul as you've ever heard, pulling the sheer spirit and glory of life from some place deep down... it certainly sounded that way. Visually, we were treated to the remarkable sight of this man singing so soulfully that a 1954 Ray Charles would have been hard pressed to match up, but who moved NOT ONE MUSCLE! You know how you imagine that deep soulful singing, like say James Brown, and it involves moving, bending, clutching the mike to your chest and making love to it, falling to your knees, writhing-- well, not Van. Somehow, miraculously, this fat Irish Buddha gets to that place, and I'm telling ya, if there had been a cup of coffee balanced on the top of his hat, he wouldn't have spilled a drop all night.

In fact, at one point he said he was going to do his imitation of the old Italian singer Louie Prima... when the verse came around, he sang two lines while waving his arms.

Everything he sang was a highlight, but four songs stand out in my memory: Dylan's "Just Like a Woman", "Lonely Avenue", "The Healing Game", and the set-closing "Gloria" (On which, naturally, when he finished the lyric he walked off for good and let the band rock out the finish). Also, everything he did from his outstanding new album was stellar, and within 2 days I had gone out and bought three more of his discs.

Janet and I had a laugh imagining the conversation between Dylan and Van on their tour last year, from which I guessed he picked up "Just Like a Woman."

Van: 'tsa good song.
Dylan: Ungh.
(5 minutes of silence)
Van: Bob?
Dylan: Ungh?
Van: You gonna eat those fries?

************

June 19, Friday night at the Beacon, for the Brian Wilson Wall of Sound. Another eccentric, gifted, over-50 genius of the stuff we call rock'n'roll. In '65, when Brian stopped touring with the Beach Boys (sending at first Glen Campbell out in his place), the band really did at that point cleave in two. There was the Mike Love Beach Boys, who came to your town wearing shorts and untucked Hawaiian shirts and sang "Barbara Ann" and "Fun Fun Fun" and "Getcha Back" and "Kokomo"; and then there was the Brian Wislon Beach Boys, a studio-only unit like post-Sgt Pepper Beatles or XTC, who make glorious, intricate, complex sonic palates of Godlike music (Pet Sounds, "Heroes and Villains", "Surf's Up", "Melt Away"...). Well, finally, that second band hit the road.

While Beach Boy shows of the past 30 years have been about Fun Fun Fun and Pop-a-oo-mow-mow (hell, Carl and Dennis are gone, Brian is on his own, Al Jardine is on his own, and Mike Love is STILL touring with an aggregation called the Beach Boys), Brian's music-- and this show-- are all about intricate, genius melody, about fragility, about thrillingly happy music describing achingly sad things, articulated in a simple and childlike way. Although he didn't do this song, one of my quintessential Brian moments is at the end of "When I Grow Up (To Be a Man)." As the song fades out and the boys are singing the ages one passes through in growing up ("18... 19...") someone sings "Won't last forever", and Brian's fragile reedy falsetto answers, "Feels kinda sad"; just wraps up all the melancholy and sadness and hope of life in one stupid little line.

Three songs in I realized that this was how Brian wanted his music to sound-- that he had painstakingly arranged (with, clearly, the aid of producer/keyboardist/musical director Joe Thomas) to his specs, to match the angelic sounds he hears in his head and filters through Phil Spector (indeed the night's only cover was the Spector-produced hit "Be My Baby", Brian's favorite song).

He played hits, sure-- with his song book, it would be hard not to-- but the set's centerpieces were what we used to call album tracks-- "Lay Down Burden" from his new one, most of Pet Sounds, "This Whole World", "Add Some Music to Your Day", "Back Home." The Wondermints, multi-instrumental Wilson loyalists (who's first album had a sticker that said "If I had this band in 1967 I would have toured the Smile Album"-- Brian Wilson) especially helped bring these songs to life, let them breathe, take a stroll around the hall, without losing their complex and delicate beauty.

And that is how Wilson's work must be treated. Because he is like an orchid-- barely stands on his own, needs pampering treatment to get through the day, but the heart of God lives inside the complex beauty of his work.

When it was over, I just wanted to give the big fella a hug.

**********

Just in case you think the only music I can listen to is that by aging boomer stars in need of a high fiber diet, the next night it was back to Jones Beach for the incandescent Ani DiFranco. Ani hit the scene in '90, '91 as a bald angry lesbian punk-folkie feminist, putting records out on her own Righteous Babe label. Over the years she has softened and blossomed-- not in a sell-out kind of way, though. More like Elvis Costello, who came to us the snarling angry punk who had a fist fight with Bonnie Raitt, and has become the troubadour who records with Paul McCartney and Bert Bachrach-- but who still rocks like a mofo. Ani's albums have grown lusher and more musically daring, which some hear as selling out, but which I hear as healthy musical growth on the part of a talented artist. Also, she has longer hair now and wears lipstick. And she married a guy. But hell, I say let's get past that and move on.

Ani's guitar style is quite distinctive-- she uses the acoustic as a percussion instrument every bit as much as a melodic one, and at the same time (this attack lead to the original punk/folk label). Toss in her slightly off-kilter vocal phrasings, and she comes off as a musician truly and literally marching to her own (internal, polyrhythmic) drummer. Her songs are wordy and personal and articulate; she has a way of building a song around a simple metaphor, like for example the title track of her 1998 Little Plastic Castles:

"They say goldfish
have no memories
I guess their lives are much like mine
And the little plastic castle
Is a surprise every time"

At Jones Beach she and her crackerjack band just totally cooked, infusing her songs with a lilting, funky, reggae-like groove. The crowd was largely "clip girls"-- girls between 17 and 25, who wear stringy spaghetti-strap tank tops with bra straps showing, and who part their hair down the middle and hold each side back with a clip. Now, don't get me wrong-- I love the clip girls. Perhaps, Janet might opine, a tad too much... but they love their Ani; they tape shows, swap tapes... Ani is kind of like Phish for girls; the female contemporaries of all those kids trading Phish and Widespread Panic and Dave Matthews tapes are all into Ani. For my money though, she is the best of the lot. At the risk of pigeonholing a truly unique artist, imagine an intersection between Phish and Joni Mitchell; she lives somewhere near there.

************

Saturday night July 3, back yet again at Jones Beach for Tom Petty. If you like rock'n'roll-- that's R-O-C-K-apostrophe-N-apostrophe-R-O-L-L-- then you would love Tom Petty. If you've decided you don't care for the guy because you are sick of the videos for "Mary Jane's Last Dance", "Free Fallin'", and "Don't Come Around Here No More", well, maybe you watch too much TV...

Lucinda Williams opened with a too-brief 45 minute set. That crap that passes for "country music" on the radio-- all those idiots in cowboy hats singing about quittin' time and beer and pickup trucks-- well, that's not country music at all, it's middle-of-the-road, Celine Dion for shit kickers. Lucinda, now THAT's country music. Grinding guitars, a rock'n'roll sensibility, brilliant and well-crafted songs, a band tight as Maria Carey's tummy used to be, and a voice that just drips with true love and broken hearts and late nights in real live smoky honky tonks and tour buses-- Lucinda makes Travis Tritt and Garth Brooks and all those other Nashville twits look like the self-parodies they are.

And then there is Tom Petty. The core of the band-- Petty, guitarist Mike Campbell, keyboardist Benmont Tench-- have been together almost 30 years. They hit the stage, blow your hair back with "Jammin' Me",
"Runnin' Down a Dream", and "Breakdown", before they even take a breath. Petty drawls, "If you just got here, I'm Tom Petty and these are the Heartbreakers." And he means it with a true humility; he is, after all, somewhat of a southern gentleman. Then its back to work, another 2 hours worth.

As the set moves on, you can see, feel, the love these men have for their work, and for each other. Petty is, with I'd say the exception of Keith Richards, the best rhythm guitarist in rock'n'roll, and that is no mean feat. He recently got divorced after a 20-some odd year marriage (his oldest daughter goes to NYU) and after some alone time has found a new lady friend. The songs off his new album (the brilliant and groove-laden Echo) are imbibed with the spirit of self-renewal, of a man who went through the ringer but came out, as he sings in one of the new tunes, "swingin'... like Tommy Dorsey." Petty's characters have always been the defiant outsiders-- from "American Girl" to "I Won't Back Down" to "Listen to Her Heart", the common thread to so many of his portraits is that attitude, that sense of, to cop a phrase, "You can stand me out at the gates of hell, but I won't back down."

Perhaps the most logical peers for Petty and band are Springsteen and the E Street Band, and the Stones. Springsteen invests his best songs with that piano/bells/sax sound that feels like summer at the shore and just sends chills down your spine; the Stones do it with riffing guitars. Petty and the Heartbreakers do it with Petty's brilliant rhythm playing, Campbell's clear-as-a-bell leads, and Tench's raucous keyboards. And of course, on top of it all, is that nasal drawl, one of the best and most instantly recognizable voices in music. Janet, who was overwhelmed by what she called "the sheer wall of sound" these guys make, said it looked like just another day at the office for them-- that no one was breaking a sweat. And so it was. Because these are guys who play this music because they HAVE to, and if they never made a dime at it they'd be playing Jimmy Reed songs at some Florida panhandle bar every Saturday night.

Rock'n'roll will never die, says Petty in this month's Rolling Stone-- "The design is flawless." As he raised his blonde telecaster high and to the side to emphasize the crunch of the power chords he was casually tossing off all night, you knew just how true this was.

Labels: Ani DiFranco, pop culture, reviews, The tunes, Tom Petty

First the setlist, courtesy the good folks over at Hittin' the Note:

Labels: allman brothers, reviews, the Beacon, The tunes

(Bill Graham intro)
Statesboro Blues
Come and Go Blues
Down Along the Cove
Standback
Sailing Across the Devil's Sea
Blind Willie McTell
Bag End
One Way Out (w/A.J. Ghent)

(acoustic)
Old Friend
Dark End of the Street
Done Somebody Wrong

(electric)
Revival
Hot 'lanta > All Along the Watchtower > Hot 'lanta
Dreams
Mountain Jam

Southbound (Ghent, Brecker)

Family business had called me away the night prior, so this was my first show of the run. The first set, I thought, was generally pedestrian, with some soaring during the instrumental; otherwise it was just the basic blues, well-played. But in the second set they brought the dark magic...

The band comes on to a recording of Bill Graham's intro, I think, to the very last Fillmore show, and opens with "Statesboro Blues." Butch Trucks and Mark Quinones have swapped positions, with Butch now occupying the center seat in the back line, and Marc on your right. Warren plays some wet slide before handing off to Derek. "Come and Go Blues" features some nice, velvety Derek lines, with Warren taking a majestic lead on the break. Then Warren sings "Down Along the Cove," which basically gets the "Woman Across the River" treatment, but slower; the basic Allman Brothers Band smokehouse blues.

In "Standback" the band parks on the one chord, and Derek slowly goes to town, stirring up hot fury, Warren totally locked into him on rhythm; then the bouncy riff into the close. It's an early highlight. Warren plays some big slide in the middle of "Sailing Across the Devil's Sea"; then a sparse take on "Blind Willie McTell," with Derek testifying over some churchy organ.

In 'Bag End," Warren plays all pretty over some solid boiler room drumming, then he makes a deal with the devil; Oteil locks on, squaring off at Warren, swaying side to side from the waist like he's made of rubber. Then the band stills, and Derek paints the air, brush strokes giving way to rain drops. Then he takes the band on a little happy march back to the theme... but Warren doesn't wanna go there. They tease all around it, then bring the song to a close without actually returning to the theme at all. Probably the highlight of the set. Then AJ Ghent comes out on sacred steel for a smashing "One Way Out," clearly a crowd favorite, to bring us to intermission.

After intermission comes the acoustic set. Derek and Warren start out alone, with "Old Friend." Gregg, Oteil and Marc join for "Dark End of the Street," Warren providing nice harmony vocals on the chorus. Then "Done Somebody Wrong," with a clean, swinging sound, and some nice lead work from Derek.

Now it gets interesting.

The band offers up "Revival," generally a short song with a long jam. They meander out of the first run-through, Derek explores the "Jessica" lick, then quotes "Fly Me to the Moon." Warren falls into a call-and-response with Oteil, the drums percolating underneath; then a "Norwegian Wood" tease from Warren, then back into the song to close. The improvisational middle section is new, and decidedly different from the piece they'd been playing in that spot since '05. Highlight.

Randy Brecker joins the band on outside right, for "Hot 'lanta." Which is exciting, because Warren had been quoted as saying this was a song that was going to get a new workout during the run. They work through to the drum break, but the drums come haltingly, with more and more space between the beats... Oteil goes into a bass vamp... Derek squeezes out sheets of slide over the top... Brecker's trumpet joins the party, a party that is all midnight purple, jazzy, and kind of blue... Derek and Brecker lock into a 2-horn interplay, only of course Derek's horn is a guitar... then easing into a slow "All Along the Watchtower," with Warren singing. The pace is such that at any moment, they could seamlessly roll over into "Hit the Road Jack" (they don't, but you think about it.) Brecker brings clear. piercing brass. Derek takes a nice, long hot soak in the song, then moves into bright, shimmering tone. Back to the vocal, then Warren takes the band down, down to a misty, quite place, playing descending lines, the band is on it with him, the music coalescing back into the "Hot 'lanta" riff. Now comes that drum break, and back into the song's close. There are two exclamation points in my notebook, then the word "outstanding."

So now we're in that dark, misty, indigo jazzy space, Brecker still on, so when the band almost falls into "Dreams," it feels pretty obvious, by which I mean, obvious-good. Gregg's organ throbs, Warren soars. Brecker invokes Miles, blows full, his shiny brass tone filling the house; this mofo is a one man horn section all by himself. Derek comes in, laying out cascades of tone; then Derek and Brecker howl together at the moon, then bang! Back into the return riff. Derek ambles over to Gregg, tosses some slide at him, counts him back in on the vocals. Epic.

Out of "Dreams," Derek messes around a bit with "Little Martha," until Butch pounds in his boom boom cadence to"Mountain Jam." But before they fall into the theme, there's a stab at "Birdland" featuring Derek, Oteil and Brecker. Then Brecker plays the Jam theme melody, and breaks back into a vamp. leading into sweet Warren lines. No one's touched the "Mountain Jam" theme in a good 6 mnutes, they haven't really played it full on at all. We're pretty clear this is indeed the Jam, but really it is more a battle between "Mountain Jam" and Kind of Blue or "Birdland," and it isn't clear who's winning. Actually, it sounds like everybody's winning. The entire front line turns to face the drums, Oteil goes into a stop time riff with Marc as Derek and Warren walk off. Oteil syncopates, the drummers follow. Oteil goes into an extended, funky workout that hits me like a massage chair; suddenly my back feels better. Then he scat-sings along with his bass, before giving way to the drum solo section (and joining it.) Out of the drums, now the band is full-on into "Mountain Jam," arguably the first time they've actually played it as opposed to hinted at it all song. A shorter than usual take, but unique, jazzy and glorious.

Brecker and Ghent are on for the encore, and I've been to this rodeo often enough to expect "Southbound." THe drummers suggest it, but Derek and Warren trade very un-Southbound staccato licks, and Gregg isn't onstage. There's an extended vamp on a single chord, finally Warren turns to face the drums, hand aloft, and counts 1, 2, 3 on his fingers to finally count in "Southbound." I look over, and Gregg has taken his place. It's an extended take and more funk, less country than usual, which is to the good. In the middle Warren grabs a verse, then Gregg picks it up as they derive to a close. It's a song I don't usually feature much, but this is a particularly good version.

Both guests were great, but Brecker especially was notable; on for maybe the last third of the show, during which he took them into a decidedly jazzy mode, and the band was solidly up to the task. From "Revival" on the music was fresh and new yet somehow ageless and timeless.

Labels: allman brothers, reviews, The tunes

I don't know what makes some shows just garden variety kickass good, and others magical. Biorhythms? Because Warren had Mexican food? And too, the best I can know is how I experienced the show; not how it actually was according to some objective universal standard. So it might not even be them; it might be me.

Labels: allman brothers, reviews, the Beacon, The tunes

Labels: derek trucks, pop culture, reviews, ryan adams, The tunes, Top CDs of the year