Throwing Muses "Counting Backward"

For full enjoyment of the entry, play this audio now, and let it run while you read the post . . ..

I have one, simple memory that comes to mind, anytime I hear any Throwing Muses song.

It was another UMass Spring concert. I can't remember who was on the bill that year, but the student production company was always pretty good about putting together an eclectic mix of 4 artists, that would appeal to various campus demographics. That's how De La Soul and Bob Dylan appeared on the same bill.

There was usually a hip, indie rock act (in those pre-"alternative" days, we called them "college" bands), like Violent Femmes or something.

This particular year, Throwing Muses filled that slot.

My friend Kurt was a fan. And I trusted his musical taste enough that I made sure I was shoulder to shoulder with him, near the front of the stage.

I can't remember who preceded the Muses' set, but whoever it was, had cleared the stage, and the roadies and student crew, were readying the stage for Kristen Hersh and company.

Per usual, there was a 20 minute or so delay between bands. It was early in the day, so the crowd on the lawn was not yet packed, not yet rowdy (and not yet drunk).

A relaxed murmur filled the air, as friends chatted casually. As Kurt and I did the same.

I don't think I fully registered, the first 5 or 6 times I heard it, but somewhere along the line, I picked up on a noise from behind me.

I looked at Kurt. He heard it too.

Turning around, I saw a scruffy, bearded, grad-student aged guy, one fist in the air, saying, "muses."

Not "MUSES!!!" Not "MUSES." Not even "Muses."

It was more on the level of how you might say, "here" when the professor took roll call in a particularly dull class.

"muses."

Twenty or so seconds would go by, and then he'd say it again.

"muses."

Not shouting, not fanatical. Just loud enough to be heard over the crowd murmur. Just frequently enough that you knew it was the only thing on the guys mind.

"muses . . ."

(25 seconds)

"muses . . ."

It was the most lackadaisical show of intense devotion I've ever heard.

And to this day, I can't hear the music, without wanting to not-quite-shout "muses."


If you want to, try it out yourself this weekend in Woods Hole, when Kristen Hersh performs and reads from her book.


Hear the song on Youtube.

Vic Chesnutt “Sad Peter Pan”

I think this is the Vic Chesnutt I like the best. Not too much band, but not too too stripped either. A little melancholy, and little funny. Not too many folks can pull off a like like "I just want to be Aaron Neville." And I picture him on the record insert, in that green felt hat.

I saw Vic Chesnutt in concert, at the Grey Eagle in Asheville, North Carolina. Three things really stick out about the show, which was a co-bill with Kristen Hersh.

One was that she requested that song. They were both on stage for the whole show, each taking a turn singing a song, and part-way through the show, Vic turned to her and asked "What should I do next" and she was momentarily caught off-guard, but when she thought about it, she smiled and said "Do the 'pushing the paint around' song."

Vic Chesnutt is wheel-chair bound, due to injuries from a car accident, and he talked about it a bit from the stage, with easy humor, mentioning "I was drunk as a Coot." Who can say the word "Coot" in regular conversation? Whenever I hear the word "Coot" I think of Vic Chesnutt. Which is basically confined to times I watch Beverly Hillbillies reruns.

The third thing is that I remember what he looked like at the end of the show. After 90 minutes of being so at ease on-stage, telling stories and singing his songs, when I came time to exit the stage, he carefully wheeled himself off the small ramp, down past the front row of seats and off to the side of the stage behind a curtain. And because I was in the front row, I could see him back there, and I remember how small he looked. How, once he dropped his stage demeanor, he receded to someone smaller, less comfortable with himself. It was in his eyes.

And as much as I have romanticized a musicians life, I often wonder if that is really what it's like. If you truly get a high, a true happiness from performing, what are the other 22 hours of the day like?

Hear "Sad Peter Pan"