While much of what I wrote about for the Merlefest trip, had to do with the girl I had gone with (we had, in effect, a 2 day first date!), here's the big musical takeaway:
"Chris Thile will be the name to remember . . ."
That was April 2000. And here I am 14 years later, thrilled to have seen Chris Thile, Sean Watkins and Sara Watkins, together and in other configurations another half-dozen times, with the promise of seeing them together again this summer when they come to Newport Folk.
For the last several years, during the week around New Years, my wife's family convenes in Newport, Rhode Island for a few days at a timeshare. Prior to having kids, my wife and I might go out for New Year's Eve, but in these last few years, we've generally stayed in.
That was the case this year. As midnight approached we found ourselves watching Ryan Seacrest as he did the Dick Clark thing.
At some point, Seacrest brought out Debbie Harry and Blondie, who chatted for a few minutes, and then launched into a few of their hits.
My wife's family was remarking how good Debbie Harry both looks and sounds, though she is approaching 70 years old.
My mind suddenly jumped back nearly 20 years.
In the mid-90s, when I was living in Virginia, my roommate was a Virginia Tech grad, and a football fan. When the Hokies made it to the Sugar Bowl, we decided to hit the road.
New Orleans for New Year's Eve? Hell yeah!
The football game was exciting. Tech won. We were in an upbeat mood as we headed down to Bourbon Street, trying to decide where we'd go to celebrate midnight.
We noticed that at one of the clubs, the headliner for the evening was Debbie Harry.
"Debbie Harry!?!!? C'mon!" I remember exclaiming.
Harry hadn't had a hit in years and years. I presumed she was old and washed up and why would I want to spend New Year's Eve with that?
So there I was, back in 2013 on New Year's Eve, sitting in a timeshare sipping some wine in my pajamas with my wife and my In-Laws waiting for the clock to hit midnight so I could go to bed, while I watched Debbie Harry rocking out on National TV, whipping the Times Square audience into a frenzy, looking fabulous as she neared 70. . .
I looked at the TV. I looked at my pajamas. I looked at the TV and said out loud:
It was a hot and sweaty night and a friend of my wife's dragged us to a club in Hyannis, to catch her favorite area band.
The inside was hotter and sweater, with the crowd pulsating, grooving, in sync with the band, losing themselves to the music.
Years later (about a month ago) we were talking around the office about what kind of band we wanted for our Friends of mvyradio Valentine's Day Fundraiser Party.
We agreed that we needed an act that would get people up on their feet, give them a show, let them let loose, and feel like they got their money's worth for a night out in Newport.
"How about the Evan Goodrow Band?"
See Friends of mvyradio for details, and get your tickets today. If he's good enough to open for BB King, he's good enough for us!
And seeing John Prine this weekend, that story just continued to telescope out.
I was running around in our backstage area, uploading pictures, checking audio, on the phone with the station---just doing what I do, when I heard Prine start this song.
I didn’t want to miss it, but I didn’t have time to go all the way around to the front of the stage and watch the show. So I made a little beeline from our setup, in the interior courtyard of the Fort, to a room inside the Fort, that overlooks the stage from behind.
Literally, you can see John Prine’s back, 50 feet away. Over his shoulder is the crowd of thousands, and behind them, Newport Harbor and The Bridge.
“The best seat in the house,” said Barbara, who had materialized beside me.
She’d been doing her thing, and had the same notion, at the same time, as I.
Barbara commented on how great it sounded, this slowed down version of Prine’s tune. It really got to the heart of the song.
A nice shared moment with BD.
Later that night, we were back at Joe’s house. Saturday night at the festival, we have a late barbecue (after packing up for the day, it’s usually after 10pm before we get to dinner) and we rehash the day.
Musician Ryan Montbleau, who dates Jess, was with us for dinner, and of course we goaded him into bringing his guitar out.
After a few songs, he passed the guitar off to Barbara, and yes, the crowd insisted that she sing “Angel From Montgomery.”
Barbara tried to deflect the request, saying that there was no way she could do the song, after hearing Prine’s perfect version earlier that day. It just wouldn’t be right.
But the crowd would not be denied.
And yes, Barbara did an amazing version of the song. Some friends of friends were in the small group, and at the end of the night Barbara got big hugs from these former strangers, for her beautiful effort.
So now the song reminds me of Barbara singing solo on Ryan’s guitar which reminds me of watching Prine through a window in the Fort, which reminds me of Barbara singing with Kate Taylor’s Band, which reminds me of singing with friends in a farmhouse 15 years ago.
Five songs I’m looking forward to hearing again, in Newport.
I’m hesitant to write this post, because it does go against personal policy.
I try not to retell other people’s stories.
It just never comes off, does it? When someone retells a joke they heard on a comedy special, or tries to paraphrase Quint’s “Indianapolis” speech from “Jaws” or whatever. It loses something in the retelling. And it even detracts from the original if someone retells a story, and then later you hear it from the original source.
So if you’re going to see The Swell Season anytime soon, maybe you should just skip this post. (ed. note: you may also want to skip to the end of this post and watch the video first)
I think I was already in a bit of a fragile state of mind when I saw The Swell Season last fall. I’ve seen shows within the last week, that I’ve spent less time thinking about, than the show at Berklee in November.
Most affecting was Glen Hansard’s story that seemed to start as an aside---and yes, here is where I ruin his story, by trying to be brief and encapsulate it. He’s an Irishman, for Fuck’s Sake. A masterful storyteller. And here I go, giving you the Instant Mashed Potato version.
He was in an elevator in Chicago, the night after a show, headed down to the lobby. There was a woman in the elevator.
He commented on her beautiful coat. She thanked him and began to cry.
She explained that she’d gone through a really hard time, had lost her son. She said she’d stayed at home for nearly two years. But she decided to live again. She saw the coat in a store window and even though it was more expensive than she could afford, she bought it, as a promise to herself to seize the day.
“My son. He was in one of those fucking buildings.”
You could feel the room seize up.
Hansard didn’t have to explain to the audience what she meant. We all knew he was talking about September 11th.
The woman said she had woken up that day with a bad feeling in her gut. She’d tried to call her son, but had not been able to get through to him. She never got to speak to him.
Hansard walked her to a cab, gave the woman his email address and invited her to come see his show. “She’d never heard of us,” he laughed, lightening the mood. “We’re headed back to Chicago next week to play again. I hope she comes out.”
And then he played “Say It To Me Now.”
I still get chills, get filled up, when I hear that song, and I think about “those fucking buildings.”
And I marvel at his masterful storytelling. He didn’t say why he played “Say It To Me Now.” He didn’t hit us over the head with the point of the story, or the point of the song. He didn’t have to.
----------------- Amazing news. I found a Youtube video of Glen telling the story and singing the song. He definitely told the story, slightly differently on the night I saw him. Hope I didn't ruin it for you.
Saturday night, the Mrs. and I had a date to go see the band Cake, a long-time favorite for both of us.
The show was at the Newport Yachting Center, so we decided we'd go out to dinner somewhere near the venue.
We had a hilarious, only-in-Newport type of encounter, while looking for a place to eat. As we strolled the early-evening streets, which were teeming with the well-dressed, the over-dressed, and the showily-dressed wealthy summer crowd, we spied an interesting, upscale looking place that we hadn't seen before. There was a young woman, standing in front, who noted our interest, and asked if we'd like to look at a menu.
I had about 10 seconds to look over the thing and start to think, "A little overpriced, but it could be interesting," before the woman said to us, "If you'd like to join us for dinner, the next available seating is at 10pm tonight."
FIVE HOURS FROM NOW!!!
I just said, "Uh, no thanks." We handed the menu back, and strolled a little further, to a completely unassuming barbecue joint, where we were greeted with laid-back enthusiasm.
We were near the venue, so I was not surprised that there were a whole bunch of folks in the place, who were headed to the Cake show.
But as our meal progressed, something odd developed.
Now, it's no real secret that Newport (not unlike parts of the Vineyard, and Nantucket) is fairly, um, monochomatic.
But suddenly, we were surrounded by white people.
Meaning, there was a group of 20-plus folks, who had picked this restaurant as their meet-up place, and they were all dressed in white. Everybody had a white shirt. And many of them had white pants, or a white skirt. One guy even had a white fedora.
As they were leaving, my wife tapped one of the guys on the shoulder, and asked what the deal was with the group dress code.
He explained, "We just thought it would be fun, if Cake looked out at the audience, and saw our big group all dressed the same, and then (singer) John McCrea could say 'Hey, look. The white people are here!"
Yes, the audience was pretty monochromatic, and even if McCrea didn't see that group, it wouldn't have been inappropriate for him to deliver that line.
Ever been to the site, Stuff White People Like? Let me pitch to them, two new entries: "Newport" and "Cake."
Starting in the early Fall, record labels release albums from Big Name artists. Marquee names. Hoping to get the word out, so you’ll buy the record for Christmas.
By early November, they are releasing music from Brand Names---artists SO BIG, you don’t even need to hear the music, to consider buying it. Boxed Sets, Greatest Hits, Christmas albums and such.
Once December hits, the labels go into hibernation. With all the Holiday Hoo-hah, they realize that trying to get a new record started would just get lost in the shuffle.
So no new releases come out at this time.
But the radio station beast still needs to be fed. Songs we added weeks and months ago are burning out, and we want to replace them with fresh material.
I really enjoy this time of year, because it gives us a chance to reconsider records that we missed earlier in the year.
We met Dala at Newport this summer, and fell in love. They are charming, sweet, and super-strong in their singing. But we never added the record. It’s a little on the poppy side of mvyradio.
But in the light of no new releases, we are able to listen again, and be won over by these young Canadians.
What do DJ’s do in their free time? They DJ, of course.
Long before I worked at mvyradio, I was the guy who spent most of the Party fiddling with the stereo (which meant I was rarely the guy who took the girl home).
On the Saturday night of Newport Folk in 2008, the station hosted a House Party in Newport, featuring live music from Kate Taylor and Red Rooster and JP Jones. A really fun, loose time.
But by 2am or so, all the guests and bands and friends had gone to bed (or to other parties), and just a few of us hung on---Barbara, Nark, Jane the weekend DJ, Marianna from the office, and Joe, our President. And I sat in front of the stereo, trying to get the gang to dance (Naughty By Nature? No. Johnny Hoy? Yes.)
And when even this fighting few was worn out, I started spinning some wind-down tunes, to ease us out of a long, long day and night.
That’s when I played this cut, and I’ll always think of how Joe just nodded when the first notes hit, and he said the title, just the title, but with a weight that said way more than two words. His inflection said, “Yeah, this is the song. This is the song we need right now.”
I'm the Program and Music Director of mvyradio, a broadcast and internet station on the Island of Martha's Vineyard. You can hear it here.
I've been in radio since the early 90s, programming shows. As Music Director, I receive dozens of CDs and songs every week, from Record Labels, Promotion People and Independent Artists. I try to listen to everything anyone asks me to.
So the old iTunes list is pretty long.
The idea of this blog is to go to that list, grab one (usually at random, but not always) and write about it. Every song has a story. How it fits into the artists oeuvre. What it meant to me when I first heard it.
I'll try to post the song in full, whenever possible, and I invite you to listen and tell me what it makes you think of.
And for more great music, you can stream mvyradio from anywhere in the world, here.
