The Swell Season "I Have Loved You Wrong"

At last week's Laura Marling show, a few folks who had bought tickets let us know that they couldn't come, and discussion turned to reselling those tickets, meaning we would be double-dipping on some of the seats.

And I had a flashback to The Swell Season show I went to a couple of years ago . . .

I was supposed to go with my wife, but she wasn't feeling well, and as I was leaving for Boston, she decided it would be best if she stayed home.

I got on the phone and made a number of calls as I was driving up to Boston.

Did my sister want to go?  Not really.  She hadn't even heard of the band.

How about her husband?  No, he was working.

My wife's brother worked in the city, but I wasn't sure what time he got out.  Had he already left town?  Was he not getting out of the office until well after the show started?

I left him a message and told him to call me back.  I'd wait in the lobby until the show started, hoping he'd return my call.

It was a bitterly cold night in Boston.  (In fact, almost a year later I met Glen Hansard of The Swell Season at Newport Folk, and when I said, "I saw you last fall in Boston," his one sentence reply was "Yeah . . . it was really cold that night.")

I waited and waited, but didn't hear from my brother-in-law.

I hated that the ticket might go to waste, so I approached the box office, which was in the foyer between the street and the lobby.

"My wife isn't coming to the show.  Do you want to resell this?"

The young folks behind the glass looked at me like I was about to hand them a turd.

"No, No!  We can't do that."

I guess there some law about reselling.

They told me, "You're welcome to give it away though."

A small line to get in had formed behind me.

"Does anyone need a ticket?" I asked hopefully.

I got the averted eye that I'd given many, many times before, to scalpers.

"It's free."

There was one person looking at me.  He didn't say anything, but he looked and gave me a hint of a smile.

He was on the other side of the foyer space.  He was most certainly homeless.

I'd seen him in the foyer, busying himself reading the posters of coming attractions.  Looking out the glass doors, up and down the street, as if he were waiting for someone.

It was bitterly cold, and the lobby was a small respite from that.

I thought about it for a second.  Should I give this guy my ticket?  Give him 2 hours in a warm, safe space?

But then I thought, If I give him the ticket, I'm stuck with him for 2 hours.  It's not just a pass to get in.  It's a pass to sit right next to me.  What if he's weird?  What if he's unstable?  What if he wants to talk during the show?

Already feeling a bit fragile (as I wrote about in the previous post).  Was this what I was really going to substitute for a night with my wife?

I turned and went inside, the extra ticket still in my pocket.


Did I do the right thing?  I don't know.  Probably not. 

I certainly didn't do the kind thing, the charitable thing.

More than that, remembering this little moment I re-read the lengthy, "Oh I'm sad about my wife not being here" post and think about how small my problems seem, and how embarrassed that I am to have had them, when I compare them to the problems of the homeless man, whose next two hours, and his night, and his rest-of-his-winter are out in the bitter cold of an unforgiving Boston season.


Hear the song on Youtube.

Neil Diamond "Sweet Caroline"

I've been away for the last 10 days, on vacation in North Carolina.  10 days is a looong time ago.

Hell, even as a write this on Monday morning, it still hasn't been a full week since the Boston Marathon bombings took place, never mind the craziness of the manhunt, lockdown and capture in the days that followed.

It was pretty weird to be away from here while all this was taking place.

On the one hand, watching it unfold on TV in North Carolina was almost like being home, because the NC stations often just carried the feed from local Boston stations.  We saw familiar faces and heard familiar voices, talking about familiar places---it was like watching it at home.

And on the other hand, we were removed from it all.  There was a bit of a disconnect, since we weren't among a population that was in the thick of it.

On Saturday morning, we started our trek off Ocracoke Island, and the long drive up the Outer Banks.  The last stop before crossing the bridge back to the mainland is a rest stop at the Monument to the Wright Brothers at Kittyhawk.  While our gang used the facilitites, I took a moment to look at Facebook to see what was going on among my friends.

"Did Papi just drop the F bomb?"

There were a good dozen friends who posted this or something similar, moments after David Ortiz addressed the crowd, the City Of Boston and the World before Saturday's Red Sox game.

We got back on the road, and I found the game on the radio.

When they brought out Neil Diamond to sing "Sweet Caroline," we turned it up, and I looked over at my wife.  We both had tears in our eyes.

Why?

While going through a range of emotions over the course of the week---scared, shocked, saddened, angry, worried, relieved---neither of us had cried.

Why now?

We talked about it, but couldn't quite wrap our hands around the answer.

Was it a release?  Was it a connection to the City as a community?  Was it simply the power of music?

I can't say.

But I watched it again this morning, and teared up all the same.

Thanks Neil.


See the video on Youtube.


Hear the original on Youtube.

G Love & Special Sauce "I-76"

While PJ is on vacation, he's writing about songs that taught him something . . .

Writing about Philadelphia yesterday, coupled with my family drive down the East Coast for vacation, reminded me of this one.

I've only been to Philadelphia once.  But I know the names of all the surrounding highways and routes, thanks to this ditty from G Love and Friends.

They could try to do a song like this about how to drive through Boston, but as the meme says . . .

Hear the song on Youtube.

The Brew "Into The Remembering Sun"

We wanted to support The Brew for a number of reasons, not the least of which is, we think they are good.

As a station, we want to get on board with a local/regional band that is a step or two from breaking wider, and we have a great history of giving early support to folks like Cheryl Wheeler, Martin Sexton, Grace Potter and The David Wax Museum.

Plus, the band has let us record and stream several of their live shows.  And let's just say that their one visit to the station, left a few of the staffers quite charmed by their sincere love of what they do.

So we added the song.

After playing this tune for a while, one interesting, pleasant thing sticks out for me.

Any young artist we add, local or not, has a musical connection to the core artists of our station.  While we don't want copycats, we hope that you can draw a straight line from some new, unfamiliar artist, to The Beatles or Talking Heads or Bob Dylan or one of the many classic artists we play.

So what was sticking out for me?

Boston.

Man, Boston was such an important band to a kid growing up in New England in the late 70s and early 80s.

mvyradio doesn't play Boston.  They fit better on a classic rock station, because the sound is a little more mainstream than many of the more edge-pushing artists we rotate.  But I bet that band is still a touchstone for many listeners.

And really, is there a band or a song out there now, that is employing a style that you'd trace straight back to Boston?

So when the Tom Scholz-like guitar kicks in on this one, it gives me a warm feeling inside.  Maybe that's why it's called "Into The Remembering Sun."


Hear the song on Youtube.

Boston "More Than A Feeling"

Also sharing a birthday with me (March 10th), is the guy who wrote the lyric, "I lost myself in a familiar song/Closed my eyes and I slipped away," which describes some moment of every day of my life.

Happy (now Late) Birthday, Tom Scholz of Boston.

Hear the song on Youtube.


I also share a birthday with Edie Brickell!

Hear the song on Youtube.


And also, Chuck Norris. Oh yeah, Chuck sings!

Hear Norris' killer vocals, on Youtube.

Robert Plant "Angel Dance"

Last night's Robert Plant show at The House Of Blues in Boston probably merits a few different posts. But the thing that stands out to me, in the immediate aftermath, is The Band Of Joy.

Unlike a few of his contemporaries, Robert Plant has steadfastly refused to act like he's still a cocky 20-something. I knew this going into the show, and wondered, If he's not going to prance and pose a la the concert film "Song Remains The Same," how will he command the stage? How will his presence manifest itself?

It was through the power of The Band Of Joy.

Drummer Marco Giovino's kit was set to the back of the stage (as drummers usually are) and the rest of the band created a kind of square on stage. Guitarist Buddy Miller was at the front of the stage to Plant's right, bass player Byron House was set behind Miller. Patty Griffin was at the front of the stage to Plant's left, and multi-instrumentalist Darrell Scott was set behind her.

And Plant stood in the middle of this four-square style set up.

When the band was really cooking through an instrumental section of a song, they'd all turn inward toward Plant, and I swear it was like they were focusing light through a prism.

And when they all turned back to their microphones, each to lend their voice as a back-up singer, like the "Aaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh!"s during "Angel Dance," I half expected Plant to be levitated off the stage.

Aging frontmen should take this lesson: the right chemistry can produce half the smoke but all of the burn.


(the stage plot is slightly different in this video than last night, but you get the picture)

Weezer "In The Garage"

Tonight my wife, her brother, my sister and I, are headed to The Orpheum in Boston to catch Weezer.

This is part of their "Memories" tour, where, tonight, their going to play their first album in its entirety. Woohoo!

Thinking about that first record (which I know each of the 4 of us listened to, tons) brings back the mid-90s for sure. But thinking about that first album cover sent me straight to the garage.

I've previously mentioned the recent fruitful trip to the garage, and just this weekend remembered that I had seen my special Christmas card folder.

For a good dozen years, I made my own Christmas cards. And in the pre-Photoshop era, I'd do most of the work with a pair of scissors, some glue, and the company photocopier.

The year after Weezer's debut came out, this was my Christmas greeting to all, with my head in place of guitarist Brian Bell's (on the right):

Here's the original:

And for your enjoyment, a selection of other entertaining cards from different years. Photoshop did become an option.

Here's the first card I did with my wife:

And for years, we waited for our daughter to be old enough to play the role of Zuzu.

Hooray for the garage!!!




Clips from the whole album:

Rodrigo Y Gabriela "Tamacun"

When to love an aritst, you want so badly to share them with people you think will love them as much as you do. But it's hard, sometimes, to win people over.

I went to see Rodrigo Y Gabriela (with Ryan Montbleau as the opener) at the Opera House in Boston last night, and I brought my friend Dana.

He's a huge music fan, and a very open mind when it comes to discovering new things.

I think it's can be really hard for certain people, to go to a concert where they don't know the artists, or a single song, and really get something out of the experience.

But I felt good, two songs into the night.

After blazing through "Hanuman" and another track from the album "11:11" that had a dead-stop ending, there was a slight pause.

And before the music started up, before the audience started clapping, from the darkness beside me, I heard a little:

"Heh heh."

A small, spontaneous bit of laughter.

When the next song ended, Dana let out a "Whooooo!"

By the middle of the show, he was full out clapping and laughing and smiling and shouting.

"They're unbelievable."

He left the show a fan, ready to check out their records.

They were awesome, and I felt like I had successfully shared. Victory!





If you're on the Vineyard, Ryan Montbleau is playing at Nectars on Saturday, 8/28!

Garbage “Vow”

Thinking about last week’s Neko Case post, and the YouTube video that went with it, brought me back a decade and a half, to the Orpheum in Boston.

We had gone to a WFNX (the alternative station in Boston) event. You know, one of those throwdowns where the local radio station twists the arm of a few labels, to put on a free show featuring some of their bands. The shows are usually an eclectic mishmash of artists---you go for one particular band, and end up seeing some others you might not have otherwise.

We were hanging in the front row of the balcony, enjoying Black Grape and our faves, Letters To Cleo. We figured since we were there, we’d watch the headliner, Garbage.

“We” was me, my sister, her then-boyfriend (and now husband) and my girl friend. Not my girlfriend. Just a friend. You know how that goes.

I liked Garbage’s records well enough, though I don’t know that I would have gone out to see them specifically.

But seeing them live, there was certainly much more going on. Maybe it was the really understated, ace playing of Steve Marker and Duke Erikson. Or maybe it was the near mechanical precision of drummer Butch Vig. Or maybe . . .

“Uh, PJ. Maybe you want to close your mouth . . .” my friend suggested.

Yeah. Shirley Manson. In big boots and a short skirt. Red hair whipping around. Moving, strutting, grinding, vamping in a way that I couldn’t take my eyes off of.

“C’mon. Her moves are so cliche, it's practically scripted. You’re really falling for that?” she asked.

Umm. Yes.

After a minute of back and forth, I had to bring in my sister and her boyfriend.

“Is Shirley Manson really sexy, or fake sexy?”

My sister said something dismissive. I don’t remember her exact words, but they were along the lines of, “She’s dancing like a woman who’s doing a performance of what some man told her a sexy woman should look like.”

There was a pregnant pause, and then my future brother-in-law said:

“It worked on me.”

Me to.