Janelle Monáe "Tightrope"

I'm pretty absorbed in a particular musical world. Granted, the music that comes through mvyradio's doors is pretty eclectic---I hear a lot from the world of rock and blues and folk and soul, etc.

But there are genres that just don't make it over the wall---Jazz, heavy metal, dance, to name a few---that have rich landscapes that I never survey.

I mean, we get the Norah Jones/Diana Krall Jazz songs, but those are "crossover" songs/artists. They are not the hardcore, steeped-in-it genre tracks.

Occasionally, something that is not a crossover lands in the disc player, from the R&B world. It's probably not new to, say, your kid who watches MTV. But if mvyradio is the kind of music you listen to, you may not have run across Janelle Monae.

About once every 3 or 4 years, a song like this---one that's undeniably, indescribably good---leaps the fence, without actually doing anything to crossover. Songs like Outkast's "Hey Ya" and Gnarls Barkley's "Crazy" come to mind as recent examples.

I know you might not usually listen to a track like this, but the insane bassline alone is reason enough embrace this track, whether it's your style or not.

The Beatles “Daytripper”

There are geographical peculiarities about every place. And vocabulary peculiarities that go along with it.

The title of this song probably doesn’t mean anything special, or particular, to someone from, say, Butte, Montana.

But I was on a Steamship Authority bus, just about to get off at the Woods Hole terminal, to go back to the Island on a hot August day, when this song came on the bus driver’s iPod, which he was running through the radio speakers.

“Good song for tourist season,” I said, and we both smiled.

Literally thousands of people will come off that bus, hop on a boat, buzz around our Island for a day and head back to the mainland, unaware that many a local is humming a familiar, catchy Beatles riff at them as they buzz on by.

Ben Folds & Nick Hornby “From Above”

There are the crappy cartoon crossovers (“Hello, ‘Flintstones Meet The Jetsons’!”) and then there are the awesome cartoon crossovers, like when Spiderman helped out The X-Men.

This is an awesome crossover.

Ben Folds, the bespeckled, piano-playing, off-Broadway-understudying, Shatner-record-producing, college-a-capella-recording, "Sing Off" judge, has a new collaborator, in Nick Hornby.

Yes, Nick Hornby the author of “High Fidelity,” “Fever Pitch,” “About A Boy,” “Songbook,” and a portion of my wedding vows.

"From Above" is the album. Words by Nick Hornby. Music by Ben Folds.

Nerd-vana by PJ Finn.

Martin Sexton "Boom Sh-Boom"

As much as I wanted to, I just couldn't come right out and ask her about her sex life. It just seemed to personal.

Martin Sexton was in the mvyradio On-Air studio, being interviewed by Barbara. I was in the lobby talking to Martin's manager, who is also his wife.

It was on my mind, to ask the question, but I just couldn't do it. Instead we talked about dogs and our children and the Vineyard and such.

Meanwhile, Martin was on the air, giving explicit details of his personal life, to Barbara and the listening audience.

"We did the Boom Sh-Boom, the doo wah ditty,
The mocha choco latte and the nitty gritty.
We did the hoochie coo, the laser ballerina,
Babe you make me feel like I'm a california dreamer, yeah."

It's a fun little ditty about meeting, connecting with and doing "the haystack tumble" with his wife.

I'm always curious what it's like to be the subject of an artist's song. If your spouse writes a tune about your love, or your fights, or your personal anything, and it becomes part of their show, is it weird for the world to hear the details of your life?

I wanted to ask Martin's wife if it felt strange to have the story of their relationship, and the details of what solidifies it, going out over the radio waves.

But I just couldn't come right out and start talking about her sex life. It just seemed to personal.

Preservation Hall Jazz Band "Between The Devil & The Deep Blue Sea"

Five behind-the-scenes scenes at Newport Folk.

Interactions with artists are inevitably awkward. Here are three quick vignettes from Newport Folk, to illustrate.

I was looking forward to meeting Glen Hansard. As mentioned, I'd seen The Swell Season last fall, and was really effected by the experience.

Though I had to be over at the NPR Music/WFUV tent to do the Horsefeathers bit, I did have about a 1 minute window, where I wanted to get a hello in there.

His road manager introduced us, I shook his hand, and launched into a semi-rehearsed speech:

"I saw you last fall and it really, really moved me. Such a great live show. I really appreciate what you're doing and I'm really looking forward to seeing you play today."

While it was not me at my most eloquent, I said what I wanted to say, without being too over the top. What I didn't imagine in my rehearsals, is what would happen next.

Err. Not much.

"Thank you. Thank you very much." He said. He asked me when and where I had seen the show. "Oh yeah," he said, "It was really cold that day."

Awkward pause.

I said goodbye and headed off, thinking, well, what was he supposed to say next?

-------------

When you are a musician, you sometimes get swept up in whatever scene you've been plopped down in.

Jason Spooner was playing in Newport on Folk Festival weekend, and came over to the Fort, after his gig. He's a super-sweet guy, and is very grateful and gracious to the folks who support him. mvyradio has started playing his new record, so he made a point to come say Hello and Thanks.

It just so happened that during his visit, we got permission from the Fort Adams staff to go up on the roof of the Fort. Normally, it's locked off to the public, but Joe had made arrangements for a Fort staffer to take the mvy crew up. So we pulled Jason along.

The view proved to be so beautiful, that someone suggested that this was where we should take a staff photo. Jason tried to politely decline being in the picture---pointing out he wasn't really a member of the staff. But he was pulled in anyway, caught up in a scene he'd been plopped down in. (Jason is on the right)

-------------

Awkwardness goes both ways.

There were loads of people behind the stage watching Levon Helm. They cleared us all out of that space, to make room for Levon's getaway vehicle. Most people were herded around to the side of the stage, but I needed access to the mvy tent, so I walked through the tunnel, back into the Fort.

From that vantage point, you could still see the stage, and hear the music, and there were a handful of folks who had taken up that position.

One of them was Ben Jaffe, tuba-ist and leader of the Preservation Hall Jazz Band.

I shook his hand and said, "Great set today. Really great. And I love the record. Congratulations."

He smiled and said Thanks.

Remembering my Glen Hansard moment, I left it at that, with no further expectations.

"It's a really exciting time," he said.

"Is it?" I replied, not knowing if he was continuing the conversation, or just making a statement.

"Yeah, a lot of mmfmfmmfffmm" at which point Levon's Ramble got louder and I couldn't quite make out what Ben said.

So I just kinda looked at him and nodded and smiled (I'm sure, blankly).

And the conversation stopped.

In retrospect, I think he was excited to talk about the record, and how the band had been received, and how things were going, but his audience of one, while willing, was not able.

And I wonder if Ben walked away from that moment thinking, "I said 'It's an exciting time,' what did I expect the guy to say back?"

(Probably not.)

John Prine “Angel From Montgomery” Pt. 2

Five behind-the-scenes scenes at Newport Folk.

And a memory can build upon itself, over and over.

Last week I wrote about “Angel From Montgomery” and the memories inside of memories it holds.

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.

Stream the full Prine concert, or download it from our archives.

Sam Bush "Uncle Pen"

Five behind-the-scenes scenes at Newport Folk.

Give credit to the generous gentleman and the complete jackass.

I had just gotten back to the mvyradio command center, inside Fort Adams’ wall, still turning over in my head what had happened.

Joe had been listening through headphones.

“You’re introduction was fantastic!” he said.

Jess turned around, “What’d he said?!”

I cut Joe off before he could continue any undeserved praise, and told them what had really happened.

A day or so before the festival, we, along with the other radio partners (WFUV, NPR Music, WERS, Folk Alley and apparently, this year, the Ice Cream Man) get our stage assignments from the festival producers. Each of us is given a few opportunities to get up on stage before an act, talk about our station, and then bring out the band.

On the one hand, it’s terrifying and intimidating to be up there, facing a crowd of hundreds, or thousands. On the other hand it’s thrilling when you nail it.

I drew Sam Bush, and his Saturday afternoon set on the Harbor Stage. I had the advantage of having seen the man before, knowing his music, and having time to prepare.

But as a stood at the bottom of the steps to the stage, waiting for a cue from the stage manager, I felt a hand on my shoulder.

“Here’s what you should say about Sam Bush . . .”

Now normally, when someone I don’t know tells me how to do my job, especially when the advice is unsolicited, I maybe slightly raise an eyebrow, nod politely, and then do whatever the hell I want to do.

But he wasn’t even finished with that sentence before I dropped my defense, and listened up.

This was Bob Jones.

Mr. Jones has been part of the Newport Folk Festival since before Dylan went electric. He was out on the road, coordinating tours for Duke Ellington and Thelonious Monk. He’s also been a part of the New Orleans Heritage And Jazz Festival since its inception.

Leaning on his walker, telling me what to say, you’re damn right I was going to say it.

But first, I had to do my mvyradio bit.

I got the cue and toddled out to a lone microphone at the corner of the stage.

“Good afternoon everybody. Welcome to the Newport Folk Festival. My name’s PJ Finn, I’m from mvyradio.” A smattering of light applause.

I continue with my mvyradio schtick: “We’re recording all these performances. I know you can’t be 3 places at once. If there is another performance you want to see when you go home tonight, mvyradio.com, you’ll be able to download performances from across the festival . . .”

When from out of nowhere, a guy, only a few rows deep shouted:

“MVY SUCKS!!!”

He was ducking down, but I could see him, with a big fucking shit eating grin on his face. He was a total asshole, just doing it for kicks.

I was totally derailed.

But the weird thing is, the adrenaline kicked in and my introduction soared.

I just thought of what Bob Jones told me. My voice rose:

“HOW ABOUT ENOUGH OF THE TALKING. I’VE SEEN THIS GUY A WHOLE BUNCH OF TIMES BEFORE. HE IS AMAZING. HE NEVER FAILS TO KNOCK YOUR SOCKS OFF. 36 YEARS AGO, THE FATHER OF BLUEGRASS WAS HERE, BILL MONROE. PLEASE WELCOME THE FATHER OF NEWGRASS, IT’S MR. SAM BUSH!!!”

As I hustled off the stage and down the steps, I lightly touched Mr. Jones’ shoulder, and said, “Thank you, sir,” before heading back to the mvyradio command center, listening to Sam and the band kick into a cover of Bill Monroe's "Uncle Pen."

Had it not been for the jerk, I don’t know that my adrenaline would have risen like it did. And I don’t know if I would have decided to go with Bob Jones’ idea for the introduction.

So when Joe told me my introduction was great, I had to give credit to both the generous gentleman and the complete jackass.


You can hear my introduction before the complete Sam Bush set. Listen carefully, just before I say “Thank You, Sir.” That’s when I get the “mvy sucks” razz.

Andrew Bird “Skin Is My”

Five behind-the-scenes scenes at Newport Folk.


One of the cool things about this year’s festival, was the crossovers.

From Calexico joining Andrew Bird during his set, to Levon Helm doing “The Weight” with Glen Hansard and Richie Havens, to half the performers from the weekend getting up with Ben Sollee and Daniel Moore, there were lots of on-stage crossovers.

And there was some DJ crossover, too.

For the last few years, NPR Music and WFUV have covered the festival, and we have had a helpful exchange of resources with them.

Because we’re “the locals” and are familiar with the in and outs of both Newport and the Fort, we’re on the scene early, getting the place wired up for the internet. Joe, our station owner, builds out a network for the weekend, that mvyradio uses to broadcast on our station, and NPR Music and WFUV use to carry the content they want to carry.

Meanwhile, the NPR Music and WFUV folks bring enough staff to set up recording stations at each of the three stages, and share those final recordings with us, which is what you hear if you check out our website today.

Mutually beneficial.

The NPR Music and WFUV live coverage is a little different than the mvyradio coverage, in that they have 2 hosts live on the scene at all times. And they have other staff member act as reporters, who will come in and introduce record segments.

In the spirit of collaboration, they have invited mvyradio personalities to make reporter contributions, a couple of times throughout the weekend. A gesture of generous spirit.

I had it in my mind that Barbara was going to be that reporter. She’s really the voice of our station, our best emissary.

But on Saturday morning, she looked at her schedule and realized that at the time she was supposed to be on with NPR Music and WFUV, she was also supposed to be on stage introducing John Prine.

So the task became mine.

No matter what line of work you are in, if you suddenly have to do your job with a group of professionals that you are not familiar with and aren’t familiar with you, the pressure is on to . . . well . . . not suck.

So I made sure I watched the band I was supposed to be speaking about, O’ Death, for a good chunk of their set. And believe me, it’s not as easy as it sounds when you’re working with the mvyradio crew. The four songs I watch live, was the longest I was in one place for the entire weekend.

I showed up appropriately early at the NPR Music/WFUV tent, with some notes in hand, and was seated across from Bob Boilen, host of All Songs Considered, and Claudia Marshall, morning host on WFUV. Veterans and pros, for sure.

Again, I’ve been on the air for thousands of hours over the course of my nearly 20 year broadcasting career, but now I had 90 seconds to show to my industry cohorts, that all those hours weren’t by accident.

And I feel like I rocked it.

For 90 seconds I was in the groove, delivering the salient points about the band and the set, in a casual manner, interacting with Claudia and Bob (who had also seen the set) and winding my 90 second spiel in such a way that Bob was able to lead naturally right into the recorded audio.

When we were clear and were pulling off the headphones, Claudia said, “That was . . . perfect,” giving me a big smile. It doesn’t get better than that.

And unfortunately, sometimes it gets worse.

The next day, Barbara had her time on with Bob, once in the early part of the day, and was scheduled to join him again late in the day. But then Glen Hansard’s manager showed up to offer an interview at exactly the same time.

So I was on again. But this time, I was not so prepared. The band I was supposed to be talking about, Horsefeathers, had already played, so I couldn’t catch them live. And the record bit that I had to listen to, didn’t tell me much. Giving it a quick listen before running over to do my break, gave me only a sliver of insight. I made a couple of spare notes, and hoped for the best.

This time, I was on with Bob, and with Rita Houston, music director for WFUV, another very respected talent in this business.

I won’t be so hyper-critical of myself and say that I completely sucked, but like a car not fueled up before a long trip, I sputtered out pretty damn quickly. With nowhere to go but for Bob to awkwardly transition from my trailing off voice, he said, “Well, let’s listen to Horsefeathers . . .”

I still got a generous smile and a “good job” from Rita, but I knew that I hadn’t killed it.

Is that what it’s like, when Levon asks you to sing on “I Shall Be Released” but you miss a lyric? Is this how you feel when you jump up on stage with Preservation Hall, and you hit a bum note during your solo?

Sam Bush “Bringing In The Georgia Mail“

Five behind-the-scenes scenes at Newport Folk.

I thought it would be fun to take a peek back at the weekend, and let you in on a few stories from mvyradio’s On The Road adventures in Newport.

I’m sure you have some kind of vision of what we do when we go to these festivals. You can pictures staff wearing headphones, huddled over soundboards and laptops. You might have come to a festival, and met staffers at an mvyradio table or tent.

But there are lots of little jobs that we have, that you may never have conceived.

Like the Staff Stalker.

If you’ve ever been a part of an mvy auction, you might have bid on an autographed cd or poster or something. How did it get autographed?

Well, when we’re in a place like Newport Folk, where there are dozens of bands, and we’re backstage, we assign a staff member to the Staff Stalker job, hand them a sharpie, and tell them to get as many autographs as possible. So you might have a cd that says "To mvyradio, thanks for everything, Bob Weir," or something.

Unfortunately, due to cutbacks, we weren’t able to bring a Staff Stalker this year. Curse this economy!

In fact, we were lean and mean with our on-site staff. We combined a few jobs, so several of us, were doing several things at once. And somehow, the sharpie ended up in my hands at one point.

Gary, our marketing man, had found this beautiful book of photographs, featuring amazing black and white portraits of John Prine and Doc Watson and Steve Earle and more. Including Sam Bush.

And I was headed over to the Sam Bush stage, so I was assigned the stalking.

But, multiple job man that I am, I had another direction to run in, so I handed the job off to Julie, who was in charge of our t-shirt tent.

But, Julie, multiple job woman that she is, had another direction to run, too. So she handed the book off to Craig.

Craig wasn’t even working for mvy. He’s was on the air with us, years ago, was at the festival as a civilian, and I thought it was okay to ask him to help.

Unfortunately, all this chaos leads to some bad communication.

Craig didn’t understand that the book was for mvyradio. He thought the book was for Julie.

So during the next mvyradio auction, be on the lookout for a nice, signed picture of Sam Bush that says, “To Julie, Thanks Sister, Love Sam.”

Hear Sam Bush's set recorded at Newport Folk 2010. It's also available for free download in the mvyradio archives.

Steve Martin “King Tut”

Five songs I’m looking forward to hearing again, in Newport.

I had already established that my parents didn’t know everything. But who knew that it went so much deeper than that.

Previously, I had realized that my parents didn’t know everything there is to know about everything. And I had come to terms with that. I mean, the amount of information their two brains could hold was finite. I could forgive them for that.

But my head was really turned around when I learned that not only did they not know everything, there were things that they didn’t know, that other people knew.

It was around 3rd Grade that I started making friends that weren’t just based on who my neighbors were or who my parents’ friend's kids were. I was making friends with kids in school, who’s parents were (gasp!) different than mine.

And not just different. Younger.

I mean, my parents weren’t physically older than the parents of kids I knew, but certainly some of those parents had a much younger sensibility than my parents.

So it was a whole new world.

I can remember romping around this big, old, drafty, wooden, Colonial house where my best 3rd Grade buddy lived. They had twisty weird staircases, and a dumbwaiter, and a carriage barn. And a shaggy dog.

We didn’t have a dog. Too hairy.

And his parents seemed funnier. Or, funny in a way that my folks weren’t anyway. And certainly much cooler.

His Dad had records. Current records.

My Dad had records, but they were mostly from a decade earlier. I don’t know if I ever heard my Dad say, “I’m going to the record store.”

I can remember crashing up one of those uncarpeted back-stairs, headed to a room that my friend’s Dad was painting. And on the way up, I could hear talking. But it was big echoey talking, with an audience.

The Dad was painting this room, and had a record player there, with Steve Martin’s “Wild & Crazy Guy” on while he painted.

The pop culture stream had trickled down far enough that a third-grader like me knew the phrase “Excuuuuuuuuuusssssssssssssse Meeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!” But that’s all I knew about Martin, really.

We didn’t have comedy records at home. So the whole idea of putting talking on a music player machine was enough to blow my mind.

And what he said, captivated me.

Why? I’m not sure. Because here in 2010, I can tell you with no uncertainty, that I had no idea what Martin meant when he said, about his girlfriend, “If she is like a cat, I have kitty litter. If she is like a dog, we do it on the paper.”

Definitely no idea what that meant. But I thought it was hilarious.

We listened to that record on my next visit, and the next and the next, until I could recite whole parts of Martin’s routine, whether I understood it or not.

But the coup de grace of the record was something I could wrap my head around: a song.

For all of the wildness and the craziness of the rest of the record, the simple, catchy rhymes of “King Tut” were what resonated with me.

It was the bridge between the Beatles songs and Broadway tunes I could get at home, and the slightly dangerous, out of control comedy shared by these people who weren’t my parents, yet seemed to know so much.

(ed. note: I don't really expect him to play this tonight . . .)