Christgau's best albums and songs of the decade

http://robertchristgau.com/xg/list/rs00.php

follow-up from Jorma on the Beacon concert

From time to time, Jorma Kaukonen posts personal "thoughts" on his website and, just yesterday, he posted some comments regarding the Beacon show from this past weekend. Have a look.

Hot Tuna @ The Beacon Theater, New York City, December 5th, 2009

This past Saturday night, I attended one of the best concerts I've seen in a long time. It was electric Hot Tuna, and they blew the roof off the Beacon Theater. They played for just shy of 2 hours, and it was the loudest, most raucous I've ever heard them. Intense, guitar-laden psychedelic blues-rock...and yet adjectives like that don't seem sufficient for what I heard.

The band hit the stage at about 5 minutes past 9:00, and I picked up on two things very quickly. One thing was the new drummer, Skoota Warner, who came on stage with a big smile on his face, a smile which rarely vanished. I instinctively knew this guy would be good. The second thing was the 5th member of the band--it was none other than GE Smith, the former Saturday Night Live band leader. I'd known that he'd played with Jorma before and that he'd given lessons at Jorma's guitar camp, but I didn't know that they'd be playing together this evening. Good news, I suspected...correctly as it turned out.

The relevance of these two things became apparent very quickly. Jorma, Barry, and GE took up their instruments, and a bit of quivering feedback emanated from the stage. Jorma and Skoota looked at each other as the noise got a bit louder. Then Skoota counted off a 1-2-3-4 on the drum sticks, and the band launched "Wish You Would" into the Beacon as their first offering. It was faster than I'm used to hearing it, and it was also loud, loose, and heavy. And fabulous. Jorma was singing particularly well this evening. He must have realized that he'd better bring it to rise to the sound of the electric band. During the instrumental portions, he played his solos the way he always does, sort of a mixture of Chicago-style blues, finger-picked blues of the sort that he loves best, and the feedback-drenched licks that he played as Jefferson Airplane's lead guitar player from '65 to '72. He was glorious. But so was Barry, who moved from electric mandolin to electric guitar to other electric stringed instruments that looked like combinations of mandolin and guitar. And then GE Smith was the added bonus, playing some flashy blues rock guitar that reminded me some of Joe Perry from Aerosmith: much more "standard" guitar playing than the other two, but at a very high quality and in a context that made his playing seem aggressive and tasteful at the same time. I didn't time that opening song, but it felt like it must have been almost 10 minutes long.

I hope that Tuna recorded the concert and puts a recording on sale on hottunatunes.com, because it was the best I've ever heard them sound in concert. The show bore little resemblance to the shows at the Calvin that I've seen. In fact, the band even sounded a bit different from the other electric Tuna shows I've seen (both at the Beacon, one in 2006, the other in 1999). With GE Smith playing guitar, and Skoota Warner rocking harder than either of the other drummers I've heard them play with, Hot Tuna sounded more like the mid-1970s hard rock version of Tuna than I ever imagined they would. It was loud; damn loud, and I was sitting in the 4th row of the loge, immediately underneath the balcony. Great seats...and the volume level was still getting to me enough that I wish I'd had ear plugs.

Skoota and GE made their presences in the band felt. After "I Wish You Would," they moved on to another oldie: "True Religion" from Burgers (1972). Skoota Warner kept a steady beat for that one: it didn't speed up like it does on the record. It gave the guitarists ample room to stretch out and solo. Then came yet another oldie, recently rerecorded for a Jorma album: "Been So Long," which was the most lyrical moment of the entire show. GE Smith sat out for the next number, "Living Just for You," from The Phosphorescent Rat (1973), another lyrical number that still managed to be pretty hard-rocking. It's one of the most commercial-sounding songs Jorma has ever written I think. Listen for the steel drums on the studio version. After that, GE Smith returned to the stage and didn't leave again.

That opener, "Wish You Would" was full of intense jamming, but there was plenty more to come. "Come Back Baby" was so great that half the Beacon stood in appreciation as the song came to an end. "Good Shepherd" and "Rock Me Baby" stretched out to over 10 minutes. At the end of "Bowlegged Woman," which featured Jack's fabulous bass part, Skoota immediately began a drum beat that sort of reminded me of the beginning of Richard Shindell's "Arrowhead." Then, GE stepped up to the mike and sang, "Mama...if you could see me now...." Good Lord--it was "Arrowhead!" Hot Tuna playing a Richard Shindell song: will wonders never cease? During that one, Jorma and Barry sort of stood back and let GE take over. There was even a new verse, here repeated from memory: "Mama...there's a noose around my neck / this is what deserters get / there's a horse resting between my knees / he'll move soon, then I'll be free / Mama...there's a noose around my neck." How 'bout that? GE Smith also sang lead on something called "Let it Rock," or something like that. It was a straight-up hard rock song; nothing too special, but loud and raucous and fun. And Jorma sang lead on a brand new song that he introduced as being about "a different kind of candy man" and is called "If This It Love, I Want My Money Back." I loved it: again, loud and rocking.

The finale was "Talking 'Bout You" and then "Funky #7." After "Talkin'," someone came out a few paces from the wings to hold up a sign to Jorma, clearly letting him know that it was time to wrap things up. And "Funky #7" is the way to do it. Rather than describe it, I will simply recommend looking for a recording, either from hottunatunes.com or from iTunes: looking for either the original recording from America's Choice (1975) or the live version from Double Dose (1977).

I sense that, as with the last show I saw at the Calvin, there was a bit of improvisation that went along with the set list. A set list there clearly was, as I noticed Jorma looking down at it after every song. But it looked like that band was acutely time-conscious, and Jorma was making some quick decisions as to what would be skipped and what would be played. I read some comments from Jorma once about the 11:00 curfew at the Beacon; something having to do with union rules, perhaps. Anyhow, in between songs, Jorma would walk around the stage, having a word with band members, presumably about the progress of the set. His stage presence is rather reserves. During the performances, the other band members stood out more, bopping up and down, moving around the stage, and grinning up a storm (incidentally, Barry Mitterhoff, as good as he sounded, looked a bit uncomfortable "rocking out"--this is not the kind of thing he usually does as a bluegrass player; looked like he was having fun though). Jorma is more reserved...but there is no mistaking whose band this is: Jorma's and Jack's. But mainly Jorma's.

Here's the full set, double-checked from Jorma's website:
1. Wish You Would
2. True Religion
3. Been So Long
4. Living Just For You
5. Come Back Baby
6. Let It Rock
7. Cracks In The Finish
8. Good Shepherd
9. If This Is Love, I Want My Money Back
10. Bowlegged Woman, Knock-Kneed Man
11. Arrowhead
12. Rock Me Baby
13. Talkin’ Bout You
14. Funky #7

I can't say enough good things about electric Hot Tuna. Something about seeing a couple of 60-somethings leading such a loud band makes me very happy. That the band is also really, really good just doubles my joy.

Loudon Wainwright opened the show with about 45 minutes of solo guitar and songs. For the first time in a while, he seemed not that impressive, but I think that had to do with the atmosphere. Popular though the man is, this was a Hot Tuna audience. Anyhow, he played a bunch of new songs, most of which I heard him play at the Calvin earlier this fall, that he calls "Songs for the New American Depression" or something like that. He played "Heaven," during which he made reference to how great everything would be when we're all "gratefully dead," which elicited big applause from the audience. "You're easy to manipulate," the singer said in response. He also did a couple of songs from High Wide and Handsome (2009), along with two--count 'em: two--other songs: "The Grammy Song," in honor of the Grammy nomination for his most recent album, and "The Acid Song," in honor of the fact that he was opening for former hippies. That last one I never expected to hear him perform live, and I was delighted. It was easily the high point of his performance.

Josh Ritter w/ Low Anthem @ The Calvin Theater, December 3rd, 2009

This was Dani's idea. She vouched for the opening act, Low Anthem, but neither of us was too familiar with the featured act. I knew Josh Ritter mainly because of his having been a Signature Sounds recording artist. If you watch the video of Signature's 10th anniversary show at the Calvin, his performance of "Kathleen" is a great moment. And I also know a song of his called "You Don't Make It Easy, Babe" which is a great title. Oh, and I think Richard Shindell does a song of his on South of Delia.

Opening and featured acts both put on great shows.

Low Anthem are difficult to categorize. But if I were to "box" them somehow, I'd say they fit the recent trend of "roots" music that tries to expand beyond the traditional (c.f. Crooked Still, Blue Moose and the Unbuttoned Zippers). They comprise 4 musicians, each of whom moved between a few different instruments during the performance. The songs ranged from scratchy, distorted rockers to quiet, subtle hymns and ballads. There were drums, basses, and guitars, but there was also accordion, musical saw, clarinet, horns, and pump organ. I should note that, for me, the sound of that last instrument made me think, immediately and reflexively, of none other than Neil Young. The overall sound of this band bears little resemblance to Neil, but the minute I heard pump organ, I couldn't help but think of "What Happened Yesterday" and "Fallen Angel" and the "unplugged" version of "Like a Hurricane." Maybe that helps to account for my preference for the songs that featured the organ.

The Americana feel to the band was also there in the lyrics. I didn't notice what too many of the songs were about, but I did notice blues motifs. The second song, as I recall, featured the line, "Sally, where'd you get your liquor from," which I know from Reverend Gary Davis. There was a song about a ticket taker that had an eerie, Harry Smith Anthology-ish sort of feel to it. And the lyrical highlight for me was a song whose refrain ended, "your demons tamed / your flowers uncut."

The band was at its best when it focused on longer, gentler pieces. When they tried to rock out, they lost their appeal, mainly because of the scratchiness of the singers when they felt the need to sing over the other instruments instead of through them. But their longer, subtler pieces were haunting and beautiful (and yes, I do think the pump organ was an important part of the sound). I would seek them out to see again and, in the meantime, I'll look into purchasing a recording or two. Really: they're very good.

Josh Ritter sounded a bit more familiar. He led a 5-piece band that played distorted, psychedelic folk-pop, in the style of folks like REM or Matthew Sweet. He and his bandmates radiated eagerness, excitement, energy. Josh's face must be sore from all the smiling he did. He spent most of the set smiling and bouncing excitedly around the stage, strumming rhythm guitar and seeming to have difficulty containing his happiness. I found it difficult not to get caught up in all the fun. The Calvin was pretty full (though noticeably not sold out) and most everyone seemed to be getting into it. When Josh expressed his excitement at playing the Calvin, I believed his sincerity.

Although he and his band looked and sounded like they'd love to be commercial superstars (and, given the kinds of gigs they play, they're well on their way), that doesn't mean that the music didn't make an argument of its own. As with the opening act, I preferred the slower and quieter songs (two categories that didn't overlap with Josh Ritter in the same way they did with Low Anthem), but his band's loud and fast ones were better than Low Anthem's. Unfortunately, it was difficult to understand what Ritter was singing on some of the louder ones. But this guy can write. He played not only "Kathleen" and "You Don't Make It Easy, Babe," but several other songs unaccompanied or with very quiet, country-ish playng from the band, and they all sounded wonderful. "Girl in the war," one was called, and he sang part of it standing away from the microphone, singing out directly to the audience. He can sing and play and write, and I wish I could have heard more of him without all the rocking, good though the band was (in fact, I didn't mind the rock songs; I preferred them to Low Anthem's, anyway).

I'll mention two particularly great moments from Josh's set. First, during the solo portion of the show, Josh asked for the stage lights to be turned completely off. Then, in darkness, he played a song that I think is called "The Curse." In the dark, it was easier to focus on the words and the melody, and I remember being moved. It told a story of some kind, as I recall, and I remember being caught up in it. It's a brand new song, and he mentioned that he'd recently recorded a new album up in Maine with his touring band. Second was a song called "Another New World," also recorded for the new album. This one featured the very best interplay between singer, song, and accompaniment of the night. When it was over, Dani and I looked at each other and said "wow."

So it was a very good show. Better than I'd anticipated, even. I would see either band again, given the chance and a reasonably priced ticket. On to the electric Hot Tuna show this weekend at the Beacon.

Hot Tuna @ The Calvin Theater, November 28th, 2009

Hot Tuna returned to town this past Saturday night for an acoustic show. This is the 5th time I've seen them and, as usual, I was delighted. All the more so because I was sitting in the 5th row, slightly off to stage left, so that I was staring straight ahead at Barry Mitterhoff, the multi-instrumentalist that Jorma and Jack having been playing with for the past 5 or 6 years. Boy is he good.

There was no opening act. The band hit the stage at about 8:10 and they left after their encore at about 11:10. In between, they played about two dozen songs, separated by a 30 minute intermission. So, the band was onstage for about 2.5 hours. It was clearly a bit chilly backstage, and maybe onstage too. Jack walked on rubbing his hands together and, in a clearly exaggerated way, rubbed the neck of his bass guitar with a cloth to warm it up. Jorma smiled at him as he did this. Jack has always been the showman of the band, hamming it up with winks and nods and occasional commentary.

I could hardly have been more satisfied by the performance. It opened with "Search My Heart," the same song they opened their Calvin show with last year. Here's the entire set, double-checked from Jorma's own website:
Set One:
1. "Search My Heart": This was recorded for their 1970 debut album, still my favorite album of theirs, and they opened their last Calvin show with this song as well. Sounded very good, slow and deliberate.
2. "There’s A Bright Side Somewhere": A Reverend Gary Davis song from Jorma's 2009 album, River of Time. Not one of my favorite of the Gary Davis songs the band does, but it sounded just fine.
3. "I’ll Let You Know Before I Leave": a nifty instrumental from Jorma's 1974 solo album, Quah. Featured some tasty playing from the two guitarists.
4. "More Than My Old Guitar": a Merle Haggard song that Jorma sang with Barry harmonizing. I like this one a lot.
5. "I See The Light": the highlight of the concert, just like it was at their Calvin show last year. The interplay between all three musicians is delicate one moment, sharp and aggressive the next, and the climax over the course of the last minute or so is incredible every time I hear it. A classic.
6. "Come Back Baby": a song that dates back to Jefferson Airplane days, although the version from this past weekend was slow and bluesy. Great solos from Jorma and Barry on this one.
7. "River Of Time": title track to the recent Jorma album. Very nice Jorma original.
8. "Breadline Blues": a song about the 1932 presidential election. Some great jamming here, and a false ending, prompting the audience to applaud, before the band starts up again with the final verse. Barry shone on this one.
9. "Hesitation Blues": there was some "hesitation" before playing the song, as Barry and Jorma appeared to disagree about what should come next. When Jorma announced this one, the audience exploded. This is also from the first Hot Tuna album, and it's one of the great ones. The instrumental section always smokes, and it sure did Saturday night.
10. "99 Year Blues": from 1972's Burgers. Jack's first bass solo of the night, and it was a dandy.
11. "I Know You Rider": from the first Tuna album. Better than the Grateful Dead's version. Or anyone else's.

I confess to having been pretty tired during the second set. Partly that had to do with not getting enough sleep the previous night. The intermission was about half an hour long. Too long, in my humble opinion. At any rate, I don't remember as many specifics as I probably should have noticed....

Set Two:
1. "Trouble In Mind": Hot Tuna recorded this for Live at Sweetwater (1993), and it's also on the new Jorma album. An excellent one.
2. "Things That Might Have Been": brand new Jorma song. I liked it.
3. "Cracks In The Finish": a Jorma original from River of Time. One of his better originals from recent albums.
4. "Full Go Round": a Roy Book Binder song from River of Time. A great one.
5. "How Long Blues": another from the first Hot Tuna album. There isn't a bad track on the first album, and I'm always excited to hear anything from it performed live.
6. "Serpent Of Dreams": another highlight of the concert. I love hearing the acoustic version of this song, and I'm thrilled that it's one of the songs from Hot Tuna's "Metal Years" (say, 1974-1978) that they continue to perform today. A touch of the psychedelic mixed in to the blues.
7. "The Terrible Operation"
8. "Sea Child": one of my favorite songs from Burgers. Beautiful picking from Jorma and Barry.
9. "Good Shepherd": longest jam of the night, although I didn't time it. All three musicians had ample time to solo.
10. "3rd Week In The Chelsea": originally recorded on Jefferson Airplane's Bark (1971).
11. "Just Because"

12. Encore: "Embryonic Journey"

By the time the band finished up with the old Jefferson Airplane instrumental, I was ready for bed. A very satisfying show, just like their Calvin show of last year was. And there's still the electric show coming up at the Beacon next weekend!

Ani Difranco @ The Calvin Theater, November 15th, 2009

About half a dozen songs into Ani Difranco's recent Calvin Theater show, I had as emotional an experience as I've had at an Ani show for many years. The singer-songwriter-bandleader had already knocked my socks off by opening with "Anticipate" and following it up with "Swan Dive." And she made me want to revisit To The Teeth (1999) by following that with "Providence." And then there was one of her new ones, "Promiscuity." But the truest, realest, awesomest moment came next. After thanking her friend Animal for the inspiration, and with Todd Sickafoose playing a keyboard part, she began singing "She Says."

My reaction had less to do with the greatness of the song and more with my own personal history. I cannot really identify with what goes on in the song. But from the opening line, I was transported back to my lonely college dorm in the fall of 1995. The previous summer, my friends and I had seen Ani play the Newport Folk Festival, and it seemed that everyone I knew had to buy a copy of Not a Pretty Girl after that. Me, I was pretty uptight about saving my pennies at the time. But, a couple of months into college life, I shelled out the big bucks to buy the only Ani album I could find at the local CD store: Like I Said (1993). I listened to it constantly for the rest of the academic year. Hearing the opening to that tune, "She said forget what you have to do / pretend there is nothing outside this room" actually made my chest clench up a bit and brought tears to my eyes. When I was a college freshman, I didn't think nearly enough about the world outside my room, outside my own head, and I was a scared little pup.

So, this isn't about Ani's greatness. It's about the fact that I came of age with her, as I've written in previous entries.

The greatness was on display elsewhere, namely in the the depth of her catalog (which is, by now, astonishing, prompting her to say, early on, that she's had to learn new old songs, "to the keep the old new, as it were") and in her freakishly intense guitar playing and singing. But let's dwell for a moment on her back catalog, shall we? That's where "Swan Dive" and "Providence" and "She Said" came from, and it's also where "Garden of Simple" came from. Other old ones were "old" old ones: "Fuel" and, for the first encore, "Both Hands." She whipped the crowd into a frenzy toward the end with "Alla This" from Red Letter Year (2008), and she also did "Present/Infant," one of the best from that album. She played new songs, like "Promiscuity," "Albacore," a cute ode to anarchism, played on the ukulele, and, for the second encore, "If You're Not." She closed the regular set with her take on the old union song, "Which Side Are Your On." I winced a bit when she talked about, when she changed some of the words, she did so in the folk music tradition of "fucking with the past." That's not exactly what they do, Ani, although I know what you mean. Made me think about Patti Smith's declaration: "I don't fuck much with the past / but I fuck plenty with the future" or something like that.

Ani was charming, as usual. After the opening song, she said something that I've often thought: "Northhampton, Massachusetts--well, well, well!" with emphasis on the last "well." After "Albacore," she stared incredulously out into the crowd and repeated what a fan had just screamed: "You just got your swine flu vaccination?! Good for you! You clearly understood the subtext of that last song." And, after taking up the ukulele for a new song, said something like, "Well, "Dilate" would sound kinda funny on the uke, so...." She laughed, she stuttered, she semi-sermonized, she joked. That is, she was herself.

Oh, and she led a reformed band. Todd Sickafoose remains on bass, but Mike Dillon is gone, and the new drummer is a guy named Andy something-or-other. He's good. At first, I thought he was a real rock drummer, kinda like Allison Miller, but as the show wore on, I realized that he bears a stronger resemblance to Andy Stochansky, a drummer who *can* rock out, but is every bit as interested in swinging and adding quiet, subtle touches to the songs that require it. I had grown to really like the Dillon-Miller-Sickafoose band, but I sense that I'll grow to like this one even faster. His playing on the opener, "Anticipate," was especially great, starting off by slapping a wooden box positioned in front of the drum kit for a couple of verses before moving to the kit to hammer out the rest of the song. He made "Alla This" sound like the raging storm that it is. Verdict: this guy is good.

Kudos to Gabby Moreno for opening the concert with 30 minutes worth of music. She has a big strong voice, and the high point was a medley of Spanish-language songs. She is from Guatemala and speaks English with a slight but very charming accent. Her embarrassed stage patter was comparably charming, not cloying in the way that a lot of Difranco openers have been over the years. Thank goodness.

Chris Smither @ The Iron Horse, November 7th, 2009

As promised, I attended the Chris Smither show this past weekend. He was performing with the band that he recorded his latest album with: the guitarist "Goody" Goodrich and the drummer, Zak Trojano. I'm still not 100% sold on his non-solo performances. Something about the foot-tapping gets lost with a drummer accenting the beat. Nevertheless, I could hardly have been disappointed, and I wasn't.

I arrived at the Iron Horse at around 6:20, accompanied by the beautiful and talented Dani Carriveau, and we had a dinner of burgers and fries. The Iron Horse does fries pretty well, but I'll pass on the burgers from now on.

The opening act was a woman named Caroline Herring, who records for Signature Sounds. She performed a series of covers, including "Long Black Veil," "C C Rider," and Cyndi Lauper's "True Colors," along with an original song that, Dani and I agreed at the time, was the best thing she played. An enjoyable performance, if nothing special.

After a 20 minute break, the man himself came onstage. For the first time in all the Iron Horse shows I've seen, there was someone on stage to do the introduction: Jim Olsen, from Signature Sounds. He announced that this was now a hometown gig for Chris; he's moved to the Valley. What great news!

The show began the same way that his shows have been beginning for years now: "Open Up," from Leave the Light On. It's a song that hits the spot, every time I hear it. From there, he moved back in time a bit for "Link of Chain" and then to a more recent one, "Lola," which is a favorite. And from there, he took us through more than half of his new album, along with older tunes like "Drive You Home Again" and "Help Me Now" and stuff from his most recent couple of albums, including "Train Home," "Never Needed It More," "Origin of Species," and, to close his set, "Leave the Light On." He didn't do any of the Bob Dylan material that he's been fond of lately, but he did do Dave Carter's "Crocodile Man." I hope that, one day, he'll tap his back catalog of songs from the early 1970s. Every once in a while, he'll play the song that kept food on his table for years, "Love You Like a Man," but I crave "Homunculus," "Don't It Drag On," and "Every Mother's Son." Maybe next time.

The audience was consistently appreciative. Certain lines in songs yielded applause: "I'm not evil / I'm just bad," "If I drive you to distraction / I will drive you home again," and about half the verses of "Origin of Species" and of "Surprise, Surprise" from the new album, a song that looks like it'll be an audience favorite before long. Goody Goodrich's guitar accompaniment was simple and tasteful, and the audience let him know it. And Smither was a gracious host, telling variations on stories I'd heard him tell before--about how his mother disliked "Lola," about his wanting to write songs for and about his father, about his adopted daughter--and some new stories--about his wife wanting him to write a "bad boy" song for her, about the inspiration for a song from the new album ("Call Yourself" was a reaction to watching Sunday morning religiously themed self-help programs), and about the dilemmas of writing and performing topical material, like "Surprise, Surprise." Smither's speaking voice is warm and comforting, and I don't think he gets the credit he deserves for being able to match a warm, deep baritone with lyrics that are cold-eyed and shot through with experience. I've always loved hearing him perform "Drive You Home Again," a song that is, in a sense, about warmth without actually being warm. The same goes for one of his greatest covers, which he did not perform the other night: Rolly Salley's "Killing the Blues." Listen to a recording of either of them, and tell me if you know what I mean.

Much to my surprise, one of the high points was the encore. He did a song which I haven't heard him perform live in years, "Statesboro Blues," and he really used his voice on that one, roaring the words like he'd been made to do so. Beyond that, some of the new material sounded great, especially "Surprise, Surprise" and "Don't Call Me Stranger" and "I Don't Know." There really weren't any dull moments for me. Every time I see this guy, I am amazed anew, and I've seen him perform live maybe 10 times or so. He is one of the grandmasters, and I'm sure I'll return for more.

Dar Williams @ The Iron Horse, October 16th, 2009

After a brief, but rather disconcerting episode of "lost my keys," Annie and I left for the Iron Horse at around 6:00 last night, arriving to a packed house. As she and I discussed on the way there, we hadn't been listening to Dar much over the past few years. Me, I hadn't seen her since Falcon Ridge '08 and, the more I think about it, the more I realize that I associate Dar with outdoor performances. I'm not sure when the last time was that I saw Dar play indoors; maybe never. But she pops up at most of the folk festivals I've attended. It was a bit odd seeing her at the Iron Horse, cozy and warm though the environment is. I kept wanting to hear her make remarks about the mountains and how beautiful we all looked on our blankets.

Anyhow, Dar hit the stage at around quarter past 7:00, maybe a bit later, wandering through the room and up to the stage with her musical sidekick (whose name I forget), as the lights dimmed and a smattering of applause turned into a warm ovation. The memories that I just described overwhelmed me at that point and, I have to admit, I was only half paying attention during the first song. But then, after talking about her emotionally disturbed past, which coincided with her stay in Northampton, she played "Spring Street," and I found myself getting into things.

A Dar Williams performance feels like kicking back in someone's living room, listening to stories that, in a strange way, blend into the songs themselves. I associated her stage presence with her musical sound in a way that I don't with a lot of other performers. That is all for the best, since I don't know her songs all that well. That said, I recognized more of what I heard than I thought I would. I remembered hearing "The Buzzer" the last time I saw her; she described this song as an effort to write a commercial love song that took a left turn when she got distracted by thinking about the Milgram obedience experiments. She also played "The Easy Way" from her newest album, and she closed her set with "Midnight Radio," written by her old friend Stephen Trask (who co-wrote Hedwig and the Angry Inch). I actually loved that song: a simple, quiet, passionate expression of love for the women rockers of the radio who make you feel less alone. One of the more touching moments of the evening for me.

Dar told lots of stories, about life in NYC, about self-grown food, about her time in NoHo, about her newly adopted daughter, and about children in general (before playing "The One Who Knows," a lovely song about raising children and letting them go out into the world). In between stories, she played songs from every period of her career. No songs from Cry Cry Cry, which was too bad, but her performance of "If I Wrote You" hit the spot. And her accompanyist shone on "As Cool as I Am," playing the opening instrumental passage on the piano, leading into the opening verse, with Dar strumming gently at first before really leaning into the refrain; another great moment.

We were distracted a bit midway through the show, when I realized Annie was in a bit of pain. Turns out she'd leaned back a bit in her seat and touched an exposed pipe, burning herself. During "Calling the Moon," she had to get a glass of ice to apply to her burn. The waitress was horrified; so was the manager, who gave us a free dinner and offered a pair of free tickets for a subsequent show to Annie. I can't believe that the staff at the Iron Horse hadn't known or done anything about a dangerously exposed pipe, but that was their story.

For her encore, she played "The Babysitter's Here," a song that always seems to work when she performs it in concert. When I hear the recording of it, it's just a good song on a good album. Last night, when the narrator tries to understand, I teared up.

Erin McKeown plays the Iron Horse tonight, but I'm skipping out. Next weekend, I'll try to catch The Nields with Lucy Wainwright Roche. And, not long after that, Tracy Grammer is playing with Brooks Williams up in Shutesbury, a pairing that fills me with happiness at the thought of it. Speaking of filling up with happiness, that's what Chris Smither's newest album does. I can't believe I wrote an entire blog entry about Richard Shindell's and Jack Hardy's newest albums when the Smither album was sitting on my desk, unplayed. Like most of Smither's albums, it blows most everything else out of the water. I'm in the midst of writing about it, and it's been a pleasure to do so.

Smitherology as musical preference and life option

How do I love the new Chris Smither album? Let me count the ways. I love it for its songwriting, which has never been sharper, its vocals, which get blurrier and more textured as Smither gets older, its guitar playing, which means Smither plus David Goodrich on electric guitar, its Bob Dylan cover, "It Takes a Lot to Laugh, It Takes a Train to Cry," and, never forget, the foot stomping. The sound of that foot stomping evokes...stolid fortitude, compassion, spiritual uplift, courage in the face of the void. And it fills out the man's overall sound in a miraculous way. Think about how Johnny Cash sounded with the Tennessee Two (and Three) backing him; that's what I think about when I think about what the foot-tapping does for Smither's sound. It is unutterably simple and, like the simplest of things, profound. Every shade of meaning of each song is somehow, miraculously, deepened by the sound engineer's simple act of putting a separate microphone at the man's feet. The man stomps on a piece of plywood that he carries with him on tour for just this purpose, not just keeping the beat but creating a groove. I once heard him say in an interview that he has had his shoes resoled multiple times to ensure that the tapping is completely toneless. The worst thing, he said, is when you can hear his feet play notes. And the best thing I've heard him say in concert is an instruction to the sound man: "could I have some more feet in the monitors, please?"

Chris Smither, in case you didn't know, is one of my absolute favorites. I get as much pleasure out of listening to his music as I do Neil Young, Mississippi John Hurt, Sue Foley, Marshall Crenshaw, Hot Tuna, and Jefferson Airplane. Bob Dylan and Joni Mitchell and Ani Difranco. Not to mention Chopin's nocturnes and etudes, and the second movement of Beethoven's seventh symphony. Gershwin's Concerto in F. Smither will never have the popularity or fame of any of the aforementioned, but I rank him in the same league. Apart from his songs, which I am partial to, he has a distinctive sound, a sound that has changed as he has aged and, if anything, has improved over time. His voice is rich and full and, as he has grown older, it has gained resonance and beauty. He has what the greatest blues singers have had, what Dylan and Mitchell have grown into in their own ways: an undefinable, undeniable presence. You hear these musicians and it is very difficult not to listen.

At least, that's what I think.

His newest album is called Time Stands Still. As usual with him, there are a bunch of news songs and a few songs written by others; in this case, Bob Dylan, Mark Knopfler, and Frank Hutchison. The eight originals deal with his usual lyrical concerns--selfhood, freedom, love, life and death, the process of thought--but puts new twists on them--questions from his new adopted daughter, grief over his father's death, gratified realization of love's persistence. There's even a topical song, "Surprise, Surprise," about the financial crisis which, as you listen, you realize isn't really about the financial crisis at all. The arrangements are typically austere: a drummer who knows how to stay out of the way, and his producer, David "Goody" Goodrich, throwing in some distorted guitar to add menace and gloom. But when those two guys back off during Dylan's "It Takes a Lot to Laugh..." leaving the featured performer to lay in to the song, I get chills. I've listened to this album 3 times so far, and I'll be damned if it isn't this track that stops me short every time I've heard it. It has the feel of his performance of "Killing the Blues," somehow cold and warm at the same time, mysterious and grand. It feels nothing like Dylan's original.

There are careful, subtle musical flourishes throughout the album. Check out the unusally hot groove to "I Told You So," or Goodrich's guitar work on the opening track, "Don't Call Me Stranger."

I contemplated throwing out sample lyrics, but narrowing down favorites is difficult. Let's just say that no song on the album is "ordinary," though some are perhaps ordinary by Smither's standards; that is, the standards of greatness. And many of the songs echo others. "Don't Call Me Stranger," for example, reminds me of "Drive You Home Again," which opens the album of the same name. Similar lyrical idea, similar overall feel. The language is spare. Nothing feels forced. Smither's best songs always have the feeling of being fully formed on delivery, as if the songs had been waiting to be plucked from the air. It's an illusion, of course, but some songs sustain the illusion beyond my point of (dis)belief. Listen to "Slow Surprise" from Small Revelations or "Tell Me Why You Love Me" from Drive You Home Again or "Time Stands Still" from the new album, and maybe you'll see what I mean.

In the Smither cannon, the two greatest are from the late '90s: Small Revelations and Drive You Home Again. After those two, and the two live albums, Another Way to Find You and Live as I'll Ever Be, I'd say that this newest one ranks next. But you'd wouldn't be sorry if you shelled out the money for Leave the Light On or Train Home.

He's playing the Iron Horse next week, and I do believe I'll stop by. You should too.

Loudon Wainwright and Richard Thompson @ The Calvin Theater, Northhampton, MA, October 6th, 2009

I bought tickets for the "Loud and Rich" concert, as it was billed, at the good old Calvin Theater, not long after I heard about the show's existence. I have been a Loudon Wainwright III fan for an awfully long time now and, while I don't know Richard Thompson's music as well, I'm routinely impressed when I hear him. And they've played on each other's albums quite a bit over the years.

The initial plan was to go with my man Anthony. He couldn't make it. Matt Winters' man Sandro didn't return my e-mail. So, I invited a former student to accompany me.

Although their musical styles are a bit different--Thompson is more of a rock and roller and more of a guitar stylist, while LWiii cares more about mood and song form--I sense definite spiritual similarities. They both have a strong sense of fun and a love of life that comes out most clearly in their songs about death. I said "fun," not humor. The latter would be Loudon's area of expertise. The performance of one of his death songs, "Donations," elicited laughter from the audience Tuesday night, while Richard Thompson's "1952 Vincent Black Lighting" was one of the highlights of his set: fun without being at all funny. And the great thing about both of those songs is that they really aren't about death at all; they're about living well and being ready to meet one's maker.

Both of them also have woman problems. Not relationship problems; woman problems. I have heard people accuse both of these guys of being misogynistic, which I think is an overstatement. Their efforts at exploring their dysfunctional romantic lives are more engaging, thoughtful, and courageous than those of most of the younger singer-songwriters who fill their professional careers with such efforts. The liveliness of their songs, and the performances of those songs, doesn't suggest woman-hate to me, so much as confusion and desperation. I sense that their fans understand, at least subliminally, the tension between the skillfulness of these guys' arrangements (even on solo guitar), the cunning but emotive singing, and the songs themselves, whose lyrics are an often uncomfortable fit with the style of the playing. Sometimes, they don't get it at all: during Loudon's "Motel Blues," an audience member shouted "Roman Polanski!" audibly enough to be shushed by folks clear on the other side of the Calvin. On one new song, about how a poor housing market might yet save a marriage, there were titters of nervous amusement from the crowd. Loudon, whose inner life as revealed through song and performance seems a lot more interesting than Richard's, was conjuring up the tension that his best songs always do, between idealism and cold reality. And his performance, with all those facial ticks and leg lifts and tongue wagging, generates lots of different emotional effects: desperation, confusion, humor, sometimes all three simultaneously. Richard, meanwhile, appears to find his salvation through guitar solos. That's fine, too, especially when he goes through his lover's bureau drawers in "Cold Kisses."

I'll recap the show for the sake of readers interested in specifics. Loudon walked onto the stage at a few minutes past 8:00 and began with "Donations," from his fabulous 2001 album, Last Man On Earth, asking a friend if he or she would mind being the one to deal with his remains upon his death. Makes a generous offer too: "as for my corneas / I don't care who gets 'em / but all other organs and parts are for you." From there, he focused on newer material, both from his collection of Charlie Poole songs, High Wide and Handsome (2009), his rediscovery of his early catalogue, Recovery (2008), one song that he wrote for the play Lucky You, and some as yet unrecorded songs which he is calling "Songs for the New Depression." One of those new ones yielded one of the funniest moments of the night, "Paul Krugman Blues," while another yielded a particularly poignant moment, the aforementioned song about a couple possibly selling their house. And, much to my delight, he played two other songs from Last Man on Earth, "Surviving Twin" and "White Winos," both of which yielded great applause. From Recovery, there was "Motel Blues" and "Muse Blues" and "New Paint." And, in the middle of the set, Thompson came out to play on a couple of songs, including "Animal Song," which they recorded together for I'm Alright (1985).

Richard Thompson began with "Cooksferry Queen" and "Cold Kisses." I don't really know his songs as well as Loudon, so there were a few he played after that that I'd didn't recognize. In fact, my mind was actually starting to wander a bit, particularly during a modern sea shanty that he tried to get everyone to sing along with. But then, after explaining the idea of an LP to an audience old enough to enough, he infused the show with a jolt of energy that carried over to the end of the show. He nailed "I Want to See the Bright Lights Tonight," which led into the quiet, lovely "Sunset Song" from Sweet Warrior (2007), and then into "1952 Vincent Black Lightning." He may have better songs, but the audience's cheer of recognition when Richard got that one going was priceless, the highlight of the night. And the man's roar when the angels in leather and chrome "come down from heaven to carry me home" I won't soon forget. As if that weren't enough, he followed up with one of best quieter songs, "Persuasion." Then came a song about some departed friends that I didn't know. Somewhere in there was a song about the worst tour he'd ever had, a song that I sense he hasn't recorded. He finished up with "Dad's Gonna Kill Me."

For the encore, Loud and Rich did one song each from each other's catalogue: "Down Where the Drunkard's Roll" and "Smokey Joe's Cafe."

Odds and ends

October looks to be a good month for concert attendance. First off, there's the "Loud n' Rich" shows at the Calvin on the 6th. Then, there's back to back shows on the 16th and 17th: first, Dar Williams; second, Erin McKeown. Finally, there's the Nields with Lucy Wainwright Roche on the 23rd. And there will be plenty more in November: Ani Difranco, Hot Tuna, Robert Cray, Chris Smither, and more.

I bought the new Chris Smither smither album as soon as it became available, a couple of weeks ago, but I've been holding off on listening to it. Trying to savor its existence a bit before plunging it. Robert Christgau gave it an "honorable mention" in his October Consumer Guide column...but I'm sure I'll rave about its awesomeness some other time.

I have, however, been listening to the new live Crooked Still album. It's great, the one that, from now on, I'll instinctively grab when I decide I want to hear some 'Still.

Getting Hardy on my Shindell

Over the past month or so, I have been trying to digest the most recent albums by Richard Shindell and Jack Hardy, entitled Not Far Now and Rye Grass, respectively (and NFN and RG hereafter). They didn't go down as easily as I thought that they would. Initially, the glossiness of NFN stuck in my craw as irritably as RG's rhythmic woodenness and occasionally overwrought verbiage did. But after multiple listens of several songs at a time and, over the past couple days, listening to each in its entirety, I think I'm ready to reflect more positively...much more positively in the case of Jack's newest.

Let's start with NFN. I haven't gone back to the recent Shindell albums in some time now so, in a way, I feel like more of a stranger to his music than I did, say, when his live album, Courier (2002), came out. NFN feels familiar, like I've heard it before, but that's because it doesn't sound too substantially different from Vuelta (2004) or Somewhere Near Patterson (2000) or Reunion Hill (1997). As with those albums, the sound is folk-rock, with an emphasis on the folk. No distorted guitar, nothing especially uptempo. The hooks lie in the melodies, sometimes in the refrains, and, on one song, "Gethsemane Goodbye," in both.

Thematically, nothing more holds this album together than anything on his previous albums. Over his past few albums, Shindell has specialized in open-ended character portraits and unusual and provocative settings. The opening song, "Parasol Ants" features "a well-known local hood," busted, lying flat on the ground, as a line of ants marches past. "Mariana's Table" is the subtlest song on the album, with "trucks hauling wheat grain" roaring through Buenos Aires, interrupting a quiet scene about a woman, Mariana, selling her empanadas and beer. There is the hint of conflict, of political frustration just beneath the surface. He reports on his website that "Get Up Clara" is about a mule, but when I first listened to it, it seemed to be addressed to the singer's lover. Silly me, I had thought that he was working the old blues tradition of referring to his lover as a beast of burden. Since he once laid down a great version of "Sitting on Top of the World," I didn't put it past him. Anyway, "Get Up Clara" and "Gethsemani Goodbye" and "Balloon Man" are the best tracks on the album, along with Dave Carter's "The Mountain." I would rank it slightly below recent efforts, but I imagine that the real Richard Shindell fans will eat it up. I'll stick with his live album and, maybe, Patterson, or maybe his album of covers, South of Delia (2007), when I need a Shindell fix. "I still maintain that he's a bum," who's at his best at his most objectionable ("Are You Happy Now?" which reminds me of Loudon Wainwright III) and his most mysterious ("Transit" which reminds me of Flannery O'Connor).

So, what does it all add up to? A skilled craftsman working his craft. Nothing more. As usual with Richard Shindell, his newest album offers solid songwriting, smooth singing, and glossy production and arrangements. I never really get the feeling that there is any larger message to this guy's music, and that's not a criticism. Or, at least, it wouldn't be if the songs featured anything particularly uplifting or life-affirming. But so much of this guy's music in full of the soft fatalism that so many singer-songwriters indulge in. It's especially clear on the couple of examples of lyrics that reach out a bit; there's simply no reflection in the music of the emotions suggested by the words. This proves Stephin Merritt's comment that there isn't enough information contained in songs to signal the meaning of a performance to a listener. Artists like Richard Shindell verify the truth of that claim. In "State of the Union," for example, there is a quiet anger in the lyrics that simply isn't reflected in the music or arrangements or singing. To me, that's a sign of someone so middle-class (not to mention resigned to the capitalist world order) that he doesn't even realize how weak his politics really seem. On one recent listening to NFN, I had hoped that the Lilliputian story of "Parasol Ants" might reveal a broader, more originally expressed political message hidden in the album. But I don't think so. Interesting to note that he recorded this thing in Buenos Aires at a place called Amalgamated Balladry.

Still, there is such a thing as craftsmanship, and Richard Shindell has got it. Listen to NFN if you want to hear well-constructed contemporary folk songs, marked by carefully controlled singing and staid arrangements. Since I have a taste for this sort of thing, I'm sure I'll return to it from time to time, despite my more intellectual misgivings.

Jack's RG also feels familiar. It feels like part two of a saga of country music albums begun with Bandolier (2002). The arrangements are similar: guitars, dobro, bass, fiddle, a little piano, no drums. And, like Bandolier, RG improves with repeat listenings. The melodies and words and arrangements blur comfortably within each other, and Jack's weathered voice is appropriately cradled by his harmony singers who, on this record, happen to be his daughters. Jack's technical vocal proficiency isn't at Richard Shindell's level, but he's got more soul and a better understanding of his gifts than I bet Richard will ever develop. Really, his voice hit me the first time I ever heard him, at the Postcrypt Coffeehouse in the spring of 2000.

RG is Jack Hardy's 19th or 20th album, and I think it's one of the better ones; in the top half, let's say. In its thematic coherence and suitably austere arrangements, it may even be top 5. As he's gotten older, that weathered voice of his has deepened, its cracks combining with the man's personal history--his brother was in one of the Twin Towers when it collapsed and, over 30 years before, he was deeply involved in radical politics on the University of Hartford campus--to evoke world-weariness and political despair. The album opens with the song that best evokes that meaning: "Soundtrack," which overviews recent political issues and events with various references to pop and folk songs of years past. The refrain features his daughters' harmonies: "bye bye American pie / bye bye Blackbird." Later on, there's "Ask Questions." And, in between and thereafter, there are a bunch of above average country songs.

But while Bandolier was little more than an album of country songs (and at least three great ones: "The Moon Is Full," "Autumn," and "Everything's Bigger in Texas"), on RG, there are darker things going on. There is a disillusionment that, like Ani Difranco's, is earned. RG may have some good country songs on it, but it is quietly and brilliantly an album about how and whether people will face down the evil in their midst. "Soundtrack" suggests that "There's still time to lock up your daughters," and its use of older folk and pop songs helps evoke an innocence that Jack surely knows didn't define the era that they're usually associated with. "Crime of the Century" squeezes in references to the touring life and illegal downloads, while quietly suggesting that the real crime is the political disengagement in that lifestyle: "You headed out to save the world / wound up drunk and chasing girls / buddy can you spare a dime / for the crime of the century?" The title track is quiet and hypnotic in its evocation of an American south terrorized by the Klan and argues that we don't "Ask Questions" enough about that facet of America's past. "Prisoner"'s "And there's no one to ask questions / and there's no one to reply / to ask why i was taken / on the fourth day of July" evokes the same themes. Meanwhile, "If I Were to Lay Me Down" and "Kansas" and "Now and Then" are stark and beautiful, with Jack sometimes using his higher vocal registers to evoke restlessness and discontent.

I don't usually think of Jack Hardy's albums as having thematic coherence, but RG does, and the more I've listened to it, the more I've come to admire it. And, while it isn't as listenable as some of his more recent stuff, it's also a bit more ambitious in its own subtle way. I like it more than Richard Shindell's NFN; the songs and the voice have more depth than most of the stuff on NFN, and the austere arrangements take on a haunting, mysterious quality that Shindell can only approach (and never really does on NFN).

Jack Hardy's stock-in-trade is songs. I find that his focus on songwriting sometimes results in unimpressive albums. As I've said to Matt Winters in the past, his albums can be hard to listen to, because the instrumentation becomes monotonous over a dozen songs. Occasionally, an arrangement will nail the song perfectly: the guitar parts on "Porto Limon" from 1984's The Cauldron and the title track of Through (1991), the male harmonies on the title track of White Shoes (1982), the Roches' harmonies on "The Tailor," from The Mirror of My Madness (1976), and the slow-but-solid beat and lead guitar lines on "Johnny's Gone" and haunting mandolin part on "111th Pennsylvane," both from Civil Wars (1994). At their best, his recordings are extraordinary: two of the highlights are "The Tinker's Coin" from Landmark (1982) and "Eclipse" from Omens (2000). His best albums combine great songwriting with consistently good melodies and arrangements--The Mirror of My Madness (1976), Landmark (1982), Civil Wars (1994), Omens (2000), and Noir (2007) are my top 5, in chronological order. This year's Rye Grass deserves mention as a great one too. It's the first album of his I've heard that I've enjoyed a lot, in spite of its all-too-consistent arrangements. Why? Because the music, the lyrics, the voice, and the thematic consistency add up to something; it's not just a collection of songs. Whether he meant to or not, Jack Hardy has made a serious album of folk and country songs about a decaying United States of America, about how hard it is to speak out against the injustices therein, and how necessary it is to do so.

Odds and ends

I am listening to Jim Henry’s One-Horse Town (2005) as I type this. It is one of the CDs I bought at Falcon Ridge this summer. It is one of a series of “seven-song six-packs” from Jim Henry and Tracy Grammer over the past few years. Tracy’s are called The Verdant Mile and Book of Sparrows. Jim Henry has this one, and another called King of Hearts. I’ll write about the others soon. For the moment, here’s what they have in common. They are all short; seven songs each. Tracy plays and sings on Jim’s six-packs, and Jim plays on Tracy’s.

Anyway, One-Horse Town is excellent. It opens with “deep river blues,” a Doc Watson-arranged traditional song, which sounds like it came from a Jorma Kaukonen album, with some delicate finger-picking and tasty dobro solos (Jim overdubs his own parts; Tracy is credited with vocals and violin). The title track comes next. It’s a Jim Henry original, and it’s very sweet, about the power of roots and their power over the children who leave small town life. The portrait of small-town life is conservative—“a peck on the cheek when there’s no one around”—but loving, and the melody is simple and direct. Think of it as a more optimistic, less fatalistic version of Dave Carter’s “Ordinary Town.” The version of “St. James Infirmary” that follows is straightforward. Then comes a previously unrecorded Dave Carter song, “Quickdraw Southpaw’s Last Hurrah,” typically excellent, yearning and sad and hopeful. “A sad farewell” is instrumental, pretty good. “This Lullaby” is a Jim Henry original, a lovely ballad about growing up. Finally, there’s another Jim Henry original called “Ruby,” about his daughter, that begins, “when Bob Dole spoke / your mom went into labor / her water broke / she started screaming for the savior.” I love it.

I hadn’t realized that Jim Henry is such a good songwriter, but he is. On the basis of “One-horse Town,” “This Lullaby,” and “Ruby,” I want to hear more.

I’ve also just listened to Richard Shindell’s latest album, Not Far Now (2009). It is good but, so far, I’m not sure what else to say about it. It actually peaks toward the end: the final three tracks are "Get Up Clara," in which Richard lets his lover be their guide, Dave Carter's "The Mountain," and "Balloon Man" which had me spellbound at the Signature Sounds concert last month. Based on two listens to the disc, they are the best songs on the album, the ones in which lyrics, music, arrangement, and performance yield something I'd like to hear again. None of the other tracks have made contact yet, although "Parasol Ants" has a great lyric. I think I need to listen again.

I've also been listening to the Flatlanders' Wheel of Fortune (2004) which has stuff on it that makes me smile, even laugh out loud, and all the singers are great. I'm starting to get the feeling I've stumbled onto something great. After perusing some of their other stuff via iTunes, I now realize that I know some of their other songs. WFUV used to play a couple of songs from their 2002 disc, Now Again, that I really liked.

I have yet to listen to Jack Hardy's newest, and it's on my agenda to give it a spin tomorrow. Ditto Carsie Blanton's newest. And Loudon Wainwright and Chris Smither both have new albums coming out in the next month or so. Goody!

Erin McKeown joins Righteous Babe

See here.

Falcon Ridge, 2009

I returned from Falcon Ridge earlier this afternoon. After a few days worth of music and camping out on Dodds Farm, I decided around 10:30 this morning that I’d had enough. I ducked out during the Gospel Wake Up Call. With some help from some twenty-somethings, pushing my car through some mud, I made it out of the Lower Pasture and onto the muddy path leading past the mainstage and out to the main road. As I passed the mainstage, I heard a performer announce that they were going to play a Patty Griffin song, which turned out to be “Mary,” just as I was leaving the festival grounds. I momentarily thought about parking somewhere and wandering back to see some more of the show, but exhaustion and lack of enthusiasm about the Sunday afternoon performance schedule and a vaguely melancholy feeling that Patty Griffin would never again record an album as great as Flaming Red won the day. There would be some good stuff happening on the workshop stage, it looked like, but not good enough to induce me to go back. Actually, the Gospel Wake Up Call, usually one of the festival highlights, didn’t do much for me; what I heard of it, anyway. Really, without Eddie from Ohio or the Nields or Vance Gilbert or any of the other Falcon Ridge stalwarts, I couldn’t muster much enthusiasm. And as for this afternoon’s mainstage…Wild Asparagus, Dan Navarro, Hickory Project, Cliff Eberhardt, N+K Nields, Ellis Paul, and Mecca Bodega: I salute you. Hope to see some of you sometime.

There you have a large part of the story of this year’s Falcon Ridge: a lot of the regulars were absent. And there were a number of newcomers to the festival, along with a number of folks who had been away for some time. Given the destruction from last year, the festival promoters had seriously considered not putting the show on this summer. A friend told me yesterday that Anne and Bub were a bit distressed by the audience turnout this year: through Saturday evening, the crowds were smaller than they had been last year.

This summer’s folk fest was historic for me: it was the first time I’ve ever attended a music festival on my own. Matt Winters and company had other business, and the crowd that I used to folk out with a decade ago have either scattered all over the country or faded away. About twenty minutes after I put down my tarp, however, I discovered that my next door neighbors were Jessica and her mother and their friends. Jessica is the woman who drove me to the Ani show at the Pines last summer, and she also showed up at Falcon Ridge ’08. She is also part of the scene, acting as a manager (or street coordinator or something like that) for Girlyman, who were a big deal at this year’s fest. We caught up with each other and shared blanket space. So I had some company.

On to the music….

Thursday evening began with Kim & Reggie Harris and Magpie. These are two duos who date back to the 1970s, literally, and play 1960s-style commercial folk music. That is, they perform a lot of political music, clearly inspired by the songs of the protest singers of that time. In tone, spirit, and overall sound/feel, this was political music in the vein of Peter, Paul, and Mary or Joan Baez or Pete Seeger (as opposed to, say, Randy Newman). Pretty innocent stuff, for the most part. Kinda bland, but with one standout exception. Magpie performed one song without the Harrises, and it was a great one: “Barons of King Coal,” about mountain top removal in Appalachia. The four singers finished up with Phil Ochs’ “When I’m Gone,” and their harmonies took on that choral quality that I associate with the protest music that thrived during the era of the Civil Rights Movement and late as (beginning of) the sexual revolution (should that be capitalized? Yes). Throughout, they were backed by Mark Dann on bass, a Jack Hardy bandmate, and a part of the Falcon Ridge house band. Overall, an entertaining, if unspectacular start to the festivities.


Next up came John Flynn, another singer in the same mold, although he only dates back to the 1980s. He’s more in the vein of someone like Arlo Guthrie (who he’s travelled with), or maybe Steve Forbert. Some political stuff, but more like social commentary and topical tunes. His performance gained power as it progressed. An opening song that referenced “two wolves” was a like a bad Dave Carter song, but when he dumped the metaphors and took on concrete realities, his songs (and his performance) improved. He has a warm stage presence and made a couple of jokes and gently teased Arlo G’s harmonica playing. A couple of his more recent songs, “Semper Fi” and “America’s Waiting” were genuinely touching. He got a standing ovation from the Falcon Ridge audience. It was a step up from the opening act, and I felt like we were really underway.

The Folk Arts Quartet consist of four classically trained Berkley College of Music students playing music that they call “chamber grass.” What does that mean? What I heard reminded me of seeing Alasdair Fraser and Natalie Haas last year: fairly staid melodies, tight arrangements, and entertaining enough for a short time. Special kudos to Ivonne Hernandez, who showed off some toe-tapping and step dancing that, in conjunction with the music, was a lot of fun. Hannah Read hails from Edinburgh, Scotland, and has a charming stage presence. All four of them were all smiles. Very clean cut, a bit perky, great musicianship. Not much more to say, really. What do you think?

I decided to call it a night after that, and I wish I hadn’t. By the time I’d returned to my tent, Oneside had begun. I heard something really uptempo and fun-sounding. I heard a rollicking version of Johnny Cash’s “Cocaine Blues,” and I sang along as I set up my sleeping bag. So I missed out. And, rumor has it, Kathy Mattea put on a fantastic performance. Oh well. I got a good night’s sleep by Falcon Ridge standards, and I was ready for a full day of music on Friday.

I made it to the Workshop stage at 11:00 for something called “Heart & Soul,” with the Falcon Ridge house band (including Mark Dann and, does the guy ever get a break?, Jim Henry), Tracy Grammer (with Jim Henry, as usual), N+K Nields, Jon Vezner, and Dan Navarro. Navarro, the workshop MC, sang a song about songwriting, and it was witty and, yes, soulful. When John Vezner sat down at the piano a bit later for his second tune, he introduced himself as Kathy Mattea’s husband and proceeded to play a song that, from the opening line, made the Nields’ heads perk up, and they began to whisper excitedly to each other and to Jim and Tracy. It turns out that Jon had played whatever song it was on the Today Show about 15 years ago. Unbeknownst to me at the time, Jon Vezner has been a songwriter for a long time, working mostly for country singers. On the basis of what I heard at the workshop stage, the man not only can write, but he can sing too. A little while later, Nerissa Nields made a point out of not having met Jon until shortly before the performance and only now realizing that she was a fan. The Nields were charming, as usual, and they were very attentive to the other performers when they were on. In particular, they paid close attention to Tracy and Jim, who played David Francey’s “The Waking Hour” and, a bit later, “Gentle Soldier of My Soul” from Drum Hat Buddah. Tracy mentioned that, if she had learned what the title of the workshop was going to be a bit sooner, she would have learned how to play “Magic Man,” which elicited joyful laughter from the Nields and from a lot of the audience. The Nields did their classic “This Town is Wrong” and “The Endless Day,” from Sister Holler, a recent album of theirs which I enjoy more than anything of theirs (that I’ve heard) since their fantastic If You Lived Here You’d Be Home Now (2000).


As usual, Friday afternoon’s mainstage was devoted to the Emerging Artist Showcase. I caught maybe 16 or 17 of the 24 acts and, on the basis of those, I’d say this Showcase topped last year’s. I was surprised to discover more than half a dozen acts I would love to see back. I really enjoyed the openers, Colleen Kattau & Some Guys, who opened with a kind of faux-Irish dance-chant. Later, Sean Rowe sang in a Greg Brown-ish voice and turned Leonard Cohen’s “Bird on a Wire” into a soul tune, beating the crap out of Johnny Cash’s version. I finally got to hear chuck e. costa, who I’ve been hearing about for a long time, and I was pleased (though more by the delicate guitar playing than by the songs). A woman named Emily Elbert (who I’ve since learned is only 20) sang like an angel, although I can’t remember her songs. The Brilliant Inventions opened with a hilarious song about a dream the singer had had about someone’s girlfriend…a dream which did not involve sex, he assures us in the refrain. And I got to see Jenny Goodspeed for the second time. Someone out there thinks she’s pretty special; Jim Henry was there to play some guitar for her. While I confess I liked her performance more than the first time I saw her, I remain underwhelmed. When it came time to vote on who should return, my selections were: Angelo M. (a fifty-something blues singer who played a couple of sharp songs and played some mean guitar), John Elliott, and, one of my favorite acts of the entire weekend, Swing Caravan. Swing Caravan are a four-piece group—two guitars, stand-up bass, and “kitchen percussion” (including washboard, a couple of pans, and a spit bucket)—that plays “gypsy jazz,” in the style of Django Reinhardt. Their two songs concluded the Showcase, and they were fantastic. All four musicians are hyper-talented: the ensemble playing, the solos, and Matthew Ruby Shippee’s understated singing were all treats, and the material was choice. And much to my delight, during the 5:00 dinner break, the group set up next to one of the food tickets booths to play, and play they did, for a little over an hour. As it turned out, they had some competition: about twenty feet away, a circle of six or seven folks, featuring the young Anthony da Costa, had gathered for some picking and singing, and they attracted quite a crowd. Between 5:00 and 6:30 or so, I wandered between the two acts, but I really spent most of the time with the Caravan, which really knocked my socks off. They popped up again for another hour or so of performance Saturday afternoon, around the dinner hour again. As it turns out, this group has a regular gig in Northampton, MA (where they are based) at the Yellow Sofa Café through the end of September, and I’ll be sure to catch them.

Between 4:30 and 5:00 (that is, after the Showcase ended but before the dinner break), Sarah Lee Guthrie (daughter of yes-you-guessed-it and granddaughter of you-know-who) and Johnny Irion performed on the mainstage. Their performance began with Sarah Lee stepping up to the mike and, without introduction, performing “Birds and Ships“ (a you-know-who lyric recorded by Wilco and Billy Bragg for the first Mermaid Avenue album) a cappella. Then, Johnny Irion basically took over. He was the frontman, as it were, and he had a gentle, comforting stage demeanor. They concluded their set with a lyric that, Sarah Lee explained, was sent to her from her “Aunt Nora” in NYC, who works for the you-know-who archive. Her proceeded to tell us about a snippet of dialogue that you-know-who had recorded toward the end of his life in which he talked about songwriting. I play my G chords and my D chords, Sarah Lee quoted the man (trying to imitate his voice), “but every once in a while I throw in a C chord to impress the ladies.” With that, they went into “Folk Song.”


After the dinner break, I positioned myself on Jessica’s blanket, center stage up close, with a friend of her mom’s to watch the Doc Scanlon Trio. Doc Scanlon sang and played stand-up bass, and his bandmates played guitar and clarinet. Their set was made up of old jazz and blue tunes. Blues as in Sinatra, of course, not as in Howlin’ Wolf. The highlight came when Doc invited Jonathan Russell, a 14 year old jazz violinist, to join them. He did, and they tore into “Sweet Georgia Brown.” On that tune, and on a couple of others, the kid violinist smoked. Doc called out for him to solo on the couple of other tunes they played together. Impressive stuff. Not exactly the kind of thing I expect at a folk festival, but it was a nice bit of energy.

I only caught the very first and very last songs of Karen Savoca’s set, as Jessica returned to the blanket and asked if I’d like to take a walk with her, which I did. Actually, what I heard of Karen Savoca made me want to hear more. I might seek her out at some point.

On the way back to the blanket, though, a friend of Jessica’s stopped to inform us that a major storm was coming. Memories of 2008 immediately flashed through my mind, and I packed my belongings and hustled back to my tent. Just in time: a drizzle began…and it turned into steady rain with thunderstorms about a minute later. Eileen Ivers & Immigrant Soul were slated to go on next, but they didn’t. Instead, I later heard, they gave an impromptu performance at one of the other tents. Sorry I missed it; it was supposed to have been great. The Refugees set was cancelled, although they apparently were given a slot to perform on Sunday sometime, I think. And the traditional Friday Night Summer’s Eve Song Swap was cancelled altogether. Bummer. I hid out in my tent, reading Chuck Klosterman essays, until around midnight when I went to sleep, with the rain hammering my tent. There were some song circles going on that night, but I decided to get some sleep.

The good news: I woke up the next morning completely dry. My brand new tent did its job.

Saturday began at 11:00 with Stonehoney. This is a four piece band—three guitars and bass—and they also performed with an accordion player whose name I forget. They were flat-out great. Their arrangements were really tight, and their harmony singing was outstanding. Their sound was basically country-rock—sample lyrics: “walking hand in hand / alone with you,” “I’m stoned again / if it’s a sin / i just don’t care,” “could have turned right but I turned wrong / now I’m here and here’s as good as gone,” and “two years gone in the city of angels / two years down [or “alone”? not sure].” Their songs are hooky and propulsive. I sensed that they were dying to have a drummer on-stage to power them over the top. There isn’t a lick of originality in Stonehoney, but tons of energy and commitment, and I loved hearing them as the opening act on Saturday. I now see that you can get a bunch of their songs on iTunes—for free! Sitting here at my computer, they still sound pretty darn good.


For the next act, Tracy Grammer with Jim Henry, I once again moved down to position myself on Jessica’s blanket, once again positioned center stage up close. Tracy and Jim sat alone on stage and opened with “Gentle Arms of Eden” and “Crocodile Man.” With that, Tracy announced that they would perform the set that they had planned to do last year, eliciting cheers from the audience, many of whom had clearly been around for the destruction last summer. Jim took up the electric guitar for “Shadows of Evangeline,” from Tracy’s album of previously unrecorded Dave Carter songs, Flower of Avalon, produced by Mary Chapin Carpenter and Jim Jennings. Without the glossy production, the song’s basic weirdness was even cleared than it is on the recording. The antiwar song “Travis John” came next, followed by Jim Henry’s lead on “1952 Vincent Black Lightning.” Then came “28th of January,” which I heard at the SigSounds show last week. Before the next song, “Dirty Little Town” (from Tracy’s The Verdant Mile album), Tracy explained that she was from southern California and, “like,” grew up with smog days (as opposed to the snow days of the northeast—much more fun). “The Mountain” came next, a song that Dave Carter wrote specifically for Tracy to sing; Jim Henry sang the Buddhist blessing toward the end of the song. Then came “The Verdant Mile.” And, to finish the set, a great version of Townes Van Zandt’s “Poncho and Lefty.” It was a lovely set of music. Tracy’s banter was charming, and occasionally off kilter (like when she told us to put sun screen on because, she assured us, skin cancer was no fun). And Jim Henry is awfully funny. When Tracy introduced the final song by mentioning that it was about a couple of outlaws, “much like Jim and myself,” her bandmate said, in his best outlaw growl, “gimme a double lat-te…whole milk!”


The Most Wanted Song Swap took up the 1:00-2:00 time slot. Two of my three picks from last year were there—Lucy Wainwright Roche (LWR hereafter) and Blue Moose and the Unbuttoned Zippers (BMUZ hereafter)—along with Abi Tapia and Amy Speace, both of whom played at least one song that I actually sort of remembered from the previous year. LWR played entirely new material, including one called “The A & E,” about a date that she went on in England which ended with her spending the night with her date in the emergency room, after he had what in the end turned out to be a collapsed lung. Amy Speace probably had the most impressive singing voice (although I’m still partial to LWR). Her best song, a really great one in fact, was hooked around the line “the only thing I’ve learned / is that i haven’t learned a thing.” Abi Tapia, a very cute woman, was my favorite. She sang three superb songs “Another State Line,” about her inspiration for what she’s done with her life, the catchy “Let the Lover Be,” and the ready-for-country “Hand Over Your Heart.” Watch for her. Finally, BMUZ were also superb. Their sound is a difficult to describe, something I bet their press agent, if they have one, would love to hear. But really, they sounded like a cross between Crooked Still and Bartok’s string quartets—there were some bright melodies, but they were undercut by dissonance and a kind of eerie quality that made me pay attention. There was some singing too, but I was paying more attention to the instruments: two fiddles, guitar, and nyckelharpa. It’s an enticing sound, and I would love to see them again.


I skipped Susan Werner and Jon Vezner to walk around, eat, and rest back at the tent. I came back to the mainstage for Gandalf Murphy and the Slambovian Circus of Dreams. Their set was high energy, as always, and I had fun. But I think the enthusiasm of the audience played a big part in my enjoyment of their performance. I like ‘em just fine, but I am not that impressed. If it’s the instrumental stuff that people like, then I wish they’d pay more attention to folks like BMUZ (pushing boundaries) or Swing Caravan (above average neo-traditionalism). If it’s the danceable rhythms, then why are they at a folk festival, and why not get one of those bouncy country or bluegrass groups to the fest? And why wasn’t Eddie from Ohio there this year? And I’m sure there’s an explanation for all the umbrellas going up for the final song that has nothing to do with the weather, but I’m not sure what it is.

I missed almost all of Lisa Haley & the Zydekats and, based on what I heard at a distance, there might have been something there worth hearing. In fact, I was attracted back to my tarp by the sound of a guitar solo. But, by the time I was back, it, and the rest of the set, was over.

Pamela Means played next. A graduate of the Ani Difranco school of guitar playing and writing (but not, unfortunately, singing), her performance was forceful, if nothing else. But she opened with a preachy song about New Orleans that had me pining for Ani’s “Red Letter Year” and thinking that, if this performer really was a Difranco graduate, I’d give her a B for guitar and a C for writing and maybe something in between for singing. She preceded the next song by asking, “where my bi-racials at?” She listened to the smattering of applause, announced “this is for both of you,” and went into the next tune. She told a story about fixing her car’s muffler with some guitar strings while on the road in Wisconsin, where she’s from, before playing a song about Maine. She played a jazz tune. She got my attention with a song I later learned is called “Maybe You Should” in which she told a “drunken swine” to “shut your face and drink your beer.” That was more like it. Maybe the Ani comparisons aren’t fair, but that’s all I could think about during her set. That said, she was okay.

Bob Malone won the Emerging Artist Showcase over 10 years ago and now played the mainstage. I knew nothing about him coming on, and I was impressed. He leads a 9-piece band, including 3 horns and 2 back-up singers, one of whom is his wife (and the subject of what I thought was the best song he played). The sound is a Memphis soul-type deal with some great piano, courtesy of Mr. Malone, and some simple but effective horn arrangements and soloing. The back-up singers danced and sashayed around their corner of the stage and, if anything, didn’t sing enough. Because the one weakness I heard was in the singing. It sounded like there were some good songs, and the instrumentation was hot, but Bob Malone’s singing voice simply doesn’t cut it. The guy is clearly pretty talented, but this kind of music absolutely requires a singer capable of putting over this kind of material. I thought of Taj Mahal singing with the Phantom Blues Band, and I tried to picture Malone’s band, with Bob himself at the keys, and Martin Sexton handling the mike. That would be something. At is was, I enjoyed the set quite a bit and found myself a bit put off by the fact that a lot of the same people who were up and dancing for Gandalf Murphy a few hours earlier had their asses planted on the ground for what was, I thought, a much more danceable set of music. Maybe everyone was tired.

Perhaps the biggest surprise of the festival came next. I’ve seen Janis Ian a couple of times at festivals over the years, but I’ve never been as impressed as I was Saturday night. With the sun having set, the stage almost completely bare, and a big crowd assembled at their blankets, the performed was announced. Then, she stepped up to the microphone and, without any guitar accompaniment, began singing “Jesse.” After a few lines, she began to pick and strum, quietly. She had me completely and, by the end of the song, I semi-consciously realized that she had everyone. There was huge applause. Then she played a song called “Through the Years” that, from another singer, might have sounded mawkish and embarrassing but, from this woman, in this context, opened up a torrent of emotions in me (the short version being that I felt very intensely single by the end of the song). From there, she had me (and, it seemed, the rest of us) in the palm of her hand as surely as Chris Smither did during his nighttime performance at the 2002 fest. She told us a harrowing story about performing “Society’s Child” on a California stage when she was 15 years old and booed off the stage to the cries of “nigger lover” and how, after running off stage and crying and being convinced to return, the majority of audience, who was there to hear her after all, physically forced the racists back into their seats, racists who eventually “slunk” out of the theater, to use Ian’s word for it. Then she played the song, a song I’ve heard before, but never with the effect it had Saturday night. The tragedy of the song seemed unusually clear; this was a young teenager’s song, written during a very different time (something Ian herself mentioned when telling the story). It occurred to me that I would not be sympathetic to a white teenager who didn’t have the courage to stay with her black significant other…but then I thought some more about my own contact with racism, and I thought some more. Anyway, the point is that Janis Ian’s performance was transcendent, both for her music and for her talk. And it was more notable still for her announcement that the crew had to shut the generators down and that she had to leave the stage! No shit: she walked off and Claudia Marshall, the WFUV dj who’d introduced her, told us that we might have to wait for 25 minutes before she returned. It wound up being something under 20 minutes, during which some folks sitting a few yards in front of me began singing. First, there was Dar’s “Iowa.” Then, a bit later, “This Land is Your Land.” Miraculously, when Janis Ian returned to the stage, the spell resumed, as if it had never been broken. There was more chat, there were more songs: “At Seventeen” and a funny song about her autobiography. She was forceful, poised, confident, funny, and the highlight of the festival, interruption and all.

At that point, I made a spontaneous decision to call it a night. So, I skipped Girlyman and Ryan Montbleau. As I wandered around the campgrounds, I could hear Girlyman, and I’m not convinced that I missed anything too special. But I promise I’ll give them a chance some other time.

So…my personal highlights were Janis Ian, much to my surprise, and Swing Caravan, also to my surprise. Beyond that, I’d check out anyone from the Most Wanted Song Swap if any of those acts came anywhere nearby (which, given the Pioneer Valley, is pretty likely), and maybe Stonehoney too. And about half a dozen of this year’s “Emerging Artists” were darn good as well.

Special thanks and notice are due my tent, which held up under some pretty heavy rain on Friday night....See you next year!