The Demolition String Band @ The Rodeo Bar, January 25th, 2009

Up until yesterday, my acquaintance with The Demolition String Band was limited to their honky-tonk cover of Madonna’s “Like a Prayer.” Also, Matt Winters once introduced me to Boo, their lead guitar and banjo player. In fact, that introduction also took place at the Rodeo Bar, a small, fun bar with a tiny space for live music in the back and free peanuts available up front. Matt, a few of his friends, and I had been there to catch Marshall Crenshaw a couple of years ago, and we bumped into Boo on the way out.

Denise, her son Julián, and I saw that the Demolition Band were going to play a special Sunday afternoon show at The Rodeo Bar, and we decided that morning that we would attend. We arrived at about quarter after 3:00; a bit late, although I discovered that the band had actually begun a bit late, so I doubt we missed any more than 10 minutes, maximum, of the performance. The (advertised) theme of the program, aside from its child-friendliness, was Americana music, by the great American songwriters in what we now call the folk and country music traditions: Woody Guthrie, Stephen Foster, Leadbelly, Jimmie Rodgers, Hank Williams, and so forth. Given that this was an afternoon out with Julián, his enjoyment (or at least contentment) was crucial. Fortunately, he was into it.

And so was I. First and foremost, the song selection was choice. “She’ll Be Coming ‘Round the Mountain When She Comes,” “I’ll Fly Away,” “Cotton Fields” (introduced as a Leadbelly song; I hadn’t known that, although I did know that it hadn’t originated with Creedence Clearwater Revival, whose version of the song I was most familiar with), Johnny and June Carter’s “Jackson” (one of my personal favorite moments of the show), “Lovebug,” “I Come from Alabama with my banjo on my knee,” and some others that I’ve forgotten. I was particularly delighted with the Woody Guthrie selections: “Union Maid,” one of his two greatest union-themed songs (the other being the much gloomier, not very family-oriented “1913 Massacre”), “So Long, It’s Been Good to Know You” (probably the best-known of his “Dust Bowl Ballads”), and “This is Your Land” (inspired by the recent performance on Capitol Hill, led by the venerable Pete Seeger, and featuring the verses about private property and exclusion that are not taught in school).

An interesting moment came approximately half way into the performance when the band’s frontwoman, Elena, called a special guest to the stage: Hank Williams. A voice-over announced his appearance on a radio show, and the great country singer walked to the stage and greeted the audience as if he were performing on the radio circa 1950, complete with a medicine advertisement. After the greeting, he launched into a medley of his hits, beginning with “Jambalaya” and “Hey Good Lookin’,” before moving through “Move It on Over,” “Why Don’t You Love Me,” “Your Cheatin’ Heart,” and a few others that I can’t remember. After the medley, he did “Lovesick Blues,” took a bow, and left. It turns out that this was the actor who plays Hank Williams in the off-Broadway show Lost Highway, based on the life of Hank Williams.

The band was sharp. Basically, the set-up was four-piece bluegrass, with Boo doubling on guitar and banjo and Elena on guitar and mandolin, with a turn on banjo too (clawhammer, though; she left the more traditional picking to Boo). The fiddler soloed sweetly and often. The bass player was content to go unnoticed (although Denise pointed out his resemblance to Columbia sociologist Herbert Gans).

I wish I had caught the name of the waiter at the Rodeo Bar who was serving the patrons in the little section of the place where the music was happening. He was clearly very busy, and he did his job with a smile. When I asked if they had hot chocolate, he assured me that they did with a tone of reassurance mixed with pride, and I could not help but smile back at him. He served drinks to the band, he covered the couple of dozen parents and kids in attendance, and he bashfully pumped his fist when the band recognized his good work.

I was happy to see a nice turnout for the show. We arrived not long before the performance area had filled up a bit; not to capacity, but a nice bunch nevertheless. We sat very close to the band’s fiddle player’s wife and seven week old daughter; Denise shared a few words with her. I chatted with her a bit as well, as Denise and Julián made their way up to the stage after the show to take a closer look at the instruments. A few children were a bit rambunctious; at one point, a couple of boys sitting not far behind us were screaming about something, at another point, a boy approached the stage with a peanut launcher for no other reason than to shoot a few peanuts onto the stage.

The Brooks Williams Trio w/Beaucoup Blue @ The Iron Horse, January 22nd, 2009

Just got back from a fabulous evening of music at the Iron Horse. My first folk music love, Brooks Williams, played 90 minutes of music with his band. That's right: his band. I had never seen him play with a band prior to a few hours ago. Once, many years ago, I saw him play as a duo with Rani Arbo (the fiddler from Daisy Mayhem and, before that, Salamander Crossing). Other than that, I have only known Brooks as a solo performer.

So, the boys of Beaucoup Blue, David and Adrien, opened the evening with a little over 30 minutes of guitar playing and singing. Their music is certainly bluesy, but they definitely are not slaves to some wrong-headed notion of authenticity. The two voices are quite different: the young man smooth, the old man rough. And so was the guitar playing: the young man focused on rhythm, the old man breaking out into slide guitar solos. When the youngster soloed, he didn't seem entirely comfortable. Their songs were pretty good. "Delta Rain" was about a trip to the south, about a month after 9/11. "Four in the Morning" and "Catch Me When I Wake Up" sounded particularly good. And they were called back for an encore, a cover of "CC Rider."

At around 7:50, Brooks Williams hit the stage with his band, bassist Richard Gates and drummer Sturgis Cunningham. I couldn't have been happier with how they began: Brooks' arrangement of Buddy and Julie Miller's "My Love Will Follow You." And, although I was a bit skeptical of how Brooks would sound with so much backup, the band provided real electricity. They were not there for show, they were there to back up the main man and, in this case, that meant rocking out here, swinging a bit there. I thought back to the Marshall Crenshaw show I had seen in Brooklyn. There, I saw a man who made his name with a rock group adjusting to the challenges of playing alone. Here, I was watching a man work with a band in the midst of a career of playing solo gigs. I was not disappointed, not even once.

After that opener, Brooks announced that he was going to play songs from his latest album, The Time I Spend with You (2008). That was fine by me. It's one of his best albums, I think. It's a fun-loving album, not at all introspective, and concerned mainly with giving pleasure to its listeners. "Everywhere" was a light, jazzy number, inducing the drummer to mellow out a bit. I'd expected a long sequence of new material but, after "Everywhere" came the first real test with the band. "Belfast Blues" has been a staple of Brooks' live shows for over 10 years and, apart from the original recording on Knife Edge (1995), I'd never heard it with any instruments other than guitar. The band arrangement was fun. I can't say it revealed anything new or different about the song, but it wasn't a letdown either. Up next was one of Brooks' sexiest numbers, "Rich Tonight." Like "Belfast Blues," "Rich Tonight" originally appeared on one the albums Brooks recorded with the Green Linnet label during the mid-1990s, before rerecording it many years later. It is one of the highlights from Seven Sisters (1997). On his newest album, it's different, less subtle, more rocking. And it was a peak moment at the concert. The band slammed into the groove, and Brooks was clearly having a ball.

Throughout the concert, Brooks Williams looked positively joyful. If he wasn't totally focused on getting just the right notes out of his guitar, he was grinning up a storm on almost every song. His enthusiasm shone through, and it reminded me of why I've loved going to his concerts for almost half of my life. This was the first time I'd seen him since the spring of 2003, and I'd forgotten what a pleasure his shows are.

At one point, the band left the stage--a "union break," Brooks joked--and Brooks played two songs on his own, the way I'm used to seeing him. And I was overjoyed by the selections, John Martyn's "May You Never" and, by request, "Seven Sisters." I don't think I had ever heard him play "May You Never" live before, and my heart leaped as I realized what he was playing. Both of the songs were models of exemplary finger-picking guitar playing and deep, soulful singing. "Seven Sisters" is among the best songs he has ever written, a song about renewal and recovery, as nature reclaims some of what was taken from it. There was an amusing moment before that song, as Brooks searched the stage for a capo. He couldn't find his, so one of the Beaucoup Blue boys lent him one of theirs.

After those two songs, the band returned, and, with each song, they seemed to get hotter and hotter. "The Time I Spend with You" and "61 Highway" (preceded by a great story about being smitten by Bonnie Raitt, after seeing her on TV as an adolescent) and "Lightning" from the new album, "Weeping Willow Blues" from Blues and Ballads, and, a "hidden track" from the new album, "Same Old Me," which was probably the hardest rocking song of the night. Then Beaucoup Blue joined the band, and they did "Statesboro Blues," "Little Wheel" (a song from BB's repertoire), and "Key to the Highway." The jamming was like...I don't know what. It felt like I was listening to a really good bar band, full of musicians who just didn't get a chance to play with each other as often as they liked to. Their enthusiasm was plain as day, in their faces, and in their playing. I don't mean to pick favorites, and I don't mean any disrespect, but when they laid out to solo, Brooks was head and shoulders above the Beaucoup Blue boys. Brooks has a command of many different styles, and his solos were not straight blues, in the way that BB's solos were, but were something above and beyond that.

For those readers not in the know, a lot of these songs are either old blues standards or make lots of reference to old blues songs. "61 Highway" is Mississippi Fred McDowell, "Weeping Willow Blues" is Blind Boy Fuller, "Statesboro Blues" is Blind Willie McTell, and I don't know who originally wrote "Key to the Highway," but I've heard lots of folks play that one. "Lightning" is a reference to Lightning Hopkins. Earlier in the set, they had also done "Trouble in Mind" which Brooks attributed to Snooks Eaglin, although I'm familiar with it through Hot Tuna's version. I love the blues. I love the fact that I was watching something almost ritualistic, as these folks paid their respects to musicians they loved by playing their songs, songs whose vocabularies were absorbed into rock and roll so long ago that it's hard to remember just where the words and notes came from.

For an encore, the trio performed "Honey Babe," from Blues and Ballads.

Afterwards, I shared a nice moment with the man. I said hello to him. It took him a moment, but he remembered me. He definitely remembered Anthony Spano, my man from Boston, who takes an occasional guitar lesson from him, and we talked a bit about what a nice guy he is. I shared my exciting news with him, that I was learning the guitar myself. It felt great to talk with him again. The last time I spoke with him, almost 5 years ago, I was giddy with excitement, all the more so because he knew my name! I remember bouncing down the street afterwards, my girlfriend very highly amused. It wasn't quite like that this time around...but I left the Iron Horse in a very good mood, indeed.

Marshall Crenshaw @ BAM Café, Brooklyn, NY, January 9th, 2009

Interesting, the way that the evolution of a musical career can display things about an artist’s work that might not have become clear had the trajectory been different. Why Marshall Crenshaw no longer tours with a full rock band, I don’t know, but I saw a performance of his in a two guitar-plus-drums combo back in the summer of 2006 that was a revelation. A few nights ago, I saw him play about 75 minutes worth of music without any backup at all, and the revelation was confirmed. This man can write songs and play guitar with the best of them.

But let’s start with the man’s history and what, I imagine, will be his legacy: great, three-minute pop songs of the kind that I thought had died with the 1960s. His greatest hits compilation, This is Easy (2000), is dominated by songs from his first two albums, which contain song after song that are passionately sung, perfectly arranged, and almost maddeningly catchy. A few of them are also noticeably good songs. The lyrics and melodies to “Cynical Girl,” “There She Goes Again,” and “Whenever You’re On My Mind” are profound in the simplest way and simple in the most profound way, and each of those songs has been a repeat player on my internal stereo at different times over the past few years. His biggest commercial hit song, “Someday, Someway,” is less impressive as a song, but it’s still great pop. And, for people who know anything about Marshall Crenshaw, for people who remember him during his hit-making days, that’s that: a constructor of superb pop music.

Okay. But what Denise and I saw a few nights ago in Brooklyn revealed other things: great songs, expressive and surprisingly nuanced singing, an upbeat and quirky stage presence, and some really excellent guitar playing. “There She Goes Again” came first, and it is one of my favorites. At first, there was something slightly off-putting about the lack of precision in the way that his songs ran up against the guitar playing. But my ears adjusted quickly, as I began to hear the way he’d adjusted to the challenges of performing solo, and I began listening to the lyrics in a way I hadn’t before. “I’ll be stronger when she's off my mind / I hope she finds what she's been trying to find / And as life goes on and time goes by / Will her heart ever be satisfied?” Simply stated and simultaneously self-affirming, empathetic, and wondering. There is a real innocence to some of Marshall Crenshaw’s songs, as he expresses good-natured confusion about the opposite sex. By the same taken, his later songs express a mature, experienced take on older, more experienced love. “Alone in a Room,” one of Denise’s favorites from the other night, feels lived-in.

Anyway, the performance at BAMCafé touched on material from each part of the man’s career. The old ones included “There She Goes Again,” “Cynical Girl,” “Whenever You’re On My Mind,” “You’re My Favorite Waste of Time,” “Mary Anne,” “Someday, Someway,” and “Something’s Gonna Happen.” He played “Fantastic Planet of Love,” “Dime a Dozen Guy,” “Television Light,” “2541,” and, my most favorite song of his, “What Do You Dream Of” from his ‘90s albums. That last one expresses an intimate sentiment so beautifully that, when I heard it for the first time, back in the summer of 2006, I actually gasped aloud with pleasure when the refrain began.

I'll leave it at that. I hope to catch him again someday.