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.