The Two Man Gentleman Band @ The Iron Horse, March 13th, 2009

The original plan was to stay late at the Iron Horse this evening for their free concert: The Two Man Gentleman Band (2MGB hereafter, www.thetwogentlemen.com) and The Primate Fiasco (www.primatefiasco.com). But about 24 hours ago, I decided to drive down to NYC on Saturday, which nearly moved me to abandon the whole night. Then I decided to go after all, and the schedule cooperated: I really only wanted to see 2MGB anyway, and they wound up opening. It turns out that The Primate Fiasco is a local group, and they like to bring outsiders into town for gigs like this one. And if I weren't going to drive to the city, I would have stuck around to hear their whole set--they are a kind of psychedelic, dixieland jazz ensemble (that actually sounds pretty appealing), with drums, clarinet, banjo, guitar, and tuba. I listened to their first song, a jam on "Sweet Georgia Brown," and split.

But, before then, the 2MGB worked their magic. At around 10:15, they hit the stage with a sign reading "Free Kazoos." True to their word, their lead singer, Andy Bean placed a box full of the things at the foot of the stage and, before you knew it, the entire place was armed and ready. By the way, I have never seen the Iron Horse so packed as it was this evening. Amazing the number of people who will attend a free show! I'm surprised it wasn't a fire hazard. I mean really: the staff had pushed or taken away all the tables to clear the floor for dancing and the crowd, mostly college-aged, filled the space and was seen still jiggling around by the time I left the establishment.

So, on to business. I know of the 2MGB by way of Matt Winters, who put a song of theirs, "The War of Northern Aggression" on one of his New Years CDs (see here for a video of a performance of that one). They are--yes, you guessed it--a duo of male musicians. Their shtick is that of the conservative, depression-era gentlemen. They are anti-prohibition, they praise the fat man, William Howard Taft, and they compare a breakup to the War of Northern Aggression. Beyond that, they get pretty silly, as the Iron Horse audience quickly learned. The opening number was a saucy little thing called "When Your Lips Are Playing My Kazoo." Songs like "Prime Numbers" and "Fancy Beer" yielded some raucous singalongs, and lead man Andy Bean encouraged us to play our kazoos. Which we didn't do very often. People were much more interested in dancing, although lots of the dancers--the women in particular--picked up on the gleefully filthy lyrics and found themselves laughing pretty hard as they shook and shimmied.

What else? There was "The Rabbit Foot Stomp" from their newest album, Drip Dryin’ with The Two Man Gentlemen Band (2009), about making meat out of your pet rabbit. "Drip Dryin'," about the newest dancing sensation, which Andy Bean demonstrated for us in the middle of the song. There was "Sloppy Drunk," very danceable, and "I've Been Drinking," which featured the other Gentleman, "The Councilman" Fuller Condon. In between songs, the rapport between the two consisted of quietly homoerotic gestures by way of Mr. Bean, who would reach out and stroke The Councilman's bass and touch his fingers, as he spoke affectionately of his bandmate and their life on the road together. The Councilman responded by looking nervous. The 2G were dressed in lovely suits and hats, and The Council wore a spiffy bowtie.

The 2MGB played for about 40 minutes. Andy Bean played 4-string banjo and a little guitar, along with a Jesse Fuller-style set-up, including cowbell, cymbals, horn, and so forth. "The Councilman" Fuller Condon played stand-up bass and sang harmonies. Andy played lead kazoo and The Councilman played back-up kazoo ("tenor kazoo," he protested, when Andy Bean introduced him, prompting him to make the correction).

I had wanted to say hello to the gentlemen after the show and maybe offer them a lift back to Queens tomorrow, but I lost them in the crowd. It turns out that they are making their way to Boston tomorrow, anyway.

Martin Sexton @ Town Hall, NYC, February 14th, 2009

Denise and I arrived at Town Hall a little after 9:00 for the second of Martin Sexton’s two nights at the venue. Good vibes were in the air; at the restaurant we ate at before the show, we encountered a couple half of whom told us that she had been to see Martin Sexton fifteen times—whoa! While I was in the restroom, she proceeded to ask Denise if I was a big fan…and was I obsessed? You know, like all the Martin Sexton fans?

Well, I wouldn’t say that. But I saw him in Newport once or twice. And I shelled out the money to see him at Irving Plaza on a cold night toward the end of 2001, thinking I’d meet up with a certain young woman there (didn’t work out). And this past summer, his performance was the perfect nightcap to Saturday night at Falcon Ridge, the best part of a day of performances that included Chris Smither, Dar Williams, Eddie from Ohio, and a startlingly fun set from The Nields.

Why so great? Martin Sexton is a man not of songs or arrangements or guitar pyrotechnics, but of voice. His natural instrument is a wonder to behold, an enormously gritty, elastic, soulful thing that bounced and soared around Town Hall Saturday night like lightning in a bottle. He roared and moaned and scatted and crooned and whispered and shouted and hollered and generally raised the roof with his voice. And it was clear from the opening song, “Diner” from the Black Sheep (1996) album, that he could play the jazzy guitar parts to set his voice off just right. That song was relatively tame. But “Hallelujah” (of no relation to the Leonard Cohen song of the same name) enabled the man to flex his pipes, and his voice let off enormous torrents of sound, much to the delight of an audience that cheered and clapped and, when the performer asked for it, echoed his hollering.

It would be unfair to say that he isn’t much of a songwriter but, I’ve got to say, a number of songs suffered from the sound in the room. Maybe it wasn’t the room, but there was a lot of reverberation in the vocals, which made it difficult to make out what he was singing on a number of occasions. I noticed that when he stepped back from the microphone, the problem vanished. Anyway, that was too bad. “In the Journey” is a great song, one of several great road songs Marty has written (the others being “Glory Bound” and “Freedom of the Road”). “Hallelujah” is a good one, and so is “13 Step Boogie.” “The Beast in Me” is funky and sexy. The set concluded with “Gypsy Woman,” not one of my favorites on record, but it sounded great from where I was sitting.

Denise marveled at the voice too. Or, as she pointed out, the several voices, since it really sounded like he had multiple singing (and speaking) voices. She also pointed out his musicality and his soul and his coolness vis-à-vis the audience. It sometimes seemed that he was really singing for himself. I recently read a review of one of his albums on iTunes that made that point too. True: at times, the audience participation moments seemed mechanical, as if the performer didn’t really care whether they happened or not.

I learned from listening to WFUV a few years ago that Marty had also performed with the band Assembly of Dust from time to time, and I heard an in-studio performance from them that was pretty good. Among other things, they played Joni Mitchell’s “Woodstock,” with Martin on vocals. And I seem to recall hearing, either during the following interview or in some other context, that he was raised on classic rock. So it was cool, but unsurprising, to hear Marty intersperse themes and lyrics from old rockers, both canonical (U2’s “With or Without You” and, played in its entirety, The Beatles’ “With a Little Help from My Friends”) and non (Led Zep’s “Since I’ve Been Loving You” and “That’s the Way”), along with a classic blues ballad (B.B. King’s “The Thrill is Gone”).

The stage was austerely decorated. Just an amplifier (with a lava lamp on top), two microphones, all on a plain-looking carpet. No band, no pretensions of any kind, although one of the two mikes was, Sexton told us, about 55 years (“or 65? Something like that.”). He used that second mike for some distortion effects, which were used to particularly impressive effect on “With a Little Help from My Friends.”
He sent us out into the night with a short medley comprising the opening verses of “Amazing Grace” and “America the Beautiful.” It was like a lullaby, or the gentle breeze that seems so especially welcome after the raging storm.

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.

Some random thoughts

Listening to Loudon's Recovery album (2008) right now. His voice has become noticeably...weathered? Not quite sure what the right word is. The earliest album of his that I've heard from beginning to end is Unrequited (1975). Back then, he sounded like the snotty little jerk that I'm sure he used to me. Now, he sounds wearier, more desperate somehow. Sometimes, that really puts the songs over. The theme of the album, for readers unfamiliar, is songs that were written during the early 1970s, rerecorded. So these are the songs of the young Loudon, performed by the old Loudon. Some of the performances are really good, like "Saw Your Name in the Paper" and "Muse Blues." Sometimes, the strength of the songs has to do with the fact that a young man was singing them. That's my take on "Motel Blues" which, great though it is, sounds most unattractive coming out of the mouth of a 62 year old. It sounded desperate as sung by a young man, and now...well, it still sounds desperate. But the singer sounds defeated in a way that doesn't work for me. On the other hand, "School Days," from his very first album (1970) has improved with age. And his band's arrangements are wonderful on that song, stroking the melody and providing perfect counterpoint. And "Old Friend" and "The Man Who Couldn't Cry" would be powerful songs in almost any context; they are two of his greatest songs, I think.

I see that Joe Henry produced this CD. Joe Henry is the same man who is credited as producer for Ani's Knuckle Down (2005). That's Ani's best disc since Little Plastic Castle (1998), and I have often suspected that Joe Henry is a big reason for it being so good. Sometimes, having that outside voice can make a big difference. Ani seems to think so too:
http://www.righteousbabe.com/ani/knuckledown/interview.asp

About a week ago, I played Dave Carter and Tracy Grammer for Denise. "When I Go." She pronounced it the most beautiful thing I've ever played for her. We listened to a few more songs from When I Go, before playing her a few songs from Tracy's Flower of Avalon. She seemed to be impressed, although she pointed out that the arrangements on "Gypsy Rose" didn't work.

I've never played my favorite Neil Young songs for Denise. How can that be?

Speaking of Dave and Tracy, did you know that they have a Christmas album? It's called American Noel (2008) and I just listened to it for the first time two days ago. I'm putting it back in the CD player right now....Dave Carter had the magic touch. The opening song is "Go Tell the Fox," a Carter-written carol announcing the birth of the "Christ child." The music swings gently and has a simple, catchy melody, with guitar and fiddle (and bass?). And Tracy harmonizing beautifully. Tracy takes the lead on the next song, "Bring a Torch, Jeanette Isabella," with Dave her backing up on all the instruments: guitar, bass, and banjo. Then comes "Lo, How a Rose E'er Blooming." I do not like Christmas carols as a general rule, but Dave and Tracy...what can I say? The soul and the melodies and the harmony singing just keep on coming. I'm convinced that Dave Carter was an enormously gifted songwriter, who probably could have hung his hat on songwriting, without ever performing, if he had chosen that path. But he and Tracy sound natural together, meant for each other.

Brooks Williams is playing at the Iron Horse in mid-January, and I'll be there. I haven't seen Brooks since the spring of 2003, at the All Angels Coffeehouse at Broadway and 80th in Manhattan. Since that time, my friend Anthony has begun taking guitar lessons from him.

I'm not satisfied with what I said about "Motel Blues," above. I'm not entirely sure why this recording doesn't work as well for me. Listen to the version(s) on YouTube, or the one on A Live One (1980), and you tell me what you think. The desperation actually sounds more acute on these versions. Joe Henry, in the liner notes to Recovery, writes that the original version sounded like a come-on, from someone who just wanted to get laid, pure and simple, and that the current version sounds like a plea, really desperate. Me, I've always felt like the song sounds like a desperate plea, especially when he gets to "save my life!"

The Nields @ The Iron Horse, December 13th, 2008

The first time I saw the Nields was over 10 years ago, at Newport. I remember very little about that performance. I do remember that, for a shamefully long time, I used to confuse them with...Little Feat?! Yes, Little Feat. Could I have been so ignorant back then? The thing is, Little Feat played later that afternoon in Newport, and something about their music got tangled up in my head with the Nields'. Anyway, I saw the sisters perform a couple of times thereafter at Falcon Ridge and at First Night in Northampton. Then, this past summer, I saw them play at Falcon Ridge with the full band, and it was 45 minutes of pure up. So that primed me for their Iron Horse show.

I can't say that I saw 85 minutes of pure up in Northampton, but I certainly enjoyed myself. Nerissa and Katrina took the stage at about 20 past 7:00, introduced by Nerissa's husband. I had expected an opening act: according to the on-line schedule, Lucy Wainwright Roche was the opening act. I never found out why, but she was nowhere to be seen. Too bad. Anyway, the Nields sisters played a very relaxed set. It was so relaxed that Katrina's two children, young William and older Amelia (who was once declared "World's Cutest Baby" at Falcon Ridge), wandered on and off the stage more or less at will to cling to their mother, sit at her feet, run and dance around, and basically hang out. At the end of the set, Nerissa's husband brought their two children (much younger) onto the stage to join in.

The songs were a mix of new and old. After a short discussion about how wrongheaded she had been about the mother-child bond when she was younger, Nerissa led the sisters in a performance of "Merry Christmas, Mr. Jones" from the Bob on the Ceiling album. This is a song about a pregnant teenager in which the young woman, after she gives birth, declares that she has no feelings for the new baby. Beyond that, there was the classic "Best Black Dress," with Katrina doing her usual enthusiastic dancing that looked slightly awkward, as if her self-consciousness was intruding on her enthusiasm. Nerissa looked more comfortable on stage, perhaps because she was the one with the guitar. There was "Give Me a Clean Heart" and "This Train" from their newest album, Sister Holler. Katrina's daughter, Amelia, came on stage to do some Irish dancing, which moved Katrina to crouch and lean against the side of the stage, laughing her head off, as her sister strummed a suitable rhythm on the guitar. Later, she held Amelia in her arm while singing another song, her son William sitting at her feet, throwing a little piece of paper (gum wrapper, maybe?) up into the air.

Their harmonies were lovely, although I can't say I received much emotional kick from the performance. My favorite moments were when Dave Chalfant, Katrina's husband, was on stage to play some guitar. Those moments added a touch of heat, just when it was needed. Overall, it was a relaxed performance, as befitting a musical act that drew more heavily than most "contemporary folk" on the folk music tradition. I miss the band. But I like what has been left behind just fine.