Stolen Wallpaper

Words but a whisper, deafness a shout

My Photo
Name:
Location: Zeeland, Michigan, United States

Hi. I wish I had a job selling squirrels. They're so furry, and give you toothy grins. Unless they're rabid, in which case they will eat your face off and then find the rest of your family. That's not so good, I guess.

Thursday, October 19, 2017

Introductions

Matt Gabriel is a singer/songwriter from Grand Rapids who has spent over ten years honing his bluesy folky sound.  Making his Old Dog debut tonight. His next local show will be at Our Brewing in Holland on November 24.

Carrie McFerrin is not from here, but she is OF here now:  raising her family, hosting the open mic at Louie's every Wednesday night, and playing her swanky twang for our lucky ears, often with her musical partner Matthew Borr.  (Band name to be revealed next week Friday on this stage!) She will also be playing in the round with Kaitlin Rose and Stacy Koviak-Davison at Webster's on Nov. 3.

In many ways, Megan Dooley IS Kalamazoo music.  15 years of playing her own great originals and songs from the vast American songbook, she has crafted a lasting legacy of music, and she is nowhere near done yet. She will be at the Cascade Library on Sunday, and at the Hilliards Corner lounge next Sunday.

After being a valued part of the Kalamazoo scene for almost 20 years, this is Brian Koenigsknecht's moment:  widespread acclaim for his album From The Shallows To the Deep, powerful live shows, and collaborations with just about everyone in town.  Tomorrow night at Rootead is just such a night, with Gifts or Creatures, Thunderbolt and Lightfoot, and a string section.

Darcy Wilkin has a lot of irons in the fire: longtime membership in the folk group The Corn Fed Girls, the long-running WMUK show Grassroots, which she hosts with her father, Mark Sahlgren, and now she's venturing out to play solo.  She is playing Nov. 2 at the Richland library, and the 24th at Louie's along with Brian and Jonathan Timm.

From Holland, Olivia Mainville is the youngest act here tonight, but she has accomplished a great deal, with much more to come.  Constant touring with her Aquatic Troupe has paid off in great sound and wide recognition.  Her new single, Danger Death Ray, comes out on Halloween.  She plays with Brandon James tomorrow night at Grand Armory in Grand Haven.

GUEST LIST
Kevin Koenigsknecht
Rich Wojtas
Carlton Macksam
Steve Salaba
Shay Gabriel

Monday, October 16, 2017

Review: Olivia Mainville and the Aquatic Troupe, "Danger Death Ray"

Olivia Mainville just turned 21, and she's already on the third reinvention of her sound. First was earnest balladeer, then lively pop-folk party music, and now, with this song and some other new ones I've heard, we're heading into black magic purveyed with a smile. Danger Death Ray is a cautionary tale: you can love the dead, but maybe don't LOOOVE the dead. Doomy tympani punctuation to lively gypsy swing, anchored by Adam Schreiber's idiosyncratic timekeeping, Bleu Quick's trusty trombone (the only surviving element from the first LP), and a welcome jaunty violin darting around the periphery like a tipsy hummingbird. Recommended for fans of Gogol Bordello, Davina and the Vagabonds, Squirrel Nut Zippers, and early Andrew Bird. This video clip is an in-studio live recording, NOT the final studio version: for that, check iTunes and Bandcamp, rather appropriately, on Halloween.

Thursday, September 28, 2017

Live Music Log, September 2017

9 2 17 Brian Koenigsknecht #4  Harvey's, Kalamazoo  I was about an hour late, for reasons I already can't remember, but it was a low key show, just a dude playing for mostly his own friends on the pleasantly ramshackle upstairs deck. I remember Ken Campbell, Jeremy Rilko, and I think John Mickley?  Chuck for a while?  Istanbul Sky is a man-weepy masterpiece.  Last of the Venues is the best song I know about that feeling after a good show, not wanting the night to end. And I love hearing How To Rest, even in a much lower register than nature intended.

9 2 17  Lazy Genius #2/HOLLYWOOD MAKEOUT  Mulligan's Pub, Grand Rapids  After all the folky rock and rocky folk I've been partaking of, I felt the need for something snottier, so I ascended fifty miles and descended fifteen years for a late rawk show at Ye Olde Shithole.  This kind of insouciant noise rock will never completely die, not while guitars and amps are relatively cheap, it just won't make it past the local pubs especially often any more.  Bands usually play in reverse order from billing, so when Lazy Genius started I thought they were CARL, even though I saw them play last winter at Long Road with Chance Jones.  At that previous show, I was impressed by their dynamic sound and thoughtful lyrics;  here, on an ancient shitty PA (probably still from the original Intersection, once housed here) mixed by a sound guy wearing boxing gloves, all was sludge. I saw him listen to the dire din coming from the monitors and actually nod his head in satisfaction. Sludgy vocals, sludgy guitars, occasional desultory tambourine clangs from a girl who resembled Mindy Kaling.  Will see again, but never here.  Hollywood Makeout fared a little better, since they played slightly quieter or at least with more space between notes, giving the dodgy PA more time to catch up.  Machine-gun precise drummer, theatrically showy bassist, singer/guitarist who is gorgeous in that Tina Weymouth just-doin-my-job way.  Again, need to see in better venue.  I didn't see it happen, but on the night I was there, the bouncer (allegedly) pushed a disruptive customer out the door BY HER BREASTS.  It caused a social media shitstorm, of whose effectiveness I do not know.  But even if this assault, by bar staff, didn't happen or happen differently, it is all too easy to believe it did.  Years and years of unearned anger and privilege, of curdled tattoo misogyny, have soaked into the walls, to be time-released into the patrons as the paint peels.  Mulligan's is bad.  Do not go there, do not spend your money there.

9 8 17 Olivia Mainville & The Aquatic Troupe #13  New Holland Brewing, Holland  It seems vaguely treasonous to say this, but I might have the most fun at an Olivia show out of all the acts I go see.  These slightly brain damaged young people seem genuinely enthused to have me around.  They joke with me, with each other, with the audience, during the show.  They give me cider.  They eat my pinwheels.  I hung out with her parents, for gods sake.  Dwayne and the Rock Johnsons!  Brandon goes off the rails and sings Disney tunes, Olivia looks on exasperated and secretly tickled, Bleu is my ally in lobbying for old songs, Adam sits back and benevolently observes the circus. Good to see Steve, lovely to meet Janet.  (Olivia's actual parents, not Anna Paquin and Gilda Radner as appearances might suggest.)  As these two videos suggest, Brandon's influence is sending Olivia down a darker, stranger path, but her sound is still uniquely her own.

9 9 17 Megan Dooley #12  Crane's Pie Pantry, Fennville  Dooley can only be Dooley.  She has no artifice, no guile, no bullshit manufacturing capability.  This early afternoon show by the Pie Hole found her hungover and grumpy, and she let us the audience know it.  She kinda yelled at me, then gave me her fries.  And she sounded wonderful; her brain might not like it early, but her vocal cords sure do.  Part Of Your World rang out among the apples like a crystal clear bell.  Whistled La Vie En Rose pierced every heart.  And the reefer song, again, to the small children.  She is the greatest.  Later that day, she took the first steps toward recording her new album.  And then the next day, her cat messed up her hand really badly.  Watch this space.
9 9 17 Papa Vegas #4/Crane Wives #33/MISS ATOMIC  Perrin Brewing, Comstock Park (Fifth Anniversary Party)  The past and the present collide in a remote part of GR.  Perrin is a brewery with a pub added after some success came their way;  the location is not the best, way the heck out off the main drag beyond Comstock Park.  A stage and a series of beer tents and booths were set up in the backyard, and parking was way the hell down the street.  Coming from Fennville, I thought I saw Kate walking down the road, thought, naaah.  Parked in a hay field planted on undeveloped industrial land, and promptly ran into Dan and Kate, who WERE on foot.  Even the artists had to park in the boonies?  This was a Lonely Show, knew no one here, buncha drunken louts, dudes broing down, attractive women with really homely men, so much beerness.  Miss Atomic wanted to be the Killers sooooo bad.  There were some melodies there, but the Brandon Flowersisms (including a white blazer in the blazing heat) kept me from digging too deeply for them.  Early 90s soft rock is coming back it seems. The Wives were good, they're never not good, but I was feeling so out of place that I can't say I enjoyed it much.  Emilee was freaked out audibly by the buzzing, diving quadracopter. Some dude behind me:  "Hey, that chick looks like Michelle Branch." There was a weird echo on Dan's drums that I kinda liked, like a Jamaican dub sort of effect.  I took Kate and Dan to Fricano's, which they had never had, and tried not to squee like a fangirl through dinner.  Pizza meant I missed most of Jake Kershaw, a 17 year old kid with lightning fast guitar skills.  He was playing mostly warmed over cock rock, but he was playing it so freaking well that he definitely has a bright future.  I did see him close with Hendrix's Voodoo Child, which was genuinely astonishing.  Most of the crowd left after young Kershaw got done:  it was getting cold, and Papa Vegas apparently isn't a draw any more, which saddens me.  They sounded great, but they looked tired (except for Joel's daughter, new to the band on keyboards, adorably hopping up and down to her dad's songs) and they played just less than an hour.  No Resolve, no Never, but two really good new ones, indicating they're keeping to their schedule of one new album every nine years.

9 15-16 17  EARTHWORK HARVEST GATHERING Earthwork Farm, Lake City  GREGORY STOVETOP/E MINOR/Thunderbolt & Lightfoot #2/NICHOLAS JAMES & THE BANDWAGON/Seth Bernard #3/JIVE AT FIVE/Go Rounds #3/RED SEA PEDESTRIANS/Steve Leaf & The Ex Pats #2/Jesse Ray & The Carolina Catfish #2/The Northern Fires #2/SARI BROWN/ANNE ERLEWINE/BILLY DAVIS/MICHAEL BEAUCHAMP-COHEN/GIFTS OR CREATURES/Stepladders #2/VESPRE/FRED ZEPPELIN/Crane Wives #34/DANIEL KAHN/Dan Rickabus #2/Public Access #3  Another festival....but a very different one.  For all its Michigan leanings, Hoxeyville is very much a traditional hippie festival;  Harvest feels utterly unique.  Very short 45 minute sets by everyone, from the unknown to the highly famous.  A robust and extensive volunteer culture that could have you washing dishes alongside the musicians you came to see.  Over a hundred acts over three days, carefully curated by Seth Bernard, Bill Chesney and a select few others.  I could not stay for Sunday, sadly, but I sure as hell made the most of my weekend.  (And learned my lesson:  a hotel room in Lake City meant I traded some connectedness for a good night's sleep.)  Spotted Dan Lauterbur as I walked in, a good sign that I was gonna know people.  The biggest difference by far between now and a year ago is just the sheer number of acquaintances I have, people who seem to like to see me.  They can't ALL be brain damaged, can they?  I kicked off my festival in the century-old Bernard barn (smaller than ours, but much better kept) with Gregory Stovetop. Long beard, wild eyes, Tom Petty T shirt. Much talked up by Dan and Seth Bernard of late, this set was solo, with a flying V and a drum machine.  A small dervish child in front of the stage stole the show.  It was very Murrican, and it was okay.  He played a full band set later in the evening to widespread acclaim, but I chose a different adventure.  Next to the Hill Stage (where I and a big big big log were to get well acquainted over the next two days) for a woman named Elizabeth Landry, who goes by E Minor.  Paradox:  sunny blues.  Bassist playing a contraption built from an oil drum.  Slow torch song Dust Out of Sand was a highlight.  She had a commanding presence and a great voice.  Will Investigate Further.  Next up, same stage, was Thunderbolt and Lightfoot, with their tight harmonies, sweet songs, and almost no crowd.  Most of the people there to see them were friends from Kalamazoo (and me). Mike Fuerst dared to wear a cowboy hat.  The Change were a dire JV Blues Traveler, so of course they drew three times the crowd for their hippie dirges.  Blargh.  I went and had a gigantic grass-fed hamburger.  Came back for Nicholas James and the Bandwagon, led by my Hoxeyville savior, Nick Thomasma.  Answers the question:  what if Tommy Chong was really good on the guitar?  This is not a criticism:  this is grinning Americana, shaggy dog anthems in the spirit of Todd Snider and Arlo Guthrie. Tours the nation in an orange VW bus. Ended the last song, whose chorus had been "She'll be mine," with "She'll be her own person but she'll love me just the same."  Second best joke of the festival. Passed up a second helping of Stovetop for the old-coot swing of Jive at Five, made up of most of the festival's elder all stars, impressive as hell, rocking that jump blues and dizzy swing for all the cool cats.  Frank Youngman, Mark Schrock, Madcat Ruth, and company, some of the best pure fun sound I heard all weekend.  Next up, my first trip to the biggest stage, Cedar, for the Go Rounds.  I know there's melody under the noise somewhere, and I hope they don't give up shoveling till they find the pony. They risk floating off into dance prog oblivion like Of Montreal.  But Texas Desert Rose, Shock and Awe, and (the still very welcome) Jump Into The Fire prove there are nuggets of gold for the patient.  Up the hill for the Red Sea Pedestrians.  A twin band of sorts to the Corn Fed Girls, another collective of Kalamazoo super-musicians, klezmer origins but not tied down to one sound (unless you consider awesome a sound). Rachel Gorman is a clarinet superstar.  Need To See Again.  Way way out to the Market Stage, the most remote, for the only time, for the last two acts of Friday night.  Steve Leaf and the Ex Pats, to me, have achieved the tension-and-release, dynamic pwawawang sound that the Go Rounds are chasing.  They've taken all their videos down off YouTube, which is perplexing, but seek out their records for sophisticated rock and roll.  Much more raucous live, and funny as hell, with extended bits about radio morning shows, credit where credit is due, and the best audience troll I have ever seen:  the same two lines of Neil Young's Harvest Moon, over and over and over, for ten minutes.  The audience went from amused, to perplexed, to slightly annoyed, to fist pumping joy.  Steve Is A Monster.  Last up, Jesse Ray and his highly inauthentic, enjoyably frenzied take on rockabilly.  This is music as aerobic exercise, and a great way to close off a night.
I started out Saturday refreshed, thanks to the glory of not sleeping on the dirt, and headed back to the festival grounds for a long, long day of soaking in all the sounds.  I missed Nik Carman, an 11 year old guitar whiz.  I was going to catch a few songs by the Northern Fires, then sneak off to the Corn Fed Girls....but the open mic ran late, then there were sound issues, and Laurie had seen me, I didn't dare leave for fear of giving offense.  Pesky new friendships!  But I was glad I stayed, because they have never sounded better.  Laurie and Noah can have pitch issues at Old Dog, but here in the sunshine the harmonies rang out loud and true, on a great batch of new songs, for a really strong set. Over to the big Cedar stage for Sari Brown, whose life story was much more intriguing than her songs.  She came out, a small woman in a small dress, you're thinking, oh here comes the twee.  But she was older than she looked, and an ordained minister!  Married to someone with little English.  Her newer songs were Jesusy, nice but not my bag, her older ones were knottier and naughtier. Gotta try different things sometimes.  Same stage for Anne Erlewine, sister of May, apparently started her career first.  Looks a lot like Lily Tomlin.  Somewhat saltier than the sister, sleepy acoustic accompaniment aboundeth. When Vox Vidorra broke up, Theo kept their slot here....but then Theo didn't show, the only cancellation of the 118 acts here, so I stayed at Cedar, again, severe crick in back from leaning on electrical box (I forgot a chair) for Billy Davis.  A very elderly guitar legend, member of Hank Ballard and the Midnighters, contemporary of Hendrix, thrust into a starring role late in life, playing in a guitar duo with a fiftyish white dude. Seriously awesome playing, seriously retrograde songs.  I swear to God one song sounded like an unrequited yearning  aimed at a daughter of a friend.  Off to the barn, and the best-placed old truck bench in the world, for the next three sets:  Michael Beauchamp-Cohen, on holiday from Red Tail Ring, is absurdly good looking and ludicrously talented, with a voice like spun honey, and it is not fair.  So good that I saw Darcy (or is that Dirgey now?) stay for someone's whole show for the first time ever. A highlight was Ohio Turnpike, and a John Prine tune with Max Lockwood sitting in.  Next:  Gifts Or Creatures, a Lansing married duo with Max and Dan backing them up, performing their entire new album, a song cycle about Michigan history that I need to own, combining as it does so many of my geek loves.  Soft sound, but steel at the core. Reminds me of Hem. Grand Rapids Brakeman was a highly propulsive highlight.  Stepladders next, Bill Chesney and his crew of ringers playing pop-rock straight up, Emilee as vocal foil on several tunes.  One song, I think it's called Starting 5 For 5, is about sports, and it's hilarious:  makes you wonder why so few dudes write love songs to their teams.  Left to get lunch, won ice cream for five in the raffle right as I walked up.  Back to Cedar for Vespre, a woman from Detroit singing what she called "soulgaze."  Just her and either a keyboard/sequencer (okay) or a guitar (much better).  Bewitching presence, only a 25 minute set. (Only has one single out yet.)  Walked up to Hill Stage, caught the end of alt-country TC-turned-Nashvillian Dylan Lancaster, for an unexpected country song about Beaver Island.  And then:  Fred Zeppelin.  The 12 year old son of Corn Fed Girl Jon Campos on precocious guitar pyrotechnics, along with Phil Barry, Mike Fuerst, Matt Gross of Knee Deep Shag, and other ringers, doing Led Zep covers at high volume.  Completely ridiculous, and face meltingly awesome.  Matt Borr and I were screeching along with glee.  Back to Cedar for the Crane Wives, who officially played for the biggest crowd at the entire festival.  They're headliners yo.  Extremely energetic set, feeding off the crowd's happy vibes and returning them fivefold, grinning madly through the tales of woe and sadness.  For the very first time, I heard nothing from the first two albums:  looking to the future now.  (Or just a short slot.)  I had Matt with me, so I didn't crowd the stage, but I wanted to.  So old, so fat, so 23 in my mind.  Back to the barn for the rest of the evening:  caught the tail end of John Sinclair, the old beat poet/impresario who founded the White Panther party, managed the MC5, and hung out with John Lennon a bit.  There was a recitation of the history of Delta blues, with chugging, skronking accompaniment by a large crew of Earthwork all stars, plus Billy Davis, that was mesmerizing in its erudite ramshackle glory.  Daniel Kahn was a name that meant nothing to me, I was just riding the bench till Public Access, but he was the biggest pleasant surprise of the festival.  A Michiganian who now lives mostly in Berlin, playing with a trio called the Disorientalists, he presented an audiovisual tour de force cabaret performance about the life of Azerbaijani Assad Bey, who lived as a Muslim in 1930s Germany.  History lesson, cautionary tale, jaunty knees up, all in one. In a century old barn in northern Michigan.  Life can be very strange.  And now, the ten person crew assembled for the Dan Rickabus Experience:  a debut airing of most of his Void/Journal album with a full, rich sound.  Different from the layers and layers on the record, but much bigger and more ambitious than his ukulele renditions.  Emilee on keyboards!  Kate on percussion!  Max and Ben trading off bass!  Alex Atkin and Steve Leaf on geetar!  And the maestro drumming and singing and exploding with infectious joy.  Really glad I got to see that.  Then, the teenage guitar geek's instrumental fever dream, Public Access.  Boiler suits, sunglasses, big melodic riffs pounded into submission by seven guitars.  Ben and Dan anchoring it all.  Encore Smells Like Teen Spirit had the crowd going absoreetly apeshit, myself included, jesus was I hoarse after that.  It was 3 am.  I had seen a lot of people I know, some a lot less than I would have liked, but I had actual companionship for a larger portion of my time than perhaps ever before in my life.  I drove the two hours home in the wee hours, all the many tunes I'd heard still ringing in my ears to keep me awake.  Thank you, friends, and thank you, music, for making life in this terrible time worth hanging around for.

9 22 17 Brian Koenigsknecht #5/Thunderbolt & Lightfoot #3/MIPSO  Bell's, Kalamazoo (Oktoberfest)  An extremely unseasonable heat wave gripped Michigan:  four or five days in a row in the 90s, in late September.  The tent put up in Bell's backyard for this event just trapped the heat from the audience's bodies like a boiling pot.  Blargh.  Brian was playing with a fullish band, including strings, and it sounded marvelous, especially Istanbul Sky and Nova.  His soft-gravel voice got attention, even with all the beer a-flowing.  Phil and Sarah had a smaller sound than Brian, two voices and a guitar, and they lost the super-beery attention, but those who listened were rewarded with impeccable harmonies on their charming songs.  Mipso was a band that exists.  I was too hot by then to care much.  From North Carolina, all exceedingly, even offputtingly good looking, excellent vocals, Mumfordy, too slick by half, someone else's favorite band, have a safe trip back to wherever that is.  I am going home to lie in front of the fan with the dog.

Saturday, September 02, 2017

Live Music Log, August 2017

8 4 17 Olivia Mainville & The Aquatic Troupe #12/IAN LINK The Knickerbocker, Grand Rapids  I had attempted once before to come to a show here, New Holland Brewing's new GR outpost.  That was for Delilah DeWylde;  there was no seating anywhere near the stage, so I left.  This place is offputting and brutalist where New Holland is warm and homey, very strange room.  But, this time I got to sit with the band and the band fam. Knowing people in places I go out to is a new and welcome sensation for me. Brandon Schreiber is a good fellow, a goofy dude, and an excellent songwriter, and he seems to have taken a shine to me.  I finally had a conversation with Bleu Quick, and he is likewise a good young fellow with another band (Footage) going on the side.  David Barrenger was also there, and fun to hang around with; a couple weeks later, after a Facebook thread about fascists went weird and he got death threats, he seems to think I'm against him, and I am so not.  David, if you read this, please know I am not your enemy and never was, and Emilee didn't call out the troll army either.  I would never call the dogs out, I have no dogs to call.  Add in Carlton and date, Adam and Libby, and Olivia's dad Steve, and we had a big old party of young and old, ready to play/enjoy some gypsyish rock and roll.  New songs Danger Death Ray, the Trudge(?) and another one I didn't catch the name of indicate growth, diversification of sound, and hell of fun to be had.  The new recordings are going to be amazing.  Couple of Brandon vocals to befuddle the crowd, a Libby one to soothe them.  In back of the stage, big garage-door windows opened right onto Bridge Street;  at one point Brandon leapt out there, still playing guitar, and interacted with the passersby mid-song.  These five musicians, and the three bands they form, are going places.  Opener was Ian Link, a super nice guy with tunes I need to hear better someday soon:  in that cavernous room they evaporated into thin air.

8 12 17 Darcy Wilkin #5 Crane’s Pie Pantry, Fennville  Super low-key acoustic set, in the early afternoon, played right in front of the window in the wall through which pie was sold:  the Pie Hole, if you will.  Young son Emmet seated beside her, more than slightly bored; father in attendance;  a third of the audience friends of hers from her Fennville teaching days.  A Darcy show is always friendly and autumnal;  even in the hot summer, her sad songs make you want to wear flannel and drink cider.  The definition of pleasant.

8 12 17 Crane Wives #30/THE WAR AND TREATY/ALLIE GARLAND Arcadia Ales, Kalamazoo  Arcadia, a fairly new brewery on the eastern edge of downtown Kzoo, had been running a monthly series of all-day shows all summer, and this was the one I had to go to (gee wonder why).  Brand new stage in a stunning riverside setting.  Carrie McFerrin was selling her Quirkandise under a canopy right on the water, and I spent a lot of my time hanging out there and helping/bugging her, along with Kevin Hamman.  I have adult friends that I made without the help of my wife, I still cannot wrap my mind around that.  The music started with an excellent DJ spinning soul tunes, then came Allie Garland.  I never came up from the riverside, so I don't know how the presentation was, but what I heard was inventive guitar loops utilized on the most hackneyed list of covers I have ever heard.  Eagles!  Stairway!  Lose Yourself AND Stan!  No thanks.  I had been looking forward to The War And Treaty, and they were in fact excellent:  an indie blues/soul married duo from Albion, with a five piece band along for the tour.  Gravity, commitment, grit, and fun were all ingredients in the sonic stew.  I want to hear them again in a longer set.  I sat fatly in the grass next to the impossibly handsome Matthew Borr, and we both dug it hard.  I skipped Last Gasp Collective (a GR indie R&B/rap combo) to try to catch some of the Go Rounds at Old Dog, and that was a mistake:  an hour after posted start time, they still weren't playing, then things sputtered to life with some of their more out-there sounds.  The Go Rounds are best when the weirdness serves the melody, not the other way around.  I led Brian K and Brad Frank back over the river with me for the Crane Wives, then kept looking at them to see if they dug it as much as me, like a 12 year old showing his poetry to his mom.  This was the day of the Charlottesville protest vs. speeding car incident, and Emilee was visibly shaken during the set;  they sounded good, but on Wives Autopilot, not entirely present in the moment.  The mighty yawp of Sleeping Giants was good and cathartic on this night. A picture was taken with me, Dan L, Michele and the band, in which I look like Salman Rushdie.  I failed to get Kate to buy Carrie's jewelry.  I like having friends, even if it's two inches deep still.

8 18-20/17 HOXEYVILLE MUSIC FESTIVAL, Hoxeyville Festival Grounds, Wellston: The Accidentals #2/Seth Bernard #2/Go Rounds #2/WHISTLE STOP REVUE/APPLESEED COLLECTIVE/Darcy Wilkin #6/Big Dudee Roo #3/Public Access #2/May Erlewine & The Motivations #6/FRANK YOUNGMAN ALL STARS/JON STICKLEY TRIO/Crane Wives #31/STEPLADDERS  In which I fail at camping but succeed in soaking up some super swell sounds. Work kept me from getting up as early as I'd like, but I had no line to wait in, just drove right into the grounds around 10 am.  I thought camping back in the woods would be cooler than an open field spot (BIG MISTAKE #1), so I drove way to the back and picked a spot off the path to set up my ludicrously huge borrowed tent.  As soon as I pulled it out and tried to puzzle it together, the rain began.  It never poured, but it was enough to keep me from having a prayer of putting this gigantic thing up alone, and no way in hell was I going to ask help from random campers around me. The near-complete lack of internet signal hindered my faint cries for help to Darcy Wilkin and Rich Wojtas. Finally I got up the nerve to flag down a passing official golf cart, and two affable dudes (one of whom turned out to be Nicholas Thomasma) helped me get it up in no time. (THAT IS WHAT SHE SAID)  I made it to the Accidentals' festival-opening set with only moments to spare.  I haven't seen them since that very first Crane Wives show two NYEs ago, and here on their home turf, on the DAY their major label debut was being released, their sound was huge and triumphant.  I don't think I will ever love this band, but after listening to the new disc I like them quite a bit.  More meat on the bone.  240 shows a year have made these three young young people (plus road guitarist Jake Allen) a lean mean music machine, with damned impressive chops on an array of instruments.  In The Morning was a highlight, as was Crows Feet, by far my favorite of the new ones.  Groovy, sinewy, violiny.  A busy, funky workup of Taxman.  The End was a very Olivia gypsy sound (slightly suspiciously so, since they played together a lot a few years ago).  Desperate need for a nap meant I missed both Larry Keel and Eric Engblade, and so I spent the rest of my Friday at the smaller Mitten Stage, under a big tent near the entrance. (Wow do I not give a rat's ass about Greensky Bluegrass, for instance.)  Seth Bernard played wrenchingly personal new songs on acoustic guitar, sandwiched by wild electric-guitar soundscapes, for an intriguingly schizophrenic solo set.  Like if Neil Young played Le Noise and Unplugged at the same time.  Speaking of Mr. Young, there was a lovely cover of After The Gold Rush, and a chimingly beautiful All Things Must Pass.  Be Love was another highlight.  The Go Rounds were much more disciplined than at Old Dog, the weirdness better tethered to the strong melodies and Gram Parsons' otherworldly soaring tenor voice.  I was pretty pissed about the super strong stench of marijuana, but I know full well it goes with the hippie territory.  (I was offered weed by five different people, ranging from total stranger to famous musician.  Trying to corrupt me at my ripe old age?)  This band has invented its own genre:  dance prog.  No worries about sound bleed from the main stage for THIS set:  I wonder if Sam Bush on the main stage had to contend with the small nuclear explosion coming from the side tent.  Capping off Friday night, for the few stragglers not over at Greensky, was the Whistle Stop Revue, the best band of the fest I had never heard of before.  Deadish Americana, right down to several Dead covers, but concise, tastefully played (apparently rare for them to play electric like this), the kind of nod-rock that has no future on the radio but will always have a place on the hippie festival circuit.  Will definitely investigate them further.  They have a whole album about trains, which tells you a lot of what you need to know. Kevin Hamman played me a couple of songs from the back end of his car.  They were nice.  We staggered the muddy lanes, searching in vain for jam sessions.  Then I hit the tent, where everything was clammily damp, and failed to sleep much.  Too hot....

...then too cold in the morning.  Saturday began with a dead phone, because the solar charger I had bought was completely useless as a charger (it did gain me about 20% as a stored-charge battery).  I then proceeded to run the car battery dead to gain about another 7% (BIG MISTAKE #2).  I hate being that guy, but with no internet, I ran the perilous risk of being alone with my own thoughts, and only a monster or a narcissist could face that fate with anything approaching equanimity.  Michele Clark was there as a vendor, which meant she had a plug, so I got a tiny bit more charge at her kind assistance, but not enough to do a whole lot with.  Few pictures, no surreptitious videos, just a few "help I'm muddy" posts to Facebook. Great big breakfast burrito and I was ready, more or less, for the musics.  First up in the late morning:  the Appleseed Collective, who sound just like that name would lead you to guess:  snazzy organic old timey blues.  Excellent without being especially memorable, like a JV Punch Brothers. The rest of my day, again, was spent at the smaller Mitten Stage, my interest being mainly in the smaller Michigan acts.  First up over there:  none other than Ms. Darcy Wilkin, in a green dress, Pepsi hair, and boots with lifts that made her loom benevolently over the sparse attendees.  She played a few songs with her dad, a new treat for me:  he is a super fun old coot who pulled out a Civil War era banjo for a few tunes.  She called me out from the stage, repeating a couple of my jokes, causing severe blushage.  I fled the electronica band for lunch and a nap, then came Big Dudee Roo.  I wish this band of Wayland natives had used the name Wayland, it being obviously viable for a bunch or radio friendly hacks GRD plays all the time, but under whatever name, this most conventional rock band of the festival Kicked Some Ass.  The tent went whoomph as the crowd got into them good and hard.  Nate Wagner's songs are real highlights for me, Hunker Down and Shit's Bubblin' Over both being raggedly glorious.  Max ain't no slouch either, Justin Dore is a forceful and tasteful guitarist, and Daine the newish drummer brings a power not always there on record.  But if you want power...next was Public Access, the boiler-suited supergroup of young men grinning while riffing in unison, working out their King Crimson fantasies before going back to their day-job bands.  Of the seven guitarists, Steve Leaf and Alex Atkin had the tones I could most easily pick out, impressive since Atkin is currently in no other band. Dan Rickabus's wife and father in law joined in on violins, adding an extra level of complexity to the massive massive riffage on display. Everyone involved grinned like fools.  Last act of the night, for which seemingly every non-Greeensky fan on the grounds packed into the tent for, was May Erlewine and her soul revue band, the Motivations.  For sheer joy and pleasure in the sound of music and the spirit of fellowship, this was the absolute peak of the festival.  May can take a slightly cringeworthy concept, the whitest woman imaginable singing R&B, and filter it through her irrepressible and irresistible charm till it comes out clean and shiny and ready to dance like a fool to.  There is no adult more adorable in this world than May Erlewine awkwardly dancing and bopping along to her crackerjack band in their matching black suits.  Sweet Days marked the first time I'd heard her adapt one of her own folk songs to the soul sound, and it worked a treat.  Mr. Big Stuff, who do you think you are?  Surprising amount of male grumbling from stageside during her "give women the power for a while" speech; combined with the Kid Rock for Senate shirt I spotted earlier, I wondered if the hippies were losing ground to the squares round these parts.  Anyhoo.  May's set is the closest I ever come to dancing, which is to say, I look like an overfed baboon trying to dislodge a fly from his facial fur.  When May is singing, I Do Not Care.  I chickened out of attempting to hang out with the Crane Wives and their people, and stumbled back to the tent in the dark.  Everything was damper.The phone was dead.

Back there in the woods, we had a weird trailer bathroom thingy.  Marginally better than a port a john, it had two rooms:  one with urinals, and one with (coed) stalls.  Twice women fled when I was in a stall.  Water for washing came from a big squirter like the ketchup dispenser at McDonald's.  Thus began Sunday, the only day I spent most of my time at the main stage.  Most of it BACKstage, in fact, thanks to Darcy.  I packed up the tent, with kind help from Rich Wojtas, borrowed a jump box for the dead car, and moved it to day parking, because there was no way in hell I was spending another night on the hard damp ground.  Cutting back over behind the stage with Rich, we were just in time to witness a dead tree fall hard on some poor bastard's truck.  We, among others, came running to make sure no one was hurt (all OK), but yeah, that sure put my wee camping misfortunes into perspective.  So, the music:  first up was the Frank Youngman All Stars.  Mr. Youngman is a music teacher, I've heard, who taught a lot of the Michigan luminaries a lot of their tricks.  Seth and May, on the stage at the same time!  Shimmin and Lynch!  Lots of extraordinary players playing goofy tunes for a good start to the day.  Next up: the Jon Stickley trio, energetic vocal-free music, like if the Moxie Strings got really pissed off.  Calisthenic drummer, powerhouse violinist, Mr. Stickley on acoustic the least interesting part of his own band.  Dynamic enough to hold an hour's interest with no vocals, not very easy to do.  And then, worlds collided:  Darcy introduced the Crane Wives.  I got to watch from the side of the stage as they did their thing for the masses.  No surprises in this 75 minute slot, but super fun to see them feed off the energy of a crowd that huge. Seth Bernard sat next to me for the set, and we exchanged goofy grins a couple times.  This band is my life.  Over to the small stage for the only time today for Stepladders, the ad hoc band featuring Bill Chesney and whoever he can round up on a given day.  And he is good at the rounding up:  Ben, Dan, Seth, Steve Leaf, all assisting on his surprisingly sensitive songs (dude is a good dude, but looks so dudebroey).  To my chagrin, Darcy was more into Stepladders than the Crane Wives....  He actually dismissed his overpowered all stars to play his newer songs alone on acoustic, a badass move and a half.  Gave away a stack of spare CDs ("either free or a thousand dollars," quoth the Leaf).  I felt too worn out by camping failure to stay for Airborne or Aquatic, so I said a round of goodbyes and hit the road home.  Thank you to all who helped me get through this mess, or at least offered a friendly face.  I know people now, and some of them seem OK with knowing me.

8 24 17 Big Dudee Roo #4 Relax At Rosa Series, Rosa Parks Circle, Grand Rapids  I had time before work, so I went and had me a fifteen dollar food truck burger and some big old heartland rock and roll.  School was back in for a lot of kids, plus there was drizzle, so the turnout was waaaay lower than for the Crane Wives earlier this summer.  And Nate Wagner couldn't get away from his construction day job, so this was a trio today.  But lo, it was good, and the big rock sound did bounce off the downtown buildings.  Long Road was a highlight, from Max's solo album.  They are the only band I follow now who could be dropped seamlessly into the scene fifteen years ago....but if they were, they'd be on top.

8 26 17 CORN FED GIRLS/DREW NELSON & HIGHWAY 2 Crane’s Pie Pantry, Fennville  Surprisingly, my first full fledged Corn Fed Girls show.  Staged down the hill from the restaurant, in a low spot before the orchards march up the hill, an absolutely stunning setting for an early afternoon show...that was sparsely attended.  This was Crane's Ciderfest, a shindig meant to celebrate the release of their line of hard ciders, also featuring tasty chicken dinners.  There were just not very many people there.  And the bands played in a tent that blocked out most of the glorious weather, and the sound was rough (I think Sarah Halsey Fuerst was seconds from cutting a bitch).  So fun to hear Darcy in context, with six ludicrously talented people joining forces every once in a while to make a bigger noise.  I didn't take notes, so not sure of song names, but they were superb.  Opening was a true blast from the past, Drew Nelson.  Fifteen years ago he was a bro-ey kid with a guitar and some nice tunes, now he's a man who's been run over several times and is still somehow growin' out of the ground.  I requested one of those ancient songs, and he looked at me like I had a gun and he had antlers.  What he plays now is battle-hardened, shitkicking roots rock with its heart on its sleeve, with a pickup band of good old boys all his senior. A quip from the stage: "You're gonna hear a bunch of songs you don't know, cuz my career hasn't gone all that great."  He had an excellent album a few years back on a bigger indie that did not sell well.  Tilt a Whirl.  Go buy it.  Or visit his woodworking shop.

8 26 17 NASHON HOLLOWAY BAND New Holland Brewing, Holland  The Curse of The New Holland PA strikes again.  Seen the Wives battle it, seen Steve Leaf completely outdone by it, now comes Ms. Nashon Holloway, late of Kalamazoo and now of Chicago, to do battle with the wayward beast.  Finally sputtered to life at 10:45 pm. The timing of this show was perfect: with the sad demise of Vox Vidorra, I needed a sound to fill that indie-soul hole in my heart, and this will go a long way toward that.  Maybe not quite the same wild creative, collaborative spark, but these are polished, accomplished musicians with polished, memorable songs, and a singer who can go from croon to grunt to scream within moments on the same song. Too soulful for rock, too straightforward for jazz, too raucous for soul: uncategorizable music is the best music. Tastefully jazzy where required, unexpectedly ferocious at times (a Come Together cover), thoughtful as hell ('S Good, Throwing Stones Up To Heaven), and just sweet (Don't Walk By), this is a sound I need more of.  She kindly gave me a CD for the $6 in cash I had left on me, and it hasn't left the car since.  I am glad she overcame her clear frustrations with New Holland's shitty PA to deliver us few listeners some great, great sounds.

8 27 17 Crane Wives #32/DAN RICKABUS Gratiot and Derby House Concert Series, Grand Rapids  I don't even know what to say here.  These people are just my favorite non-relatives.  They are so friendly to me, the giant awkward gomer in the custom T shirt who shows up to all their damn shows.  I took off work for this one, a full band acoustic house show being rare as hens' teeth.  This show was put on by Rob Reider, a professional mime who runs classes on stage presence that the Wives, Max Lockwood, and May Erlewine have all taken, in the basement of his home. (I retroactively recognized him from Hoxeyville.)  Dan opened the show with some Void/Journal tunes on ukulele:  no Blindfold, sadly, but sooo much better than Rockford, here you could hear what he was saying.  The Wind Will Rise was a highlight, oddly reminiscent of Don't Fear The Reaper.  I got there super early like the giant dweeb I am, first one seated, peeked at the set list on the floor:  no rare treats, oh well, it will sound great.  And it did:  first acoustic outings for the three new singles, Empty Page especially coming off well.  Loudest Curses ever.  Good to see Zito slappa da bass.  But then.  At the point where the set list said October, Kate said, "this is for our buddy Chad," and launched into Margaret, the unreleased Emilee gem I had only heard once, at that duo show in Holland last fall.  THEY FAKED THE SET LIST just to pull one over on ME.  I EXIST.  My flabber is still gasted.

Wednesday, July 19, 2017

Live Music Log, July 2017

7 1 17  THE RIGHT NOW/RED RIO  Founders, Grand Rapids  After the previous night's barhopping, I picked one show and stuck to it, and a good one it was.  Founders' bookers really go out of their way to bring things to GR that might not otherwise come through, and the Right Now, from Chicago, is a sound we could use more of.  It's a seven piece soul-pop band with a hot blonde singer and a thoughtful guitarist who looks like Paul Kantner.  (These two seem to write most of the songs, too.)  Sounds a lot like Vox Vidorra with a lot less on its mind:  not nearly as complex or deep, but big, brash, and a whole lot of fun.  Somehow it's the drummer who has chronic Guitar Face, while the guitarist throws out his licks while remaining placid of puss.  This is the Triple A ball version of what Hannah Rose Graves is doing at the Single A level, and Sharon Jones would have been considered the majors.  All originals, except for an unlikely funked-up For What It's Worth and a semi-karaoke version of Heart's Alone, a terrible song sung impressively.  Another highlight, despite sounding like Get Lucky:  Up All Night.  I got their newest CD at the show, and it's....all right.  Much more poppy and generic.  But this band is not to be missed live, the energy and oomph and sheer fun coming off that stage is why random nights out can pay off.  Opening was Red Rio aka Alexis Brooke, torch singer and Founders employee, with the intensity and appearance of the young Roberta Bradley, but more angsty than bluesy.  Minor key heartbreak with just her own guitar backing her up.  Highlights:  a slinky Hit The Road Jack, and a sweet song about her parents, sung TO her parents in the audience.

7 7 17  Crane Wives #28  Thornapple Plaza, Hastings  The city of Hastings is using an NEA grant to put on an impressive 80 different musical performances this summer at three different venues, and this was one of 'em.  Bandshell only a couple years old, good hot dogs, cold beer for those who want it, big curious crowd.  Small town tax dollars put to best use.  So many moppets pogoing to Rockslide and all the other big-tempo numbers.  The neatest trick this band pulls is the outright jubilation it inspires with its sad, angry songs, simply by playing them in such an upbeat, sprightly fashion.  Safe Ship, Harbored is a portrait of frustrated defeat, and crowds go absolutely apeshit for it.  Easier is about caving in and swallowing your pain, and grandmas do the do-si-do.  Sleeping Giants is about a fricking earthquake, and fists pump the air.  There is catharsis in setting fear and pain to a major key, even if the audiences don't quite realize what's going on.  I lent Kate a big bag of books in the most awkward way possible.

7 8 17 Megan Dooley #11/Carrie McFerrin #9/Darcy Wilkin #4  Memorial Park, Mattawan  WMD saddles up, and rides for possibly the last time this year, if my show falls apart like it's starting to look.  Absolutely gorgeous summer day:  if they were all like this, I might hate this season a lot less.  Outdoor park show meant I could take Sheila to meet the ladies.  Jonny's dog wanted to eat her soul.  Jeffrey Babbitt, the organizer of the show (through the auspices of the village library), opened the show with a few songs, not bad at all, apparently he does the open mics in Kazoo on occasion.  Then came a man named Steven McLain with his son Dan, doing some pleasant Buffettish tunes, including a First World Problems anthem about having it too good to sing the blues.  Darcy, her hair red and blue like the world's saddest sno-cone, serenaded the park populace with her alluring downers.  Most upbeat song:  "enjoy yourself, it's later than you think."  Dooley Dooleyed it up good, rocking the Uncle Jesse lifestyle, singing the reefer anthem to little kids like it's no thing, momentarily nonplussed by a VERY fast train passing right behind the gazebo stage thingy.  Carrie flew without a setlist net, enjoyably scattered, telling stories around every song.  No Wolves for the first time I've seen, but Gypsy Queen sounded great solo.  All in all a very gentle, relaxed show in a beautiful setting.  I want this to become a baaaaaaand.

7 8 17 Delilah DeWylde & The Lost Boys #4  New Holland Brewing, Holland  The early show in Mattawan left me plenty of time to catch this late one in Holland, didn't start till 10.  Down The Line, from the Buddy Holly show, seems to have taken up a welcome place in the permanent set list.  These tunes, from Elvis, Janis Martin, the Burnettes, Patsy Cline, plus the occasional nice original, are the definition of musical comfort food;  you can pick 'em up again whenever you feel the need.  It took me waaaay too long to figure out where I knew her from:  she was Aaron Klamer's big sister.  Steve was there, his superfandom of Delilah mirroring mine of the Crane Wives.  He's my canary in the coal mine, I guess.

7 14 17 Crane Wives #29/GRACE ELIZABETH LEE  Otus Supply, Ferndale  Warring impulses:  Must see Crane Wives!  Must not leave zone o' comfort!  For all my lifetime lonerdom (with the weird seven year interruption), it's still nice to have familiar surroundings, a sense of control over my environment.  This was a new venue in a Detroit suburb I had never spent more than a few minutes in.  I was super early, didn't wanna be That Guy, so I took a long walk (gorgeous night, streets closed for a big pork-and-booze festival, had me a shave ice) and then I was too late for a good seat.  This room was surprisingly small, about the size of the Intersection's front room known as the Stache.  Maybe a little bigger.  The opener was a 17 year old girl who held the audience's attention mainly with her teenageness;  Zito said they didn't know her from Adam.  I was feeling the pressure of not knowing anyone in this whole damn county except the four people on stage.  So....I took my glasses off and put them in my pocket.  No eye contact = much less social anxiety.  I sang every line, I clapped in the general direction of the blobs on the stage, I soaked in the life giving tuneage (very good sound tonight, with a very engaged crowd), and I existed in my own little myopic bubble for a couple of hours.  Never bought a drink because the waitstaff ignored me completely.  Said hi at the end.  Buggered off into the night.  Not to be seen again till after Vegas.

7 15 17  Brian Koenigsknecht #3  Harvey's, Kalamazoo
7 15 17  May Erlewine #5/KAITLIN ROSE  Old Dog Tavern, Kalamazoo  The very next night was a Kalamazoo double show, and it felt so much better it's ridiculous.  There are more people there who smile when they see me at this point than in my home town.  Started off at Harvey's, a relatively ancient place downtown that just revived live music, on an upper outside deck, pleasantly ramshackle, nice breeze in off the river.  Brian was performing as a benefit for Graham Parsons' Walnut House charity, a musical youth center.  He learned 21 (!) songs by Michigan artists to cover, along with his own fine originals.  I was frankly dismayed at the low turnout, but who did turn up was quality:  Abe Savas, T Rex Roth, Grace, and Kevin Hamman, among others.  My videos, above, are excellent:  his own Last Of The Venues, a charmer about the old days of playing out, and the Crane Wives' How To Rest, my own white whale I donated to hear.  He also did songs by May Erlewine, Seth Bernard, Carrie, Kaitlin Rose, Nicholas James Thomasma, and many more, including the late great Patrick Carroll.  Then I walked (because Kalamazoo is wonderful) over to Old Dog, in the back yard, for a May fix.  Kaitlin Rose opened, my first time seeing her do a full set of her own stuff.  I did not take notes, but it was good and I want to hear more.  I love that her mom is in her band.  And then May, the exception to my garden gnomedom.  Not quite Motivations, not quite folkie time:  Shimmin, Lockwood, Phil Barry, and the kid whose name I keep forgetting.  She's an angel, she sings like one, and cynicism has no place while she is singing or playing or speaking or awkwardly dancing.  I even saw her sit on the wall down among the crowd to listen while Kaitlin Rose played.  I saw Grace again, and Kevin, and Brian K, and Darcy, and Dan Lauterbur down in front worshipping his deity.  I keep getting tempted to drive forever to see people, and I really just need to wait till they play K-zoo.  Because everyone does, eventually.

7 21 17  Lindsay Lou & The Flatbellys #3/CURVED EARTHWARD  Park Theatre, Holland  Ticket said show at 8, marquee said doors at 8, which led to a confused mob on the sidewalk.  It got better from there.  Curved Earthward is a couple of hobby codgers, off key and enthusiastic, with some fun original songs.  The younger dude's three kids were sitting (and standing, and running, and asking their mom to do cartwheels) next to me, all thrilled at their dad being up on the big stage.  And then the Flatbellys, four mics but plenty of instrument swapping, unearthly harmonies, many new songs, many from Ionia, basically nothing older.  The Voice (see my video) is going to be an absolute monster on the record, I just know it.  Good crowd singalong on Shining In The Distance.  Fun surprise closing cover of King Harvest's Dancing In The Moonlight.

7 28 17  Olivia Mainville #11 & Brandon James  Tripelroot, Zeeland  Wasn't gonna go out this night, but found out the Duo in Black were playing in Zeeland so I spent some time with them before going over to the mother for teevee.  Relaxed fun, no one paying too much attention but no one minding the atmosphere that live music generates either.  The big garage doors open at the front, good summer breezes, tasty cider, really tasty blueberry stonebread thingy, and the friendliest smiliest goths on earth.  Brandon played Riddles In The Dark for me.  Olivia's On A Grave is a top ten hit in an alternate universe, a better one.  I pitched my show again, and she's a maybe.

7 29 17  THUNDERBOLT & LIGHTFOOT/GERALD DOWD/LISA MACKIE MOAIERY  Louie's Trophy House, Kalamazoo   This one was special.  A room full of people, maybe a third of them other musicians, who hung on every note.  I had not seen Lisa before, she was a new Kazooan to me, but she was good, very informative with a song about the women who built Gibson guitars during WWII.  An arresting line from one of her songs:  let's keep off the straight and narrow.  She closed with a chiming cover of Mazzy Star's Fade Into You that gave me major dorm room flashbacks.  Gerald Dowd is from Chicago, but he married a woman from Kazoo, so he's connected too.  Primarily a drummer, for Robbie Fulks among others, this was him playing acoustic balladeer.  He stated that many of his songs have jerks for protagonists, I need to give them another listen to detect all the jerkage.  The clear standout was My Sweet Old Etcetera, reminiscent of McCartney's Honey Pie, a sweet little trifle sung in an affected accent.  Thunderbolt and Lightfoot, whom I had previously seen play an abbreviated set at that church show in May, are one third of the Corn Fed Girls, who have their own thing going on the side.  (No, not like that.)  Phil Barry and Sarah Halsey Fuerst have the magic harmonies that only a select few can achieve.  I know I say a lot of people have great harmonies, but this is Next Level Black Magic.  The first set was just the two of them acoustic, the second featured a full band (for the first time) including two more Corn Fed Girls.  (A fifth, Darcy, ran merch for 'em.)  At one point, a door kept banging in the back where people were passing in and out of the back patio;  Darcy had propped it, but that led to loud voices marring the sound, so it got closed again.  Sarah said something about having to endure random bangs, to which I automatically called out "That's what she said!"  The room erupted with laughter, to my comingled delight and shame.  Highlights:  Dearly Beloved, a realistic set of wedding vows, and Can't Be Trusted, a haunted and haunting tune.  Closing was two Stones covers, Dead Flowers and You Can't Always Get What You Want, to which I probably sang along too loudly.  I was sitting with Matt Borr and Brian K, like I actually deserved to be in their company, which I don't.  (Matt is 46.  I feel like a rusted VW bus parked next to his Bentley.)  Before the show, I spent a couple of hours in Carrie's backyard:  she had a popup store set up for her Quirky Bohemian line of clothing and jewelry, with Bride of Fleckenstein jamming acoustically, and serving the strongest margaritas I or anyone in attendance had ever experienced. Pleasant folky strummage:  Wagon Wheel was heard, as was Elton John's Roy Rogers. She looked positively glowing, but that may have been the Xanax.  Finally met her husband, drank more than possibly ever in my life, and just generally relished being a person that other people like to have around on occasion.  Thanks Carrie, hope you made a buttload of cash on the day.

Monday, June 19, 2017

Live Show Log, June 2017

6 1 17 Crane Wives #25 Relax At Rosa Series, Rosa Parks Circle, Grand Rapids I could only stay for 70 minutes of this noontime lunch show downtown on a Thursday before heading to work. Just enough to get my fix. They looked a little dazed in the concrete sun, but sounded great. Take Me To War now full throated, confident, boot stompin’. I sat with Michele Clark, the Brazilian partially hinged superfan, and her daughter. I ate an overpriced food truck sandwich. And I skedaddled.

6 2 17 NELSONVILLE MUSIC FESTIVAL: Apple & The Moon, Caitlin Kraus, Wished Bone, Sara Watkins #2, Frazey Ford, Honeyhoney, Rodriguez, They Might Be Giants Hocking College, Nelsonville, Ohio I took a half day of work, then got up super early and drove six hours south to Nelsonville, a bucolic Zeeland-size town south of Columbus in the Hocking Hills. This festival was set up on the grounds of a small college that was out of session, with camping along the river and stages set up interspersed with some old timey cabins permanently erected as a historical village-ish thing. I checked into my frightening hostel (of which more later) then settled in for a day of tuneage. (Just one day of a four day shindig.) There were 27 performances this day, I saw eight. Apple And The Moon: local heroes, around my age, woozy pleasant psych bluesy dad rock, female fronted. Slight redneck bent, impressively no covers. Basically what I would be doing if I could play at all: out there havin' fun on the weekends. Caitlin Kraus: looks like Lorde, sounds like baby Kristin Hersh. Shorthand: organic goth. Around 25, may be going places. Aaron Lee Tasjan: smokin' dope for Jesus. Hard pass. There was a small stage set up at the Gladden House, one of the olde tyme cabins, for major acts to play short sets for public television: a good idea, completely ruined by noise bleed from the second biggest stage right behind it. Both Frazey Ford and Sara Watkins were damn near drowned out; if they got usable takes, then their sound engineers are wizards. Right next to Gladden House: No-Fi house, a faux-old one room schoolhouse hosting intimate performances. Again, a great idea, killed by the THUMPATHUMPATHUMPA from next door.In there I saw Wished Bone: four youngsters, female fronted, grinning profusely. Room so small the pianist had to reach his bench by climbing through the back window. In my notes I mistakenly wrote "Whitey Bones," which pretty much sums it up. They were kinda terrible, but it was still enjoyable: communal experience, hard to replicate, with so many young pretty people in very little hemp clothing and no deodorant actually LISTENING, not chatting while quaffing like so many events in GR. Trudged up to the main stage for Sara Watkins; very little shade, what there was hogged by a sea of camp chairs. Picked a semi-shaded spot along the fence, laid down, and dozed in and out for Ms. Watkins (doing mostly her same show I saw at Bell's, some nice moody minor key work, a couple of Nickel Creek crowd pleasers) and for Frazey Ford, formerly of the Be Good Tanyas. Ms. Ford, A British Columbian, is doing something similar to May Erlewine's recent soul revues, with perhaps more rural grit and either real or feigned drunkenness. The pleasant surprise of the day was Honeyhoney. I have their first album from a dozen years or so ago, the poppiest possible roots rock, sold on the strength of Suzanne Santo's gorgeousness. She's still gorgeous, but all these years of touring as a third string act have added a lot of authenticity she never had before. I can't say I'd ever watched someone get a sunburn in real time before this set. The sound is actually similar to the Crane Wives; roots instrumentation for solid pop songs of the kind that can't get on the radio now. One raucous number morphed into Led Zeppelin's "Whole Lotta Love," with some convincing Ann Wilson-style belting from Ms. Santo, after which she collapsed to the stage. "I just need a second y'all...." Rodriguez is an interesting fellow: a man out of time, beamed forward from 1970 with his old time skills intact, for better (his startlingly original originals) or worse (a half dozen covers of the most overplayed songs ever). Think the midpoint between Paul Simon and Lou Reed, with some Daniel Johnston for seasoning. Dooley opened for him once at Bell's. A fragile man with big muscles, a writer of drug anthems who actually called for "hugs not drugs" with zero irony, a band that was patient with his fits and starts. See the movie Searching For Sugar Man for his whole story. And then, the murderous sun finally set, the crowd all gathered at the biggest stage, and They. Might. BE. GIANTS! Despite the playing of Older and When Will You Die, no band is better at making me forget the rapid hurtling certainty of my own death, not even the Beatles. Every song is a singalong anthem, even Spider if you try hard. Opened with Damn Good Times, and damn they were. My ex wife loved (loves?) TMBG, so this show was a big first step in Taking Back The Tunes. Ana Ng! Fingertips! Istanbul, with an extended flamenco intro! NUMBER THREE, for God's sake! Everything Right Is Wrong Again sent me into actual spasms of joy that might have been mortifying if I knew anyone within 300 miles of there. So very good. And then, since I cannot camp, back to the hostel. Up a long set of steps at the top of a hill was a scary, stinky house. The room I was assigned had no fan or AC, so the creepy owner came up from the basement with a miners lamp on his head to change my assignment. Everything was clammy. I did not dare remove my socks. Surveillance cameras everywhere. If I was younger, or female, I would have gotten the fuck out of there. But I was so tired I just squelched into bed, fired up the Sleepy Podcasts, and Dealt With It. (Note: this is the second draft; the first was eaten by Facebook Notes when I tried to attach a picture. That, of course, was witty, erudite, trenchant, and this is doo-doo. Stupid technology.) Apple & The Moon Caitlin Kraus Frazey Ford HONEYHONEY RodriguezMusic They Might Be Giants


6 3 17 Crane Wives #26 Local First Street Party, outside Bistro Bella Vita, Grand Rapids Super late show, 11 pm, downtown at the tail end of Festival. Not fully recovered from the epic drives of the two days before, so I don’t remember much beyond bellowing along unashamedly with Superfan #2 Michele Clark. (I’m #1, Dan Lauterbur is #3, Carlton might be #4, everyone else can fuckin’ get in line.) Saw Sarah Craig briefly, then I think she had to go deal with the immediate aftereffects of overimbibing. Shut down by the fuzz promptly at 12, leaving Easier as the accidental low-energy closer. I wish the hometown crowd had been bigger....but I still think this is the year the crowds in other places are going to grow and grow. Maybe I won’t get to see them twenty times a year, but thousands of other people around the country are going to get to discover their new favorite band, and I can’t hate on that one bit.

6 9 17 Darcy Wilkin #2 Old Dog Tavern, Kalamazoo
6 9 17 Brian Koenigsknecht #2/Carrie McFerrin #5/Matthew Borr #4/KEVIN HAMMAN/THE MISSING GENERATION Louie's Trophy House Grill, Kalamazoo How can someone so hilarious be so sad? Such is the question engendered by the spectacle of Darcy Wilkin Solo. Only the second time I've seen her do her own thing, and the first time alone. Just her and a guitar, separated from the Old Dog patrons in the backyard by a sea of grass, occupied by college kids playing beanbag toss. (I messaged her, and she read it from the stage: "Name of your live album: Upstaged By Cornholers.") Only a few people in the beer garden were paying much attention to the opening act to the opening act, but she sounded great when not stymied by mic problems or traffic noise (which teamed up to completely abort one song). "Here's a murder ballad, and then a palate cleansing ode to alcoholics!" "I don't know whose gear this is, but it makes me feel much more rock n roll." Jokes and sad songs, in her plaintive, been there done that burned the T shirt voice. She asked me when the hell I was moving to Kalamazoo. I heard a guy in a pink mohawk (member of the next band) say gosh dang. In my notes, no memory of the context: anusbags. Went a few blocks down the road (gotta love Kazoo) for a songwriters night at Louie's, much less stinky than my last visit. Still a giant bison head looming over the stage though. "Time is a healer, an invisible drug dealer, it burns your heart and turns it into coal." Brian Koenigsknecht has the intensity of Scottie's beloved Mikel Jollett without any of the accompanying douchery.He played Istanbul Sky at my request: goosebumpy. Then Carrie: "this is a night of our youth!" To which Brian replied: "You say that at every show, It's like how Art Van is always having a sale." Really good version of Wolves with Brian and Matt assisting. That song is as good as anything written by anyone around here ever, a stone classic. There was a newer one too, Honey Darling, played on a shiny new banjotar. Guitbanjo? Matthew Borr: mild mannered professor by day, mild mannered guitar hero by night. I had met Kevin Hannam several times at Old Dog, but had never heard him sing or play, and he's the male Carrie: got other things to do but the songs MUST COME OUT or aneurysms will happen. He has a Craig Finn quality, a joyous desperation in performance and lyric. I could not make out many of the words, with the good drumming (by the tiny happy drummer girl) and the bad PA, but I revisited on Bandcamp later. Songs good. The Silent Generation is a bunch of sheepish dudes, early to mid thirties, playing thoughtful trad rock. Sitting in was Abe Savas, whose song Maxine is a marvel and I want on YouTube now (please sir). A great night of music in Kalamazoo....they almost always are.
6 10 17 LAITH AL SAADI/DANIELLE NICOLE/Megan Dooley #9(with Saxsquatch and Bridge Band) Bell's, Kalamazoo
6 10 17 THE GASOLINE GYPSIES/Carrie McFerrin #6 (with Michael Powell) Old Dog Tavern, Kalamazoo Megan got me and my new friend Sarah into this show; I was hoping to meet with her about the October Taking Back The Tunes show (I really need a decent title), but there was no time in the end. this was my first time seeing her with a full band: drums, another guitar, the works! And she was jazzed about the big big sound, wide shark grin beneath cool-girl sunglasses. Newish, or old reworked song, Glad You're Gone: excellent kissoff, hope she'll play that one in October. Absolutely epic Whipping Post in honor of Gregg Allman's passing, the Dooley howl cranked to maximum. Danielle Nicole I knew nothing at all about coming in, and I'm here to tell you that she's frickin' awesome. Found out later she was in a blues band with her siblings till very recently, but this show was definitely blues-influenced RAWK, low down dirty gutbucket division. A lonely row to hoe, especially for a woman, but a singular sound and artistic success. Highlights: original Wolf Den, a titanic Spoonful, a left field cover of a 1989 Aerosmith track that segued into another excellent original. Rock and roll isn't dead, it just moved into the backyard. Ann Arbor-based Laith al Saadi was apparently on that Voice reality show? And did well? I know not of such matters. He had a pleasant voice, a song selection stuck very firmly in the late sixties, and an absolute monster of a guitar tone. Highly fleet of finger. Early impression was that he's who Seth Bernard wants to be when he grows up, but then the sixties blues rock covers started piling up. Seth is leading us into the future, such as it is; Mr. al Saadi will lull us with an excellent recreation of our past while our asses slowly get fatter. Lest this sound too harsh, let's celebrate the fact that a shit-hot guitarist with a vaguely Islamic name playing old songs tore it up good on American television, and that is something to toast to. Crossed the street to Old Dog for a late show (hoping to catch the spillover from the Laith show): Michael Powell was Carrie's first collaborator; they play together less often than Carrie and Matt these days. He brings a light, slightly jazzy feel, with nimble acoustic skills. He was firmly placed in a support role, sang no songs of his own (he has at least one very good one, but they told me later the vibe wasn't right). Gypsy Queen was a highlight, along with the secretly pleasant mortification of being shouted out from the stage. And then, the Gasoline Gypsies, from Port Huron. They are in the same JBL contest as the Crane Wives, also made the top five, and I Do Not Get It. My line: What if Pop Evil wanted to be taken seriously? Another man's take: a poor man's Los Lonely Boys. Undeniable instrumental talent, polished presentation, songs that flew past me on their way to the HopCat bros. Dressed like Mumford and Sons, sounding like every GR band of 1996 (of which Pop Evil was one), really strong harmonies. "I wanna get laid but don't feel like trying, I wanna get high but I don't feel like buying." Ugh. They grew on me a tiny bit during the show due to sheer tuneful competence, but everything's better live. They are someone's favorite band, every town has one, every town needs one. Port Huron can have them.
 
6 16 17 May Erlewine #4/THE STRAPPING OWLS  Park Theatre, Holland  This was Motivationless May, back in folk/acoustic mode:  full sound, but a four piece band, much smaller in scope and impact while still having a bigger sound than straight hootenanny folk.  My notes are not good and I waited too long to write, but I can say that time spent in the presence of May Erlewine is always time well spent.  She is self-effacing, charming, adorable, firmly political, motherly, steel inside chintz.  Le sigh.  The exception that proves my rule.  Really good new song about "setting my hope on fire," aimed at Cheeto Mussolini.  Pin-drop perfect version of "Wild," recorded by me and posted here.  The Strapping Owls were pleasant ramshackle blues, with bass provided by a sousaphone played by the organizer of Park Theatre's folk series.  Somehow the sound mixed Van Morrison and Rickie Lee Jones, with some Deep Fried Pickle Project weirdness around the edges.  They played second, allowing the audience to trickle out in twos and threes.

6 17 17 The Crane Wives #27 Summer In The Village Festival, Lathrup Village   This seen-better-days suburb of Detroit hosted a small shindig for its residents:  pony rides, food trucks, bouncy houses, bbq cookoff, the world's tiniest petting zoo, and the Crane Wives.  3 pm show, would have been sparsely attended if most of Emilee's family hadn't come down from the tonier suburbs.  I said hello, then moved, but they all oozed along with me to a tent closer to the stage.  (Hot day, multiple canopies thoughtfully strewn in the show area.)  Was good to sing my head off among people who did not mind at all, being related to the author.  Emilee's mom and aunt did some dancing here and there, barefoot on the grass, and it was frickin' adorable.  Sound was ok, par for the course for thankless sun-baked outdoor obligations;  really good rendition of October, just for Mom.  Dan grinned in my direction pretty frequently, always making me feel like coming out is a good idea. Only occurred to me later that this was the first time I had not heard Safe Ship Harbored.  The past is being left, very slowly, behind.  Up and out.  Vegas beckons.


6 23 17 Carrie McFerrin #7/Matthew Borr #5  Brews, BBQ and Bourbon 2017, Ah-Nab-Awen Park, Grand Rapids  

6 23 17  Fleetwood Mac's Rumours Tribute:  Amy Andrews/Megan Dooley #10  Coppercraft Distillery, Holland
6 23 17 Libby DeCamp #3  Fireside Brewing, Holland   Triple Show Friday kicked off at a two day boozefest in the park by the river;  Matt and Carrie were the first act of the first day, and were about 50 minutes late getting started.  The next act, the Douchenozzles (not really, but shoulda been), were setting up a drum kit in the middle of what should have been their set.  The lower rungs of showbiz are littered with such indignities, I look forward to seeing them climb a little higher.  In my notes, not sure of context:  Carrie proclaiming, "It's like, I care, but I don't give a fuck, you know?"  Matt: "[This songwriter] is a beautiful man.  Well, he's passed away now, so not AS beautiful...."  Great harmony on Trains In The Field, maybe a dozen people around as this event just barely gets started.  Got a free whiskey sour because it took so long.  "This is an old Robert Johnson song!"  "Well, there aren't any new ones."  Matt's stomping was semi-hilariously arrythmic.  I enjoy what they do, even if I seem to be the duo's one and only fan.  Over to Holland, where the show was preceded by a motorcycle crash right in front of the place on 120th by the tracks.  Megan and her boyfriend both ran out to make sure everything was okay;  Barrenger saw it happen when he arrived.  Broken arm, lucky as hell.  Amy Andrews is from Maryland, I believe, with some Holland connections that led to this show.  Still hazy on how Dooley got involved, but it was a good idea.  There were three very young guys from Virginia who served as house band, none of whom had met before this;  I really should get the story from Dooley and rewrite this later.  the first side was played, with Dooley CRUSHING it on Songbird, then some other Mac songs to fill a full show. Ms. Andrews acquitted herself well on Dreams. I left before the second side started (during some semi-dippy noodle-jazz), but I wish I had stayed, because Libby's set was in the worst venue I can imagine.  Fireside Brewing is in part of the old Holland Ladder plant; the show was in a cavernous back room that stank of wet paint (Live Art was happening apparently) and sounded like crap.  Libby sounded great, but she was sticking to one mood;  slow, languorous, sleep-inducing. Solo guitar, no Adam. I almost fell off my stool.  A foosball game at the back kept drowning her out. At the end I requested Put The Kettle On, to remind the audience (and Libby) that she possesses more than one gear.  And It sounded swell.

6 30 17 Olivia Mainville #10 & Brandon James  HopCat, Kalamazoo

6 30 17 Carrie McFerrin #8/Matthew Borr #6/Darcy Wilkin #3  Feed The World Cafe, Oshtemo  A night of Too Many Choices in Kalamazoo.  I skipped a Janis Joplin tribute at Bell's featuring Molly, Kaitlin Rose, and Hannah Rose Graves, and a singer songwriter night at Craft Draft 2 Go with Dooley and Brian K.  I started with about 75 minutes worth of Olivia and Brandon playing to a rain soaked beer garden, no one in front of them, about 20 people up on a balcony to the right, and me and a few other people at a bar BEHIND them.  Weird.  I kept distracting them, especially Olivia, felt guilty about it later, but with no one out on the wet patio it felt like a private show.  Excellent new song I have dubbed The Trudge.  On A Grave still my fave, hey that rhymes.  Out to the sticks for W and M with a side of B, at a charity cafe that donates food for every meal purchased.  Wonderful cause, too bad my food and service were non-good.  Darcy;  the saddest songs, the sparkliest shoes.  I think two thirds of that crowd was her family and friends.  The crowd steadily dwindled through the night, because the kitchen closed at 8:30 for an 8 to 10 show.  Take You With Me is a goddamn American classic, good enough to go toe to toe with her beloved Prine and Van Zandt.  And then Carrie and Matt:  dizzy banter, intricate guitar, great harmonies, tiny tambourine, no Wolves tonight.  Shellshock from driving four hours from Royal Oak for a rib festival, and they didn't even get any ribs.  They shouted out this blog, and I turned pretty red, it is so not worthy.  On the way out I stuck my head in at Dooley's thing to see if anything was still up:  just in time to hear Nothing But Trouble.  But a loud buzzing was marring the sound, the patrons were chock full of Not Giving A Fuck, and the hinted-at jam session did not happen.  Pete Weir was talking to a very loud unpleasant woman who proclaimed the charms of wheat thins all over Dooley's singing.  It was awkward.  I drank a cider and left.

Friday, June 09, 2017

School Section Lake

The only thing I’ve written between college and now that was any damn good. Its old web site vanished, so putting it up here.
 
SCHOOL SECTION LAKE
Fearless in one way, terrified in most others
He points the nose of the car at the North Star
White lines zip by like Minute Rice
Heat on, window rolled down
Occasionally slapping himself in the face to keep alert
Gaylord, Grayling, Wolverine, Vanderbilt
Towns built by men who did great works
Hewing and hauling great logs for great endeavors
In a time before consquences were more than dimly understood
Floated down rivers to be subsumed into society
An unseen labor, like making sausage or sewing flags
Best not to think about cocooned by weak modernity
Trees trees trees mailbox trees trees trees dirt sidetrack trees
What was once logged over is now again impenetrable
Nature and 1929 teaming up to reclaim their dues
Fresh gravestones two miles from any lonely outpost home
History rolls past unceasing, but genealogy shudders and jerks
2009 on the road, 1972 on blocks in a front yard
Abandoned trailers: the second or third wave of northern failure
But at least up here you smell pine more than motor oil
He slows down, flicks the brights, squints at the street signs
Finds his turn and leaves the wider world behind
Grass growing in the middle of the “road,” tickling his muffler
Pin straight thanks to Herculean surveys that were overly optimistic
But eventually impassable to the new order
Trees closer, crickets louder, stars bright
But here is the white sign that says “White Sign”
And here is the nearly forgotten cottage on a nearly forgotten pond
And here are the ways and means to be a bit more yourself
Than these days of Apple and Amazon will usually allow
The cot creaks concernedly but holds
He sleeps with fire in his eyelids, like his ancestors did
And for an evening finds peace