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.
Messages to myself in four years, just after my 50th birthday, via this handy time tunnel:
Did you attempt dating again? Did you learn your lesson for good this time? Good. Garden gnome is a better thing to be than Yet Another Aging White Cishet Chucklefuck.
Is Sheila still with you? Lucky sod. If not, did you get over it? Pets don't live forever, so we have to cherish the days we have.
Did you forgive your ex wife yet? She was too young. You need to remember the good times. "Be glad it happened," yadda yadda. But most of all, holding grudges hurts you more than them.
Did you keep your friends? Did you continue to support and celebrate them? Did you manage to overcome your fundamental self-loathing enough to be someone they wanted in their lives? If they became rich/famous, did you celebrate and assist, or was your giant head in the way?
Were you kinder to yourself? WELL WERE YOU, ASSHOLE?
Did you spend more time with your nieces and nephews? I hope so, because they're fascinating little splinters from your DNA tree, and you need them to pool their resources for your nursing home someday.
Did you forgive your dad for being different than you? Do it. You can't help being weird, he can't help being extremely conventional. He has your best interests at heart, and he won't live forever. Plus you will need to borrow his truck.
Did you keep your house looking good and structurally sound? It's the best move of your entire adulthood, be smart about something for once in your goddam existence.
I'm not going to ask if you lost weight, because I know the answer.
Will you be remembered fondly? Yeah? Then you're doing ok. Keep it up.
8 2 19 Carrie McFerrin #29/Libby DeCamp #9/MORGAN INGLE Zazio’s, Kalamazoo Carrie's Songs And Stories series continues to be a rousing success, at least artistically, and this installment was no exception. Three very different women taking turns singing and telling stories, downstairs from the usual venue at Webster's, inside the Radisson hotel downtown. The change of venue brought a definite lessening of the crowd, and the people there were less inclined to listen; they mostly seemed confused that people perched on stools were singing at them. All the while a very loud chef was leading some kind of tasting thing in the main restaurant adjacent to us in the bar. Morgan, from the band Slim Gypsy Baggage, has an earthy, bluesy quality; Carrie is our country folk belter with a heart the size of a Buick; and Libby is ethereal, somehow urban AND rural, and somehow young AND impossibly old. One story of Morgan's involved a song that just kinda fell out of her head, as opposed to being worked on for ages; I said, "so it was prolapsed?" She found that amusing.
8 4 19 Emilee Petersmark #9 Creston Brewery, Grand Rapids At this point I've become friends with a lot of artists. I'm not collecting coups, or bragging, it's just a byproduct of show attendance and general admiration. This artist, in particular, has broken through into real life. We have lunch. We walk the dog. I sang a song at a party thrown by her and her partner while facing the fence for a talent show. So I hope she tells me if I ever get obnoxious at a show. Creston can feel like a big living room at Christmas where not everyone is paying attention to the person opening the gifts, and I have developed a bad habit of talking to artists midshow if things seem slow. It's a case of familiarity overriding the respect I should have for the creative space, and it needs to stop. Because wow everyone needs to hear these songs. Em rarely plays Crane Wives songs at her solo sets, she has developed a significant arsenal by now of new ones and very old ones, revolving around themes of depression and recovery, anger and fear, despair and hope. I'm hoping for a solo EP. Gifted songwriter, excellent guitarist, great singer, striking visual artist, effortlessly cool person....and yet she struggles with anxiety and depression. I'm not telling tales out of turn, she says as much at every show. On the one hand, what hope is there for the rest of us gomers if someone as awesome as her feels this way....but on the other, if she likes to spend some of her precious time with me, maybe, just maybe, I'm ok too. Clean Slate, Heavy, Black Hole, Before The Lights Came On, If The Sun Rises In The Morning....in a better parallel world, these are big hit songs. Get out to see her when you can. And don't be afraid to shush me.
8 10 19 The Corn Fed Girls #6/The Red Sea Pedestrians #2 Bell’s, Kalamazoo These two helplessly intertwined Kzoo institutions have a nifty parlor trick they pull out a few times here and there: they play all of Abbey Road. Every track. Eleven musicians generating that sweet sweet Beatles noise. Part of me is sad that it takes the tribute gimmick to fill the beer garden with people for these fabulous musicians, but the end result was so dang fun it's hard to be grumpy about it. Each band played their own effortlessly virtuosic set before the main event, so I did get a good snootful of originals, CFG's homespun charm, then RSP's amiably menacing cosmic klezmer. Making polyrhythms safe for the masses! Bell's "remodeled" beer garden has comically few seats, I was leaning against a tree in an attempt at spinal support, but the music was of such a quality as to be worth the crappy venue. Finally: "shoot" (bass twirl). "shoot" (bass twirl). A glorious technicolor rendering of the Beatles' swan song. The pageantry of the Anvil. Vocal harmonies keeping I Want You (She's So Heavy) from slipping into tedium. Here Comes The Sun: the most money the Fab Four ever threw away. The glory of the big medley. This music will surely outlive us all.
8 11 19 FARMFEST Johannesburg: JILL JACK/Appleseed Collective #3/The Crane Wives #72/Luke Winslow-King #3/Seth Bernard #9 A little creative scheduling at work allowed me to drive way, way north for the final day of this smallish festival on someone's farm, deep in the wilds of far northeast Lower Pen. Kinda glad not to do all three days, this was very much Dirty Hippies in the Woods with Weed, but the lure was two full sets by the Crane Wives. And what will bring me back again is the main stage, an astonishing, gigantic natural bowl amphitheater that could accommodate many multiples of the people who were there. High high on the hill by the food and vendors, almost a quarter mile from the stage, you could hear every note perfectly. I sat up there with Michele (who was vending her jewelry) for a good portion of the day. But there was another stage, a small wooden dance pavilion, through the woods (or the hot fields) a good way, and that's where most of the music I wanted to hear was. Jill Jack was an ingenue the last time I saw her, twenty years ago. Now she has lived a life, recorded 12 albums, and she is still out here telling you how it's going, in wry, heartfelt, heartland folk-pop. Blow Me Down featured fine high harmony from her (male) guitarist, who also used a Slinky as percussion on one tune. Another highlight: the lovely Full Circle. I then proceeded to hang out awkwardly with the Crane Wives on some hay bales while the Appleseed Collective slayed us with their virtuosity. These four gents have an album coming out now (January) that was gestating a long long time, and I got to hear most of it across their two sets this day. This is as good as the genre you could call "Mumfordia" ever gets: crushing it, but the world has moved on. Pretty sure a line was "whores in my bed," but I chose to hear "horse." A cover of Blood, Sweat and Tears' "And When I Die": a masterful showstopping rendition of a terrible song. The Collective and the Wives played one set on each stage; the Collective had no repeats, the Wives had a few. The big rock music with its faint whiff of past folkiness sounded damn good literally ringing from the hills. Luke Winslow King was a person who played music, joined by Seth for a few tunes. Scott Pellegrom, there to play with Seth, came within millimeters of my back bumper with his Sprinter van. (The guy at the gate gave me no directions when I arrived, so I ended up parking 40 feet from the damn main stage.) Seth ushered in the sunset with his pensive guitar anthems and exhortations to take care of the earth and each other. It was a long drive home in the dark, but it was so worth a day of my life.
8 16-18 19 HOXEYVILLE MUSIC FESTIVAL, Wellston: Lindsay Lou #7/Political Lizard #3/FRONT COUNTRY/May Erlewine & The Motivations #18/CHICAGO FARMER/The Insiders #3/The Crane Wives #73/Gregory Stovetop #3/Airborne or Aquatic? #3/The Go Rounds #7/THE RAGBIRDS/Public Access #10/FULL CORD Once again this year I did not attempt camping; Dan and I shared a nearby cabin, this time with indoor plumbing. Lindsay Lou was the MVP of the festival: in addition to her fest-opening set, she sat in with more than a dozen other acts throughout. Her set featured the Traditional Lavengood Sit-In, as well as a Warblers section with Melody Walker of Front Country subbing for Rachael Davis. There were also covers of original Woodstock artists interspersed with the progressive bluegrass, in honor of its 50th anniversary, kinda wish every act had done this. (Many did.) Then it was over to the Mitten Tent for Political Lizard. It was moved much closer to the main stage this year, and scheduled sets had no overlap between the two. A cynical man might say this was so they could pay fewer bands, but it did mean not missing anything unless you wanted to. The Lizard: What if Silverchair were on Kindercore Records? Jenna Olsen is my favorite lil scared bassist, like Tina Weymouth with a gun to her head. Great new tune called Red Wine Gossip. Chekhov's accordion sat there on the stage, but never went off. Front Country was a pleasant wash of countryish flavor, with impressive harmonies and some twists in the tail. An acoustic guitar fed through pedals was made to sound like a cheap keyboard: backhandedly impressive. One tune sounded like the rebirth of redneck trance. Highlight: Don't Take My Life Away. The Motivations were reliably joyous, with enough May-dancing spectacle to get me through to the winter. A northern white girl shouldn't be able to get away with this soul revue, but dammit she does.
Saturday brought Chicago Farmer, a dude who usually plays one man band style, but had a trio for this set, including the amazing Jaik Willis, a shit hot guitarist who looks like one of the hillbillies in that Bugs Bunny cartoon. This was very funny (great comic timing, shaggy dog stories) and musically solid. The Dirtiest Uniform was a Todd Sniderish ode to strivers. We can all relate to the one about $13 beers at the big arena show. And, there is no pride in the factory farms. Look him up. The Insiders Pettied it up good: not much else to say, they're a well oiled tribute machine by this point, one off charity show turned cash cow. MOAR PHIL THO. The Crane Wives coined a new term for their all inclusive yet sad sound: dance-grief. I always love watching other people grooving on the band I love. Gregory Stovetop brought the rawk, like a course-corrected Bob Seger: melodies for days, fleet fingers, a Selner on drums. Airborne or Aquatic? is the prog rock Brigadoon: only appears at certain places and times to melt your mind before it buggers off back into the mists. The Rickabus/Pellegrom drumoff was one for the ages. To close the evening, the Go Rounds played a silent disco: all the music was piped into headphones that were doled out to all attendees. With no headphones on, the sweaty, writhing tent was eerily silent, not even the vocals could be heard. The tech limitations of this format led to the most satisfyingly stripped down sound I have yet heard from this cosmic brotherhood....and I danced my ass off. Inhibitions went away for a while. There are witnesses. This was the sound of the visuals from one of those planetarium light shows being downloaded straight into your cortex. There was a dog on the dance floor.
The Go Rounds were supposed to play a "normal" set to kick off Sunday, but lightning strikes put the kibosh on that. Graham looked like he could kick a dog. So while we waited for the all clear, Gregory Stovetop played a magical impromptu set right there in the dirty grass in front of the stage, eventually joined by Rickabus on a snare drum if I'm remembering correctly. There were dancing toddlers. I am not sure how I got this far without hearing the Ragbirds (the fuzz shutting down the Corner Bar's Rockford concert series helped with it), but of course they're fabulous. Just like the Wives, rockier now than their folk origins, but Erin Zindle's violin ensures they always have a foot firmly planted in their roots. Skilled musical interplay serving songs that are bruised but defiantly optimistic. Em did a brief guest appearance on backing vocals for a Natalie Merchant cover. Public Access, at full strength for full guitar-wall awesomeness, blew the crowd away, especially when Emilee stepped in for the only vocal, an encore of "Whole Lotta Love." Steve broke a guitar string, so Dan Haefs raised his arms to let Steve play the iconic solo on his body, Whose Line style. This move is now canon. Full Cord is straight bluegrass, which is not always my thing, but this band is so dang good at it that all succumb to their charms. New kid fiddler is made of fire. There was more music, but I was tired so I went home. I skipped most of the main stage acts in favor of the "Mitten Stage": tells you where my loyalties lie.
8 21 19 Molly #5 GDK Park, Holland It was a lovely summer day, not too roasting yet at noon, so before work I moseyed downtown Holland to see Molly, accompanied by husband Scott, do an hour of tunes in the shady confines of the concrete-and-brick pocket park in downtown Holland. Pleasant but low stakes....uintil Molly's visiting friend, Marcus Jordan, came up to sing a couple with her. The gentleman is a stage singer of some renown and great skill, and a spin through Summertime was spellbinding. Molly can't sit still in any setting, and in the summer breeze with an appreciative audience, a lot of free form dancing happened. But it never affects the rock steady vocal line. Thanks kids.
8 22 19 Cameron Blake #3/SECRET FORTE GR Live, Home at the BOB, Grand Rapids A noon hour of nifty local tunes: Secret Forte was nice, kind of a Modest Jimmy Eats The Mouse World. I'd go see em. But Cameron Blake...it's kinda hard to believe he makes his home here, the Baltimore transplant is just so dang good and assured and BIG in his lonesome scarecrow sound. His upcoming album (still not out in January 20) is more diverse than his piano debut and gospel-tinged second, judging from the tracks he played today: funkier, louder, but still lots on its mind. Only Goya was a STOMPER, and Gillian was lovely. I was backer #2 on his Kickstarter. Five months later and no CD though....
8 23 19 Hollywood Makeout #5 Riverfront Park, Allegan I dearly love the propulsive asskicking surfpunk sound this band, led by a med tech and a kindergarten teacher, puts out. Downtown Allegan had its bell good and rung when its excellent outdoor sound system pushed this joyful noise out across the river and echoing off the crumbling brick backsides of the stores. I got Roo to come out with me because I knew she would really dig this powerful female-fronted rawk. Sheila (the dog) also came, because outdoor show, but enjoyed it rather less. New album soooooon.
8 24 19 COLIN COOPER & DAVID SIMMER Ridge Cider Co., Grant Semi-reunion of the Irish band The Saltbound, my gateway from Married Life to Music Life (Colin worked with my ex wife at Walgreens). Kaity, Colin's wife, was there, but did not reprise her role as second singer. A few other old acquaintances from the day came out for the show, making times awkward but enjoyable, which is honestly my wheelhouse. David is an excellent mandolinist, Colin has some fun originals, and the traditional Irish tunes were thick on the ground for a nice lil northern hootenanny.
8 30 19 Pillar To Post #2/The Missing Generation #4 Louie’s Trophy House, Kalamazoo Turns out dudes can still make compelling music too; I've been so focused on female fronted music that I sometimes forget that. The Missing Generation is a much more focused and confident band after a few years, looking forward to a recording. Maxine was a best foot forward, Abe Savas' crunchy compulsive ear candy blending well with Chris Schleuder's tuneful intelligence and Tim Sparling's earnest honesty. Chris had a great song about John Stockton and Karl Malone (old b-ball players) as buddy cops. The slightly fuzzier edge sits well on them....but Abe is the only guy in the band who was wearing long pants. Whatever that means. And then, Brian Koenigsknecht's Brigadoon rock band put us through our paces with well-practiced, muscular yacht rock chops. Brian has made a name for himself as more of a troubadour, but I hope the band sees a resurgence, because they're all so dang good, and the songs take on an urgency that can be lost solo. (Intensity, though, goes UP solo.) A good time with the menfolk at the Olde Dogge.
8 31 19 Megan Dooley #19 Founders, Grand Rapids I have seen Dooley play in so many different settings: church, library, bar, stage, museum, back of a resale shop....but never the big stage at Founders, till now. She changes her look a lot, and she switches up her repertoire, but her show has never gotten far from her playing the songs she likes and hoping you like them too. This was billed as kind of a last hurrah for this type of solo show; she's planning to put a band together to go in other directions. Being a professional musician is incredibly difficult, and to keep the fire in your belly, you have to stoke the fires. Her light may flicker in a stiff breeze, but it never goes out.
