A Prairie Home Companion show at Town Hall 12/3/11

A Prairie Home Companion show at Town Hall has been a live production I’ve wanted to see for years. In the past, the shows have sold out quickly, so I was excited when I bought a ticket. For myself. For Christmas. It was a present I gave myself. Going to a show by oneself is odd. Some would say it’s pathetic. So is masturbating. I know these things, but I still had to go…and do. I came into the city by myself. I am writing this on the train on the way home. I am alone. But I will write more details about the train in a little while. There are not a lot of fans of the show that I know of. Listening to the show has been a secret over the years. I am divulging this fact only to you. I can hear the shit from my brother and sisters, you listen to what? When? OK, on some Saturday nights I Iisten to the radio. Garrison Keillor appears to be a tortured artist, there are no two ways about it and I’m intrigued to learn more about him. He came on the stage wearing a long red tie, red sneakers, tight red socks and a black baggy suit. His thin hair was messy at times, strands flew in the air in different directions. Small thick glasses dangled on the bridge of his small nose. I brought one of his books hoping for the chance to get it signed. It didn’t happen. I had to leave to catch the train instead of hanging out after the show like some groupie. My seat was in the loge area, the seats were closer than I expected. Since I bought one seat, I was able to get close as possible. From past events when I would go by myself I have been spoiled. I had a great seat at Radio City to see the Dali Llama, Betty Carter at the Bottom Line, and now this. I still paid $75 which included the service fees. Before I review the show I have to describe where I’m sitting at this moment. As I mentioned, I am on the train. Sitting inches from me a couple who appear to be a few years older than me and who behave half lit. “I think we have enough left at home to make some martinis.” There is one punk who did something foolish as the train pulled into the station, the conductor asked as he looked out from an open window “Are you serious?” The droll punk hunched his rebellious shoulders, “Yeah.” Fair to say, I didn’t see what the punk did. Two adolescent girls who are deep into their teen years, spill out conversations from their seats, everything is so dramatic. I’m losing space for my review of the show and I apologize. Town Hall was sold out, which is normal for this short run production. The show comes to New York once a year, each time at this time each year, but I heard or read that Mr. Keillor was cancelling his show after this season, so there was an impulse to buy the tickets. I know Mr. Keillor is very busy in his own artistic pursuits from writing novels to editing poetry. He also has solo performances which after seeing tonight’s show I would like to see and compare it to A Prairie Home Companion. Here is the odd thing which dawned on me; his shows are clean which contradicts my usual humor. I prefer more of the insanity of Robin Williams or even my cousin Jason Gillearn. There is a hard edge in their humor. What is it about A Prairie Home? Looking at the audience which is older than me, we grasp onto an innocent ideal which is too remote in today’s world. Face it we are too connected for our own good, so listening to tales of Lake Wobegon is a little like sharing rumors of the town we would like to live in. Tonight’s fable or tale as it’s referred to in the show was about the reverend who conducts miracle healings. I loved how Keillor wove the tale, but I asked myself from my seat, how did he weave it, was it off the top of his head? Did he formulate something so unique in from of all of us, sharing it with the radio audience who were shallow breaths in the distance? It had the immediate impact, but it must have been practiced, the players knew when his story was winding down, they appeared from the sides of the stage. And the tale was over. So how does he do it? I think Mr. Keillor has the unique gift to tell a story. The musicians in The Guy’s All Star Band were incredible, they played some songs before the show began, and the crowd was worked up and out walked the casual story teller with the long red tie. It’s Saturday night…I was there in Town Hall, right there from the Lodge, stage left and so close I could see his facial expressions as well as the each of the players on the stage. It’s Saturday night. I would like to see if the show can continue without Mr. Keillor. Can it? The show began it seems as a goof when GK was in his mid thirties. He’s slowing down. He can’t stop, can he? Royal Academy of Radio Actors were hysterical, and for me was the real thrill to watch them perform, making back-ground music, small talk, the first skit with Heather Massie as a pseudo hippie psychic poet (was that Patty Smith) was a classic as an upset stomach rose to life out into the audience but it cut short by some professional editing just before it heaved. Heather I assume is a regular on the show and had such poise. Nellie McCay is stunning. What a spirit she has, her rendition of The Flamingos I Only Have Eyes for You was…different as her sax player cried out like as baby and Nellie strolled around the stage pretending to ease the “baby in her arms” and yet it was comical. She belted out The Beatles, I’m So Tired which was stripped and raw, smacking us on the side of the head, with a fair warning, take her seriously. “I give you all I got for a little piece of mind.” If you have not heard the show, take some time and listen to real players and souls on the radio. If you have the chance to see the show: GO! Sit back watch a play of words and emotions that only a true story teller can conjure from the Midwest or Minnesota or somewhere hovering over across the West.

meditation

11/27/11 13:57
I’m sitting on the deck with a long sleeve shirt, not that I changed after church, instead I will wear the same clothes and just may change into some sweats. There is always work to do, earlier I gave Amanda a driving lesson I want her to lose her fear of driving; we drove in the parking lot at the train station and on the street which was quiet. Last night Amanda wanted to talk to Ali so I went to bed with Bella. Our sleeping patterns have changed since she came home from the hospital. The event was traumatic and something we never want to experience again. One of my worst fears came true that day, I never wanted to see anyone have a seizure, the fact they are not in control and appear possessed…Bella is fine, since she takes Keppra regularly. The neurologist said her epilepsy will go away as she ages, most likely in a couple of years she will not have any more seizures. They occur when she is sleeping and this is the reason why either Ali or myself sleeps with her. Most nights Ali falls asleep, taking her to bed so she is in the darkened bedroom by 9:30. There is no TV. When they were younger I would slowly rub their eyebrows till they would fall asleep and last night proved the same. The problem occurs when Ali or myself, come into the bed, there is not enough room in our queen for all of us. Last night I woke up a few times and finally at 3:30, came down to the living room for a few more hours of sleep. It was a broken sleep, interspersed with dreams which I don’t recall, one was a nightmare which I thought would make a good Stephen King novel, but it’s lost in my memories. Around seven I got out of the bed and went into the kitchen to make a pot of coffee. I went outside, the air was foggy like my mind, the ground was moist and cool, I picked up the paper and went back in, not that any of my neighbors saw me, but I took in the sparse winter trees, the thick fog and heard a faint bird. Sunday mornings are somewhat hectic, today Emma was reading the first of advent services and will be reading at each consecutive Sunday, what does advent mean? The fact Jesus is coming. Our morning message was by Reverend Elaine and it was powerful, how we can call out for God and we’re not sure if he is there, how we get caught up in the busy holiday season and lose that inner voice that still is seeking…I was struck with when she referred to a theologian, whose name I don’t recall, that is was good to mourn, that if we don’t mourn we project a bitterness and hatred on the world. After the service I walked through the woods, smelled the sweet warm leaves and headed to the beach. It was mild enough for a stroll, a young couple with a black lab walked up from the woods and we greeted each other, the dog sniffed in my direction without a care assuming correctly I was not a threat. I took some pictures and appreciated the silence of the water. The wind was light and I meditated for close to twenty minutes, I sat in a lotus position on a washed up tree, the water barely broke into the shore, the tide crept into the grass carrying small fish and a light milky froth. My intention was to call out to God, why does my wife have to battle cancer? Why does my youngest daughter have epilepsy, instead I used my breath, let those thoughts pass and breathed in with my tongue on the roof of my mouth. What journey are we on? When will I learn some of the answers? Ali is going to chemo tomorrow. I hope to take the train and get to work on-time. I’m planning to go to Pennsylvania on Wednesday and hope to make it there…the last time I attempted a trip Bella was taken by an ambulance to the hospital.
“Our life is an endless journey; it is like a broad highway that extends infinitely into the distance. The practice of meditation provides a vehicle to travel on that road. Our journey consists of constant ups and downs, hope and fear, but it is a good journey. The practice of mediation allows us to experience all the textures of the roadway, which is what the journey is all about. Through the practice of meditation, we begin to find that, within ourselves, there is no fundamental complaint about anything or anyone at all.” Discovering Basic Goodness by Chogyam Trungpa

We Were Promised Jetpacks Webster Hall 10 30 11 set list

10/31/11 Happy Halloween you bastards
Yesterday afternoon Amanda was checking the site for We Were Promised Jetpacks, which is her favorite band. She knew for the past few weeks they were playing in New York. She told me they were playing at Webster Hall that night. For the record, I took Emma Tess to more concerts; the last was 30 Seconds to Mars in Boston last May. Recently I bought Emma Tess a gold ticket for 30 Seconds since the band offers their rampant fans the chance to meet them for a steep price. What a scam for a corporate band. I don’t care to divulge how much I paid a horrible arrogant actor, but when Amanda said tickets were available to We Were Promised… and they were only $20, I said I’d take her. You want to go, let’s go. She wasn’t sure if she should go, this was her nerves talking, telling her to be nervous and stay nervous and stay home. When I was her age, I dreamed of seeing a show. When Emma agreed to join us, Amanda was excited. Since it was later that night, I had time for a decent run down to the beach and back. It was an opportunity to be alone and delve into my thoughts. After a shower and an early dinner we headed into the city. We were early, so instead of going in, we walked around lower Broadway. Saw Astor haircutters where I got one short cut when attending Purchase College twenty five years ago. It was cold last night. Emma wore a skirt so we headed into Webster Hall as Bear Hands was playing. Up old cracked white marble steps and into the expansive hall which had an ornate ceiling with a balcony where the sound board was. A large pentagram dangled over the stage, goodness knows it was for Halloween. A large bar was in the back. Off to one side of the venue was a long table where you could buy a t-shirt and CD’s…on the opposite side, was another bar and a small store where I bought three pairs of ear plugs. I bought a beer and listened to Bear Hands, thought they were a strong band till they got carried away with the shit synth pop sound and they lost me. I had the same reaction with the second opening band, Royal Bang who hit the stage with a in your face kick ass, but fizzled to a Southern drawl by their last song. So much hope. I will be honest, I didn’t know what to expect when We Were Promised Jetpacks. Based on the two previous bands, they’d have a synthesizer, a guitar player and drummer…so I was surprised when the young Scots casually walked out on the stage and kicked fucking ass. Each song was like a tidal wave that crashed into the audience and then washed over any of my doubts. Their lyrics were sung back to them with intoxicated slurred words, loose limbs and exuberance. Their singer had a bashful smile, nodded and we all knew what he was thinking, “Shit, they know my words.”
Based on the play list that Emma caught after the bassist threw his list into the crowd - this is what we heard:
Circles & Squares
Quiet Little Voices
Medicine
Picture of Health
Roll up your Sleeves
Keeping Warm
Dirt and Gravel
This is my house, this is my home
Boy in the backseat
Sore Thumb
Human Error
Ships with holes will sink
Pear Tree
It’s Thunder and Lightning
We Were Promised Jet Packs can make its genuine mark on the scene, if they continue to search for their original sound. It’s a daunting task, but this band is poised to become one of the best. Keep an eye on them and see them before they charge ridiculous fees. I heard fragments of Bloc Party, U2 and another band from my generation, Big Country, since they had a large sound that thundered the walls in Webster Hall. The singer, Adam Thompson has an incredible trained voice with a perfect pitch. The way he stood back as his voice became faint sounded like a distant scream. His lyrics touched on his experiences and drew me in. I think I found the band I was searching for and for an old fart like me it feels good to discover a new sound as well as the relief to know there are bands making good music without shit synth pop or posing for the cameras. This band has what it takes, they can bridge generations....

The jayHawks at The Beacon 10/21/11

10/21/11 18:07
In a little while I will be up at the local high school for the homecoming game, soon they will start the bon fire and burn the effigies of Qaddafi and Bin Laden. Not so. That was a joke. Last night I saw the JayHawks with Erik. It was the spur of the moment event. Each time I hear the band on WFUV, I’m curious if they’re coming around. So, I bought tickets. I don’t know the history of the band. I know they broke up and are back together. The original line up played the Beacon. I think that's what we saw. The opening act was Roseanne Cash which I have to report we missed. Traffic on the 59th St Bridge crawled into the city. The bridge is free, saves $9 in tolls. We found a spot on the street, saving $27. These amounts floated in my head since I shelled out $100 for the two tickets though Erik drove and he said he’d pay me back. For dinner we splurged and bought a Recession Meal ($5) at Papaya King, 2 hot dogs and Papaya juice and headed up to get into the theatre. There were scalpers outside. The show was not sold out. One was ready to give us two tickets for the price of one. Next time I may scalp. The crowd was older than I thought. The venue was ornate. The last time I was in the Beacon was to see REM on their Little America tour for their second album, Reckoning. Erick bought two beers, $17 and we went in. The band wasn’t on yet. The crowd was better dressed than us, the middle aged woman were - beautiful - in dresses, men in sports jackets and we stood there in our sweat jackets and scruffy hair. We took our seats after I bought a round for us. The stage was sparse, no back drop, just the stage lights. A drunkish gentlemen sitting next to me asked, “What’s your favorite JayHawks song?” I don’t know any. Here’s the deal, I have this fear of being put on the spot like that. Reminds me when I was in 8th grade and hanging out with Bob Pelton at the pizzeria in East Northport, MaMa Jean’s II. We don’t know where the first one was. This girl came up to me, some hippie chick who was in a grade older than me and asks, “What’s your favorite band?” I don’t know why but I wanted to impress her and I said, “Led Zeppelin.” I guess this was the answer everyone in the place was giving her so she wanted some validation - I knew what the fuck I was talking about. This brings me back to drunk fuck sitting next to me. She asked me all of these decades before, “What’s your favorite song by Zep and don’t say Stairway to Heaven.” It was the only sing I knew the title of. She pointed her finger at me as if she knew I was talking shit. I said nothing back to her. Should have asked her why she wanted to know. Why do you care? If I was 46 back then I may have: instead of getting embarrassed -when she asked me who my favorite band was. If I was honest and said, Boston and their song Don’t Look Back it would have been a closed door case. I was the ass and I was an ass last night since I fumbled out, “Ah, I don’t know any titles…I like what I hear on WFUV. I think they sound cool, sort of like Big Star.” Drunk fuck had a blank look on his face and said slowly, “I like their song, Blue.” I nodded and turned my attention back to Erik. Here’s the review for the show. Good. Most of the songs were off their new CD, which I’m listening to as I’m typing – the song Stand Out In the Rain “Where you going all alone…were you gone.” It was beautiful, since the lyrics brought me back to a distant moment when I was in the rain with an old girlfriend. They have a sort of Neal Young twist as well. They played High Water Blues with the singer removing his guitar and holding the mic and appearing so awkward, like when a teacher performs with his teachers band in front of the students at the school's variety show. He danced a little, and knew he couldn’t dance and then kept his attention on their keyboardist who would reassure him with a slight smile from her lips. It’s alright honey, just go back to the guitar. No, please don’t pump your fist…oh, there you…go. Since I’m not a huge fan and there were at least twelve huge fans in the audience, who waited after the show for some of the members to sign their CD, I felt like I was wrapped in a sort of distant quasi culture. I’m curious to learn more about the musicians. The drummer sang lead on one song and was in perfect harmony with the lead guitarist. After the show we crawled back on the 59th bridge back to Queens, and I made it home this morning like a rock star at 2:30. The college kids at corner house were holding a huge party, but I put a end to it with a call to the cops since I wasn’t going to confront fifty drunk college kids and their plastic cups filled with warm beer. The cops came and silence rose into the night for some sleep before the sun rose over our house.

X kicked ass at Irving Plaza 10/1/11

Around 6 I headed into the city. I picked up some cash and Gatorade at CVS. The doors opened at Irving Plaza at 7, so I didn’t want to be too early. I bought a VIP ticket and was told I could either go upstairs and stand behind the sound board or go anywhere I wanted. After the show I could pick up my VIP poster. The movie Decline of the Western Civilization was on the screen, getting the crowd into the time frame, 1983? Ray Manzarek who produced X's first three albums and who played keyboard for The Doors actually looked young, but of course when I watched the movie (if I did back when it first came out) he was an old man. I assume he was in his forties. The movie was clips of interviews and live shows of the early X. A record executive described how the majors snubbed them, since they were not polished enough compared to Journey and The Doobie Brothers. But this was their saga, not being recognized by the main stream radio, barely mentioned as punk since they played sort of a spastic country and western, rooted rock. The radio played more Brit bands than American like The Blasters and Mats, or dare mention Black Flag, Husker Du. But we were proud of this and raised the underground banner when telling anyone what bands we were into. As the movie played, their songs Johnny Hit and Run, I Must Not Think Bad Thoughts, Lonely Wolf, were cheered. The movie was over the screen was pulled up after ten minutes and the band hit the stage. Back in the late 80’s I saw X play in Sag Harbor (Long Island) at Bay Streets, they opened for Warren Zevon. Exene was pregnant, and Billy Zoom was a memory, so I felt as if I didn’t see the whole band. Their guitarist at that time was great, but seeing the original band is like grasping history. I’ve waited to see them for a couple of years, since Billy Zoom was back. I checked their web site and was excited to see they were playing two nights in NYC. I stood upstairs in the balcony, sort of packed in and was amazed how tight they were. Exene wore a black dress, she has been ill. It looked as she lost weight. She drank a couple of beers. Her voice strained, which is normal for her at times and I would wonder what she was contemplating as she looked up at the ceiling in the venue. Is this place any different, maybe the chandeliers are a nice touch of elegance. John Doe had so much energy and actually jumped a few times and came close to the edge of the stage. Billy Zoom Stood in his spot, smiled softly and rarely looked at his fingers as he raced up and down the neck of his guitar, like a possessed child who is racing with the anticipation. He’d shake his hands as if they were either numb or cold. Both he and BJ were smiling at one another, when they came out for the encore, BJ blocked Billy from taking his spot, it was nice to see the sense of humor. I drank two beers, took off my sweatshirt. Each song was tapped by BJ and they’d hit it. Each song, tap tap tap….there was little wasted time and still so many songs could have been played. The crowd was into it, although a tweet from the band earlier that night said tickets were still available. I asked myself what the fuck? This should be sold out. What the fuck? Why not listen to X as much as possible since their music contains the harrowing emotions that kick all of the ass I need to.

I grew old with REM

The Beatles broke up in 1971, we sat in the back seat without seat belts, and Ma was driving my dad’s 1969 faint yellow Chevy Nova on Jericho Turnpike in Huntington. The news broke that the band was calling it quits. Why?
Yesterday by habit, I checked Twitter and saw the NPR release after REM’s…calling it quits. I had to tell Ali and I dreaded it. It’s been a tough week, on Monday the doctors found a near fatal blood clot in her lung. She’s doing fine, had therapy today. On Tuesday night she told me this week sucked and yesterday, Wednesday, her favorite band breaks up.
The first time I saw REM was back in 1983 on MTV’s 120 minutes, the song was Radio Free Europe. It was a black and white and a rare appearance from Reverend Finster made the video mythical. In Rolling Stone there was a small piece on them, the fact they came from the same town as the B-52’s Athens GA. I walked more than ten miles to buy the IRS album, Murmur and their music changed my life. The lyrics, whatever martyr misconstrue meant and 9-9, Talk About the Passion, the album was not just one song which I heard before, it was the whole product. Eventually I saw them as one of the opening acts for The Police at Shea Stadium on August 18 that year. I remember the rain and hiding under a tarp in the outfield and clearly being one of the few in the crowd who knew the music. I grew up with the band. Eventually interviewing them for the high school radio station and seeing them perform at a local roller skating rink, the beacon, Nassau coliseum, Radio City Music Hall, Carnegie Hall, Madison Square Garden, and up in Massachusetts on their last tour. Last night Ali and I were discussing the fact we may never see the band again, but we have so many memories, of meeting the band back stage at Jones Beach and outside Carnegie Hall. I even wrote a novel using the lyrics from Mr. Richards and dedicated Killer Commute to the old dinosaurs from Athens. We passed our love of the band to our children who know their music as well as we do. We made the trip to Athens and have bought the rare and limited editions. We have a used drum head from Bill Berry from the Monster tour. We have all of these things, but the music will live on. Thank you for being together as long as you had, I can say we grew old together. I wish them the best in their own ambitions, and I hope there will be some benefit concerts in the future. There has to be more shows…right? I guess I can hope. On a personal level, the music has inspired our lives, as my wife beats cancer their song. Walk Unafraid is our anthem.

Thank you for reading this

Review of Henry Rollins Smile, You're Traveling

Smile, You’re Traveling by Henry Rollins was the third installment in his Black Coffee Blues, which included Black Coffee Blues and Do I come Here Often? I feel this book was the strongest in the trio. It begins with the ending of a Rollins Band tour and Henry making plans to visit Kenya - since he has thousands of frequent flyer miles. The boldness of travelling alone is inspiring in itself, but the fact Rollins captures his intense moods, the cities, the various people, is well documented. The book captured my attention. It is one I could not put down. What’s disturbing is his realization the band is finished. The audiences are not coming out to see the band, and it’s not just in the States, but in Japan as well. Japan? In Eastern Europe he packs them in. You can read the transition and the anger growing and blowing out as the tour winds up. He is a conflict of interests. One sentence he seems not to care the crowd is minimal and the other he is hurling back beer cans and threats to the idiots. There is the sense of frustration since he is upset comparing his band and himself to the success of Beck and Oasis, poser bands…posers. Fake. They all suck! The reality is his refusal to accept the audience he could count on - moved on. The kids he despises, who should be removed from airport terminals and from experiencing African vacations, are the by- products of his aging fans. HIs fans made life decisions and moved on with their lives. Henry at 35 plus ++ strives to be alone, successful in his own terms, and to be a star in an ungrateful way. Let me be clear, Rollins is genuine and a true to man. I have more respect for him now than I had before, since beyond all of his internal bickering, he suffers from depression. He doesn’t let it stop him. His voice gives out a couple of times in the tour and he had to cancel one gig in Germany, but he feels awful to see the fans come to the venue and turn away after they learn the show was cancelled. He interviews Black Sabbath and Ozzy individually and watches them practice and thinks of his departed friend Joe Cole. Henry was genuinely excited to see Sabbath. He was also excited and had his doubts he could write the liner notes for Jane’s Addiction’s live album. But, the tragic loss of Joe really has an obvious effect on Rollins since he doesn’t want to be friends with anyone, “I don’t want to like anyone too much because it’s just another thing that could be taken away from me.”