...to the gut

My summer concert series kicked off Friday night with The Punch Brothers at the 9:30 Club. Lord, I was tired but the show’s vibe made up for the long day. The deal with these five musicians, as one, is that instead of feeling as if they are pushing something out at the crowd instead they are pulling us along – something that’s never happened at shows I’ve attended. For the first haIf dozen songs you felt like the band was climbing a mountain and we were along for the ride, and the back side roll was going to be something. The Brothers were loaded from the get-go with Chris Thile letting the crowd know how long he’d waited to bring “this band to this club.” The music, including an early 9-10 minutes instrumental, was stunning – how five guys can create such a din is beyond me. This band is tight – and at least 10x better live than on CD; and the CD is exceptional. Their ability to move easily between classic bluegrass and some version of a pop/jam band is a thing of beauty; pure and simple talent. Having a chance to see this pinnacle of the decade long re-mapping of young string bands made for quite an evening. Well done to the band. I’m ecstatic to have seen them in a club before the onslaught of bigger shows over the coming years. Based on what I’ve seen with this new generation of bands the growth of fans and venues will be exponential; nothing but festivals on the docket for the coming summer and autumn.

In a rare confluence of events (if you know my background feelings about 9:30 shows), the crowd was the best I’ve experienced there, and the sound was impeccable. Between the band and the house system they perfectly balanced all the instruments and vocals which seems to happen only once every ten shows. Also, the club has taken to allowing the first 30 or so patrons into the basement bar and then letting us in at door time before the rest of the folks lined up outside. I got there about an hour before doors, had a beer, and cleared with the guy at the ‘front/stairs’ that I was heading up to the upper bar and a stool whist he was going for the center of the stage – always declare intentions. We were both happy with the outcome.

The only downside? I got hit was a 2 x 18 on the way home: a full 18-minute wait for the Green Line at Cardozo, followed by another full 18 at L’enfant Plaza. Sometimes you get a kick in the teeth, sometimes it doesn’t even hurt.

freeze

I’ve changed my opinion on guns over the last few years. There was a time when I wanted all handguns banned; if you have a handgun and you aren’t law enforcement then you are arrested. What to do about shotguns and rifles used for sport? I didn’t know then, and I don’t know now; that’s another issue. The change I’ve made is this: if you feel you need a gun in your house for protection then I’m okay with that idea. If you want 50 guns in your house, have at it. I’d rather not feel that way but I’ve been convinced. What I don’t want are handguns outside your house. Period. You may feel that you are skilled enough to judge when to pull out a gun and shoot someone – but you are wrong; more than likely you are wrong 99.99% of the time. More guns, even inside your own home, are the worst possible answer to the problem, but it doesn’t seem like common sense will prevail. If you want guns in your house then I can avoid an encounter with you and your arsenal by not going into your house. As a favor to me and society, don’t bring you guns to the village green. I’ll take my chances with the criminals. That’s all I have to say on that.

i'll need you to rip that shit out

The week kicked off with my use of ‘traffic cones’ in the morning meeting, “It seems the only traffic cones that might present a problem are…” We’ll give it a bit of time to percolate and see what kind of run it gets by end of the week.

I also reconfigured my cube to a standup desk fashion runway. Down to one massive monitor and a purpose-built riser that moves everything up to my level – it’s like I’m a circus clown around here. I’ve already ordered an ergo mat for the floor so that will only add to the curiosity of others. I’ve decided there are too many people I’d like to be around for awhile, and dying of a heart attack because I sat on my arse for years would, quite frankly, be embarrassing.

Over the weekend we moved forward with stripping a 6 x 40 (?) foot area from the front of the yard; it’s now garden in a near complete state. The issue was getting rid of the grass before turning the rock hard Virginia clay with leaf mold. The old timey method involves me, a spade, and twelve hours of my time. The less old timey way involves the use of this:


Now, that guy is overdressed for the job; and that hair is something. I actually think the ‘sod cutter’ label is in the wrong place – that should be pointed at dude’s head. You know that happens without guy to kick that damn thing around the yard? Nothing. It’s wood and metal. It’s parts. Unfortunately, the gas powered beast wouldn’t fit in the Merc wagon so me and the rental tool staff were laughing about how much work I had ahead of me on a lovely Saturday. Funny. While my dear was completing the paperwork for the enhanced sod removal device, a landscaper (with a truck) walks in and volunteers to bring the real thing to the house, gratis. And pick it up. And give us about $50 of high-quality mulch. I don’t know how she does it. I asked him if this tool/lawn/nice guy thing was his chosen superhero trait. Makes you hope for society, doesn’t it. Anyway, I ended up with something like this instead, which took about 40 minutes of my time to clear the desired area:


I don’t want you to get any ideas in your head about this being simple. Running this beast, with my little experience, sort of feels like this:


I got my eight seconds and called it a day.

(Speaking of me and machinary or mechanics, if you haven't heard my story on changing the oil on my Geo Metro, circa 1998, you might not understand.)

The front yard, with my lovely gardeness working endless hours, is looking very nice. I’ll get a picture tonight.

i heard them all

This will be my last music entry for awhile; for some reason I’ve been in my music backyard for a few weeks and that’s what you end up hearing about. (Sorry, "Dan".)

A short story: as we all know, Old Crow Medicine Show has been a part of my life for about eight years. I stumbled upon them, literally, on the Sunday of Hardly Strictly Bluegrass back in 2004. I was camped out at the Arrow Stage holding for Gillian Welch later in the day. OCMS came out third that day and I was hooked – in fact, when they started playing the then unknown-ish Wagon Wheel, the hundred around the stage went a bit mental. I saw them again about six weeks later at the Borderline in London with X – the best live show I’ve ever seen; man, I loved those guys. I’ve seen them since (twice in D.C. and once more in S.F. at the Great American Music Hall) and it’s never quite held up to those first two experiences. Probably never could have. I’ve got all the albums, I love the songs, but eventually you move on. The band has changed significantly in the last year or so and they aren’t the same live – at least not what I’ve seen.

Last month at the memorial concert for Warren Hellman, who founded and graciously paid for Hardly Strictly Bluegrass every year, they played a number of songs and it was all quite hallow. Maybe it was the crowd, maybe the event, maybe…I don’t know. I’m not sure of the rock n’ roll break-up story behind the recent changes, nor does it matter, but they aren’t the same. What immediately came to my mind was a blurb in the liner notes to a fantastic album of my younger days, Billy’s Live Bait by the Gear Daddies (also a massive favorite of mine). Critic Jim Walsh, who I think wrote for the St. Paul paper back then, wrote this about the end of the Gear Daddies, “For as long as I live, I will never, ever love a band the way I love the Gear Daddies.” I kind of feel that way about the Crows even though it’s my time to move along.

pivot

I am so tired of mindless meeting speak. Most of my co-workers know this fact because of how much I laugh and rail at their attempts at fitting in with pathetic vocabulary. Every single person here works this amateur vocabulary into everything they say. In this job a lot of the vernacular comes from the military but there are enough non-military folks that oftentimes business lingo hops over the moat. Yesterday morning, in a two sentence opening by one person, I wrote down the following phrases: pillars, stovepipes, lanes of the road, fidelity, cart/horse, and show the math. Stunning. I’ve been particularly harsh on the users (and it’s everyone) of “lanes of the road,” it may be the most overused phrase since “it is what it is.” Which, by the way, makes you sound like a moron.

My game for the next month is to try to get everyone using crazy terms that I’m going to simply pull from (almost) thin air: One phrase per week that I’ll use at least once a day in our various meetings and strolling discussions. I’ll have to be careful because anything too random will signal to the lemmings that it’s not a serious phrase. At the same time, it has to have some pull to those unable to actually speak normally; my first thought was to try out ‘widdershins’* but I don’t think it’ll do anything but make people wonder, “Right, I see your point, but let’s go widdershins around the table. Bob?” I think I’ll have to grab an idea from the world of traffic and somehow make it work, I'm contemplating some version of either 'on ramp' or 'off ramp'.

Any suggestions are welcome.

*** I'd never heard of, or used, widdershins until X brought it up last week. Fantastic word.

my mates

I’ve been listening to Mountaintop for many months. I must have first hit upon Mates of State about 7 or 8 years while wandering around in San Francisco and buying CDs at Amoeba. With the weather turning warm and windows dying to be opened, the Mates are as good a reason as any to turn up the volume and enjoy the weather. They also remind me, often, of just why I love good pop music so much – my kind of pop music, not Mr. Bieber. I didn’t know which video to give you, so you get both. Who knew they were on Letterman last year? And, if they come over for an intimate dinner party they can play like they do at the Tiny Desk Concert. Oooohhh ooohhh ooooohhh ooohhhh, ooohhh ooohhh ooohhh…

hitler

I don't know what to say. I glanced at my cutting board and there sat morels, garlic, and shallots. What to do? In the voice of an Englishman, "that's a nice risotto." Damn if it ain't. Add some butter around, a dash of argen oil (handcarried back from Morocco by my killer barber!), salt, black pepper, a dash of Saint Angel cheese, and we will be lovers. Actually, I haven't tasted it yet; holding while X whips up a sorrel soup. She's so lovely. We obviously hit the farmers market this morning and the damn greens are exploding, as we like this time of year: sorrel, rainbow chard, spinach, ramps (ramps! they will go on pizza tomorrow night), chives, garlic greens...stunning. The best bit of the stroll was my stop at the mushroom guy; I walked into the midst of a discussion of morels, "a bit early for morels in this area, isn't it?" asked the sly man at the table. "Not really, I might question that," the seller replied. To which the buyer queried, "Well, where did you find them?" (Everyone steps back.) You don't ask a man that...ever. It was quite a parry because one of two things was in play: an innocent question which intended no theft, or a valiant attempt to discover the cache of morels in northern Virginia - a pirate move. No quarter. My mushroom man laughed at the Captain Black attempt and merely continued regaling us with his find of "maybe a pound, a bit more. Nothing like the 30 or 40 pounds a good find in the Midwest might provide." I snatched my basket like that weird little fuck in Lord of the Rings grabs the ring, and headed off for the fresh eggs and yoghurt.

There's a kid's homework assignment sitting at this computer desk as I type: "Collage of Adolf Hitler, Chancellor of Germany." I have a few questions before we continue. First, a collage? I don't think anyone puts Hitler and collage together, ever. "Dear Adolf, I'm sorry I couldn't make it there for the Holidays. But, I've created this lovely collage for you..." Is that off-base? Also, most people don't use the phrase "Chancellor of Germany" when discussing Adolf Hitler. Let's do a mental game; I say Adolf Hitler and you say what? I'll bet it's not, "Oh wait, the Chancellor of Germany?"

The weather is fine. A massive home-buying-spring-cleaning is ongoing. Two kids return tomorrow morning: I don't know which two.

Justin Earle has bypassed his father's talent. I think I might have pointed this out before, but if not, I do so now. The new album, clocking in at ten songs and thirty minutes, is fantastic.

Happy Easter to all. I hid some eggs in your backyard...go find them.

you May

I have no idea why Spring is the hot-Toddy tour time in this area. Maybe spring is simply when artists hit the road in unheated, dilapidated vans so it’s the same everywhere else. I’m not sure I can make it all work but it appears as if I’ve hit the jackpot for shows in May. I’ve got all my bases covered with the following: Frank Solivan and Dirty Kitchen; Justin Townes Earle; The Polyphonic Spree; and Chuck Prophet and the Mission Express. In late April there is the Punch Brothers, and in early June I’ve got Dawes. The whole mess is a spectrum from bluegrass through Americana, bombastic pop, rock n’ roll, and California dreaming. This may all be make up for two years of classes and little time at night. I won’t regale you with full-on links from here, but you can wander off at your own discretion.

Frank Solivan and Dirty Kitchen (p.s. Frank is also a chef and will come to your house, cook a massive one-pot for 50, and then play a set. Dreams.) doing an after-dinner gig in the living room.

JTE doing Mama’s Eyes live, which I’ve posted before.

Chuck Prophet and Mission Express doing his latest, also live at KEXP.

The Polyphonic Spree doing Hold Me Now. They are gigging at the historic Sixth & I Synagogue – it’ll be fantastic.

The Punch Brothers messing with Radiohead’s Kid A and then rolling into Wayside.

Dawes doing When My Time Comes.

ExtraExtra!!!!

The drive down to Warm Springs on Saturday afternoon was scenic. It was also long and convoluted. The GPS (“Eddie”) was programmed to the Warm Springs city center but instead dumped us out in the wilds of Bath county about 20 miles north of the town. I had my suspicions when Eddie routed us straight west after passing Harrisionburg – therefore bypassing Staunton, VA, which had been a landmark – and sending the new Donner party up and over Highland county. At said dumping point, the Eleven quickly decided to access the World and determine our best route to our vacation getaway. What’s that you say? No 3G coverage out here? Fine, pull up the Google/live traffic enabled GPS and we’ll be gold. No reception out here? Fine, get the map. What? No. Map.

(AP) Harrisonburg, VA – Virginia State Police report they have located two lost Northern Virginia liberal voters in the area surrounding the lower Allegheny Mountains in northwest Virginia. After reports that they hadn’t e-mailed or texted anyone for over two hours, the State Police dispatched a search team that included one vehicle, one trooper, a map, a sandwich, and large WaWa coffee. Sgt. Deke Slaton described the search as simple, “We were told they were heading down toward Warm Springs for two nights at some posh inn that apparently delivers breakfast to your room in a picnic basket. I don’t know how that works, but warm scones and coffee in bed doesn’t sound half bad.” Sgt. Slaton decided that the best search pattern was to head due south along State Highway 220 from his office in Monterey, VA, “The way I figured it, “ said Slaton, “the cell service is dead between Monterey and Hot Springs so the natural place to hunt for these yahoos was along 622 where outdoor types tend to fish and hunt.” After about six miles Slaton located the 2001 Gold Mercedes E320 parked on the side of the road. The vacationers were shaken, but safe, having just finished the last of their carrot and yoghurt meze, simits, and a split sparkling lemon soda. “They were in the process of figuring out what they were going to do next when I came upon them,” Slaton reported. “Frankly, it was a little embarrassing. They seemed to be walking around holding their iPhones in the air. The woman was picking flowers and complaining how there was no way that the 1.9Ghz towers weren’t able to hit the phone. There was some other blather about backhaul. The guy was rambling on about how high-speed rail should be built in the area and something about timetables and poor planning by the localities. Anyhow, I gave them half of my sandwich and told them to drive five more miles and they’d be at the Inn. They had ¾ of tank of gas so I’m not really certain why they were concerned.” The couple was reported to have checked into their hotel about 15 minutes later. They were napping five minutes later.

The weekend went swimmingly. We spent two nights out yonder so the driving was well space out over the three days. We did accidentally stumble into an artist/co-op/studio on Sunday morning that hit X over the head and took her wallet. I, as the strong boyfriend, defended her by carrying all the loot to the car.

We are back home; all the kids are gone. The peace of two adults and one mewling cat…