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September 22, 2005
* "Going home, via Chicago..."
The last two stops on the ND 10th- Anniversary tour -- before this weekend's four-night finale at Seattle's Sunset Tavern -- took us to two of the nation's three biggest cities, for some very different kinds of shows.
Wednesday September 14th, we were at the Mint in Los Angeles for a triple bill featuring Tom Freund, Grey DeLisle and Murry Hammond. Most of you probably know Murry best as the bass player for the Old 97's, one of the first bands we wrote about in No Depression's early years (and a participant in the one and only No Depression Tour in the spring of 1997). Murry moved out to LA a few years back when he married Grey, whose recent albums for Sugar Hill Records have established her as one of the most promising Americana artists of the past few years (when she's not keeping herself busy as a cartoon voice with the likes of Scooby Doo and Clifford The Big Red Dog). Murry plays in Grey's band as well -- along with Marvin Etzioni, whose unique approach to instrumentalism keeps DeLisle's music always a little skewed from the center. DeLisle certainly keeps both the outside and inside tracks in her periphery, as evidenced by her cover of Queen's "Bohemian Rhapsody": Yes, it's a song everyone knows, but no, it's hardly ordinary or mainstream by any stretch of musical definition. Grey brilliantly resurrects and reinvents the song with a sense of timeless retrogression that suggests it was written not in the 1970s but the 1870s (or maybe even the 1470s).
This night's show offered us the opportunity to see Hammond on his own as well, something he rarely does outside of his weekly church gig in Burbank. Maybe I shouldn't have been surprised by how good his set was; he is, after all, a very accomplished and seasoned player, performer and singer after more than a decade with the 97's. But not having seen him out front before, I didn't expect how utterly at ease he is in that context, and how effectively his voice carries the weight of the lead role. Alternating between guitar and harmonium, he delivered engaging renditions of original songs and old traditional tunes, plus a terrific turn on Julie Miller's "All My Tears" in which he played twelve-string as if guitar were his first instrument. Best of all, though, was his own "Valentine", from the 97's album Fight Songs, a perfectly constructed little gem that as good of a bittersweet ballad as anyone has written in the past ten years.
A good deal of this evening for me was about reconnecting with very special single songs, in fact. While Tom Freund won over the crowded Mint room with his back-and-forth blending of jazzy folk, pop and rock that often felt as much like beat poetry as it did a musical performance -- most notably on a riotous cover of the Beatles' "Revolution" with Etzioni sitting in -- the tune that hit home deeply with me was a Freund original called "Trondheim", the first song of his I ever heard. Tom had slipped me a demo tape back around maybe 1994, shortly after I'd met him when he was touring with the Silos; something about the song's haunting melody grabbed me from the start, and I realized as he played it at the Mint that it never really has let go. I finally made the connection that it comes across like the very best of Jimmy Webb's hits -- i.e., songs named after cities ("Wichita Lineman", "By The Time I Get To Phoenix", "Galveston") -- that possess enormous emotional power by the virtue of a beautiful chord change placed in precisely the right spot. On "Trondheim", it's in that opening guitar sequence: The first two chords set the stage with a melancholy mood, but it's the third chord that strikes deep into the soul. I'm not quite sure exactly how a musical note can so perfectly express and define the feeling of heartbreak -- but that's what it is, right there, spilling out of the song like a poet's tear-stained reflections on the lines of the page.
Friday September 16th, we celebrated with a couple of events in Chicago. On the heels of a very rainy Thursday night, the clouds suddenly parted on Friday afternoon as if by divine intervention and the skies were perfectly clear just as the Hideout Block Party got under way at about 7pm. As if that weren't enough, a full moon rose over the the downtown Chicago skyline on the horizon. It seems that someone up there was smiling on Hideout proprieters Katie & Tim Tuten, and it's no wonder, as they've been an invaluable presence for the roots-music scene in Chicago ever since they took over this tucked-away little bar many years ago and turned it into a haven for... well, "whatever that is." Their annual Block Party has become one of the locals' most eagerly anticipated events of the late summer; this was my first chance to find out why. Plain and simple, the Tutens know how to put on a great party, and the musicians come out to support the cause -- on this night, Autumn Defense, the Lamentations, Freakwater, and Devil In A Woodpile. As if I didn't feel at home enough among such welcoming company, suddenly legendary Texas agriculture commissioner Jim Hightower appeared, stumping for Sunday's Farm Aid concert just outside of town. All in all, a perfect way to spend a picturesque early evening.
Heading across town for the first of our two nights sponsoring Sufjan Stevens' shows at the Metro almost felt like cultural whiplash in some respects: Where the Hideout was laid-back, the Metro was at fever pitch, with eager fans stretching in a line down the block and around the corner awaiting their chance to jam into the venue. This is, after all, the home state of Stevens' new Illinois-themed album, and the locals turned out in droves to see Stevens and his Illini-cheerleading-outfit-clad cast of players lead the crowd through endearingly amusing cheers and a beautiful set of songs drawn largely from the album. Opener Laura Veirs (of Seattle) proved a fine choice to start things off, unassuming but utterly engaging with her indie-leaning folk-rock repertoire.
Saturday, it was finally time to return home. We hope those of you who could join us had a fine time at the shows, and that perhaps we'll see the Seattle folks this weekend at the Sunset -- Peter Case & Christy McWilson on Thursday; Raul Malo on Friday; Richmond Fontaine, Mike Coykendall and Norfolk & Western on Saturday; and the Waco Brothers' Bloodshot Revue on Sunday.
Or maybe we'll catch you in 2015, for a "20 Years / 20 Shows" bash. Maybe time to start planning that now....
adios,
peter
Posted by Peter at 12:09 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)
September 13, 2005
* "If it's Tuesday, this must be Los Angeles..."
The past week and a half has become a bit of a blur amid the whirlwind of 10th-anniversary activities we've hosted across the country so far. Many thanks to those of you who have come out to our events at Bumbershoot in Seattle, Waterloo Records and the Continental Club in Austin, Mercy Lounge/Cannery Ballroom in Nashville, Cat's Cradle in Chapel Hill, Quail Ridge Books in Raleigh, and the Regulator Bookshop in Durham.
We've sponsored Bumbershoot's Backyard Stage for several years now, but our show there on September 2 with Tift Merritt, Billy Joe Shaver, and Sarah Lee Guthrie & Johnny Irion was particularly special, serving as the kickoff for our "10 Years, 10 Shows" celebration. Hard to imagine that in 1995 at this time, we were just down the street at our friend Art Chantry's old studio on Western Avenue finishing up ND #1 (thanks, Art) -- and now we're able to present some of Americana's finest artists directly beneath the Space Needle (thanks, Bumbershoot). A most pleasant surprise for me was reconnecting with my cousin Greg Gunn, who I hadn't seen for 30-some years. Greg's the diving coach at Princeton University and happened to be visiting friends in Seattle; he went to the show not knowing I'd be there, till he saw me come out to introduce the acts. It was great to chat with many of our subscribers at our booth, but having Greg come over and say hello really made my weekend.
Visiting Austin on September 7 was another highlight for me. I grew up there in the '70s and '80s, and both Waterloo and the Continental figured heavily in my musical education. It occurred to me that although ND is celebrating its 10th anniversary, coming back to Austin in 2005 felt sorta like a 20-year milestone to me, because the summer of 1985 was when my world was changed forever by that city's vibrant music scene. Before then, I was pretty sure I wanted to be a sportswriter; but after a summer and fall of seeing countless shows by Zeitgeist, the True Believers, Doctors' Mob, the Wild Seeds, Glass Eye, Timbuk 3, the Commandos and others, my journalistic ambitions turned toward a different road. I don't think, though, that I ever imagined I'd be returning two decades later to find my own name on a welcoming-banner at my all-time favorite record store. My sincere appreciation to John Kunz and all the Waterloo folks, and everyone who came out to the Continental later that night, for helping me (to quote a song-title from Charlie Sexton's new disc) "Bring It Home Again."
Off to Nashville the next morning; hadn't quite done the math to figure out that a show till 2am and an 8am flight meant I'd get approximately 3 hours of sleep. Running on adrenaline was enough to get me through the afternoon, and in the evening, our 10th-anniversary show at the Mercy Lounge/Cannery Ballroom overflowed with such an amazing array of talent that it was hard to imagine it had all happened on one night's bill. By the time the one-two-three-four upstairs/downstairs flurry of Marty Stuart, Solomon Burke, the Knitters and Buddy Miller had finished things off, it might've been easy to forget what had come before -- except that there had also been stellar sets from Bobby Bare, Elizabeth Cook, and the Avett Brothers. (I was particularly impressed that at least three or four people stopped me the next day to say how much they'd enjoyed the Avetts, who apparently made a strong enough impression as the opener to linger in the memories of many folks even after the onslaught that followed them.)
After another day in Nashville for the Americana Music Association Awards -- the first to be held at the Ryman, which made for a very special evening (highlighted by Marty Stuart's touching Lifetime Achievement Award acceptance speech, and New/Emerging Artist winner Mary Gauthier's exquisite rendition of "Mercy Now" with a Buddy Miller-led supporting cast), it was off to North Carolina -- another homecoming of sorts, as I'd lived there for four years before returning to the Seattle area in 2004. Putting together our show at Cat's Cradle in Chapel Hill was relatively simple, thanks to the abundance of talented acts who call the Triangle area home. It had been awhile since I'd seen the Two Dollar Pistols; their performance served as a strong reminder of just how admirably they carry the honky-tonk and country-soul torch. By contrast, I'd seen Caitlin Cary just one night earlier, dueting with Thad Cockrell at the AMA convention; her set with Tres Chicas included a slew of new songs from what looks to be one of next year's most anticipated albums. Chris Stamey turned in his own typically engaging set, and also was responsible for suggesting the night's opening act, Sally Spring, whose beautiful vocals were supported by an A-list band including the great Graham Maby on bass. (I confess I also kept an eye on the big-screen TV in the back room from time to time, elated to find at the end of the night that my alma mater Texas had beaten Ohio State.)
Sunday and Monday provided my wife Lisa and I some time to visit with her family and with some of our closest friends -- most notably David Menconi, who joined me for book-reading events at Quail Ridge and the Regulator to promote The Best Of No Depression: Writing About American Music, a new anthology on University Of Texas Press. David and I first met in 1987 and had been through many adventures long before No Depression ever got off the ground, some of which he humorously recounted from the podium at the bookstores. His ease in front of an audience -- compared to my general nervousness -- made me envious the first night but inspired me to do better on the next one. Fortunately we also had first-rate musical guests at both events: Kenny Roby entertained in Raleigh, tossing in a brilliant Doug Sahm medley to cap the proceedings, while Tres Chicas expanded to Quatro Chicas in Durham when Tonya Lamm's daughter Sofia joined in on harmonies with Tonya, Caitlin, and Lynn Blakey. (Lynn, by the way, just might be the best female singer in Americana today. Yes, she's that talented.)
Tuesday brought another early-morning flight, this time back across the country to Los Angeles. A transfer in Nashville brought a chance encounter with guitarist/songwriter Duane Jarvis, who happened also to be L.A. bound on the same Southwest Airlines flight. The mountains and the rivers and the plains and finally the vast Mojave desert stretched across the landscape as our jet zoomed from horizon to horizon. We talked about the the placed we'd been recently, the precarious state of our nation, and, of course, music -- including the Wednesday ND 10th-Anniversary show at L.A. club the Mint with Tom Freund, Grey DeLisle and Murry Hammond. Thursday, it's on to Chicago for shows at the Metro with Sufjan Stevens (Friday-Saturday 16-17) and the Hideout Block Party with Freakwater, Autumn Defense, the Lamentations and Devil In A Woodpile (Friday 16). Maybe we'll see you there.
adios,
peter
Posted by Peter at 11:53 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)
September 5, 2005
* "We used to walk down by the river..."
The song that keeps playing in my mind these days is an old favorite, from one of my favorite old albums...yet Lucinda Williams' "Crescent City" never made me feel quite like this before. It's one of those beautifully innocent little tunes on her 1988 self-titled album, a simple and carefree celebration of a town that has served as a sort of musical and cultural haven for the country over the years, decades, centuries.
It's not a city I know very well personally; I've only been there once, 15-20 years ago, and my memories of New Orleans have faded since then. But its significance to America looms indelible, undeniable, and all the more obvious in the wake of Hurricane Katrina's destruction and the subsequent humanitarian debacles. It feels like we're going to be discovering how much we've lost for quite a long time into the future.
For now, just listening again to Lucinda's song, rolling along sweetly on the breezes of fiddles and guitars, is enough to personify the sound of heartbreak. "I'm going back to the Crescent City, where everything's still the same," she sings... and of course it isn't, anymore. May it someday be what it was, again.
adios,
peter
Posted by Peter at 7:20 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)