BETH ORTON
Danforth Music Hall (Toronto, ON)
July 8, 2008

(NO DEPRESSION.NET) -- As Beth Orton took the stage at this aged and recently restored venue, a frightening thunderstorm was descending on Toronto, so it's tempting to resort to a bad pun and declare there was electricity in the air. But for at least a few anxious moments, it appeared the unleashed electricity might be more than metaphorical.

What at first looked like a delicate stage-lighting effect -- little descending sparkles captured by spotlights at stage rear -- quickly became evidence of a badly leaking roof over the proscenium. Torrents of water also slid under the front-of-house exits and crept toward the power cables along the floor as ushers nervously mopped up the mess.

Though she offered a blithe apology for a late start ("We've had a bit of a flood"), none of it seemed to rattle Orton, who appears determined that her current eight-date acoustic tour of Canada and the United States will push-start stalled promotional duties for her most recent record, 2006's Comfort Of Strangers. That sortie was interrupted when she discovered (upon her last visit to Toronto, as it turns out) that she was with child. Daughter Nancy is now 19 months old, and mother and daughter are able to spend short stints away from each other to permit the tour.

Seeing Orton in this format, with only multi-instrumentalist Rob Moose accompanying on guitar, mandolin, fiddle and piano, afforded an opportunity to observe the songwriter's work deconstructed, and to remark on what an unlikely route she has blazed in modern music. Having begun as a vocalist supporting electronica practitioners such as Red Snapper, William Orbit and Chemical Brothers, she has arrived as an example of British folk in the mode of Sandy Denny, Linda Thompson or Pentangle.

The early part of the two-set performance dwelt on studiously folkie Comfort Of Strangers material such as "Absinthe", "Heartland Truckstop", "Rectify" and "Conceived". But hearing "She Cries Your Name" and "Someone's Daughter" (from 1997's Trailer Park), as well as "Paris Train" (from 2002's Daybreaker), shorn of the trippy beats and weird keyboard noises, it became clear these songs were always strong enough to stand on their own. In fact, Orton's entire body of work, when presented in the acoustic format, sounds very much of a piece, whatever evolution she may have undergone in the studio.

Although she complained of voice problems and hit the odd clam accompanying herself on guitar, Orton seemed in uncommonly good humor and particularly took delight in skewering herself. At one point, she announced a family member was in the crowd, yet was left red-faced when it was clear the relative was a no-show; later, she asked the audience to check if she'd accidentally tucked her skirt into her underpants before coming onstage.

But when it came time to lean into her strongest material -- Comfort Of Strangers' "Heart Of Soul", Central Reservation's "Devil Song" and Daybreaker's "Carmella" -- she was more than up to the task. The crowd was pin-drop quiet during the songs, and Orton's voice, which catches and flutters in mesmerizing ways, rang out beautifully in this setting. Although her tantalizing offer to perform a brand-new song was sideswiped by an audience request for "Feel To Believe", the highlight of the night was her cover of Karen Dalton's "Katie Cruel" (a track she performed with Brit folk legend Bert Jansch on his recent album Black Swan). If there was any doubt about the depth of Orton's feel for the hardest of hardcore folk music, they were settled for good with this chilling rendition.

-- PAUL CANTIN
Copyright c. 2008 No Depression Inc. and/or Paul Cantin.

TWANGFEST
St. Louis, MO
June 4-7, 2008

(NO DEPRESSION.NET) -- So it turns out that this year's twelfth edition of Twangfest, the amazingly long-standing, grass-roots-built St. Louis roots and rock fest, was the first to take place in every one of the key venues in which it has ever found a home before -- including even the Off Broadway in the old Soulard brewery district, the place where it all began.

The sense of return was heightened by the inevitably raucous, political, shambling, and well-juiced festival-closing performance by the Waco Brothers, in what was a long-coming return engagement. They'd been the only "name" band to play in the same room at Twangfest One, back in 1997. All of the others in that first lineup had been upstart alt-country acts of one sort or another who'd belonged to the Postcard 2 e-mail list, acts with members who founded the get-together shows. Today, the eclectic, feisty, publc-supported, roots-and-rock-friendly local radio station KDHX-FM takes the fest lead.

When I reminded Wacos frontman Jon Langford of the long gap, he replied, counting fest editions, "Twelve years...and it seems like twelve years!" The Wacos remember things (against all odds, some might say), such as not forgetting to salute the late Bo Diddley, such as finishing off the festival in just the right way -- with their rocking take on George Jones' "White Lightning"...things like that.

This year's four-night edition was one more bit of evidence that there's plenty of fresh energy entering the broad and edgy twang neighborhood. Just before the veteran Wacos' closing set came a stunning rock performance from their young Bloodshot Records stablemate Ha Ha Tonka, in a set that was a case-making example of what throwing yourself into the music 100% can mean when you also happen to have instrumental, vocal, and songwriting chops of a very high order. There have been very few alternative country rockers that could play this fiercely and sing this well at the same time -- right down to a change-up a cappella four-part close-harmony country number which hushed the barroom crowd (no mean feat). That's what happens when you went to church in West Plains, Missouri, just like Porter Wagoner, before picking up that first Fender.

Ha Ha Tonka lead singer Brian Roberts spontaneously began to sing "Timebomb" at one point -- a salute to the Old 97's, the headlining band of the night before, in their first, long-awaited Twangfest appearance as a full band. That set, at the cavernous Pageant in University City, was certainly the climax of the festival, with festers fist-pumping on the dance floor as the band struck up the hits and introduced most of the songs from their new Blame It On Gravity CD -- arguably their strongest set of new songs and sounds in a decade. Rhett Miller and Murray Hammond both took solo turns during the encores, and also surprised with one of their "Ranchero Brothers" Everlys-style duets. The Old 97's' pleasure in being out there as a band again, after the recent hiatus, was palpable, and certainly picked up by the crowd. In keeping with Twangfest's frequent cross-referencing, they took a moment to tear into Jon Langford's "Over The Cliff" as in years gone by.

Their predecessor on the big Pageant stage, the talented Hayes Carll, may have been greeted with some skepticism by those who dismiss all laconic Texas singer-songwriters as more of the same, but notably won the majority of the packed house over with his wit, fine set list, and his roots-rock-and-country band, which put his songs and singing in a varied, attention-grabbing setting, even in the big hall. Carll and band also showed up at the always-vital bowling part of this and any music festival (known as "Twangpin" here) on Saturday afternoon, with actual bowling skills and various trick shot howlers up their collective sleeves. Who would have known?

Twangfest's Thursday night -- at Chuck Berry's home base, the Duck Room at Blueberry Hill -- featured a typically amiable and able set by the Gourds, with leader Kev Russell digging down for a spectacular rock turn on the Harry Smith-anthologized old ballad "John Johanna". The night's highlight for me and many others, though, was the rare-treat appearance by Nashville soul band Charles Walker & the Dynamites, another example of fine-voiced singing matched with instrumental wizardry. Not every '60s soul survivor finding new attention in the current soul revival is necessarily in full form 40 years later, but Walker simply is, whether he's delivering a funk thumper or a soul ballad. (He took full hold of Gershwin's" Summertime", for instance.)

It's a cool change-up to see horns come out at a "roots music" show in any event, and the Dynamites were not the only ones to bring out the brass. Wednesday night act the Butchers and the Bakers, out of Portland, Oregon, surprised the crowd at Schlafly's Tap Room with occasional trumpet in their percussive, new-vaudevillian rock mix. That night's headliner was the basically can't-fail singer-writer-guitarist Chuck Prophet, who pleased with his distinctive mix of "blues meets Green On Red."

It is a testament to the commitment to the sounds, to he audience, and to Doing It Yourself, that the volunteer Twangfest sponsors -- from the long-standing "Twang Gang" and KDHX staff both -- are still coming up with a festival with this much arresting music, and this much community-reunion-style gulp-induction, twelve years on.

-- BARRY MAZOR
Copyright c. 2008 No Depression Inc. and/or Barry Mazor.

COLIN MELOY
Barrymore Theatre (Madison, WI)
April 23, 2008

(NODEPRESSION.NET) -- Decemberists frontman Colin Meloy's music is often called "literate," in a context or tone which somehow suggests that's a bad thing. These days, with a mis-underestimater finishing up eight years in the White House, a little literacy goes a long way. Especially in college towns such as Madison, where Meloy's responsive audience appeared to be a mixture of University of Wisconsin students or their professors.

As if to poke fun at his bookish persona, Meloy took the stage with a bottle of red wine and goblet in hand, plopping both down on a table covered with a pressed red cloth. His Decemberists bandmates were "back home," the Portland, Oregon, resident told us, "having coffee drinks or playing video games or whatever it is they do while I'm out here hard at work."

Colin Meloy, Decemberistsless.

It was hard to tell if the loose presentation was simply what happens during a relaxed solo evening with Colin Meloy, or if it's what happens when Meloy is pooped from carrying the load by himself. What he lacked in focus (one song began, and began again until he found the key he needed), he made up for with individuality. Meloy was out for a good time, and minus the keys, drums, and guitars of the band, he took musical liberties all night, toying with tempo and clowning with arrangements, including a Tin Pan Alley mouth trumpet solo on "The Perfect Crime".

Meloy was in good voice throughout, but solo sets reveal his confidence on guitar. Piercing notes plucked from his slotted-head nylon-string guitar added an air of dementia to "The Sand Hill Butcher". His fills on the twelve-string in "The Sporting Life" included a mock bass solo that turned the song into a show within a show.

Opening act Laura Gibson, a fellow Oregonian, etched out a pleasant enough set of New Waif music. Also a strong guitarist, she hid behind her instrument, never showing her vocal stuff until she returned during Meloy's set to belt out soulful harmony on a cover of Sam Cooke's "Cupid".

-- ANDY MOORE
Copyright c. 2008 No Depression Inc. and/or Andy Moore.
-- (Photograph by Margaret A. Moore)
Copyright c. 2008 No Depression Inc. and/or Margaret A. Moore.

BRUCE SPRINGSTEEN & THE E STREET BAND
Greensboro Coliseum (Greensboro, NC)
April 28, 2008

(NODEPRESSION.NET) -- If you're a Springsteen fan you've probably already seen set lists and other details about the Monday night show I attended. Rather than a quick-turnaround Tuesday writing and posting a formal review, I spent the day just down the road in Winston-Salem at a Barack Obama town meeting (fittingly enough, given that Springsteen has endorsed him). Thus, what follows is less structured and more scattershot -- a handful of observations from one longtime Bruce fan's perspective....

* For a long stretch I'd managed to see Springsteen every election year, starting in 1984 (the first election-year in which I was old enough to drive myself to concerts). Somehow things shuffled slightly this last cycle; I caught him in '02 at this same venue, and then a solo show in '06 in Seattle. For whatever reason, it seemed important to see him in this election year.

Certainly Springsteen doesn't refrain from being political, and this night was no exception (though nothing came of the possible notion that Obama might make an appearance; he was campaigning in the area, so it had seemed not too far-fetched). With Bruce, though, the political has always best been channeled through the personal; you get the picture well enough from the characters in his songs, whether on age-old numbers such as "It's Hard To Be A Saint In The City" or the title track to his new album Magic (both of which he performed on this night).

* Much of a performance's tone/tempo can be divined by a closer examination of the set list, in terms of what records the material is being drawn from. Monday's show sorted out like this: seven songs from Magic; three from Born To Run; three from Darkness On The Edge Of Town; three from The Rising; two from The River; one from Greetings From Asbury Park; one from Born In The U.S.A.; one from The Seeger Sessions; and four various orphans from the likes of the Live 1975-85 collection and the Tracks box.

Those non-formal-album tracks meant this show probably appealed more to the hardcore fans craving such obscurities, as opposed to those looking for the better-known songs. I guess I fall somewhere in between; while I appreciate the less-obvious cuts from the formal albums (thus my joy at hearing "Hard To Be A Saint"), I've never been one to follow deeply into the ancillary catalogue, so the opening one-two punch of "Roulette" and "Don't Look Back" was mostly lost on me. My guess is that others were amazed by and quite appreciative of that start.

That wasn't quite the beginning of the show, actually; the video tribute to the recently departed E Street keyboardist Danny Federici (which is also posted on Springsteen's official website) was quite moving, and a fitting acknowledgment of their fallen comrade.

* Not being one to keep up with daily tour-reports, I've probably missed that holding up signs with a song-title request has become commonplace at Springsteen's shows, with Bruce eventually plucking one of the signs from the audience and playing the song (and then autographing and returning the sign to its owner). Tonight's pick happened to be one of my personal favorites, "Waiting On A Sunny Day" (from The Rising). Other request-signs that didn't get picked included "Independence Day", "Racing In The Streets", "Jungleland", "Jersey Girl", "Detroit Medley", "Hungry Heart", "Lucky Town", "Kitty's Back" and "Rosalita". (Whoever had the "Ramrod" sign may have initially been disappointed, but must've been thrilled when he pulled that one out during the five-song encore.) All in all, a nice little gimmick to further energize the audience.

* Having had seats behind the stage the very first time I saw Springsteen, I've always admired the efforts to which he makes a point of playing to the fans in the back every so often during the show. This night was no exception, and it was clear the folks in those sections appreciated it as much as I did back in '84. It's really not a bad place to be at all for a Springsteen show, especially since those seats are generally quite close to the stage.

* Watching the E Street Band onstage in its full overdrive glory, it continued to seem almost incomprehensible to me what it would've been like to be in the audience in Houston a couple weeks ago, to imagine the surreality of such a scene suddenly being intertwined with the presence of Alejandro Escovedo walking out from the wings and up to a microphone right next to Springsteen. There'd be an almost "what's wrong with this picture?" vibe to it -- except that, to the contrary, it's ultimately a case of how right that picture actually is.

* Finally, when the Obama town meeting came to a close a few miles away about twelve hours later, it seemed entirely fitting that the song which came over the sound system as he left the stage was Bruce Springsteen's "The Rising". Come on up, indeed....

-- PETER BLACKSTOCK
Copyright c. 2008 No Depression Inc. and/or Peter Blackstock.

SHELBY LYNNE
ArtsCenter (Carrboro, NC)
March 13, 2008

(NODEPRESSION.NET) -- Waiting in line before the show, many recalled Shelby Lynne's performance eight years ago, at the neighboring Cat's Cradle, as a real barnburner. New location, but that barn burned again in 2008. Memories this time, however, may center on the heady indoor fireworks shared by a singer, a band and an audience.

From the beginning -- with songs from the recent Just A Little Lovin' -- Shelby Lynne purred, growled, soothed and teased with the casual assurance of an artist at her peak. With an ace band and an adoring crowd, the bar kept on rising. It is hard to imagine a singer with more ideal instrumental support, though at first they blended so perfectly with Shelby, in taut restraint on the Mann-Weill, Bacharach-David openers, that the band's gradual emergence as singular voices came as something of a jolt.

There was, "Hey, that's John Jackson!", as the guitarist spun out those jaggedly wicked yet carefully crafted solo lines, to even more concerted effect than he had once delivered for Bob Dylan and Lucinda Williams. Or, "That Randy Laegos can play anything," as the Nashville keyboard wiz brought light and shadow atmospherics crucial to match the ebb and flow of a sophisticated set list, at one point even employing a bass flute to widen the sonic horizon.

The rhythm pair of longtime Lynne associate Brian Harrison and Buddy Miller alum Bryan Owings was equally adept, tightening and loosening the pulse in each song's soulful heart. While their support was impeccable, they could steer the melodic or harmonic course too -- shades of Muscle Shoals.

Those initial shadow-takes on Dusty Springfield's Dusty In Memphis love-letters would be only one of the evening's tacks. From Lynne's own songbook, the back-porch meditation "Johnny Met June" and the defiant lament "Your Lies" underscored the confident versatility Shelby now commands.

Nowhere was this more evident than on "Black Light Blue". The singer seemed to savor each note, sensing its impact and then rolling with it, stirring an emotional stew both desperate and delicious. This is what a live performance can do (though all too rarely will). Nobody's tinkering with the sound, and nobody needs to, when all involved are this engaged at this level.

-- JERRY WITHROW
Copyright c. 2008 No Depression Inc. and/or Jerry Withrow.

ROBERT PLANT & ALISON KRAUSS FEATURING T BONE BURNETT
Palace Theatre (Louisville, KY)
April 19, 2008

(NODEPRESSION.NET) -- As Jim Lauderdale is too prone to remark at various points during the annual Americana Music Association Honors & Awards, that's Americana.

It's a fair bet that large segments of the audience were really hoping this would be more like a Robert Plant MTV "Unplugged" session and were tempted to view Alison Krauss as a really expensive and high-profile backup singer. Which, of course, is not exactly -- not hardly; not at all -- what they got, for the real trick of the evening was so deeply remaking the Led Zeppelin covers as to almost hide them against the memory of their past, to make them part and parcel of the folk tradition. As they are, by now (and, anyway, that's where a good many of them were, um, acquired).

Raising Sand, the T Bone Burnett-produced album of duets which was well enough received (and, one suspects, made with sufficient fun) to outweigh the pleasures of an extended Zeppelin reunion for Plant, was not a grand statement. It was an intentionally modest album, in the tradition of John Lennon's 1975 Rock 'N' Roll or much of John Entwistle's solo career. The first generation of the British invasion came to rock 'n' roll not strictly through the blues (from which Peter Green and Eric Clapton emerged) but from its pop side, too: from Buddy Holly and Elvis Presley and the Everly Brothers.

For Plant, this album and tour is a chance to play with and within a tradition he adores and respects, and to escape from the operatic ecstasies of his superstardom. For the balance of his band -- Buddy Miller (guitar, steel guitar, autoharp), Union Station alum Stuart Duncan (guitars, clawhammer banjo, fiddle), Dennis Crouch (bass), and Jay Bellerose (drums) -- this is an opportunity to play with two of the great voices of this or any other day, and to rock, occasionally. (At one point Miller seemed to get in touch with his inner Kim Thayil, though I suspect Buddy's not much of a Soundgarden fan.)

All of that -- that mix, the melange, that messing about -- that's Americana.

That these are conflicting impulses is part of the potential charm, and a significant challenge. Particularly to the technical crew, who must juggle an assortment of microphones, amplifiers, instruments, balance points...

And so a caveat: This was the first night of the tour. Every other night these folks play together will be easier and more fun and better, and so if Miller kept being handed guitars that were inexplicably out of tune, or microphones weren't always turned on (or up) on cue, and if there was a certain inevitable stiffness among performers sorting out how to do what they all do so well in this setting, well, it was still an opportunity to watch seven tremendously talented musicians play through a deep and curious songbook.

Was magic made? Not yet; or, rather, not together, not yet. This is Alison Krauss' turf, apart from the rock edges, which she has largely hidden in performance. The ornate Palace Theatre is familiar (Krauss recorded her 2002 live album there, and the IBMA awards were held there for a time), and she is accustomed to playing acoustic music. And her spotlight songs soared, though she seemed a trifle tense, even alone. Plant is the interloper, and yet the star, and has nothing to lose. Is easy with himself. Those who watched the CMT "Crossroads" special recorded earlier may have noticed his over-broad hand movements, arena-sized gestures of long habit. He has quelled them, for the most part, but is still not quite able simply to address the microphone and the audience and sing -- except when he is singing harmony. Which is not to say he is anything less than gracious, nor engaged. Simply that old habits die hard, and he is adapting.

And, anyway, no other performer even dabbling in American could so easily prompt an audience to sing in response, as Plant did with very small gestures during "Black Dog", a song that reached crescendo not through vocal pyrotechnics, but because Bellerose switched to mallets on the drums. (The Louisville audience did not sing in key, though, in fairness, it's a difficult part, even if there are no words to learn.)

Comparatively little of the set came from Raising Sand, but, perhaps because they had already been most carefully worked out, those songs came off best. The Zeppelin chestnut "Please Read The Letter" (from the 1998 Jimmy Page/Robert Plant album Walking Into Clarksdale) was a letter-perfect Everlys knockoff, both loving and lovely. "Fortune Teller" "Rich Woman" opened the show (cutting off Elmore James' "Madison Blues" on the house system), Plant and Krauss both walking to their microphones on cue, and Plant later made a point to introduce Townes Van Zandt's "Nothing", though it got an oddly blurry performance. They closed a four-song encore with an especially mournful, tender reading of "Your Long Journey".

Many things came in between (after a brief opening act, their set ran roughly two and a half hours), and it's hard to guess how many of them will survive or be changed out. Mid-set, Krauss left the stage, and Plant stopped proceedings and brought T Bone Burnett to center stage, where the producer sang two songs from his new album. This was the only time Burnett was afforded a microphone, though he clearly led the band from his seat to the drummer's left (our right), and while they were nice enough songs, it takes a certain amount of self-conviction to take center stage when Robert Plant, Alison Krauss, Buddy Miller and Stuart Duncan are also singing. Plant slipped into the background to sing harmonies on Burnett's second number.

The truth is that I went hoping for something like the original O Brother wrap party at the Ryman, where (among other great joys) Emmylou Harris, Gillian Welch and Alison Krauss made a trio of "Down To The River To Pray", as gorgeous a sound as one will ever hear. On this evening, Krauss sang her song against a trio of male voices, centered around their own microphone: Plant, Duncan and Miller. Their microphone was turned too low, but it may well be spectacular when you can hear all four voices. Certainly the George Jones cover in the encore (I've now forgotten the title) with Miller finally turned loose on a microphone (which quickly was turned up), his rough voice playing against Plant's reedy tenor and Krauss' skyscraper, suggests how spectacular this tour will become. Should become.

And watching them work out the kinks, while not magic, was still tolerably close. Those two, they can sing.

-- GRANT ALDEN
Copyright c. 2008 No Depression Inc. and/or Grant Alden.

P.S. To the two corrections (and there may be more). I have never taken notes for live reviews. In the print world, I have time and resources to check against set lists (and such) from one source or another. The plague of the internet is that one is emboldened to publish soonest, and so...my foibles are more public than might be wished. So it goes.

JONATHAN RICHMAN/VIC CHESNUTT
Stage Door Theatre (Madison, WI)
March 13, 2008

(NODEPRESSION.NET) -- "I don't know what it means, either," Jonathan Richman confessed after singing his encore a cappella -- a joyful ditty in Spanish, Italian and gibberish. Then he waved goodbye to the audience, smiling in the wistful way a child does before leaving his parents for summer camp. All of a sudden he turned around and came back to the mike.

"If you see me in the lobby I may not speak to you but don't be alarmed. My doctor tells me to save my voice because of a vocal condition. I don't talk so I can save it for singing. I gesture but I'm not practicing to be Marcel Marceau! Goodbye!"

His comment caught me off-guard because I had been thinking of the great French mime earlier in Richman's show. Richman writes more and more in French, Spanish and Italian. Yet it doesn't matter if you don't understand what he says because, as with all great artists, you understand what he means. He puts it over with his tone, his facial expressions, his posture. You know how he feels because you've been there, too. Rejected by a lover. Reaching for a rebound.

Jonathan Richman (right) and Tommy Larkin.

A large part of Richman's upbeat emotional drive is due to Tommy Larkin, one of the most musical drummers working. He may have well been playing vibes. His break during "My Baby Loves Me" didn't merely keep the song on temporal track, it reshaped the melody. Richman pranced and shook bells to the delight of the swaying twentysomethings parked shoulder-to-shoulder at his feet. (The Farrelly Brothers movies have introduced Richman and his musical benevolence to a whole new generation, and his beguiling performance of "I Was Dancing In The Lesbian Bar" had the young hipsters reeling.)

You often hear fans describe a performer's intimacy by saying, "It felt like he was singing directly to me." But Richman actually does give whole verses to just one person in the crowd. He seems to feed off the contact, as though it makes the music more real to him. The rest of the hall reaps the benefit of the synergy.

Richman seems to get more authentic as he gets older, and he seems to get younger with each new song he writes. The show peaked when he descended to one knee, strumming the nylon strings of his Spanish guitar, and belted out the title song of his new record, "Because Her Beauty Is Raw And Wild". The song distills love to its foundation: how every time is the first time when your heart is pure.

Taken back-to-back, Richman and opener Vic Chesnutt, with all their literary muscle, could have been promoted as the "Glass Half-Full/Glass Half-Empty Tour."

"I'm a pessimist," wailed Chesnutt by way of introduction; "Jonathan Richman is an optimist." He could not have summarized the evening's pairing more efficiently. Both are accomplished, emotive writers and performers. And it wouldn't be fair to write off Chesnutt as simply a cynic, because he's a cynic in the important way that Jonathan Swift was. Yet the contrast he drew between himself and the headliner was spot on.

"Jonathan Richman steps into an alley, smells piss, and says, 'Look what the world has shown us,'" Chestnut sang. "I step into the alley, smell piss, and say, 'Oh god damn, get these molecules out of my nostrils!'"

I didn't see Richman in the lobby on my way out. But as I made my way home, I thought about what he said at the end of his show. I thought about how the words "discipline" and "art" are often used together. And I thought about a guy who doesn't talk...so that he may sing.

-- ANDY MOORE
Copyright c. 2008 No Depression Inc. and/or Andy Moore.
-- (Photograph by Margaret A. Moore)
Copyright c. 2008 No Depression Inc. and/or Margaret A. Moore.

REIVERS
Parish (Austin, Texas)
February 9, 2008

(NODEPRESSION.NET) -- Forget Led Zeppelin, Van Halen, the Police. For the generation that came of age with mid-1980s college radio, arguably the biggest band on their reunion wish list has been the Reivers, who broke up the month Nirvana' Nevermind hit the charts. It's been so long since the Reivers dissolved that a reunion seemed a remote possibility.

Thus it was a surprise when they agreed to reconvene in February to play a weekend of shows in their hometown of Austin, selling out two nights at the 500-sized Parish (with some attendees traveling from as far as Toronto, Philadelphia, Los Angeles and Washington, D.C.). Also in the audience were the individual Reivers' kids, almost all of whom were too young to have seen the band in its first go-round. They looked as impressed as everyone else at what a rock spectacle their parents put on.

The Reivers left behind four excellent albums of pure-pop jingle-jangle, each a perfect microcosm of the musical spirit of the age. Those records (the first one, 1985's Translate Slowly, released under the name Zeitgeist before a deal with Capitol Records resulted in a name-change) are still quite fine to listen to, but they can't convey what an immensely likable bunch the Reivers were onstage in their prime.

All four members were visibly older, and the energy level was a few notches lower than it used to be -- and yet the band's onstage chemistry remains entirely intact, with the rhythm section of drummer Garrett Williams and bassist Cindy Toth driving the songs and the signature blend of John Croslin's drawl and Kim Longacre's soaring voice taking them higher.

Not surprisingly, the opening stretch of the first show was a bit tentative. "Ragamuffin Man" began the proceedings, followed by "Electra" (from their very first single in 1984) and a funkier-than-before "Lazy Afternoon". But with an enthusiastic audience singing along on every chorus, the band seemed to gain confidence as the set progressed.

Things kicked up a notch with "Almost Home" (jokingly introduced as "a Hootie song" in reference to Hootie & the Blowfish having covered it on an album) and a new number called "All The Drunks Say Amen". If it's a good sign that they played a new song, it's an even better sign that the song was pretty decent.

They dusted off a few of their trademark covers for old time's sake, including the old Charlie Brown theme "Linus And Lucy", their inventive reworking of the Willie Nelson hit "Blue Eyes Crying In The Rain", and Thin Lizzy's "Cowboy Song" as a rip-it-up show-closer.

But the best was a mid-set stretch of indie-pop perfection that went from strength to strength: the jaunty instrumental "Hill Country Theme", the overdrive "Araby", Croslin's Fort Worth love letter "Star Telegram". All of which led up to a version of "Things Don't Change" that was so good it was chilling. The front-of-stage mob jumping up and down included the editor of this magazine (as well as this reviewer), and it was as if the song had been written twenty-some years ago to encapsulate this very moment:

"Things don't change/They never have."

-- DAVID MENCONI
Copyright c. 2008 No Depression Inc. and/or David Menconi.

(NODEPRESSION.NET) -- The morning's first work, even while turning on the computer, was to page through several reference books to try to find out who Gloria Belle is. But she doesn't appear in the Encyclopedia Of Country Music, nor, even, in Mary A. Bufwack and Robert K. Oermann's standard, Finding Her Voice: Women In Country Music 1800-2000. She merits no real entry on allmusic.com, either.

Well. Thirteen years into this thing, I'd never heard of her, and it's nice still to be surprised, however painful it may also be to reveal one's ignorance.

So...for the record, Ms. Belle is a startlingly powerful East Tennessee bluegrass singer who worked in the late 1960s with Jimmy Martin. And with some other people who amounted to less. She's also a first-rate mandolin chopper. But it's that voice, strong and powerful and distinct. That voice, ah. She has almost forgotten how special that voice is, one fears.

Belle is one of the reasons this small, day-long collection of workshops and performances celebrating women in traditional music was worth attending, though I had time only for the free evening show. Co-sponsored by the three-person Kentucky Center for Traditional Music and the Women's Studies department at Morehead State University, it featured an array of styles, an assortment of traditions, and several quite different generations of performers. The hidebound worlds of traditional music were, one reads, particularly unwelcoming to female performers, or, at least, to those who wished to take charge of their work and their careers. None of that was spoken of on stage, though one suspects the stories told backstage, off-stage, throughout the day, were sad and wonderful and powerful.

Each woman offered two songs with varied accompaniment. Rory Block, arguably the most commercially successful of the ten women (and most tangentially relevant, though she now is said to live in Eastern Kentucky) took three songs, Hazel Dickens finished with three of hers, and then they gathered too quickly for a gospel finale.

Belle, singing with her husband, the guitar maker Mike Long, held the stage with the polish of someone who's been performing since she was three. Their voices twined together like old friends, riding waves of sorrow and joy.

Two others stood out. Carol Elizabeth Jones came to center stage, leaned on her guitar, and delivered an a cappella miner's ballad written by Jean Ritchie. (I went to listen, and didn't take notes; song titles, alas, escaped.) I have underestimated Ms. Jones, and will not do so again. She sang with a high, girlish quiver (in Julie Miller's range, say), and with remarkable poise and power. Later, when she sang harmonies next to Hazel Dickens, the fondness in her eyes as she followed Dickens' lead was tender and moving, even glimpsed from halfway across the audience.

Ginny Hawker, too, sang the old songs without accompaniment. Plain singing, hard songs, even the gospel. Some words held as many as three skittering notes, though none of the flourishes one associates with Reba and her successor American Idols. Just sounds torn from deep inside, shared with stoic poise.

At times the evening was a bit of a folk lecture, but mostly the music won out. Sometimes it was played carefully, as if we were in a museum, but generally (particularly when Uncle Earle fiddler Rayna Gellert, newly settled in Lexington, jumped in) the songs took wing.

One last moment. Just before a fit of coughing took him from the stage, Don Rigsby's head popped up from his mandolin and looked over at Hazel Dickens with a huge, startled grin. Dickens had talked too much all day, she said, and fought her own cough through her trio of songs. But just that one moment her voice caught hold and shot out, a striking singer once more and not the stylist age has made her. Rigsby's not normally a demonstrative fellow on stage, and if that one phrase is all we were to get of Dickens' special gifts, it was enough.

-- GRANT ALDEN

(NODEPRESSION.NET) -- A friend ventured to suggest, as the Maldives began their set to a surprisingly packed house at the Tractor Tavern (and this even on a night when the Drive-By Truckers were playing across town), that the young Seattle ensemble may be the heir-apparent to the rambling backwoods aura of The Band. That's a tough call, seeing as how just a couple days earlier, this same venue had hosted the Gourds, who seem even more obviously in line to carry that particular torch.

Regardless, the Maldives proved themselves to be arguably the most promising roots act to emerge from the Northwest since the mid-'90s heyday of the Picketts, headlining a night of young and hungry up-and-comers from throughout the broader northwestern landscape. All three bands -- the other two being the Band Of Annuals (from Salt Lake City) and Or, The Whale (from San Francisco) -- included a pedal steel guitarist in their lineup, though none of the acts really used the instrument in its straightforward honky-tonk element. There was country in all three bands, but none of them were specifically country.

Or, The Whale (who might be wise to rethink the punctuation in their name, or perhaps the name altogether) kicked things off, causing slight confusion since they had been listed as the middle act. Every member of its extended lineup -- the other common ground between all three bands on the bill was that each reached well beyond typical trio or quartet size -- performed with enthusiasm throughout, and the band displayed an attractive variety of material, owing largely to the lead-vocal trade-offs between acoustic guitarist Alex Robins, singer Lindsay Garfield, and keyboardist Julie Ann Thomasson. A forgivable down side is the surface-scratching nature of the band's lyrics; rarely did anything move past the obvious or cliche, though most of the time the music, and the players' energetic delivery, made the experience enjoyable nonetheless.

Band Of Annuals raised the bar immediately with its first song, "Blood On My Shirt". Front-and-center here is the male-female vocal interplay between frontman Jay Henderson and keyboardist Jeremi Hanson. Henderson sounds rather like Gerald Collier or Rocky Votolato (who you may well not know if you're not from Seattle, but just trust me that it's a good sound); the closest touchstone for Hanson is Karen Peris of the Innocence Mission. Together they come across a bit like the best of Mojave 3's work, with first-class backing from four quite congenial lads (electric guitarist Jamie Timm, bassist Trever Hadley, drummer Jordan Badger, and pedal steel guitarist Brent Dreiling) who appear to be in a bit of a beard-growing contest. (The lead guitarist seems struggling to keep pace, while the pedal steel player is comfortably in the lead, which seems as it should be.)

The band offered up an infectiously bluesy take on Dylan's "Leopard Skin Pill Box" hat just before closing their set with the anthemic "Don't Let Me Die" from their recent debut disc Let Me Live. Members of Or, The Whale joined them onstage for the finale, the two bands apparently having bonded the night before on a bill together in Portland. Band Of Annuals members Hadley and Timm leaned with their backs against each other at one point as Henderson and Hanson lifted yet another song to a triumphant melodic high; they were soaking in the glory of the moment, as well they should. A Saturday night, hundreds of miles from home, a packed audience, in the prime of life: If you play music, this is as good as it ever gets.

-- PETER BLACKSTOCK
Copyright c. 2008 by No Depression Inc. and/or Peter Blackstock.

Keating, Rainer's widow, helped his best friend Howe Gelb organize the tribute jam, and musicians signed up to play throughout the night. At one point a doorman quipped that there were as many musicians in the house as fans. Musicians' affection and respect for Rainer seem almost universal, especially in Tucson, where he made his home, despite frequent offers to work in Nashville and Los Angeles. But the club was loaded with old friends and relatives as well, including many who had made the trip from Phoenix and California. And there were new fans, lured by the legend.

Gelb served as Master of Ceremonies and sideman for much of the night, loosely tying things together, letting them happen, keeping them moving, and occasionally soliciting questions from the crowd. "Put you a question on a sheet," he said, "and we'll burn it in the traditional format after the show. It's OK if the question is stupid. We'll make an ash of it later."

Rainer's Das Combo rhythm section, bassist Nick Augustine and drummer Ralph Gilmore, anchored the better part of three hours of uninterrupted music, much of which reprised songs they recorded and performed with Rainer. Local guitarists Mitzi Cowan and Kevin Pakulis took turns plying the slide.

Pakulis' own set rendered Rainer covers of Willie Nelson and Robert Johnson. Nelson's "Ain't It Funny How Time Slips Away" featured a blues-on-the-way-to-show-tune piano break by Gelb, and Pakulis' riveting interpretation of Johnson's "If I Had Possession Over Judgment Day" was one of the evening's highlights.

Phoenician Lonna Kelley contributed a uniquely fragile illumination of Rainer's "Broken Promises", imbuing it with almost gothic drama, and family friend Ned Gittings performed a captivating version of "The Mountain", highlighting Rainer's all but pervasive optimism: "I have seen the mountain/I have found momentum." John Convertino sat in with Gelb and keyboardist Nick Luca for a memorable reworking of Rainer's, "The Farm". Gelb's youngest children delighted the crowd with their emphatic delivery of the chorus of "Worried Spirits". "Whoa my worried spirits/Whoa my troubled mind" took on a new and entirely unexpected meaning.

Californian Kris McKay, formerly of the '80s Austin band Wild Seeds, performed with soulful clarity "One Man's Crusade", the song she recorded for the 1997 Rainer tribute The Inner Flame. When the band stumbled a bit on a chord change, an experienced off-stage guitarist confided, "It's a tough one. I stayed out of it."

The tribute was to end at 10 p.m., giving way to the club's traditional Saturday dance night, and as things drew to a close, Gelb noted, "The disco crowd is angry at the gates and the man is here to tune the mirror ball." There was still time, though, for another memory or two. Gelb led a stage full of musicians through an arrangement of "Wayfaring Stranger" with keyboard fills that combined psychedelic prog-rock and space music. The song, if not the arrangement, is included in the new Rainer CD The Westwood Sessions Volume I, with proceeds going to Rainer's family.

-- LINDA RAY
Copyright c. 2008 by No Depression Inc. and/or Linda Ray.