Concert Highlights

The last day of the year

Jim

The Friday before Christmas is pretty much it, at least as far as I remember of the music business. Record companies probably start shutting down a week earlier, maybe Billboard, too, which ends the year a week early with a double issue and likewise takes the last week of the year off. Or it used to, at least.

Then again, the music business seems so long ago to me, yet here I was, the Friday before Christmas (Dec. 20), being let into the PlayStation Theater and given as good a seat as they have, almost like I was still a genuine (pronounced jen-yew-WINE) music bizzer, which really, I haven’t been in some 15 years.

Three nights earlier I’d walked past the PlayStation (near the corner of Broadway on 45th Street–1515 Broadway, the tower housing MTV, and years ago, Billboard) on my way to the Impeachment Eve March, which started at 6:30 in Times Square. My pal Tony was outside doing security, as always, and I hadn’t seen him in a while, so I stopped and said hi.

I used to see Tony all the time when we were both members of the West Side YMCA, where I’d been a member since I moved to New York in 1981 or ‘82 (I can never remember which year exactly, and I’m too lazy to do the math, but it was the day after Christmas, and I was able to get a great ticket to Elvis Costello–with NRBQ opening–on New Year’s Eve at The Palladium.

(Now begins a typically pointless four-paragraph digression. You can keep reading, or scroll down to get back on track.)

I’d been a member of the Y since I was in high school in Madison, Wisconsin, one of the few habits I’d picked up from my father–and likely the only good one. I belonged to Madison’s West Side Y in high school, which was new then, and near James Madison Memorial High School, which I attended, at the city’s edge when it opened in 1968, I think. Later, when I lived downtown and worked at the State, I joined the Downtown Y that my father went to, a block up from the State Capitol building on West Washington Ave.

My father was a federal bankruptcy judge, and a lot of the Downtown Y membership was likewise lawyers and state, city and county civil servants. I lived a couple blocks on the other side of the Capitol and worked at the old State Office Building on 1 West Wilson St. a couple blocks South overlooking Lake Monona, where Otis Redding’s plane went down while I was still in high school.

But it was three or four years later now, maybe five, and I had very few high school friends left. One day I happened on one of them, Tory, now working at the Downtown Y, at the membership desk, handing out towels. I didn’t really have a lot of friends in high school, and while I always liked Tory–who was a bit of a character, as I recall–I didn’t know her that well, but I was soon going over to her and her husband’s place for dinner and dope. Then a year or two after moving here, I heard that she was a whole lot smarter than her job might have suggested: She somehow rose to a more powerful position of influence at the Y and got them to commit to building a new modern facility, as the current one was probably as old as the capitol itself. So they tore it down, then found out that Tory was either the ultimate scammer or totally insane and had made everything up—and understandably disappeared, leaving nothing but a deep hole in the ground where a venerable Y used to stand, not to mention that West Side Y, where I used to play paddle ball with my friend Greg, before he moved on to the newer sport of racquet ball.

Greg was quite good, by the way. Me? I went for a shot deep against the right sidewall, missed it, but in a most remarkable feat of uncoordination–and/or a very lame early suicide attempt–sliced open my left eyebrow in the follow-through and needed stitches. Greg eventually went on to hang himself (see preceding post, Three nights in L.A.).

Returning to the present, it was a great march. I took a lot of fab Instagram/Facebook/Twitter pics, and then the next day for some reason—maybe an email or Facebook notice—I saw that Samantha Fish was playing Friday night at the PlayStation, a 10-minute walk from my apartment.

I’d never seen Samantha, but I knew of her through my Madison pal Rockin’ John McDonald, who plays her now and then on his venerable I Like It Like That oldies show on listener-sponsored station WORTFM.org, since she’s one of the few contemporary artists who fits his 1950s/’60s rock ‘n’ roll format. But at this late state of my so-called career, there was no one I could call for a ticket or a pass. I mean, shit, I didn’t even know what label she was on.

Then I thought of Tony and figured he’d be happy to slide me in, and sure enough, he was. When I got to the venue we talked a bit about how bad everything is, namely the music and concert business, since there was nothing to bring me to the PlayStation in years, and Tony himself didn’t care about the music there–also the fact that the theater had been bought out and was shutting down at the end of the month, to be overhauled before reopening under new name and management and leaving him without a job.

And, of course, Trump. Tony was extremely depressed over the prospects of impeachment and the election. But he was happy to walk me in, handing me a ticket and wristband, and it was a great seat–in the best section in the house (first row, center aisle in the elevated section overlooking the floor). It was 7:10, so I had 50 minutes to kill before the opening act.

Now at my age and condition, I don’t want to waste any time, which I was about to do. But I’d come prepared, as always: two pens—one fountain, one ballpoint—and a fresh Portage Pocket Notebook (“for journalists, radio/TV reporters and law enforcement officers). The only thing I didn’t bring was any idea to write about, and my usually wandering mind was stuck on start.

But I was unusually filled with Christmas cheer. I’d had lunch earlier with two friends from the Russian News Agency TASS—Igor Borisenko, the current bureau chief, and Elya Polyakova, office manager.

Elya! Say it loud and there’s music playing….

Actually, it’s kind of a nickname for Elvira, which would be closer to “Maria” in West Side Story–the “i” pronounced “ee” as in “deer” I believe, but I’ve never heard her called that. Russian names generally have different forms according to relationships, as I’d learned after many years of friendship with New York and Moscow TASS staffers (Vladimir, for another example, can become Volodya, or Vova).

Back in the Soviet era I was actually under FBI surveillance (probably still am) but I’ve already digressed too much here to digress even further in recounting it now. I will say, though, that it had been a long time since I’d had lunch with TASS friends, let alone seen them at the end of the year, when years ago they’d have great office Christmas parties attended by the Consul General and head of New York’s Russian Orthodox Church, other Russian dignitaries and foreign press friends, not to mention Nina Khruscheva, Nikita’s great-granddaughter (!), noted author and professor of international affairs here at The New School. At the party, my dearest friend Volodiya Kikilo would always ceremoniously present me with a big, gift-wrapped bottle of premium vodka (I’d bring a big box of Bisco Latte biscotti, made by my neighborhood friend and baker supreme Holly DeSantis).

I’d return to the bureau on New Year’s Eve Day afternoon to listen to the Kremlin Countdown. So it was great to reinstitute my TASS holiday tradition, and Igor came through with a big bottle of Russian Standard.

So as I sat there at PlayStation, still a bit lit from lunch, I began to write down what I remembered from it, then jumping to other meandering thoughts, switching between pens depending on the need for speed (the fountain pen flows faster, but if I slow down I’ll switch to a rollerball or ballpoint, since I can’t retract the fountain pen nib and don’t want to keep capping it to keep it from drying, and clip it to my shirt pocket).

One thought that entered my mind, though, was, When was the last time I was at PlayStation? I wasn’t even sure I was at a show when it was called the PlayStation! I bet I hadn’t been at the 2,100-seat theater since it was called the Best Buy Theater before changing ownership and name in 2015.

I did remember seeing Elvis Costello there once long ago–which was unforgettable—or maybe it was the maybe more recent big Grateful Dead tribute act Dark Star–but all I remember of that show was smoking a joint backstage with star Deadhead Bill Walton, which was great, for sure.

And suddenly it was 8 o’clock. Tony said he’d seen the opening act, Nicholas David, during soundcheck, and that he was excellent. Tony was right. Nicholas David, from St. Paul, looked like a young Dr. John, played and sang like one (though I was later told he’d never heard of Dr. John when he started approximating him) while leading a crack bassist and drummer—who was from Omaha, where we used to pass through on our way from Madison to Lincoln to visit my mom’s family when I was a kid. Of course he was way too young to know the most important cultural reference to Omaha…no! Not Peyton Manning’s famous “indicator word” for calling an audible at the line of scrimmage, but Moby Grape’s classic flop single “Omaha.”

Unbeknownst to me, David had been a finalist on the third season of The Voice, and was now the second artist I’d seen in two weeks that I hadn’t heard of that blew me the fuck away, the first being Shinyribs, the ultra-hot Austin show band that opened for Robert Earl Keen’s Christmas show at Town Hall. Switching between fountain pen (a trusty Lamy black Safari with black fine nib) and ballpoint (Retro 51 Elephant & Rhino Rescue, Series I) as David did a very soulful “Joy to the World,” I thought of St. Paul’s twin sister city Minneapolis, and the three great bands I knew from there: Sussman Lawrence, which turned into the Peter Himmelman Band; The Suburbs (the band, I always say, that died so that The Replacements could live) and The Wallets. David slid from ballads (great job on Marvin Gaye’s “What’s Going On”) to funky originals, and when he was done, I headed out to his merch table to meet him and maybe impress him by dropping these names.

More likely, he’d look at me like the old geezer I am, since he had to be way too young to have even heard of these bands. But the Suburbs’ keyboardist/songwriter/vocalist Chan Poling is still quite active doing all kinds of things—including the occasional ‘Burbs reunion gig and album release, while Jeff Victor, Sussman Lawrence/Himmelman Band’s genius keyboardist, is famous locally as the NBA house organist for the Minnesota Timberwolves, and guest organist for the Minnesota Twins, also among other things. As for The Wallets, they only had two albums, and their most brilliant founder Steve Kramer, a wonderful painter and accordionist who composed experimental polka music, died in 2013. Their fabulous 1986 album Take It was produced by Allen Toussaint, and whenever I saw Allen I’d stop him dead in his tracks by reminding him it was my favorite album of his, and was pleased I even knew it existed.

But before I could get to David’s merch set-up I got waylaid at Samantha’s by Rounder Records’ Regina Joskow, a longtime publicist friend, though I’m so out of it now I didn’t know that Samantha was on Rounder, let alone had a new record out.

Regina was with Sam’s manager Reuben Williams, who brought us both back to say hi to her before going on. When I told him I’d got hip to her through Rockin’ John in Madison, he revealed that he was friends with my junior high school buddy and future blues harmonica ace Westside Andy Linderman.

“Let me take your name down,” I said to Reuben, wanting to have it handy next time I saw Andy during a Madison visit. Reuben laughed heartily and turned to the guy in the dressing room next to him and said, ‘Look, Howie! He’s taking my name down!” I only knew what came next would be embarrassing at the very least.

Sure enough, the guy, who looked a bit like a very young Al Wolovitch of Sussman Lawrence (bassist), started laughing, then introduced himself.

“I’m Howie Schnee! We’ve met many times—and you never remember!”

I was mightily embarrassed, indeed, and profusely apologetic.

“Then you know me!” I said. “I always forget even who I am—and I get this all the time.”

Howie kept laughing.

“It’s okay!” he said, explaining that I’d told him all this before, and had subitted the surefire “I smoke a lot of pot!” as an excuse. He even remembered meeting me at a songwriters “In Their Own Words” show at The Bottom Line, starring Kris Kristofferson, Lou Reed, Suzanne Vega and Victoria Williams, which I vaguely remembered myself—the show, that is, in 1994.

We said hi to Samantha, who’s from Kansas City but based in New Orleans—where she’d brought Nicholas David down to produce his own fab new album Yesterday’s Gone (on her Wild Heart Records label), then Reuben and I talked about Louisiana Cajun artists we both knew before he slipped me an “All Access” pass and I headed back to my seat by way of David’s merch table. This time he was there, and actually knew who Chan Poling was: One for three is not bad anymore, for an old man.

Speaking of old men, the only criticism I have of Samantha’s set, which was otherwise so much more than all I had hoped for, was that it was way too loud for a guy who has to have the TV on all night to drown out his tinnitus—maybe even as loud as John Fogerty, who I can never understand why he pushes it up so high. I used to always bring earplugs but I go to rock shows so rarely now, and those I go to are by artists pretty much as old and hearing-impaired as I am, so I no longer know where they are. Luckily I had an old Dunkin’ Donuts napkin decomposing in my jacket pocket—actually in better condition than the jacket—and managed to find just enough of it that was still solid enough to stuff into my ears.

“How are we doing, PlayStation Theater?” Samantha asked after “Bulletproof,” the down-and-dirty fuzz-toned lead track from her new, wonderfully titled album Kill or Be Kind. We were doing fine, I said to myself. Near-dead PlayStation Theater, not so much. But I did feel a little bad for her, since my seat was elevated just enough to look down on the floor, where I could see all the bald male heads except, fortunately, my own. I remembered the last time I saw Maria McKee in New York, at Joe’s Pub, many years ago, and she complained that her audience was always mostly middle-aged men—except it had to be worse for Samantha, because she’s only 30 and us then-middle agers were pretty much Maria’s contemporaries. And now that we’re all at least twice Sam’s age, we were all pretty sedate for such a high-energy show.

“We’re in some tough times,” said Samantha, as my balled-up Dunkin’ Donuts napkin plugs decomposed some more, though at a slower rate than me and my fellow baldies. “But live music makes it a bit better–at least for me.” As Rockin’ John always says after announcing the local club gigs in the middle of his two-hour show, “Go out and support your favorite bands. They’ll appreciate it—and you’ll feel good about it.”

Samantha was leading into an older, ironically titled song, “American Dream”:

Blood on a street, it’s another new day
Lost count of how many died, at least I’m doing it my way
You’re the liberated, you are the free
Free to cry and die disenfranchised, blessed as a country.”

After the encore I peeled off the backing of my All Access pass and went back to Samantha’s dressing room where Howie (See, Howie? I remember your name!) wondered about her name, i.e., its nationality, its ethnicity, since, he said, “a lot of Jews are named Fish,” or some variant with “Fish” in it.

“There are a lot of Fishes,” she said. But only one big one, I thought to myself–and kept it there.

I slobbered a bit and said goodbye, went home, broke open that big new bottle of Russian Standard and poured a stiff shot into my metal Robert Earl Keen “The Road Goes on Forever” shot glass and drank myself into a stupor so deep I didn’t need the TV on.

Concert Highlights: Scott Bradlee’s Postmodern Jukebox at Radio City Music Hall, 10/7/2016

Jim

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(Credit: Concord Music Group)

It was one of those nights where I wondered where I’d been all my life.

I’d never even heard of Scott Bradlee, let alone his Postmodern Jukebox Orchestra [PMJ]. But turn down a pair of tickets to Radio City? Never!

And that’s why I felt so stupid. After seeing the posters slapped on to the plywood surrounding a building site for PMJ’s Oct. 7 show, I hastily YouTubed them to see what I’d been missing—which is a whole lot. Turns out pianist/arranger Bradlee founded his ensemble (at Radio City, it comprised piano, upright bass, drums, three-piece horn section, a vivacious tap dancer and 20 or so stellar vocalists) in 2009, then began shooting YouTube videos of contemporary pop, rock and R&B hits in swing era, doo-wop, ragtime and Motown settings. He’s since accrued over 450 million views and over two million subscribers; when he came out toward the end and related how he started it all in a small basement apartment in Queens, he marveled at how he’s now brought PMJ to four continents and 30 countries.

Like I said, where have I been all my life? The show reminded me of Kid Creole and the Coconuts at their peak, i.e., the Coati Mundi Years: camp but highest quality original songs and performances, and while Bradlee’s PMJ songs aren’t original, their arrangements and performances most certainly are.

At Radio City, the set included songs from the just-released PMJ album Essentials, among them “Hey Ya!” (sung by Sara Niemietz), “Sweet Child o’ Mine” (Casey Abrams), “Seven Nation Army” (Haley Reinhart), “My Heart Will Go On” (Mykal Kilgore with Maiya Sykes and Aubrey Logan) and “Creep” (Reinhart again, with everyone in the hall waving their lit up cellphones the way they used to do with Bic lighters).

Reinhart, incidentally, finished third on Season 10 of American Idol and released a debut album for Interscope the following year (2012). Musical theater/pop vocalist Kilgore also stood out as the troupe’s terrific emcee, and while it’s not on the new album, I particularly enjoyed Logan’s “Bad Blood,” as it answered a burning question in my mind: What would a Taylor Swift song sound like if sung by a grownup with a grownup arrangement? The answer, at least in the case of Logan and Postmodern Jukebox, is great.

Bradlee recalled how at the beginning he played solo piano gigs at restaurants in Queens in front of a dozen or so people, but he made exceedingly good use of them. He clearly learned how to play most anything, any time, and demonstrated such by asking the audience to shout out names of artists, whom he then strung together in an impromptu piano piece of Prince, Bruno Mars, Queen (when he got to the “Mama mia” bit in “Bohemian Rhapsody” everyone sang it out) and even Super Mario Bros.

He also summed up the evening, and his brilliant Postmodern Jukebox Orchestra concept, thusly: “You guys decided real music and real talent is something that’s important to you–and I promise to keep doing my part.”

Concert Highlights: Dwight Yoakam and Cactus Blossoms at Damrosch Park, 8/7/2016

Jim

Yoak
(Photo: Jim Bessman)

I hadn’t seen Dwight Yoakam in concert in a long time, but at his Americanafest NYC show August 7 at Damrosch Park/Lincoln Center Out of Doors, he hadn’t changed much from when I first saw him here in the early 1980s. He looked to have on the same hat, and it’s not impossible he had the same jean jacket, jeans, shirt and guitar.

And he sounded the same, with that trademark hiccup at the end of his traditional country phrasing on classics like “Honky Tonk Man,” “Guitars, Cadillacs,” “Little Sister,” “Dim Lights, Thick Smoke (And Loud, Loud Music),” “Little Ways,” “Ain’t That Lonely Yet” and Buck Owens’ 1973 hit “Streets of Bakersfield,” which became Dwight’s first country chart-topper in 1988 after he cut it with Buck as a duet.

But as big an influence as Buck was on Dwight, Dwight’s current tour pays tribute to “someone who played Americana before there was the name”: the other Bakersfield great—also now deceased—Merle Haggard.

“I learned a lot about songwriting listening to Merle songs,” Dwight said, noting that this applied to his entire generation of songwriters—and “not just country” ones. Among the Hagg hits he performed were “Silver Wings,” “Mama Tried,” “Swinging Doors,” and “Okie from Muskogee,” which he followed with the other side of “the same coin”: Little Feat’s “Willin’.”

Dwight encored with a couple other tributes to recently departed greats in Glenn Frey (The Eagles’ “Peaceful Easy Feeling”) and George Martin (The Beatles’ “I Feel Fine,” complete with a Beatles bow by Dwight and the band at the end).

Opening band Cactus Blossoms need be noted for an excellent set, kind of a cross between Everly Brothers and cowboy songs. And Dwight, by the way, has a bluegrass album coming out Sept. 23 on Sugar Hill Records, Swimmin’ Pools, Movie Stars, featuring bluegrass takes on choice compositions from his catalog.

Concert Highlights–Eric Burdon and the Wild New Band of Animals at City Winery, 8/8/2016

Jim

I haven’t forgotten the first time I saw Chubby Checker.

It was around 1980 or so, and I was reviewing for Variety when he opened for Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons at the Dane County Coliseum in Madison. He had a young rock ‘n’ roll band that was full of energy, and he made Frankie look tired and boring in comparison. After his set I told him about my friends Dr. Bop & the Headliners who were playing at a campus club and sure enough, he went down there and sat in.

I thought of Chubby Monday night at City Winery, when Eric Burdon did the first of his two-night stand there. The last time I saw him he was with a band made up of guys in his age range, that is, middle and older, now that he’s 75. He was great, they were great, but I will note that he sat on a stool a lot of the time. Maybe he had to—but not now: His band now is made up of youngsters and there was no stool in sight. And when he sang “When I Was Young”—which smoothly segued into “Inside Looking Out”—well, he sounded none the worse for 50 years of wear as one of rock’s greatest vocalists.

He opened with his 1970 hit with War, “Spill the Wine,” his bass player Justin Andres laying out a funky bottom from which Burdon modified the lines “When I thought I’d lay myself down to rest/In a big field of tall grass” to a big field of “medical marijuana”—in Mexican accent. Ruben Salinas added a blazing sax answer to “I could feel hot flames of fire roaring at my back,” and on “See See Rider” trombonist Evan Mackey took a lead.

Other Animals classics performed included “Don’t Bring Me Down” (featuring another great sax part), the anthems “We’ve Gotta Get Out of This Place” and “It’s My Life,” and “Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood,” which Eric dedicated to “the spirit” of its originator, “Miss Nina Simone”–then related how he was introduced to her, upon which she said, “You’re the little white motherfucker who took my song and ruined it!”

He sang Lead Belly’s folk standard “In the Pines,” his “Bo Diddley Special” tribute from his latest album ‘Til Your River Runs Dry (opening with a tuneful dirge during which guitarist Johnzo West reverently placed his hat over his heart and Eric and the rest did the same with their hands), and of course, his Animals signature “The House of the Rising Sun,” really hitting those high notes solid.

“Hitting all the notes in all the original keys,” marveled the great guitarist and Conan bandleader Jimmy Vivino in a post-show tweet. “No small feat. Just wonderful to hear that voice and songs again.”

He even threw in “Mama Told Me Not to Come,” the Randy Newman song that he recorded before Three Dog Night hit big with it, and Sam & Dave’s “Hold On, I’m Comin’.” But maybe the night’s big takeaway came in his self-penned 1967 hit “Monterey,” about the legendary California pop festival and in which he invoked the participants Ravi Shankar, The Who, The Dead, Hendrix, Hugh Masakela and Brian Jones. “You want to find the truth in life?” he asked/sang the lyric. “Don’t pass music by…and you know I would not lie!”

And then he shared the wonderful story about how a girl handed him a white rose while Otis Redding was performing, and in keeping with the overall vibe, he ate it.

Concert Highlights–Darlene Love at Damrosch Park, 7/23/2016

Jim

Four years ago when Darlene Love received the ASCAP Harry Chapin Humanitarian Award at the 2012 WhyHunger Chapin Awards Dinner, she wanted it made known that she was ready and willing for more work than her annual Christmas show bookings. Thanks to seizing the moment at the 2014 Academy Awards, when she helped accept the Oscar for 20 Feet from Stardom (being a central figure in the documentary about backup singers) and exploded into a spontaneous a cappella chorus of the gospel hymn “His Eye is on the Sparrow,” as well as her belated 2011 induction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, she’s getting plenty of quality non-holiday work now, including her Lincoln Center Out of Doors show two weeks ago (July 23) at Damrosch Park.

In fact, her career is so big now that the show required two sets, the first consisting of songs from last year’s terrific Steven Van Zandt-produced, ironically titled album Introducing Darlene Love (it took 30 years to come into fruition, she explained), the second focusing on her 1960s career establishing hits produced by Phil Spector. Highlights of the first included Van Zandt’s show-opening “Among the Believers,” Elvis Costello’s “Still Too Soon to Know” (with her guitarist/bandleader Marc Ribler subbing for the record’s fellow Spector alumn duet partner Bill Medley of the Righteous Brothers),and Jimmy Webb’s impassioned plea “Who Under Heaven.”

Besides Spector classics including “He’s Sure the Boy I Love,” “He’s a Rebel,” “Today I Met the Boy I’m Gonna Marry” and “Wait ‘Til My Bobby Gets Home,” Love showcased her own backup singers (Milton Vann, Baritone MacKenzie and 35-year Love backup signer Ula Hedwig) on songs including Steve Winwood’s “Higher Love,” which was produced by Russ Titelman, who was not only in attendance, but was once upon a time a guitarist in the Shindogs houseband of ‘60s pop music TV show Shindig!–of which Love, then also part of The Blossoms female vocal backup trio, was likewise a regular.

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Russ Titelman (right) at Damrosch Park’s Darlene Love show (photo courtesy of Russ Titelman)

But the second half also included “Marvelous,” Walter Hawkins’ gospel classic that is also on Introducing Darlene Love, which she performs powerfully at every show as a tribute to her late backup singer and friend Patty Darcy.

Titelman, meanwhile, found Margaret Ross Williams, lead singer of The Cookies, also of ‘60s fame via the hits “Don’t Say Nothin’ Bad (About My Baby)” and “Chains” (covered by The Beatles), and also an important female backup vocal trio for artists including Neil Sedaka and Little Eva. Love’s contemporary, Williams noted how so many others of their time are now gone.

“Darlene is inspiring us to keep going in our own way,” said Williams, and with Love then three days away from turning 75, a video birthday greeting was screened prior to the second set with messages from the likes of Costello, Medley, Van Zandt, Hedwig, Paul Shaffer and Joan Jett, whose “Little Liar” she covered on Introducing Darlene Love and at Damrosch Park.

She closed with Spector’s “River Deep–Mountain High,” and while her Spector recordings made her legend, unlike virtually all the other Spector-associated artists, she’s long since furthered it on her own. And though it was a scorching summer evening, she made the obvious clear: “I’m not sweating, honey,” she responded to an incorrect observer. “I’m glowing!”

Concert Highlights–Nice as F**k at Bowery Ballroom, 8/1/2016

Jim

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(Photo: Chalkie Davies)

If they were just a flash in the pan, Nice as Fuck, or Nice as F**k, or NAF was a blinding flash in an intimate pan, based on the trio’s two rapid-fire 30-minute sets Monday night at the Bowery Ballroom, following two similar ones at the Deep End Club closing party Friday night.

NAF acutally formed earlier this year at Tennessee Thomas’s East Village boutique/community center, which the former Like drummer launched three years ago. Fronted by Jenny Lewis, NAF is a girl supergroup of sorts, with Thomas on drums and Au Revoir Simone’s Erika Forster on bass. Sharing the shop owner’s activism on behalf of progressive causes (it grew out of her involvement in the Occupy movement and became the home for activities concerning other issues like women’s rights and fracking), the band debuted at Bern NY Bern, an April fundraiser for Bernie Sanders at New York club Flash Factory. Thomas had supported Sanders mightily in the media—even including an interview on BBC Newsnight–and at her store.

“It’s hard to sustain a business on Peace & Love alone,” Thomas wrote on her Facebook page when announcing the Deep End Club’s closing concert. “For 3 magical years we’ve used [it] to promote peace & love. [It] has been our clubhouse & birthed NICE AS FUCK! The band has taken the message on tour, & what a beautiful note to end our east village experience on!”

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Deep End Club closing concert (Photo: Jim Bessman)

Indeed, it was in the store window that NAF wrote and rehearsed the songs on their self-titled nine-song EP, which Lewis released in June on her Love’s Way label. According to Thomas’s father Pete Thomas—better recognized as the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame drummer behind Elvis Costello—the EP was cut in some guy’s bedroom in one week at a cost of $1,000.

Tennessee noted the “very sad” news of the shop closing when called upon by Lewis to explain the NAF song “Cookie Lips” during the band’s Bowery Ballroom sets.

“It’s about getting ‘crumbs of affection,’” she said, “when you get crumbs of affection—like texting—and want the whole cookie!” Such a thing is sometimes possible, she exclaimed, citing “the good news” of Forster being six months pregnant.

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(Photo: Jim Bessman)

NAF had come out following a great mix of ‘60s and ‘70s records from Alix Brown, like Tennessee a great DJ, musician, activist and Deep End Club habitue. She was stationed at the back of the Bowery Ballroom stage, hidden by a throng of attendees on stage, too, and a big balloon “tree” tying in with the closing night Deep End Club decor; NAF, then, was set up in the middle of the floor, in about as small a space as the Deep End Club window, their gear placed before a big peace sign light fixture and sealed off by velvet ropes until just before the gals came out, so that when they did, there was no separation between populist band and adoring populace.

Tennessee played what was essentially a practice kit intended for Costello tour rehearsals, Pete said—a Sanders t-shirt covering the snare. It was small enough to fit in the Deep End Club window, and featured a bass drum head painted a light blue, red and white target by handyman Pete to match the store colors.

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(Photo: Sarah Tate)

NAF wore their customary green army fatigues, black berets, and “Nice As Fuck” t-shirts–as did many of the like-age young women surrounding them, some also wearing shirts emblazoned with the NAF motto “Give A Damn,” and all knowing all the band’s lyrics and singing along. Lewis, who contributed spare phrases and effects on a little keyboard, sang to everyone circling her and the others, even embracing one while singing. Especially on “Higher,” she resembled Patti Smith–otherwise it was a minimalist drum-and-bass sound, though quite a groovy one thanks to Tennessee and Forster. Pete rightly likened the overall sensation, visually and sonically, to that of an amphitheater.

Going through the entire EP in real time, NAF reminded me of Danny Fields and how he told me that a major reason he signed The Ramones (whom Brown played during her warmup) to management was that their sets clocked in at under 20 minutes. Even at a good 10 minutes longer, I’m sure he’d have loved NAF, who closed strong with the Ramones-like “Door” and “Guns” (its “I don’t wanna be afraid/Put your guns away” couplet made for an easy, committed singalong), and the thrice-repeated “NAF Theme”: “We’re Nice…as Fuck! Wish you…good luck!”—maybe their generation’s “Fish Cheer.”

And with that they smiled, flashed two-handed peace signs, and were gone—maybe for good. Forster’s having a baby, Tennessee’s taking time off, and Lewis “is going back to being Jenny Lewis,” said Pete. Of the show—especially the second set—he commented: “very inspiring.”

But Pete’s friend Joe Blaney, whose engineering credits range from The Clash to Prince, felt that NAF could still pick up where they left off at any time, and as Tennessee wrote in her Facebook announcement of her shop’s closing, “The Deep End Club will definitely re-emerge in another form in the future.. But thedeependclub.com in the meantime! Here’s to PEACE AND LOVE!”

Concert Highlights–The John Jorgenson Quintet at the Cutting Room, 7/26/2016

Jim

Jorg
(Photo: Terri Horak)

“Touring musicians lead super glamorous lives,” declared John Jorgenson at the start of his John Jorgenson Quintet gypsy jazz gig July 26 at the Cutting Room.

Except, that is, for this particular night: Flying from L.A. to Hartford, Jorgenson had to land in Abilene in order for his plane to refuel, since its Dallas destination was too busy. So he was forced to spend the night in the airport waiting for a new connection, and while he made it to the Cutting Room on time, his guitar—and luggage—didn’t.

“I borrowed a guitar from Jason [his violinist Jason Anick], a shirt from Simon [upright bassist Simon Planting],” Jorgenson told the Cutting Room crowd. “Everybody contributed—except the pants I’m wearing are mine, because none of the others’ fit!”

Glamor aside—and despite the challenge of playing such intricate acoustic music as his quintet’s on an unfamiliar guitar—Jorgenson, whose latest release Divertuoso is a three-disc box showing his many musical facets, dazzled in his gypsy jazz mode. “Black Swan,” from the new set’s Returning disc featuring the quintet, was particularly noteworthy in its adaptation by Jorgenson from Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake, specifically, the entrance of the “naughty” Black Swan.

“My grandparents gave me the Fantasia soundtrack as a child, and I loved Tchaikovsky ever since,” Jorgenson explained. He also gave background on the gypsy jazz genre, citing guitarist Django Reinhardt and violinist Stephane Grappelli as “the patron saints of this style of music.”

“They were inspired by Louis Armstrong, Duke Ellington, Fats Waller and Benny Goodman, and played on acoustic instruments, which wasn’t being done in jazz at that time,” said Jorgenson, who demonstrated Reinhardt’s two-finger technique—he used only his index and middle fingers of his left hand after his third and fourth fingers were paralyzed after being burned in a fire—and closed with Reinhardt’s gypsy jazz standard “Nuages.”

He also lauded his band, besides Anick (also a mandolinist and one of the youngest instructors at Boston’s Berklee College of Music) and Planting (“one of the great bass players in gypsy jazz”), including drummer Rick Reed (“incredible stamina on brushes”) and rhythm guitarist Max O’Rourke, whom he singled out for having “the hardest job, because he’s always active and doesn’t get to rest.”

Jorgenson, incidentally, also played bouzouki—though he declares it a banjo for airport security. He said he would have played clarinet, but it was packed in a suitcase.

As for the other two Divertuoso discs, From the Crow’s Nest features J2B2—The John Jorgenson Bluegrass Band featuring Jorgenson on mandolin and guitar and vocals, Herb Pedersen on banjo and guitar and vocals, guitarist/vocalist Jon Randall and upright bassist Mark Fain. Jorgenson, of course, was a central player in country music’s great Desert Rose Band, along with Pedersen and Chris Hillman.

The third disc, Gifts From the Flood, consists of instrumentals played on prized instruments damaged during Nashville’s historic 2010 flooding, that have been painstakingly restored.

Jorg1
(Photo: Terri Horak)

Concert Highlights–Bobby Rydell featuring City Rhythm Orchestra at Damrosch Park, 7/6/2016

Jim

Bobby Rydell at Lincoln Center Midsummer Nights Swing, July 6, 2016
Bobby Rydell at Lincoln Center Midsummer Nights Swing, July 6, 2016 (photo: Russ Titelman)

Not sure who was more excited to meet Bobby Rydell backstage at Lincoln Center’s Midsummer Night Swing series at Damrosch Park on July 6, me or Russ Titelman.

A few years older than me, Russ was no less starstruck in the presence of early 1960s teen idol Rydell after a great, mostly pop standards set with Philadelphia’s City Rhythm Orchestra, songs including several Sinatra staples and a Bobby Darin tribute, the only Rydell hits being “Wild One” and “Volare.”

“It goes back to my childhood!” Russ marveled, except that Rydell’s set had contemporary relevance for him as well, as he also sang “Teach Me Tonight,” the 1950s Sammy Cahn-Gene De Paul standard that Russ just recorded with Holly Cole.

After the show–and our meeting with Rydell–Russ, who’s famously produced the likes of Eric Clapton and Steve Winwood, recalled the impetus for the Cole cut, within both Sinatra and Darin contexts. Turns out he was a guest of Quincy Jones at the 1984 sessions in New York at A&R studio for Sinatra’s L.A. is My Lady album, which Jones was producing. Michael Jackson was there, so was late Broadway musical luminary Michael Bennett (A Chorus Line), and among the stellar musicians in the band was George Benson.

“Mr. S sang ‘Teach Me Tonight’ and ‘Mack the Knife,’” Russ recalled. “On a break I suggested to George that we do ‘Beyond the Sea’–one of my very favorite songs and the B-side of Darin’s ‘Mack the Knife.’ He said he already had an arrangement. I said, ‘What do you mean?’ and he answered that Frank Foster, who had written the ‘Mack the Knife’ arrangement for Sinatra, had written him a big band arrangement of ‘Beyond the Sea.’ When I heard that, I said, ‘We’re doing it!’ Mr. Foster said it was one of his favorites of all his arrangements!”

Russ still considers the version of “Beyond the Sea” that he produced for Benson’s 1984 album 20/20 the best ever.

Rydell, meanwhile, sang both “Beyond the Sea” and “Mack the Knife” outdoors at Lincoln Center, not to mention Sinatra’s “The Lady is a Tramp” and “I’ve Got the World on a String.” He was equally at ease singing Darrin and Sinatra.

Concert Highlights–Loudon Wainwright III with Friends and Family, 6/29/2016

Jim

The extended Family Wainwright must be the biggest and most talented clan in contemporary music. Headed by Loudon Wainwright III, it includes sister Sloan, son Rufus, daughters Martha and Lucy Wainwright Roche and now Alexandra, and numerous other relatives and players associated with Loudon and his exes Kate McGarrigle (late mother of Martha and Rufus) and Suzzy Roche (mother of Lucy).

At City Winery June 29 (the second of two consecutive Wednesday night Loudon appearances there), he brought along Rufus, Martha and Alexandra (Lucy was on tour with the Indigo Girls), Sloan, Suzzy and frequent and versatile accompanists Chaim Tannenbaum and David Mansfield. Billed as Loudon Wainwright III with Friends and Family, it was definitely a family affair, albeit one that reflected an uncommonly accomplished family that nonetheless has never been wholly functional.

He hinted at this after the the nostalgic summer opener “The Swimming Song” (sung with the full family) with “Bein’ a Dad,” a song expressing both the joys and sorrows of fatherhood (“Bein’ a dad can make you feel sad/Like you’re the insignificant other/Yeah right from the start, they break your heart/In the end every kid wants his mother”). He sang this one solo, and then the set broke into various solo, duet and trio vocal combinations starting with Loudon and Suzzy—with Mansfield on fiddle—singing Marty Robbins’ classic “At the End of a Long Lonely Day.”

Nervously noting that she rarely sings by herself, the ever wonderful Suzzy Roche followed with a confident take on Connie Converse’s “Talkin’ Like You (Two Tall Mountains),” crediting Loudon for her being aware of the tragically mysterious Converse–the New York singer-songwriter of the 1950s who wrote sad and simple songs, and when her dream of a career didn’t pan out, disappeared without a trace in 1974, to be recently rediscovered with the release of rare recordings over the last decade or so. Sloan Wainwright capped her solo segment with a duet with her brother on the Everly Brothers classic “Love Hurts” (Mansfield on mandolin).

Tannenbaum took a fine turn, playing harmonica opposite Mansfield’s accordion on “I Had a Dream,” playing banjo on Kate McGarrigle’s “Talk to Me of Mendocino” (Martha Wainwright singing backup), and guitar on “Brooklyn 1955,” a poignant song of summer and baseball from his new self-titled debut album. A major part of the Wainwright-McGarrigles universe for decades, he also performed country bluesman Peg Leg Howell’s “Coal Man Blues,” whistling along solidly while Mansfield fiddled.

Loudon then returned to offer a taste of his Surviving Twin show, in which he “posthumously collaborates” with his late father Loudon Wainwright Jr. (the esteemed Life Magazine columnist with whom he had a typically complicated relationship) by juxtaposing his music with his father’s words. But youngest child Alexandra Kelly Wainwright nearly stole the show when she came out, complained how she’d had to watch her entire family perform on stage with instruments her entire life, and for this one time only, would throw her almost 70-year-old dad a bone by singing “No Time at All” from Pippin, which was written by his college classmate Stephen Schwartz. This she did with endearing off-the-wall aplomb, a girl friend holding up cue cards for the audience to sing along while Suzzy supported on guitar.

“Why did I spend all that money to send her to college?” wondered the proud papa. “That’s a gold mine right there!” Lexie really was that good, but older sister Martha, after duetting with their father on the guilt-slinging “You Never Phone,” picked up the gauntlet and ran with it on her own terrific “Traveler,” which she performed solo with acoustic guitar. Rufus then joined her on piano and vocals for the 1930s pop song “Moon Over Miami,” which they sang in French, they said, at their father’s surprise request—Rufus explaining that Loudon (and the kids called him “Loudon” as often as “Dad”) used to complain when they sang in French, having grown up with their mother in Montreal. Rufus followed solo with his angry and vindictive “Dinner at Eight,” though he noted the obvious in that while he and his father had indeed fought hard, “in the end, it’s a love story.”

“Isn’t this the greatest family?” the ever upbeat paterfamilias asked at one point. “It’s always a great contest getting the family on stage!” Then again, he added, “it’s all about what happens in the dressing room after!”

At least Loudon, Rufus and Martha were all good on “One Man Guy,” after which Loudon ended with “All in a Family,” having earlier sung his new Trump Funny or Die video nightmare “I Had a Dream.” He brought everyone back for the wacky encore, “Meet the Wainwrights,” which he wrote last year for The Wainwright Family Adventure in Alaska, in which the family did five shows in five different cities in Alaska, with the audience traveling with them through the entire tour.

Maybe now they might consider a family TV show a la The King Family Show, or even Lawrence Welk.

Concert Highlights–Cindy Lee Berryhill and Al Stewart at City Winery, 6/14/2016

Jim

Cindy Lee Berryhill alluded to her difficult recent past at the beginning of her opening set Tuesday night at City Winery when, leading into her forthcoming album The Adventurist’s track “Somebody’s Angel,” she invoked “Ruby, Don’t Take Your Love to Town,” the 1969 hit by Kenny Rogers and The First Edition that was written by Mel Tillis and is about a paralyzed veteran of “that crazy Asian war” who begs his wife not to go out on the town.

“I didn’t understand it when I was a kid,” Berryhill said, quoting the lyric “And if I could move I’d get my gun and put her in the ground/Oh, Ruby, don’t take your love to town.”

“Where was she going? The bowling alley? An Al-Anon group? There are any number of things she could have been doing besides having an affair!”

Berryhill has said that The Adventurist “bookends” with her 1994 album Garage Orchestra in that the first album documented the beginning of her relationship with her late husband Paul Williams and the new one its end: Williams, a prominent rock journalist who was a founder of the seminal rock magazine Crawdaddy!, died last year after many years of debilitation from a severe brain injury following a bicycle accident.

Ruby, Berryhill came to realize, was, much like herself, “a caretaker.”

“That’s not an easy way to go,” she said, adding, of caretakers, “It’s not an easy life—they deserve a song.”

Hence, “Somebody’s Angel.” But she noted after that she had “no regrets,” and had started the show with “a downer song” in order to progress to the more hopeful fare included on The Adventurist.

“You have to eat the healthy stuff first,” she explained, “then the Coca-Cola with ice cream.”

She later brought up her longtime friend Lenny Kaye, who produced her 1989 album Naked Movie Star. Kaye played acoustic guitar on The Adventurist’s “American Cinematography” and the Velvet Underground classic “Femme Fatale,” which was written by Lou Reed—Reed being part of Berryhill’s acknowledged “triumvirate” of key influences, the others being Patti Smith (Kaye has forever been Smith’s guitarist/collaborator) and Brian Wilson.

Berryhill was opening for another influence, Al Stewart, who sang his hit “Time Passages” at Kaye’s request. For his part, by the way, Stewart was quite engaging, particularly in stories like the one about playing places like Tokyo and Rome and hearing wives complain to their husbands that they thought they were going to see Rod, not Al Stewart.

Stewart also brought a nifty merchandise item: a poster pattered after the Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band cover and featuring some 200 people and things associated with the lyrics to his songs–historical, if I heard correctly, and being hard of hearing and sitting in the back and Stewart not having a loud voice, I’m not 100 percent sure. He definitely said that only one person had been able to identify all but one of the figures, and he might have said that he himself couldn’t identify at least 30.