Ray LaMontagne: Painful Revelations

Ray LaMontagne

Paramount Theater

Oakland, CA

November 13, 2006

Painful Revelations

I am reluctant to refer to Ray Lamontagne's concert as beautiful agony, due to the sexual connotations. However, it is almost unavoidable as it is the most apt description. It was certainly agonizing for both the audience and Ray, but it was also certainly beautiful. And the term is certainly apt in other ways as there was a certain voyeuristic quality in watching the painfully shy Ray struggle mightily to summon his musical muses, almost as if he was releasing all his inner demons in performing his songs.

It was also one of the most interesting concerts that I have been to since Ray's struggles were clearly not only limited to his own performance anxieties but were also further burdened by

tremendous technical difficulties. (Ray, you are awesome, but you may have the worst tech in the business running your soundboard.) Ray spent inordinate time between songs tuning his guitar and had to repeatedly apologize to the audience. At one point, he threatened to fire his guitar man. In addition, the volume of his sideman's slide guitar popped in and out in a very distracting manner and the reverb almost swallowed the music completely during several upbeat numbers. The sound was balanced correctly for only about half the concert.

Then there was Ray. During long pauses between songs, he fumbled with his guitar, he mumbled nearly incoherent responses to the crowd's whooping song requests. He seemed to have to sturdy himself, staring ahead, looking for courage, before each song and often combed down his hair nervously with his fingers. He was excruciatingly uncomfortable on stage and was, consequently, almost mesmerizing- had not the sound difficulties not been so distracting.

Nevertheless, despite all these limitations, it was still possible to hear Ray's abundant talents. Ray may have one of the most expressive voices in music and is perhaps one of the finest songwriters around. His songs are drenched with longing- for love, for acceptance, for redemption. For anyone who has felt out of place or unable to control or understand their emotions, Ray has a song that captures that feeling perfectly. In many ways, Ray's songs are all about the beautiful agony that is the life of a sensitive artist, which is a life he clearly knows well. In a world of musical artists more concerned with branding and copyrights, encountering a real artist trying to express their interaction with the world and their struggle to understand it is compelling even if the sound mix kept him from breaking free.

Minus the Bear: More Cowbell

Minus the Bear

Bimbo's 365 Club

San Francisco, CA

April 29, 2008

I gots to have me more cowbell.

I have found that one of the great paradoxes of music lies in realizing that artistic expression is not dependent on intelligence alone. Creating music is as emotional an experience as it is intellectual. That seems obvious, but I occasionally must remind myself of this - particularly after listening to Dave Matthews and ruing his insipid lyrics or the numbing blandness of Miley Cyrus. Of course, not all expression can be operatic in its depths of pathos and beauty but conversely neither does every Campbell’s soup can or urinal-cake merit display at MOMA. A barbaric yawp is still a yawp, no matter what Walt Whitman thinks, and similarly, a mathematical equation proving Fermat’s Last Theorem, no matter how elegant, is also not art. Still, there are times when a song just gots to have more cowbell!

When watching Minus the Bear at Bimbo’s 365 Club in San Francisco, it was hard not to consider the difficulties and quick limitations one reaches when trying to define art. The band has some of the best song and album titles in music today. Some of their titles: Absinthe Party at the Fly Honey Warehouse, Monkey! Knife! Fight!, We Are Not a Football Team, Thanks for the Killer Game of Cisco Twister, Lemurs Man Lemurs, Michio'a Death Drive, Highly Refined Pirates, This Is What I Know About Being Gigantic, Get Me Naked2: Electric Boogaloo. Just reading those titles makes me want to know what this band is about.

The brilliance of Minus the Bear lies in combining their abstract expressionist song titles with seemingly unrelated lyrics that reflect quiet personal observations. Their lyrics are further juxtaposed by the complex multilayered music of Minus the Bear with its unusual time signatures, unexpected chord progressions and free-flowing melodies. Though, at times, the music is overly dependent on guitar-tapping sounds such that the songs tend to blend together. This is a deficit suffered by other progressive rock outfits like Coldplay or outfits from the 1970s that first explored this territory like Yes, King Crimson, Genesis (circa Peter Gabriel) and, in some respects, Pink Floyd. Minus the Bear would do well to follow in the steps of Pink Floyd and incorporate more blues-flavored accents into their sound. Pink Floyd graduated from nearly indiscernible and unlistenable psychedelic landscapes by adding more blues-influenced guitar and piano and created some of the most brilliant artistic expressions in rock music history. For Minus the Bear, a little less scarecrow and a little more lion could make them the most brilliant act on today’s music scene. It is rock and roll after all and should be a punch to the gut as well as the head. More cowbell!

Nevertheless, in a world of countless forgettable prima donnas like Mariah Carey, plain wannabe rockers like Daughtry, and too many nondescript “R&B” artists to name, having my brain stimulated for an evening, rather than dulled by dribble dressed up like music, was more than worth the price of admission. The band has been described as a distant satellite anonymously orbiting around the music world, but recent well-received performances at Coachella and other large festivals may quickly change this. And, when the dust settled and I was driving home, I concluded that this was a tremendous performance by a deeply talented band with unlimited potential for commercial as well as artistic success- a rare combination.

Josh Ritter: Throwback

Josh Ritter

Bimbo’s 365 Club

San Francisco, CA

October 24, 2007

Josh Ritter: Throwback

No, Virgina, Singer-songwriters are not dead, they are quietly strumming their way across the country playing small theaters and clubs; communing with 200 decent white folks at a time; playing to audiences determined to find melody and poetry in their music instead of thumping, sexually explicit propositions (not that there is anything wrong with that) or celebrations of gratuitous violence (might be something wrong with that) telling Garrison Keilor tales of country dance tractor rides and other non-sequiturs of unrequited love.

Josh Ritter is a throwback to a time when singer-songwriters ruled. There have been several revivals of the singer-songerwriter motif since its halcyon days in the 1970s - perhaps gaining the most media attention were the 1990s Lilith Fair celebration of female singer-songwriters, filled with estrogen-fueled outpourings of mediocre confessional sorority love, broken hearts and female empowerment, Indigo Girls-inspired patchouli affairs accompanied by ubiquitous gushing comparisons to Joni Mitchell and Rickie Lee Jones.

The recent resurgence of male singer-songwriters, like Ray Lamontagne, Ryan Adams, David Gray and Josh Ritter has not garnered quite the same level of media attention. This may be in no small part due to the continuing hegemony of males in popular music. Serious singer-songwriters, like Josh Ritter, have been playing small theaters and Universities across the country under the radar of popular acclaim. The comparison of these artists to 1970s icons of male singer-songerwriters, like Cat Stevens, James Tayor, Jackson Browne and Bob Dylan is all too readily apparent. And there were times last night that Ritter sounded uncannily like both Bob Dylan and Jackson Browne. He certainly has already penned some tunes that rival some of the best work of these two musical legends.

The last time Josh Ritter performed in San Francisco, he played at the Make-Out Room with a capacity of approximately 75 people. Last night’s sold-out show had approximately 750 people in attendance. This is in no small part due to Ritter’s “Girl In the War.” A song that is a true stroke of genius and has garnered quite a bit of critical claim amongst the antiwar NPR set. “Girl in the War” is an achingly beautiful plea and bitter rejection of the politics of war and destruction and is typical of Ritter’s early melodic ballads that are both personal and political in a truly revelatory way.

At Bimbo’s 365 Club, one of San Francisco’s most attractive venues, Ritter was joined by the ‘Alcatraz Brass Band,’ a small horn section, which brought some life to the setlist that was heavily dependent on his new more upbeat album. Unfortunately, the uptempo songs may have been the first signs of Ritter’s own limitations as songwriter as they did not demonstrate the same level of creativity, both melodically and lyrically, as his ballads. Nevertheless, Ritter deserves recognition and inclusion with the very best songwriters of the post-Dylan generation. He is a talent to watch.

Recommended Songs: Girl in the War, Snow is Gone, Here at the Right Time, Good Man, Hearts Still Beating, Thin Blue Flame.

Garth Brooks: King of Country

Garth Brooks was once the undisputed King of Country Music before his semi-retirement. He broke nearly every record involving country music, albums sales, ticket sales, awards. He has 70 hit singles, though only a few ever reached popular consciousness, most notably, “Friends in Low Places” and “Ain’t Going Down (Until the Sun Comes Up).” He has sold over 125 million albums, won 2 Grammys, 16 American Music Awards, 29 Country Music awards, and is the only artist to have seven albums debut at Number One on the Billboard charts. His concerts all sell out in record time.

So, the real question is why does every article or review of Garth Brooks begin with a recitation of these stunning numbers? Why does every Garth Brooks fan feel the need to justify their love of all things Garth? The cowboy hat, the pudgy Western shirts, the bad lyrical puns in his songs. After all, vanilla is the most popular ice cream for a reason and no one apologizes when buying a vanilla cone. Garth’s stellar career and phenomenal success is belied by his everyday-man persona and everyday-man music. Without his trademark cowboy hat and shirts, he could walk past you on the street and you would never know. There are few superstars of his status that could do this. I think for many of his fans, Garth Brooks is a guilty-pleasure. They know that he embodies nearly every country music stereotype, for better or worse, but he does so with such effortlessness and such lack of guile that his popularity continues to be broad and his connection to his fans is deep and something that most artists can only envy.

Garth Brooks

Staples Center

Los Angeles, CA

January 25, 2008

Guest Contributor: Robert Martins

As a holiday present, I got tickets to take my wife to see Garth Brooks. Garth Brooks is the Brett Favre of the country music scene, every time he steps on stage, he continues to set records. He is also widely admired for his humility and earnestness despite great success. According to the Recording Industry Association of America (RIAA), Garth Brooks is the top-selling solo artist of the 20th century. And like the Green Bay Packers and Brett Favre, tickets to see Garth Brooks are very difficult to get.

Garth performs very few live concerts these days, instead devoting himself to his family and young daughters. But when fires hit Southern California in the fall of 2007, he agreed to perform at a one-time fundraiser in Los Angeles due to his long association with firefighters. Tickets went on sale December 1^st, and after only 58 minutes, 5 concerts had been sold out. The 5 shows took place over only a two day period because of scheduling conflicts at the Staples center. On Saturday, Brooks was scheduled to perform 3 concerts in one day, another record for the Staples Center. The three concerts were scheduled at four hour intervals and were underwritten by American Express who also donated money to help raise over $10 million dollars.

Brooks was no less than amazing. During the fourth concert, which I attended on Saturday afternoon, he began the concert by playing a string of his hits. After almost two hours, he returned for two encores that included covers of songs by James Taylor and Jim Croce who Brooks said are among his heroes. During the second encore, he said that he just met a Staples Center employee backstage who asked what it was like to go on stage before an audience of over 17,000 people. Garth said his father had told him that if you want to experience something you need to jump in with both feet. At that point he invited Alva, the employee, to come on the stage. Alva, a heavy set Hispanic woman, was visibly shaken but sat on stage while Garth sang one more song. When he was done, he invited Alva back to the middle of the stage and asked everyone in the audience to take a picture of the two of them. He then took off his trademark Black Cowboy Hat and gave it to Alva. As she left the stage, Brooks turned to the audience and said that he would rather be standing on stage without his pants than standing there without his Cowboy Hat! He gave a final wave and left. It’s no wonder his fans are so dedicated. It was a great show.

The CIA: In Fact and Fiction

As Monty Python might say "And now for something completely different…" Or perhaps "And now for a little blow-back."

The CIA: In Fact and Fiction
Reva and David Logan Lecture Symposium
UC Berkeley School of Journalism
May 5, 2007 (Cinco de Mayo)

"Please! This is supposed to be a happy occasion. Let's not bicker and argue over who killed who." Monty Python

On a day meant for Corona and Lime on a beach with mariachi music in the air, your intrepid concert-goer found himself holed up in a darkened, stuffy lecture hall at the University of California- Berkeley listening to the official historian of the CIA drone on about government history. Worse yet, bureaucratic agency history- which DCI beget which DCI in some carnivalesque parody of Genesis. And the Lord said, "Let there be spies! And there were spies and it was good." Of course, there were film clips from the "Good Shepherd" and commentary from Eric Roth, the screenwriter, but tragically no popcorn.

While you might consider this to be a puzzling way to spend a beautiful Saturday in San Francisco, I did this intentionally. And there were a few nuggets of information, all declassified for your enjoyment. What is a spy gathering without a little braggadocio? Apparently, the CIA invented Blackberry technology 20 years ago. Makes you wonder what toys they are currently hiding in their basement at Langley. There was also the dubious claim that the CIA has forsworn any assassination attempts since 1963. Of course, this could be true, when you can outsource torture, you can outsource assassinations. That way everyone's happy. Plausible deniability and all that. Clean linens, cool toys. Don't fuss.

"Supreme executive power derives from a mandate from the masses, not from some farcical aquatic ceremony." Monty Python

As journalist Tim Weiner noted, it is difficult to discuss the CIA without the conversation devolving into a foreign policy debate. Nevertheless, that foreign policy debate was curiously absent from the Berkeley symposium. You could expect nothing less from a historical symposium largely populated by former officers of the CIA discussing a film about the formation of the CIA in 1947. There were categorical denials, "We don't do torture." Although this statement came with a curious caveat that this was, at least, true until the current Administration. And there was the catch-all defense laid out at the beginning, "The CIA is carrying out the President's foreign policy. The CIA does not devise their own foreign policy." This was the ultimate escape clause for almost any dubious action and further limited any moral or ethical objections to CIA activity- even though this defense was rejected at Nuremburg. Nevertheless, it is still a part of the US government lexicon. Of course, there is no need for farcical aquatic ceremonies or CIA-engineered coups when the army drops bunker-busters on the front-door. Not much mystery or romance there. All at the President's order.

"It's not a question of where he grips it! It's a simple question of weight ratios! A five ounce bird could not carry a one pound coconut." Monty Python

This brings us to the current CIA figure du jour and media whipping boy George Tenet. And leads one to ask the question, what would have happened at Nuremburg if the only evidence allowed was provided by Albert Speer? I suspect Ohio would have re-elected Hitler. Even the career CIA officers could only muster half-hearted statements of support and one nearly explicit charge of incompetence. Which leads me to my only real complaint about an otherwise stellar and thought-provoking Symposium: with the focus on history and the CIA portrayal in film, there was very little discussion about the most salacious controversies swirling about the CIA today- torture, extraordinary rendition, and no discussion at all about 9/11 and WMD, perhaps the greatest intelligence failures in a generation. Those will have to be for another symposium and another day.

Black Keys: Almost the Real Deal

Black Keys

Warfield Theater

San Francisco, CA

April 2, 2008

Black Keys: Almost the Real Deal

If I can plagiarize and horribly bastardize Thomas Franks’ thesis in the Conquest of Cool: the corporate culture of cooptation will subsume any revolutionary quality of the cool, of the new and the different as a means to sell, sell, sell! Consider Apple’s “Think Different” campaign. Think different and go buy the same Mac. Saturn’s a different kind of car that everyone should own. In the world of rock and roll, baby boomers often point to Woodstock as the moment when the corporate world realized the vast reserves of gold in them there rock and roll hills. Money for nothing, Chicks for free. In reality, the cooptation of youth culture and youth music had been going on for much longer. Baby boomers just think that the first time they had an experience; it is the first in the history of humanity.

You might be asking yourself what does all this have to do with the Black Keys, aren’t they the antithesis of the domineering American Idol music-machine? Well, the Black Keys’ tunes have now shown up in adverts for Victoria’s Secret and American Express- which is both a travesty and makes me want to break out my AmEx for some hot lingerie! However, it is a testament to the sheer, unadulterated, underground coolness of the Black Keys that these transgressions against authenticity do not dampen their street cred in the slightest. In fact, it seems today’s youth accept, as part of the bargain, what might have once been deplored as an unpardonable musical sin. If you want free illegal downloads, then your favorite song is going to be the soundtrack peddling Chrysler’s Town and Country minivan.

The Black Keys’ stripped down, bare-essentials, hard-knuckled, flannel-wearing British blues is not going to appeal to everyone- though it might sell underwear. The band consists of Dan Auerbach on guitar and vocals and Patrick Carney on drums. Despite this minimalist approach, the band’s sound is Big. It is impossible to listen to this band (if you can call a two-person outfit a band) and not hear a direct connection to Led Zeppelin and their legion of imitators (Black Sabbath, early Rush, even Nirvana – to whom the Black Keys owe much). I would call their music heavy-metal, but is very far removed from the 1980’s spandex of Southern California hair-bands and much closer to the Seattle grunge scene that followed, both in sound and penchant for plaid shirts and ripped jeans. It is also difficult not to compare the Black Keys high-energy music and performances to AC/DC (Bon Scott era) or even Van Halen (David Lee Roth era) or possibly Aerosmith (before they became a parody of themselves). Like these legendary outfits, the Black Keys’ first few albums already contain more than a dozen songs with unforgettable hooks and enough power chords to satisfy the teenager in all of us.

Of course, the Black Keys have only been around for about five years but they certainly seem to have the potential to reach such lofty heights, even after such a short history. But not just yet. The band needs a bit more aging and needs to prove their longevity.

Last night at the Warfield, the band was greeted by an enthusiastic crowd, despite it being a Wednesday. They had a giant inflatable tire behind them on the stage – in order to emphasize their working class credentials, just in case you didn’t get it. The one lull in the night’s performance was when Patrick Carney’s uncle came on the stage and played a flute and then a four-foot sax on successive songs. While it is great to see the band trying to expand their musical oeuvre, the flute and their signature hard-rock blues really did not mix well. Still, a brilliant performance by a band destined for greatness and a tough concert to top for the best of 08.

Songs to check out and the best from last night: Stack Shot Billy, Girl Is On My Mind, 10 am Automatic.

Beth Orton: Speakeasy Poet

Beth Orton

Cowell Theater, Fort Mason

San Francisco, CA

March 24, 2008

Beth Orton: Speakeasy Poet

In 1984, I saw Rickie Lee Jones perform at the Performing Arts Center in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. She was still in her wandering poet troubadour phase and the audience was populated with young hipsters- beards and ponytails, Annie Hall wannabees with scarves and berets. It was a demographic that I didn’t know existed in the Midwest in the 1980’s - at a time when MTV’s New Wave, the English Beat, ABC, Spandau Ballet, et al, were dominating the musical scene and everyone wore pastels and leg warmers. Lord, it was a difficult decade to live through. However, seeing Rickie Lee Jones, I felt that I had accidentally wandered into a gathering of the musical cognoscenti. There was meaningful music still being created that was not dependent on clever (or not so clever) videos. Seeing Beth Orton perform at the Cowell Theater at FortMason in San Francisco was a trip back in time. Both because she, like Rickie Lee Jones in the 80s, seems to be an artist out of step with the current music promotion noise machine, and because she draws the same audience of hep-cats in-the-know that makes you feel like you are in on the secret, in possession of a closely-guarded password to a Speakeasy performance.

This may sound somewhat redundant since the concert was in San Francisco. A city that is not only the very embodiment of the hipster ethos but is also the progenitor of the whole Beat movement that generated the very term. Nevertheless, I felt like I was in a hip bubble within a hip bubble at the Cowell Theater. And I had plenty of time for reminiscing since Beth started over half an hour late. Eventually, though, she did take the stage.

While Beth Orton may have evolved into a fairly straightforward folk singer, she began her career in electronica-flavored music and has been described as writing and performing "folktronica" music by some critics- which is all to say that she has her own unique voice and sound despite playing acoustic based, midtempo songs that characterize the new folk music scene. Nevertheless, her acoustic versions of the songs she played in San Francisco owed as much to Nick Drake and Joni Mitchell as to any contemporary artist. Her latest albums have been largely confessional songs of longing and devotion with the additional flavor of British, self-effacing insecurity. And her performance insecurities were also quite evident at the Cowell Theater where she restarted three or four songs after having moments of panic-induced memory lapses for which she apologized profusely.

However, when the songs took over, they seemed inspired. The melodies are light and playful and memorable and her lyrics are thoughtful and poetic. In many ways, the melodies seem as if they were always meant to be and Beth is simply their conduit to existence. Her lyrics also display a level of thoughtful eloquence that seemed to escape Beth when apologizing for her memory lapses. Her between-song banter largely consisted of stuttered pleas for forgiveness punctuated by ‘bullocks’ and ‘bloody hells’ after forgetting a lyric or chord and then blaming the whole mess on her recent motherhood and resulting absence from live performances. This was charming, appealing to an audience of anglophiles, but persisted a bit too long.

Despite all this and the incredibly short duration of the show, just over one hour, it was a very pleasant evening with a gifted songwriter who doesn’t get near the attention or praise that she deserves.

Songs to check out: Someone’s Daughter, Conceived, Heartland Truckstop, Central Reservation.

Willie Nelson: An American Original

Willie Nelson

The Fillmore

San Francisco, CA

April 16, 2007

Willie Nelson: An American Original

What can be said about Willie Nelson that hasn’t already been said? While he is a true cultural icon, he is also a true survivor. He turns 74 years old in a couple weeks but still sells out 5 nights at the Fillmore in San Francisco and still puts on an awesome show. Willie has come to symbolize an earnest freedom that once characterized what was most alluring about America. Big skies, vast open plains, the never-ending highway that led to infinite promise and possibility. Oh, yeah, and old-fashioned, good-time, incorrigible rebellion. Willie celebrates rebellion as long as it is in pursuit of a good time. He may regret it the next day, but he will embrace it tonight. And he certainly embraced a good time Monday night at the Fillmore, refusing to leave the stage even after announcing that this was the last song, well, OK, one more. Well, one more.

Willie doesn’t play by the rules. And what’s not to love about that? Getting high on the roof of the White House with the Secret Service, not paying taxes to the Man, married four times, getting cited last year for marijuana possession (at 73 years old). He writes and performs music, has written books, acted in movies. He’s performed with almost every major music star of the past 50 years that you can name. He’s lived a Big Life. And what’s most wonderful about Willie Nelson is that he has done it all while still maintaining a generous, mellow, humble persona. As a result, he engenders great genuine affection from his fans who are deeply devoted.

Willie doesn’t play by the rules in his music either. There is nothing hip about country music. The time signature is always the same, there is little variance in key, the subject matter is all the same. But if there is a hip country music performer, it is Willie Nelson. While he has perfected his own unrelenting rough-edged, honky-tonk signature sound that sometimes can overshadow well-crafted songs, it is very unique and very American. The music sounds jagged and unfinished at times and in the center is Willie’s voice. His voice is warm and nostalgic, world-weary but still sympathetic and full of life. Although he played just under 2 hours, he still covered all his greatest hits and many covers as well. See, selected list below.

There is also a wistful nostalgia about many of Willie Nelson’s songs. Many are about beaten-down characters who can’t help themselves despite the fact that they know better. Jack Kerouac wrote “Beat doesn't mean tired, or bushed, so much as it means beato, the Italian for beatific: to be in a state of beatitude, like Saint Francis, trying to love all life, trying to be utterly sincere with everyone, practicing endurance, kindness, cultivating joy of heart.” If there is a country artist that could be described as Beat, it would be Willie Nelson. His last album is called Last of the Breed, another apt description of an irreplaceable American artist.

A Few Songs from Monday Night: Whiskey River, Crazy, Me and Bobby McGee, Pancho and Lefty, Blue Skies, I’ll Fly Away, I Saw the Light, Good Hearted Woman, Mama Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys, Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain, Always on My Mind, City of New Orleans, On The Road Again, If You’ve Got the Money I’ve Got the Time, so many more.

Welcome

This is a journal of musical adventures in San Francisco, California. A random collection of the fits and sparks of an addle-minded music fan and his questionable opinions of the best and worst of live performances around the San Francisco Bay Area and wherever else his demented muse leads.

This journal is colored by the eternal struggle against Weltschmerz, where physical reality fails to satisfy the demands of the mind and soul. Live performances of music can be religious experiences of oneness and transcendence. The very best performance can allow glimpses of nirvana facilitated by a communal gathering of the like-minded and a celebration of the philosophical paradox of wave particles floating in air. Raising the lowly, empowering the powerless, moving beyond Subject and Object, Mind and Body. The magic of melody and poetry overcoming the limits of language and narrative and reality finally satisfying the mind and soul. And one tired dude trying to capture the Zeitgeist for a fleeting moment: Welcome to Musical Views and Reviews.