Concerts

Beer with The White Buffalo

/ Deb / Leave a comment
My beer, and White Buffalo’s beer
During a late night of live music, there is a moment when you give in to the evening.

Fans of live music know what I am talking about – that moment when you turn your mind off (no mental To Do lists!), and turn yourself over to being fully present for the music.

For me, it usually happens a few songs in to the night.  The lights wash over me, I can feel the music in my gut, and I’m in.

I’m now halfway through a sprint of shows for my birthday month (“Show-vember is Here!”), and I gotta say – so far, so good.  Last Wednesday night, I was lucky enough to see one of my favorite artists, The White Buffalo, at one of my favorite venues, The Crocodile.

Somewhat unexpectedly, I found myself at the front of the stage.  The opener, a Seattle duo known as Duke Evers, blew me away. I committed quickly and fully:  Yes, I am HERE (on a WEDNESDAY!). And yes, it’s going to be a late night and I have to get up early to pack lunches and get kids out the door before plowing through the rest of my daily list. I will be exhausted and my ears will ring all day. But it will be worth it.

Of course The White Buffalo kicked ass (and took names, a’la “The Pilot”), mowing through all of my favorites before releasing us out into the cold wee hours.   I was painfully, brutally tired on Thursday.  But, as always, it was worth it.

Show-vember is here!

/ Deb / Leave a comment

I’ve taken a long absence from the beloved comfort of this blog.  Not that I haven’t wanted to sit down and live in my head……write words that I fuss over and then, when I hit “publish”, panic like a young mom dropping her kid off for his first day of preschool.   I always want to do that.  Over the past few months, though, my life has been consumed with sunshine, family, and work that actually earns money.

But now the rain is here, I’m in modified hermit mode, and, after not seeing any concerts since August, it just so happens that, for the first 2 weeks of November, I have tickets to four different shows. I’m officially calling it Show-vember, and have decided it’s a sign to come home to my little corner of cyberspace.

It’s always interesting how concerts end up getting lumped closely together for me.  I can go for a few months without a show, and then it seems that all the shows I want to see are bunched together within a short time frame.  I take them on like a musical triathlon – proper pacing being of utmost importance.  My personal long-standing record was established in 2001:  three different shows in three states, within the span of a week (if it matters:  Ben Harper in Seattle, Dave Matthews Band in Las Vegas, and Sting in Chicago.  Ben is the only one I listen to anymore).

And so I’m gearing up for some great music from artists that I love, in a month that thumbs its nose at dreary weather with many fabulous things:  my birthday, Thanksgiving and the Apple Cup (“We’ve Got a Thing…”). And now, also……The Black Keys, Ben Gibbard, Chadwick Stokes and the White Buffalo.  Happy Show-vember to me (and also to you….go to a show, I promise it will make November bearable)!

Garage Regret, 20 Years Later

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Twenty years ago when Kurt died, I was in law school and living in Tacoma.  I recall driving down the hill on my way to work, towards Commencement Bay, and hearing it on the radio.  The sky was blindingly blue – one of those crystal clear, early spring days when it seems like it should be warm outside, but isn’t.  It wasn’t yet confirmed to be Kurt, but of course everyone knew it was.  My stomach dropped, and I very clearly remember thinking that it was too beautiful of a day to be lying dead in a room above a garage.

As the weeks (and years) went on, regret loomed.  As a music lover and Seattle resident since 1988, I am almost embarrassed to say that I never saw Nirvana play live.  I had plenty of opportunities, including the infamous “Four Bands for Four Bucks” shows at the UW Hub while I was in college there.  I had a friend who sported a Nirvana sticker on his VW bug long before “Nevermind”.  He saw them plenty of times.  At the time I remember considering him somewhat of a slacker, but now I think he’s a goddamn genius.  I graduated, moved to Tacoma for law school, and a Nirvana show just never seemed to work out for me. I barely remember that I once had access to a ticket, and then couldn’t go, for some reason which must have been important at the time.

I took my kids to the EMP recently, and we toured the Nirvana exhibit.  They enjoy music and of course know about Nirvana, so they were interested.  They listened to my stories as I pointed out the great artifacts and pictures in the exhibit.  This was my time, my youth, my Seattle. I was excited to show them.  But at 9 and 11, my kids lack the emotional connection that I have to that music, to that slice of history.  Plus they don’t understand that parental reaction of – “20 DAMN YEARS! FUCK! HOW DID THAT HAPPEN?  HOW is it POSSIBLE that I can remember that time so vividly, and now in the blink of an eye it’s 20+ years later and I’m looking at all of this stuff, IN A MUSEUM, with two tweens, and wiry grey hairs poking out of my head?”

I realized instantly that, for me, the EMP’s Jimi Hendrix exhibit was the mirror image.  I like his music, and I appreciate the impact he made, but I don’t have an emotional connection to that time.  I toured the exhibit politely, but I didn’t have earnest stories or reactions to the displays, like the people nearby, 20 years my senior, who had lived through his music.

And that is the cyclical nature of things, of course.  On the huge screen in the Sky Church down the hall, a Macklemore video played.  People gathered and watched.  My kids ran down the hall to see.  I had taken my 11 year old to see Macklemore & Ryan Lewis in concert back in December.  It was my son’s first “real” concert, and he had a blast.  I did too.  Our evening was precious to me in the way that only a lover of live music can understand.  (And I feel I’ve properly set him up for the “what was your first concert?” discussion down the road.  Mine was Night Ranger….not exactly the same).   Truthfully, I wanted to see Macklemore as much as my son did.  He feels like a Seattle artist whom you ought to see when you have a chance.

So I’m trying to do better on the regret front, at least where my kids are concerned.  I let them skip school and took them to the Seahawks Super Bowl victory parade in February, mainly because I figured they will remember it in 20 years, a lot more than anything they would have done in school that day.  You know – kind of the opposite of thinking about an elusive Nirvana ticket, and not being able to remember why you didn’t go.

A Barefoot Musician in Your Living Room

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Isn’t that what all music fans hope for?  I know I do.

I love music, and I enjoy thinking of my favorites as personable, everyday guys who would be fun to hang out with.

For the most part, this theory has proven itself to be true. Encounters with Dave Matthews around town are commonplace, and we all seem to agree that he’s just your average Seattle dad.  I used to run into him at my gym, and my husband chatted with him at the Greenlake soccer fields a few weeks back – no biggie, just a couple of dads joking about soccer.  I’ve lived in the same city as Eddie Vedder for 20+ years but have yet to see him out and about, so I savor the stories I hear from people who have.  I recently read an article where a local fan referenced seeing Eddie in Target and Bed, Bath and Beyond (love it!).  Years ago, I ran into Jeff Ament coming out of Blockbuster Video on Queen Anne.  He was carrying two movies.  I’ve always regretted not asking him what he was renting.   But I digress.

The point of this story is that I recently found myself sitting in a living room with Chadwick Stokes of Dispatch and State Radio.  It was so lovely to learn that he is just as friendly, warm, and funny as I had imagined him to be.

The quick back story:  last summer, Chad announced a “living room tour” — just what it sounds like, he would play a show in your living room to around 30 fans.  They were looking for hosts in the cities scheduled on the tour, including Seattle.   I offered to host and sent in pictures of my house, and I made it to some type of final list.  They called and talked to me about my space, and said they’d be making a decision in a few days.  I ultimately didn’t win, which was OK, really – then I wouldn’t have to try to clean my house.  The consolation prize was that I would get early access to tickets for the Seattle show.

Fast forward a month, to the ONE 5-day chunk of summer when I was out of range of decent cell coverage, and was not checking email.  You guessed it – that’s when the email went out with early access to tickets, and then to the general public, and then promptly sold out.  I discovered this while sitting on a ferry on our way home.  I was not happy.  The last ditch effort was a show in Vancouver, Washington.  It appeared that tickets were still available.  To put a finer point on it, ONE ticket was available, because that’s exactly how many I was able to purchase.  I bought it anyway and figured that something would pan out in order for my sister to come with me.  I certainly didn’t want to drive to Vancouver by myself and walk into some stranger’s house.  I emailed, desperately, a few times over the coming months, figuring that an additional ticket would open up.  It didn’t.  I resigned myself to not going.

Then suddenly the show was right around the corner. Over the course of the next few days, I flip-flopped a dozen times until finally, with a proper nudge from my husband, I decided to go.  I knew I would regret it if I didn’t.

And so, off I went to Vancouver.  Nearly as exciting as a night to myself was a long DRIVE by myself.  I played the music I wanted to listen to, as loudly as I wanted.  No one bickered in the back seat, and no one asked me to play Taylor Swift.  Traffic was blissfully easy, even through the usual snarl of south Tacoma.  I giggled to myself when I drove by the Sleater-Kinney exit, listening to Sleater-Kinney.  Everything clicked along as planned, as if the universe approved of my decision to go.  About an hour outside of Vancouver, I switched to a playlist of solid Chad and State Radio.  Because that is what you do.

When I arrived at the house, the host, Jon, looked up my name on his guest list.  “Oh, it’s just you – right?”  Yep, just me.  By myself.  Thanks for reminding me.  (And I’m probably the only one who just drove up in a minivan with a Little League sticker on it, in case you want to point that out too).

Chad was standing near the check-in table in his bare feet, wearing comfy pants, a well-loved shirt, and a hat.  He looked up and said hi. It was perfect.

The rest of the evening was fascinating.  Fans bonded and competed for a respectable level of street cred. You know how it goes: T-shirts from historic shows (in this case, Dispatch:Zimbabwe), requests for obscure songs, show-and-venue dropping: “Yeah, I saw them way back in 2000 in a small club in blah-blah-blah”. I loved it all. The music is personal to each of us, and that’s one of the best things about fandom: how territorial we are about the bands we love. I’ve only seen Dispatch/Chad/State Radio four times, and am therefore not (yet) too territorial.  Recognizing my somewhat junior status in the street cred department, I enjoyed eavesdropping. Which, it turns out, is easy to do when you are at a show by yourself.

And of course, there was the music – a great mix of classic Dispatch, State Radio, and solo stuff, infused with all the genuine and personal charm you would hope for in such an intimate setting.   He stopped mid-song to tell a story about his daughter’s new haircut.  He joked about the bony part of the top of his foot, how it’s a thing that “1 in 5” people have (is it?).  (I wanted to kick off my boots and say – hey, Chad – me too!  There’s a certain style of shoe you can’t wear, right?  With the strap across the top?  Come on, let’s be bony-foot buddies!)  He answered questions and took requests, and when someone jokingly yelled out “Freebird!”, he actually played it.  Hilarious and awesome.  The room was filled with love.

When it was over, he got down from his stool to go back stage – you know, otherwise known as the kitchen.  Fans stood around and chatted with him in an easy, casual way.  I shook his hand, thanked him, and told him what a wonderful experience it had been.  Luckily, I had already forgotten my sassy, opinionated rant from a year ago (“Territorial Pissings – Yes, That’s a Nirvana Reference”), so I didn’t lecture him on anything.   I admit that I did have occasional pangs of jealousy – I wished I had hosted barefoot Chad in MY house – not just for me, but for my kids, because they love his music too.  But I’m thankful to have had the opportunity to see him in such a small venue, and I’ll remember it forever.

P.S.   I rarely take pictures at shows, and I never take videos, because I don’t want to watch the show through a screen.   But Chad said it was OK and I knew it was once-in-a-lifetime, so I recorded the second half of “Elias”.  Simply wonderful:

Knowledge From the Box

/ Deb / 2 Comments

The Showbox and the Rock Box, that is.  Here’s what I learned recently from each:

The most obvious thing I learned from the Rock Box was that I should have gone there much sooner. It is a music lover’s dream – individual, various-sized karaoke rooms, with food and beverage service while you sing.  I do not have a good singing voice except when alone in my car, and therefore do not often feel the pull of a karaoke microphone. I had done karaoke exactly one time, in college, and my inebriated trio’s rendition of Devo’s “Whip It” was so loud and awful that the karaoke guy turned our mic off.  But now I’m older and wiser, and on this October night, in the company of a small group of girlfriends and armed with a tablet device that gave us access to any song I could think of, I found my inner karaoke goddess. Our group sampled nearly every musical genre, from show tunes to rap, 1970’s to present day, and I had a blast.  Three lessons from the Rock Box night:

1.  I don’t know all the words to Naughty By Nature’s “OPP” like I thought I did;
2.  Journey is really hard to sing.  Kenny Rogers is not; and
3.  “Smells Like Teen Spirit” is just as fun to yell now as it was 20 years ago.

A few nights later, the stars aligned – both kids had sleepovers away from home, and Portland band Blind Pilot was playing a gig at the Showbox.  I surprised my husband with tickets and a night out.   Blind Pilot is a current favorite of his, and we’ve never seen them live before, so this promised to be a good time.  Blind Pilot is what I call kitchen music…music to listen to while I am making dinner. It’s melodic, unobtrusive, easily digested. Surely their live show would be the same.

We had appetizers and cocktails at a bar, while we strategized about Halloween costumes for our friends’ annual party.  We talked about the kids; we talked about college football.  It was all so easy and in synch….we moseyed over to the Showbox and staked out our spot, and watched a few opening bands before Blind Pilot came on. The show had a great vibe, and they proved to be just as enjoyable as I had predicted. I got my Concert Moment, when they closed with one of my favorite songs, “Three Rounds and a Sound”, which, especially on this night, is a life-affirming tune. Here were my takeaways from the evening:

1. I might be too old to attend shows that don’t start until 11:30pm.
2. People really need to stop groping each other and playing grab-ass at concerts. Seriously. (possibly another sign that I am getting old).

The third thing, though, and really the most important, is that the next time someone asks me, “Why are you like that?” in relation to my concert-going habits, I will now have a better answer.

I recently fielded that question across a dinner table, and the answer was so simple that it eluded me at the time. Now I know that my answer should be – because I want to have nights like this.  I am “like that” because, after I go to a show, the memory is mine.  It gets woven into my musical history.  It is burned into my soul and into my heart.  So that now, in my kitchen on a random Tuesday night, I get to hear this song and remember a great night out with my sweetie, who is still, after all these years, my favorite concert companion.

(Or, as Blind Pilot would put it:  “‘Till kingdom come, you’re the one I want”.)  Indeed.

Territorial Pissings (yes, that’s a Nirvana reference)

/ Deb / 1 Comment

You know what’s cool?  Offering a free download of your concert for those who went to the show.  I saw Dispatch for the second time last weekend, and I loved being able to download a copy of the show on Monday morning, for free, with the barcode from my ticket.

I was excited that they decided to play Seattle on this tour. Last time, (which we thought was a one-time reunion tour), we had to fly to Berkeley to see them. (“A Badger and a One-Eyed Toad”).   But a show at the Moore Theatre meant an easy, well-deserved night out with my sister, and their sing-along vibe is just plain fun – which is, after all, the entire point of live music.

Dispatch enjoys the ubiquitous status of being the “biggest band no one has ever heard of”, and maybe they are.  They’ve achieved a loyal fan base without any major record deal, and, despite taking a break and various side projects, they’ve stayed true to their roots as an independent band.

Offering a free download of a live show is a great throwback to the days of tape trading and authorized bootlegs.  And, while it might just be a publicity stunt, it makes you feel like like they appreciate the fact that you buy their music and tickets to their concerts.

I give these kudos to Dispatch – freely – but as preface to what I am about to say.  I’ll keep listening, and I’ll always buy a ticket when they come to town, but I might need to have a talk with my imaginary friend, lead singer Chad Stokes.  (“On Sisters and Pineapple”, “The Pixies, Chad Stokes, and Pineapple”).  It seems we might differ on one important Seattle music issue.

It was really a great show….good energy, lots of old favorites.  And then, it happened.  In between songs, Chad made reference to playing at the Moore Theatre. I can’t remember the exact words, but it went like this: “We’ve gotta pay our respects to Seattle……the Moore Theatre…..hallowed ground for those who have played here before us…..bands like Alice in Chains, Nirvana, Pearl Jam…..”

I suddenly got all territorial and defensive.  Really?  You are leading with Alice in Chains?  I liked them just fine, but….really?  You are putting them at the front of a Seattle list that includes Nirvana and Pearl Jam?

You can argue all day about who should be #1 or #2 on the list.  And even I will admit that’s is probably Nirvana at the top, if for no other reason than, let’s face it – dying young and tragically elevates you to cult status. (And for the record, do I love Nirvana).

But in no universe would anyone ever put Alice in Chains as #1 on that list.  Was he trying to be ironic?  Make the non-obvious choice?  Or maybe he was just naming them alphabetically.  Either way, I was now officially on a rant.

To my sister beside me:  “Dude, if you are paying your respects, then pay them properly.  It’s Eddie Vedder who scaled the damn walls of the Moore Theatre, thank you very much.” (maybe Kurt and Layne did too, I really have no idea.  But I was on a roll.)

I couldn’t stop bitching about it, leaning over, again:  “AND!  CHAD!  In case you haven’t noticed, Layne Staley overdosed, and Kurt blew his brains out.  Eddie Vedder’s the only one who’s still around”.

My sister considered this, briefly, but then hit the bullseye:  “Yeah, but dude….when’s the last time Pearl Jam even played a show here?”   Ouch. I hate it when she’s right.

(P.S.  It was September 2009 and, since then, they chose to have their 20th Anniversary Celebration Concert in….Wisconsin, and their most recent gigs have included a festival with Jay-Z (?!), and an Oracle corporate event.  Not that I am keeping track.)

(P.P.S.  You know you have to go and watch the Moore Theatre-filmed video for “Evenflow” now, right?  Best line, at the beginning:  “This is not a TV studio….Josh!  Turn these lights out.  It’s a f*cking rock concert!”)