Tag: Better Live

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Why Modern Radio is A-OK

I suppose this is, to paraphrase the immortal Harry Doyle juuuust a bit behind. I wrote a couple months ago that I would be taping a segment to be played on a local radio station at a later date. Well, that date came and went. It aired on July 1st, something I didn’t find out until a couple weeks later, but regardless, it happened. I had thought it might be nice to put up a post with a link to the radio station in case anyone wanted to listen as it aired, sigh, and with that now an impossibility, I’m left with a couple options for those interested. As it turned out, B2 videoed my bit the night it was recorded, so I could put that up. Or, I could send you to the page on the website of the production company that recorded, edited, and got it radio-ready. As I type these words I haven’t decided which way I’ll go, so I guess we’ll find out together.

There are some differences between the two; despite my best efforts, my stories (well one of them anyway) weren’t “radio friendly” since it got lopped off completely. Kind of a shame too, that one got a great response from the crowd that night. But I guess I get it. Apparently you can’t say genitalia on the radio in the Bible Belt. Maybe anywhere else idk. I mean, I know George Carlin’s famous bit about the seven words you can’t say on the air (it’s a classic btw and if you’re unfamiliar I suggest you GTS) but genitalia wasn’t on his list so… Another difference is that, since the production company, you know, produces things, their version sounds a lot cleaner than the one B2 recorded. By that I mean it sounds like it was professionally recorded whereas our version sounds like it was recorded on somebody’s cellphone, which, oddly enough, is exactly how it was recorded.

So, you know, pros and cons for each. I suppose as far as that goes I could link to each of them and leave it up to you, gentle reader, to decide which one you prefer. Let me ponder all this for a bit as I meander across the keyboard.

The experience of doing the radio show was pretty excellent, I must say. But I already did kind of a recap of the evening, so I’ll just leave it at that and move along. Funny thing about that too. I was a couple hundred words farther along than I am here when I started to realize how familiar the things I was typing sounded. I scrolled through my last couple posts and there it was, this post covering the evening from the perspective of the next morning. *eyeroll* *facepalm* #reallygladicaughtthatbeforeitposted

Moving right along…

I’m not sure why I came to today’s musical selection but I’m listening to the Drive By Truckers this morning. In particular the Friday night show from 2019’s HeAthens Homecoming, a show which I happened to attend. They just came through our area recently, but we were unable to make the show. I can’t wait for them to come back around, they are firmly on the medal stand of my favorite bands, and just incredible live. Speaking of live music, I felt like I needed to name this with another radio-centric title and as I thought about which song to choose, this one popped into my head. It’s a long time fav of mine and I haven’t listened to it in a while. Apologies in advance if the ads get in the way.

I guess I’ve put off the inevitable long enough. Here’s the link to the video B2 shot and it’s age restricted due to subject matter, which is maybe why it got axed off the air, lol. This link will take you to the professionally recorded version that aired locally on July 1st. So check them out if/when you get the chance, and, as always, I appreciate any and all comments. Even those from you, Ray.

Peace

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Writer’s Block

I’ve been struggling to compose anything that made sense/brought joy to me of late, so I thought I’d try and break my slump here. To be sure, this isn’t the type of “slump-buster” you may be familiar with, I have no plans for anything nefarious, merely trying to switch things up a little. I don’t have a theme for today per se, rather I’ll try and do a “hit to all fields” post for the occasion.

After looking at that last paragraph, I’ve apparently got baseball on my brain, what with all the references. Ok, let’s start there. If you’ve followed the lack of action on that front for the last several months, you may be aware that Major League Baseball (MLB) and the Players Association (MLBPA) recently agreed on a new collective bargaining agreement after a lockout that lasted 99 days. If you have ever read any of my stuff before, or if you know me IRL, I think you’ll know that; A.) I love baseball, B.) I support union workers period, and C.) I’m a lifelong Cubs fan. Let me add to that by saying; D.) I’m what you might call somewhat political. While I’m not argumentative by nature (there are some that just need to hold their thoughts right about now, just sayin’) I have felt the need to stand my ground from time-to-time on various topics. Here’s one that has been building for a long time and the recent lockout proved to be the straw that broke the camel’s back- I’m done with the Cubs.

I’m done giving my support to an ownership group that has, at almost every turn, stood for things I vehemently oppose. Every inside piece I’ve ever seen about the family that owns the Cubs has been filled with disdain for the common fan. Almost every move they have made since taking over the team has been done to deepen their own personal pockets. Now don’t misunderstand me, I understand that it’s a business, and the point of a business is, to my simple mind, to turn a profit. I get that. But when you turn a healthy profit and cry poor, well that gets old. Through readily available public sources, the family that owns the Cubs paid $845 million for them in 2009 and as of March 2021, according to Forbes magazine, the ball club was valued at $3.36 billion dollars. So don’t tell me you can’t afford to pay your employees. And it’s not just them, I’m sure a similar search through any number of ownership groups would produce similar results. And yet, MLB chose to lockout the MLBPA last December and sit idly for 43 days before restarting negotiations. And fought them every. single. step. of the way.

So thanks for the 2016 season and the World Series, but I’m out.

I’m not going to go any deeper into this particular topic, I just submitted my article for the Illinois retired fire person magazine and I feel like they should have a little exclusivity as far as my views on the topic go. So. Moving right along.

I’m often fond of weather bragging when it’s beautiful down here. So I feel the need to weather shame a little today. It’s. Frickin’. Cold. Like, I had to get my old Carhartt winter jacket back out of the closet this morning. Granted, those of you back in the Greater Burlington Metropolitan Area (aka northern Illinois) might cast a wayward glance at me for whining about rain and 40º but I’ll not change my position that this is just not right. The fact that the coming week should be pretty seasonal if not a little better is small consolation to me today. I’m cold. And a little crabby too. But a lovely latte and firing my thoughts off on my laptop are helping to abate that misery.

Music, of course, helps. How’s that for a segue? For my listening pleasure today I’ve got Joe Pug pumping through the headphones. Today is the first time I’ve ever listened to him, possibly even the first time I had heard of him although the name does strike me as kind of familiar. I was scrolling through the Twitterz this morning and I saw a post from Jason Isbell that linked to a Joe Pug song, so I gave it a listen. The song was Bury Me Far (from My Uniform) and it blew me away. I apologize for the ads on the link, if I knew how to put one up without them, I certainly would, but I guess that’s the way YT does business… Anyway, back to the music, yeah, if you’re unfamiliar with Joe Pug, give him a listen. He’s actually playing in Chicago next month on the 15th at Tonic Room and if anyone goes, I’d love to hear your thoughts. I can’t wait for him to get down to the southeast, we’ll definitely go check him out.

Imma wrap this one up briefly by continuing the musical vibe, we’re off to see Graham Nash on Tuesday over in Durham. I’m really looking forward to it too. I saw CSN many years ago, Diane and I went with the Great Vincenzo and Terri to the United Center. The band was at the opposite end of the stadium from us, but it was a great show nonetheless. There have been countless protest songs written throughout the history of recorded music, but I wonder if anyone, anywhere has ever written one as beautiful musically as To The Last Whale: I. Critical Mass, II. Wind On The Water because I don’t know if it’s possible. Again, sorry if you get the ads, but enjoy the music. I know I do.

Peace.

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About Last Week

I know I’ve mentioned this before, how I tend to obsess over things like typos, spelling errors, and botched grammar (but not the Oxford comma. Never the Oxford comma) and how, on occasion, I’ll go back over and reread an older post and something glaring will jump out at me that I missed, despite proofreading these posts multiple times in a couple different formats. In fact, I’ve probably mentioned a few times over the years I’ve been doing this. Because I am, in fact, obsessed with not putting out a shoddy product.

I also know that I mentioned specifically that the subject last week might have been a little repetitive, but that I didn’t care since blah, blah, blah. Tbh, I still don’t and I stand by that statement fwiw.

Now, having said all that, the other day I happened to glance at the post that preceded last weeks post. It was dated August 27th and the post was titled Southernisms, in case you’ve forgotten. As I scrolled through the post, what to my wondering eyes should appear? No, not a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer. Rather, it was an introduction to a new feature wherein I tell you all about whatever musical selection I’ve got running around my brain whilst hammering away at the keyboard. You know, remarkably similar to the way I ended last weeks submission. At least it was a different band. I think I would’ve felt even dumber if I happened to be listening to the same one each time. Which brings to light something else of which I’ll need to keep track. *makes note to self not to repeat bands*

As I’ve said before, I’ll look for typos all the live-long day, and while some things might strike me as familiar, if I’m not overly concerned with repeating something I’ve written some time ago, that’s about the extent of it. But from one post to the next is a little bit closer than I care to leave things. Of course if I wrote things about stuff here more frequently, this probably wouldn’t happen, right Ray? Guilty as charged on that one.

So let me just go on the record here and apologize to you all for my carelessness. It left me pretty aggravated, I assure you, and I’ll try to make sure I don’t do dumb stuff like that again. Mea culpa. Mea maxima culpa. *skypoint to Dear Abby*

I’ve got an idea. instead of leaving you all with the bitter taste of me flubbing a relatively simple task, why don’t I leave you with a new feature I’ve been think about adding here? Sitting in a new coffeehouse in town (Bold Coffee Co.) with a little pre-concertgoing taste of American Aquarium. >insert sound of a record skipping here<

Since I pondered this one for a few days, the American Aquarium concert is now in the rear view mirror. B2 and I went up to The Ramkat in Winston Salem this past weekend to see AA with Tommy Prine as their opener. This is the second time we’ve seen Tommy Prine, and man he’s off to a good start on his career. As a songwriter it’s easy to see that he learned his chops from his Dad, the late, great John Prine and he seems pretty at ease on stage. This show was also a first in that, prior to Saturday, I’ve never sprung for a VIP upgrade to any of the shows I’ve gone to. So this entitled us to a pre-show picture with the band…

I give these guys a lot of credit for posing with a bunch of knuckleheads every night, lol

three acoustic songs from front man BJ Barham, followed by a little Q&A with him. We both enjoyed it quite a bit too. A small group, only nine of us, made for an even more intimate feel. One of the other guests asked him a question along the lines of “If you could hear any album again for the first time, which one would it be?” After a brief moment BJ put up In The Throes by John Moreland and it was such a good choice. He talked about how much respect he has for John as a songwriter and he’s spot on. I first heard/saw Moreland play in Memphis in 2018 and I was hooked. I’ve seen him I think three times since then, including last month at The Ramkat and he’s on the lineup for February at Haw River Ballroom (my favorite venue out here) and I already can’t wait. So, as I write up the rest of this “sorry I screwed up” post I’m listening to In The Throes and trying hard not to sing along here at the coffeehouse. I’ve mentioned before how sometimes I’ll read something and think to myself “you have no right calling what you do writing” and listening to John Moreland’s lyrics confirms to me that he is one of the people that makes me think that. He’s that good.

Imma leave this one a little short, there are other things I need to accomplish today. So in case I don’t get back here before, I wish you a joyful holiday, whichever one you may celebrate, and here’s to a peaceful, happy and healthy year to come.

Peace

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And Now, For Something Completely Different

Ok, sometimes I can’t help myself, so apologies to Monty Python, but it felt like a natural title since most of my recent posts, infrequent though they may be, have been of a serious nature. Today, not so much. I want to kind of blow the carbon out of this thing and get back to a more light-hearted nature today. I don’t know about you, but I need it.

So, I recently spent an evening in Durham, NC at a concert, namely – The Last Waltz. If you’re a music person you may be asking (Go ahead, I’ll wait…)

“Hey, wait a minute, didn’t that concert take place back in the 70’s?”

To which I would reply “You are correct. But this was a re-creation of the original concert put together by Warren Haynes and produced by Robbie Robertson.”

Now then, one of the joys of attending a concert, in addition to the obvious #livemusicisbetterlive thing, is interacting with random strangers. Occasionally this is wonderful, but, by and large, it leaves me silently muttering to myself and shaking my damn head.

As in… casual, pre-show conversation with a fellow a couple seats down revealed he had seen (or was planning on seeing, frankly it all gets a bit blurry) The Doobie Brothers with Michael McDonald. And that’s where the blurry started. If you know me IRL, there’s a real good chance you know my feelings (looking at you O-town) about the band Journey. If you don’t know, my personal feelings about that group of “musicians” can be summed up like this… If modern music were a cat, Journey would be the hairball that said cat was attempting to hack up. How’s that for a visual? So, with that frame of reference as a starter, where does Michael McDonald fit in? I’ll get back to this later.

This year has been probably my favorite concert-going calendar year. Twenty or so concerts/music festivals since the start of 2019 kept my soul in a good place. Without going back through my calendar to confirm (well, maybe a peek or two) my memory, in 2019 I saw among others; Patty Griffin, Drive By Truckers, Gary Clark Jr., Greensky Bluegrass, Yonder Mountain String Band, Manchester Orchestra, Big Thief, New Pornographers, Strand Of Oaks, American Aquarium, Bottle Rockets, and a few that I’m blanking on. I also made it to a wonderful music festival in Lexington, KY; Railbird Festival, in what was its inaugural event. 2020 promises to be pretty good for me musically too, with tickets already secured for Beale Street Music Festival in May and High Water Festival in April. As a bonus, four of my fav people are coming to join me in Charleston, SC for High Water, so in addition to a really killer (and it is) lineup, the company should make for a pretty spectacular weekend.

So, let’s backtrack to my metaphor. I’ve been thinking about how best to describe my feelings about Mr. McDonald as he relates to my taste in music. I feel like I should put out a bit of a disclaimer here. Obviously not everyone has the same taste in music. And I fully recognize it takes some amount of skill to sell the number of records a major label artist, in any genre, sells over the course of their career. But see, that’s the good thing about music. You can have strong opinions about what you do or don’t like. There’s enough variety that if you don’t like a particular artist, you need not listen to it. Tangentially, no one forces you to listen to that which you don’t enjoy. Turn the station, you know? I’m not opposed to trying out artists I’ve not heard before. Seven of the acts I listed above are bands I’d either never heard of or had never listened to until I contemplated buying tickets to their shows. And I thoroughly enjoyed each of the shows. By the same token, I won’t be purchasing a ticket to go see Micheal McDonald in this lifetime. Something about his voice maybe, or his look maybe, or the fact that I feel he is singularly responsible for turning the aforementioned Doobie Brothers from the kind of band that you sing along at the top of your lungs to their numerous hits as you drive down the road with your car windows wide open into the smarmy, self-aggrandizing treacle that was produced from the time he joined the band until the world at large tired of his musical diabetes and stopped buying their records for fear of slipping into a coma.

Too much? Yeah, maybe. But imho Michael McDonald is the hairball the cat coughed up after eating the initial (Journey-based) hairball.

I feel so much better having gotten that off my chest btw. Even though I feel like there’s a really good chance my respective timelines will become loaded down with links to MM songs. I can think of at least a few of you that have that loveably antagonistic approach. It’s a risk I’m willing to take.

I do, after all, have an intimate relationship with my “delete” button.

In a perfect world, I’d crank out some type of year-end or decade-end post. So, it’s a definite maybe. But if it doesn’t happen I’d just like to say thanks to everyone that has continued reading my random tomfoolery here on the interwebz. I hope you all had the best holiday season ever and I wish you all a safe, and happy new year!

Peace!

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In Between Shows

That’s probably not the most clever or original thing I’ve ever titled one of these, but it’s been quite some time since I’ve been here and, frankly, I’m stagnating a little on my side project and I thought I might get the creative juices flowing if I knocked out one of these. Obviously they haven’t started yet…

So, as the title implies, I went to a concert last night, Patty Griffin at Saxapahaw (not a typo) and I’ve got Gary Clark Jr. tomorrow night in Durham. Both concerts are my first time seeing the artists and if last night was any indication, I’ve got a pretty good week here. Patty Griffin was amazing, she has the one of the most beautiful voices on the planet and it was a really nice night.

The evening is also notable for a few other things too. I discovered that I apparently have a deep-seated aversion to standing in line. Note I didn’t say I was opposed to waiting. There’s a difference. Somehow. The doors opened at 7:00, a pretty typical time for that venue. In my previous visits there I was resigned to parking in a field a short walk (between a quarter and a half mile) from the Ballroom. This is not a huge deal in and of itself, but it can get complicated by things like rain (picture the scene in My Cousin Vinny where the Cadillac gets stuck in the mud) or people that are unclear on the concept of parking with no lines painted on the ground to guide them and you get an idea of my frustration. So, to solve this, I determined to arrive an hour before the doors open. There are two restaurants on site, so I figured I’d get a bite to eat while I waited for the doors.

Ha.

I pulled into the main lot to find it filled already. I did however, heed the advice of some folks I’d met at the last show I saw there and quickly found a spot in a parking lot a half block away, yay me! As I walked up to the door of the first restaurant, I saw a line of people, stretching from the counter where orders are placed, to the back of the joint. Undeterred, I walked to the next place only to find an even longer wait. I chose to pass, again. So rather than taking my place in line like a rational person, I chose to walk down along the Haw River, which borders the property. It’s really a pretty area, and I enjoyed myself thoroughly, hunger be damned. As the time approached for the doors to open, I headed back up that way. A line had already formed, so I chose to take a seat on one of the park benches lining the area. It’s General Admission and I’m not one to fight a crowd in front of the stage, so I was fine with my choice. But as I sat there, people watching, it occurred to me that I seemed to be going out of my way to avoid lines, even though had I waited I could’ve had a lovely meal and gotten a reasonable place in line. It also occurred to me that I was fine with my choice, but I have to admit, it got me thinking. Of course, I didn’t come up with any answers, so…

After I got inside and wandered about for a bit, since the show was still 45 minutes-ish away from starting, I made a trip in to the men’s room. Now, if you’re of the gender that doesn’t necessarily visit the men’s room, let me explain to you that there is kind of an unwritten protocol for these things. As in – Keep the conversation to a minimum. If at all possible, leave a one urinal buffer space between yourself and your co-urinators. Don’t make eye contact while taking care of business, under any circumstances (with the possible exception of a major medical emergency) (Maybe). So, as I entered, the middle of three urinals was available. Stepping up to the plate, as it were, the fellow on my left departed, opening a spot. It was quickly taken. And as I, uhhh, finished up, I swear to god I heard the guy next to me say, very softly, “come onnnn.” Now, keeping in mind the rules, I fought the urge to look at him, but peripherally, I’m pretty confident he was looking down at the source of his concern. I’m also fairly confident in assuming his frustration was based on either a shy bladder or a temperamental prostate. I’m one hundred percent certain I didn’t care enough to ask him. Other than joking around with friends (bathroom humor, get it!?!?) that is the first time I’ve experienced something like that. I’m all about sharing here, so I thought you’d appreciate my little insight. And, no, that’s not a euphemism.

A short time later as I was again milling about pre-show, I heard my name being called. This, as you may imagine, does not happen often in this part of the world. I turned to see one of my favorite baristas from my coffeehouse. We exchanged pleasantries briefly, but didn’t run into each other again after that. This was her first show there, I’m curious to see what she thought. So that was nice.

Lastly, as I was heading home, just getting into my town, I saw the outline of someone walking along the shoulder of the road. It was about 11:30 by this time, so while unusual, it probably isn’t terribly uncommon. The thing that struck me though, came about as I moved over into the oncoming lane (Walkers, yes; cars, no. Not at this time of night) to give him (or her, but I’m pretty sure it was a him) room I noticed the walker was wearing a cape. My first thought was superhero but I quickly flushed (see what I did there?) that idea, cause really, why would a superhero be walking? My second thoughts streamed (get it?) towards that it was a bold fashion move. Are capes even in style now? Is this cape season? Who wears a cape? I decided to let it go before my mind turned into a Seinfeld episode.

But if anyone has any answers for me, as always, I’ll be happy to entertain them.

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Music, Music, Music!

As I sit here, at the counter of my semi-local coffeehouse, and I feel safe in calling it “my” coffeehouse, since two of the baristas christened me yesterday as a regular (win!), I’ve got Hendrix “Voodoo Child” searing through my brain and it makes me think the I HAVEN’T BEEN TO SEE ANY LIVE MUSIC IN EIGHT DAYS!!!  Ok, maybe that’s a wee bit over the top, all caps and everything, you know?  Still, this has been, and continues to be, one of the more stellar stretches of concert-going I’ve had, like, ever.  It started at the end of October with a trip to Nashville after my niece’s wedding (there may be more about that later.  We’ll see) back in (I haven’t approached the topic with them, and may just leave it be anyway) Illinois.  I saw Jason Isbell at the Ryman Auditorium with my friend Tom.  I’ve seen Isbell a bunch in the last few years, maybe five times, and while I think he’s one of the most talented artists performing today, I hadn’t planned on seeing him again.  But the chance to see him at a historical venue like the Ryman convinced me one more show wouldn’t hurt.

He didn’t disappoint.

I think it was his best performance out of the ones I’ve seen in person.  Just incredible.  The crowd (minus the doofus I wrote about last week that was watching a hockey game) was really into it and that always helps.  He ended the show with a cover of “Little Wing” by the aforementioned Jimi Hendrix and it was spot on, yet also carried enough of his style that you knew who was playing it.  That doesn’t really make any sense to me as I re-read it so hopefully you get what I meant.  And that, boys and girls, is why I’ll never be a music critic…

My next show is coming up a week from tonight when I travel to Raleigh *Andy Griffith voice* to see Manchester Orchestra.  I’d never heard of them before the trip to the Ryman but saw them on the coming attractions list.  Tom suggested I check them out, he thought I’d like them.  Jesus was he ever right.  I’m so pumped for this show.  If you’ve never listened to Manchester Orchestra, please do.  You’ll thank me.  After that, I’m going back to Saxapahaw, (not a typo, that’s really how it’s spelled) about an hour from me, to see Richard Thompson.  I’ve been a fan for literally 35 years and I’ve seen him twice, both times he was acoustic.  This time he’s playing electric and he’s got a band backing him so I’m pumped for that too.  Plus, I really like the venue, this will be my third (fourth?) time there since I’ve relocated.  The next night I’ve got a ticket for Mike Cooley (Drive-By Truckers) in Durham and I wrap up my concert season (I think) a week later when I go to Charlotte to see Patterson Hood (also Drive-By Truckers).  I should probably scroll back through my calendar and see how many shows I’ve been able to go to this year, it’s been a pretty outstanding year from that perspective.  I think I’d rather not though.  Sometimes the not knowing is better than the knowing, you know?  Besides, I’m fairly confident I got over a dozen under my belt this year, and that’s kind of my unofficial goal.  So, if I’m in that neighborhood, I’m good with it.

Alright, I think I’ve taken enough of everyone’s time.  All twelve of you.  I’m off to check out an estate sale and then back to hang with #LillyNO for the afternoon.  It’s sunny again here today, first time I’ve needed sunglasses in a week, but it’s cold in the mid 40’s.  We may find a walk downtown in our future.

Oh, one last thing…  I keep my pocket change in a small bucket.  My pockets get emptied into it every night and when it’s filled I take it to the bank.  I’ve been doing this for a few years now and I usually end up with a couple hundo when it’s full.  Well, it’s full.  I took it to the bank this morning to get it counted and the teller told me they don’t do that anymore unless it was rolled.  Whatever.  I didn’t say anything because I know she’s not the one that made that policy.  But what exactly does the bank do with rolls of coin?  Do they take my word for it that what I say is a full roll is, in fact, full?  I’m fairly certain they’re going to unroll it and count it, right?  I mean that’s just logical to me.  So why not eliminate the rolling part and just take my loose coins?  grumble, grumble, grumble.

Peace

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More From The Live Music File

A quick bit of housekeeping before I get to today’s missive…

Five of you are truly wonderful human beings, thanks so much for clicking on the “SUBSCRIBE” button after my plea last time out here.  I truly appreciate each of you, more now than ever.  For the rest of you; if you’re on a computer look over this way⇒⇒⇒⇒⇒  If you’re on your mobile device, look here⇓ ⇓ ⇓ ⇓ ⇓

Now then, I went to a concert last night, a bluegrass band up at the High Point Theater in, not coincidentally, High Point.  It was a good show.  A fine show.  Fine.  I’m still trying to decide if the band or the venue was responsible for repressing the vibe, but it just felt, I don’t know, off, last night.  I’m leaning toward the venue though.  I think it would be a great place to see a play or a musical, but it just didn’t feel right for a concert.  Actually, let’s back up here for a bit.  C’mon, I’ll lead the way backwards.

For starters, I think the seating was designed by a sherpa.  I mean, great sight lines, but the ramp down to the seats felt like I was falling forward.  On the way back up the aisle, I was wishing I’d had a tow rope to make the climb.  For you White Sox fans, imagine the upper deck at about 43º steeper grade.  With no stairs.  But the seats were comfy, so I guess that counts for something.  I get the feeling this place doesn’t get a tremendous amount of concerts.  The guy that emcee’d the band onto the stage made a couple obligatory comments about upcoming events there, including (perhaps you should sit down before continuing) a Journey cover band!!!  And I said to myself, “Self” I said “I wouldn’t walk from my kitchen into my dining room to see Journey, I can’t imagine the chain of events that would end with me going to see a Journey cover band.”.  And I had to agree with myself, because I brought up a really good point.

Moving right along; I was comparatively underdressed, by like, a lot, last night.  Sport coats?  Sweater vests?  Really people?  I went back outside and double checked, there was, in fact, no red carpet.  And no other rock show t-shirts in the crowd.  And only a couple of flannel shirts, so.  Granted this was my first bluegrass show since I saw the great Chuck Bilskey at a bar in Elgin back in the day, but in my blue jeans and Los Lobos t-shirt I felt like I couldn’t have been more out-of-place if I’d been wearing Scandinavian Death Metal garb to an art show.  That’s a thing, right?  Seriously, I don’t know.  Scandinavian Death Metal.  It sounds like it should be a thing.

Speaking of wardrobe, this reminded me of something I saw at the Isbell concert in Nashville a few weeks back and I’m more than a little disappointed in myself for forgetting to mention it then (see my last post.  Insert eye-roll emoji anywhere you like).  Dude next to Tom was watching the Predators (Nashville’s hockey team for you non-hockeyers) game on his phone.  For real.  The whole game.  Oh, he was also wearing his Preds jersey, because of course he was.  Now, don’t get me wrong, if we’re talking Game 7 of the Stanley Cup Finals, I could entertain the argument.  This was, like, the 8th or 9th game of the season.  W. T. F. dude.  I really wanted to know what was going through the mind of his significant other, seated on the other side of him from us.  On soooo many levels.  Look, I love sports as much as the next person, and I recognize the challenges inherent in any interpersonal relationship.  But at some point there’s got to be a bit of negotiation going on, right?  And if that’s the successful conclusion of said negotiation, I really want to know how that all went down.  Ok, I couldn’t take the suspense anymore so I GTS’d Scandinavian Death metal and found this.  So, we’ve learned something today, haven’t we?

Oh yeah, this was allegedly about live music, wasn’t it?  Uhhhh, let’s see… Kate Rhudy, Lula Wiles, and Chandler Holt were the openers for Mipso.  All pretty bluegrassy, all pretty talented, all intermingling with each other over the course of the evening vs. a traditional opener/headliner kind of thing.  I would probably go see most of them (I wasn’t thrilled with the banjo guy, but that’s a “me” issue more than a stone thrown at him) again, but it would have to be in a different venue no doubt.

Circling back to where I kinda started this thing, I regularly check the analytics that come with this program and apparently the other night some random person in Canada viewed the shit outta this site.  So, Mr. or Ms. Canadian person, thanks, I think?  I mean without getting stereotypical, Canadians are supposed to be among the most polite people as a whole on the planet, right?  So you read 80% of my posts because you were enthralled with my literary prowess, right?  Not tryna find a back door into my banking shit or anything of that nature?  Also, Mr. or Ms. Canadian person, if you’re, like, a literary agent or some such thing, yes, I would in fact be interested in talking to you.

Peace

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Life With Lilly Episode 4 – Street Chicken

Well, #LillyNO and I just got back from a whirlwind trip through the Midwest.  You may recall (if you read this stuff) that I had mentioned leaving her with a friend for this trip.

Yeah, about that…

If you’ve ever had one of those moments where you stop and ask yourself “what the #%&$ were you thinking?” then you can relate to me last week.  To refresh your memory, I took #LillyNo in to get her spayed and micro-chipped.

Two days before I was going out-of-town for a week.

Sigh.  I know.

She did great with her surgery, although that first day, a couple of hours after we got back home, I took her off the bed so she could go outside for a potty break.  And I was handling her gingerly, even more so than usual given her surgery.  When I set her on the floor she let out THE most mournful yelp that lasted every bit of 25-30 seconds and she cowered at my feet.  I almost broke into tears on the spot.  And, in that instant, I asked myself what the #%&$ I was thinking by leaving her behind.  I couldn’t do it.  I called my friend Jacquie and thanked her, apologizing profusely, but knew I had to bring my poor puppy with me.  By the next day #LillyNO was feeling significantly better (Thankfully) and we prepped for the trip.  Which was pretty darn cool, if I do say so myself.  And I just did, so.  The purpose of this particular trip was A.) to marry my wonderful god-daughter (to her also wonderful sweetie pie, duh) and B.) swing through Nashville on the way home for a concert (naturally).  And both events went off smoothly.  Except for the whole almost forgetting to do the paperwork which actually, you know, marries the happy couple.  But that’s a story for another time.  I’ve got ample filler here without that tale.  Besides, the two littlest grandkids were thrilled to have #LillyNO in for a visit.  As evidenced by – adorbs, right?

For starters, the Little Diamond scored HUGE bonus points with old Grandpa Joe on my first day there.  As she sat on my lap, looking up at my unshaved chin she proceeded to count all the dark hairs in my stubble.  Now, tbh, there aren’t many.  But to the mind of a three-year old, it was a significant number and she proclaimed it as such.  Heart officially warmed.  Her other particular highlights came during the festivities on Saturday.  As the flower girl (read-flower princess) she marched down the aisle, on time, with a huge smile on her face, stopping at my leg to give me a great big hug until she went back to Mommy and Daddy for the duration of the ceremony.  She was adorable.  Later that night, at the reception, we had the fortune to be seated in close proximity to the cake.  This was no small deal to a cake fan of her magnitude (mine too) (because apple/tree, etc) but shortly after the cake was taken back in to the kitchen to be cut, she looked over at the cake table and said, in a very loud, very precocious three-year old voice “Somebody stole the cake!”  After being reassured the cake would, in fact, be back soon, she was fine.  There’s nothing lower than a cake thief, especially for someone as fond of cake as LD.  Me too, btw.

I’d also like to thank Illinois for providing gale-force winds on Saturday afternoon, along with snow blowing horizontally.  Quick reminder, I just had two Tropical Storms pass through my area and neither provided the wind speeds I saw.  Also it was, like 50 degrees warmer here.

Let’s just say I’m not remotely sorry I won’t be back there for the winter “festivities”.

Nashville was a lot of fun.  One of the guys from the firehouse met me down there.  Tom is a great guy in general, and a great guy to see a concert with in particular, and we saw a fantastic show.  Jason Isbell at the Ryman Auditorium.  If you’ve never checked out his music, please do, it’s amazing.

I also learned #LillyNO is apparently a subspecies henceforth known as Urbana Canis (h/t to Google Translate for giving me Latin) aka Urban Dog.  She loved Nashville.  I suppose it helped that she was treated like Leona Helmsley by the hotel staff.  Although, unlike Leona, #LillyNO loved them right back.  She was given numerous treats, a travel water bowl, and a tennis ball along with being fawned over every time they saw her.  Her elevator skills are pretty impressive too.  As soon as the doors opened, she would walk in and take a spot in the far corner, at my feet.  She sat patiently until we got to our floor and then dutifully pranced off to our room.  I think her favorite part, however, came during our walks.  She not only encountered many adoring humans (and was appropriately charming to them all) she also found quite a different bill of fare as compared to walking around our yard.  Now, for background, by all indications rabbit poop must be classified as quite the canine delicacy.  Sophie *skypoint* used to scavenge the backyard meticulously in search of it and #LillyNO has spent roughly 93.1% of her time outdoors here doing the same thing.  But rabbit poop doesn’t hold a candle to…

Street chicken.

Seriously.

I pulled no less than six chicken bones, one pork rib bone, two pieces of bread, something that may or may not have been polenta, and what I believe to have been prehistoric pizza crust from her jaws.  In two days.  And that’s not counting the things I saw before she did and steered her away from.  Still and all, the #LillyNO experience in Nashville contained many more positives.  An ample opportunity for human attention being foremost on her list, as seen here, on the sidewalk in front of a monolithic coffeehouse across the street from Vanderbilt University, awaiting the next person to speak gibberish to her and prove that she is, in fact, kind of a big deal.

As she should be.  She’s worth it.  And fwiw, I promise to do my best to keep the “what was I thinking” moments to a minimum.

At least as far as #LillyNO is concerned.

Peace

 

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Catching Up

Well this one is going to be a little bit of the “hit to all fields” variety, since I know you all (see? still not saying “y’all” yet) are desperate to know what goes on down here…

I forgot to mention I have a new favorite town name thanks to my trip home from the concert that wasn’t.  Are you ready for it?

Shartlesville, PA.  No really, that’s the name of the town.  See?  I saw a tractor-trailer with that town name on it and literally lol’d while I was driving down the interstate.  How can you not love a name like that?  Ok, I’m occasionally fourteen years old, I admit it, but that’s still funny, I don’t care what you say.

Ok, back to today ish…

I picked up a hitchhiker the other day.  Driving home from the coffeehouse, traffic (and I use the term loosely) was stopped in front of me so I was moving, albeit slowly, when a gecko appeared on the hood of my truck.  I’m fairly certain it fell or dropped out of a tree above me, since they can’t, to my knowledge, fly  Granted I’m no geckologist (If that’s not a word I want props for it from here on out) and I can’t imagine it jumped up onto a moving vehicle (see previous disclaimer) and since my truck had been parked in the sun, the hood must have been hot as blazes.  It was only up there for ten or fifteen seconds before it scampered over to the passenger side front fender and I never saw it again.  It either bailed or took up residence somewhere in my truck.

Speaking of wildlife, it seems like every couple of weeks I see a bug I’ve never seen before and think “WTF IS THAT?!?!”  I tried to take a picture of the latest “wtf is that” bug before I smashed it, but couldn’t get close enough, because, again, WTF IS THAT?!?!  I did, however get close enough to smash that little s.o.b. with my shoe.  It took several attempts btw, but it’s now an ex-bug.  Thanks to the Google Machine (I typed in giant red and black ant btw) I learned it was one of these –    a Red Velvet Ant which is quite possibly the most diabolically deceptive name of anything ever.  For example, there’s this tidbit from Wikipedia – The Red Velvet Ant has multiple defensive strategies, but is best known for its painful sting, earning it the nickname “cow killer”.  That’s right, cow killer.  Now, if you know me IRL or if you’ve ever read any of this stuff up in here, you know my fondness for RVCB’s! (the exclamation point is due to my love for them, not because it’s the end of a sentence) so the fact that something named “Red Velvet” ANYTHING is capable of inducing such pain, well that’s kind of like a crime against humanity.  I mean seriously.  And to just kind of wrap this “wtf is that?!?!” thing up in a nice bow, the Red Velvet Ant isn’t even an ant, it’s a wasp.

Well, since I’ve stretched this one over a couple of days, and keeping with the theme, I figured I’d include a #LillyNO update.  In between working on this and trying to accomplish mundane household chores “someone” will occasionally bark at me rather impertinently.  This, I have learned, means I haven’t been paying enough attention to her, in her humble opinion.  Since few of the things I have on my agenda are time-sensitive (in case you haven’t heard, I’m retired) I’ll get down on the floor and play with her.  The toy choices are numerous and usually strewn across the floor of the kitchen and den like the detritus left behind by a bomb blast in, oh, perhaps (shout out to Roger Rabbit) Toontown.  Once #LillyNO determines which toy she wants to play with and, for the sake of discussion let’s say it’s the tattered remnants of Lamb Chop, she’ll bring the toy to me and after some small bit of convincing, release the toy.  I’ll throw it, fifteen or so feet, to the other end of the room and she’ll happily leap off after it, grab the toy and coming careening back towards me at a full gallop, almost always skidding into my side like Kramer entering Jerry’s apartment.  This goes on for anywhere from ten to twenty minutes before I can again focus my attention elsewhere.

I’m currently sitting at the coffeehouse, enjoying a lovely lattè (or is it latté?  I’m never sure which, but either way it’s delightful) looking at the clock to make sure I have enough time to A.) finish this and B.) run a couple of errands before I get back home to C.) go to another concert.  Gillian Welch is up tonight in Saxapahaw, NC.  I wrote about this venue earlier this year, I love it.  It’s such a cool vibe and it’s in what was once the Dying Room of an old cotton mill.  Should be a good show, and I’m really looking forward to it.  I can almost assure you though, it won’t be as much fun as the Family And Friends show I saw last week in Chapel Hill.  Holy crap those guys are great live and if you get the chance, I give it a strong recommendation.  They’re heading across the southern tier of the country and ending this tour on the west coast, so if you’re out by that way, watch for them.  You’ll thank me.

Ok, I think that’s about all I can squeeze in to this action-packed episode.

Peace

PS: Because, etc., etc.,  I always run spellcheck on these before I post them.  And, as if to prove I’m not ready to start dropping y’alls around here any time soon, I originally misspelled it…

Again, Peace

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The Best Laid Plans Of Mice And Men Often Go Awry

Hat tip to Robert Burns for the title.  You’re probably wondering if the post is going to relate to rodent infestation or not.  At least that was my point in starting it this way.  Plus I’ve got to start somehow and this seemed as good a way as any.

Regular readers may recall my last post wherein I mentioned I was going to Greenville, SC to see Brandi Carlile in concert.  I had a really pleasant drive over there, I stayed off the Interstate and chose two lane country, well, state roads, for the first half of the trip.  I find that by doing that I don’t get so focused on the destination and can instead enjoy the drive.  Excepting, of course, the random person that enjoys driving five to ten miles per hour below the speed limit through “No Passing” zones but that’s neither here nor there.  I got into Greenville a couple of hours before the doors opened, checked in to my hotel, and found a lovely restaurant around the corner where I dined al fresco.  Back to the hotel to freshen up, I glanced out the window of my room at the entrance to the venue, conveniently across the street from where I stayed, and thought to myself “there sure doesn’t seem like many people are waiting to get in.”

I finished getting ready and walked over to the show.  Or so I thought.  The crowd was still nonexistent.  Panicked, I checked my ticket.  Right date, right time.  I walked toward the door and was met by a pleasant young woman with a decidedly unpleasant job; telling people the concert had been cancelled that morning due to illness.

Sigh.

She helpfully suggested a bar a short walk away that was known for live music so I headed down the street.  Found the bar, and watched two old guys playing acoustic guitar, rocking out hits from the soft-rock catalog.  Poorly.  When the “singer” bolloxed the words to Steve Goodman’s “City of New Orleans” despite having them on his iPad (directly in front of his face) I figured my evening had hit its zenith and was now descending, rapidly.  Just to confirm the plunge I walked past a restaurant offering the entertainment of a young woman singing and accompanying herself on the electric guitar.  She sounded pretty good too, so I stopped to listen.  I hadn’t even found a place to sit when she came to the end of the song and, as it turns out, her evening, as she thanked the crowd and unplugged.

Again, sigh.

So let me just say this about that.  Brandi, if you read this (I have no reason to believe she will btw) I remain a huge fan and I can’t wait till you get back into a venue I can get to without too much travel hassle so I can experience your music live.  Because, well, you know…  Was I inconvenienced by driving four hours and putting money down on a hotel room it turns out I didn’t need?  Sure.  But on the plus side, I wasn’t the one that had to spend the evening, or really any amount of time, dealing with a stomach virus.  And the thought of spending time that close to porcelain isn’t something I look forward to.  So Brandi, I hope you feel better quickly.  As for me?  You pays your money and you takes your chance, right?  This is the first concert I’ve had shot out from under me, so what are the odds it happens again?  I’ll even get a chance to test my luck tonight when I drive to Chapel Hill for a show.  Family and Friends is up and to prepare for the show I’ve been listening to their album Felix Culpa steadily for the last few days.  I heartily recommend it btw.  I linked one of their videos in the last post, but only one of you took advantage.  The rest of you don’t know what you’re missing.

Speaking of missing (hey my segues are nothing if not smooth)  I just found out a good friend of mine and a strong advocate for our union is getting himself promoted out of his bargaining unit.  I’m not sure it’s public knowledge yet, so I won’t name names, but I do want to say a couple things.  I’ll miss you at the conferences, and especially at the after conference conferences, if you know what I mean.  You have been a staunch supporter and a dogged defender of union firefighters and paramedics, not just across Illinois, but across our great nation.  People on this job generations from now will reap benefits from the battles you’ve fought.  As will the taxpayers they protect.  You’re a good man, and a better friend.  I’m proud of you and I’m happy for you.  I can’t be there for your promotional ceremony,  but I’ll be thinking about you, and I know you’ll do a great job in your new role.  Congrats my brother.

Of course none of these things I just said will stop me from throwing stones in your general direction given half a chance.  And I know you expect nothing less.

Peace