Anders & Kendall - Boston Living Room Show

Anders Parker has been doing the living room show circuit for a few years now. The first couple of tours, Centro-Matic's Will Johnson was his co-headliner. This time around, it was in collaboration with Kendall Meade, formerly of Mascott.

The living room tour is an interesting concept. Undertow Music, Anders & Kendall's management company, establishes a schedule of shows in various metropolitan areas and asks for volunteers to open up their homes as hosts. In return, the hosts get several free admissions for their friends and, of course, a pretty unique experience. 

There are also some serious rules in place to prevent these shows from turning chaotic. For one, the exact location is not revealed until you purchase tickets, and tickets have the purchaser's name on them and can't be transferred without advance permission from Undertow.

Typically, shows are scheduled to start at 8pm and end at 9:30, with all guests expected to leave by 10. For last Friday's Boston performance, we were asked to arrive between 7 and 7:30, but admittedly got there closer to 8. The rules on our tickets also stated attendees were allowed to bring a few beers, but there was definitely an emphasis on the fact this was not a party. 

I asked Anders if there had ever been an event that got out of control, to which he said one time the circumstances were less than ideal. Otherwise, hosts and show-goers have generally been friendly, polite and considerate, as was the case this time. 

The show was in Allston and the hosts were extremely welcoming, to the point they made us feel like we were guests at a party. 

As you can imagine, this was perhaps the most intimate performance I've ever attended. We sat on a living room couch while Anders and Kendall played only a few feet away. 

The hour-long set consisted of most, if not all, of the songs from Wild Chorus, their recently released duet album. Highlights included a stirring rendition of "Sleepwalking," confirming to me that it's the best song on the album. We were also treated to an "oldie," which, in fact, was the first song these two ever recorded together: "Keep Me Hangin' On" from Anders' first solo album, Tell it to the Dust; a track from Mascott's Dreamer's Book (which I'm unable to identify); and an excellent cover of The Rolling Stones' "Sway."

After the show, I shared a somewhat nostalgic story with Kendall about a Mascott show at the Middle East in the late '90s. Lee Mazzola was playing drums with Mascott on that tour and inexplicably told her I was a huge fan of her previous band, Juicy. In Lee's defense, I think he just had me mixed up with someone else, but still, I was instructed to go along with the charade should she ask.

Thankfully, she didn't. But, I think she was happy to learn that someone in attendance at last Friday's show had also seen her previous band in concert something like 15 years ago.

New Multitudes @ Paradise Rock Club

I grew up in a neighborhood across a huge apple orchard from the street where Anders Parker was raised. There was a pond on that orchard where pickup games of hockey were played in the winter. Hockey wasn't my sport—I could never really skate very well—but I heard Anders was a pretty good goalie. He was of Swedish descent, after all. Many years later, Anders was one of a rotating cast of drummers who played in bands fronted by one of my best high school friends.

Said high school friend has gone on to earn relative fame in our hometown due to an SEC scandal, while Anders has enjoyed a modestly successful career as an Americana singer-songwriter.

I have several friends who get considerable credit for nudging my music-listening habits away from the mainstream, but if I had to name one pivotal moment it would be the time (circa 1994) Anders gave a cassette tape of Uncle Tupelo's No Depression to me and Skip, my roommate at the time. I listened to that tape over and over again driving a rental car around South Bend, Indiana while on a business trip, and the music perfectly fit the setting and the mood I was in at the time. Uncle Tupelo (and its spawn, Son Volt and Wilco) and The Jayhawks were the bands that kicked off my love affair with alt-country in the mid-to-late '90s, which in turn influenced me to branch out to other independent music as well.

I've seen Anders play live dozens of times over the years. I've even seen him (with and without his former band, Varnaline) open for and play with Uncle Tupelo co-founder and Son Volt front-man Jay Farrar a number of times. There was also a nice little impromptu performance at my wedding. But, there was something about Friday night's show at Boston's Paradise Rock Club that really felt as though Anders' career has reached a level it had previously never seen.

Touring with Farrar, Jim James (My Morning Jacket) and Will Johnson (Centro-Matic) in support of New Multitudes, an album of lost lyrics from the Woody Guthrie archives these four accomplished songwriters added music to, they performed a two-hour set in front of a sold out and extremely enthusiastic crowd.

James (or Yim Yames as he is credited on the album) was clearly the crowd's favorite—as My Morning Jacket appears to have crossed over to modest mainstream success—with Farrar a close second. But, the lesser-known and criminally under-rated (a term I usually reserve for baseball Hall of Fame discussions) Parker and Johnson were also well-received.

If you happened to stumble into this show without any prior knowledge of its theme, you would have been hard-pressed to identify that the songs were derived from Guthrie's work, except for the actual Guthrie tunes that played as the performers entered and exited the stage. This, of course, is meant as a compliment to all parties involved, including Woody himself. That his lyrics and his visions are so timeless is a testament to the endurance of his life's work.

Or, in the words of this professional reviewer, "this band kicked ass." (Also, be sure to check out that link for some great photos of the show, because all of mine suck.)

The band made the interesting decision to run through the album's 12 songs in the exact order in which they appear on record. In other instances, I might be a bit critical of this idea, but it got me to thinking. If that's the sequence the artists feel works on record, why wouldn't the same order work just as well live? Besides, if a band only has one album, they're probably going to play most, if not all, of it anyway.

Still, the lack of any suspense can potentially make a performance a little less interesting for the audience. But, this was more than made up for by the band's second set, which was technically a nine-song encore.

For the first four songs, each songwriter played one solo acoustic number, including Farrar's rendition of my favorite Uncle Tupelo song, "Still Be Around." The next round of four consisted of full-band versions of one of each artist's originals, with the highlight being Parker's "Tell it to the Dust."

The show concluded with a legitimate (well, sort of) cover of a Guthrie original, "Pastures of Plenty," which basically turned into a feedback-inducing 15-minute wank-fest.

All in all, it was a tremendous show in support of one of my favorite albums of this young year. Which reminds me, I'm long overdue for the first Frequent Spins of 2012.

Scud Mountain Boys @ Brighton Music Hall

In the summer of 1997, my second oldest friend—in terms of how long we've been friends, not his actual age—El-Squared and I drove to Albany—where I had lived until a year prior—to see our first Wilco concert. It was at a now burnt-down venue called Saratoga Winners, where I had previously seen my only Jayhawks show featuring their original lineup, until recently.

Wilco was fantastic, of course, but my lasting image of that show was the impact the opening act—none other than western Massachusetts' Scud Mountain Boys—had on me. Or, on us, for that matter. We both purchased their recent Sub Pop release, Massachusetts, and El-Squared even recalls a brief conversation he had with members of the band in which they told him that, unfortunately, the Scuds were soon to be no more.

From what I've read elsewhere on the internet, the band was broken up by July of 1997. The Saratoga Winners show was in June, so we know we saw one of—if not the—last show(s) in Scud Mountain Boys history. That is, prior to this week.

The band might have gone on to become one of my favorites had they stayed together, but it was not to be. Instead, the show in question turned out to be the catalyst for what has become my long history as a huge fan of all things Joe Pernice.

Pernice was the leader of the Scuds, and it was his departure that was, for all intents and purposes, the end of their existence. He would go on to found the Pernice Brothers, who still hold the distinction as the only act to top my year-end list twice. Because of this, I've often referred to myself as, quite possibly, their #1 fan, but I'm not going to ramble on about my Pernice Brothers reverence right now. If you care to read more on that subject, it's discussed in detail here.

The breakup of the Scud Mountain Boys led to a rift in the friendship between Pernice and his former bandmates, most notably Stephen Desaulniers and Bruce Tull. Recently, though, the death of a close friend was the unfortunate motivation for getting the band back together for a reunion tour.

That tour brought Pernice, Desaulniers, Tull and Tom Shea to Boston's Brighton Music Hall Saturday night for just their second show in 15 years. At one point during the performance, Pernice briefly explained the story, and in the same breath, dedicated the show to the memory of Ray Neades.

Fittingly, El-Squared joined me for Saturday night's show as well. A few days prior, in an email I told him it was going to feel like 15 years ago. That seemed like an exaggeration at the time, but it came pretty close. That is, it was a club show at an uncrowded small venue, which allowed us to stand right up in front of the stage.

Despite my proximity to the stage, I have to admit I didn't get any good photos. I'm not sure if I should blame my camera phone's inability to deal with the combination of dimly lit venue and bright lights onstage, that damn lamp they placed on the table they're all sitting around, or my abilities as a photographer, but this was honestly the best I could do:

L to R: Pernice, Shea, Desaulniers, Tull

OK, I'm quite certain it's a combination of all those factors, but I'm sure I could use some iPhone photography pointers as well.

Speaking of the aforementioned table, the story goes that back in their formative days, the band evolved from a rock outfit to one more inclined towards country music—and added Mountain Boys to their original name, the Scuds—when they realized they most enjoyed their sessions sitting around Tull's kitchen table. In fact, that's exactly where their first two albums, Pine Box and Dance the Night Away, were recorded.

Saturday night's set list drew heavily from their swan song, Massachusetts, but considering they only released three albums during their short-lived existence, they had little difficulty adding a handful of tunes from each of the earlier records.

Highlights for me were a show-opening stretch of four older songs, from "Peter Graves' Anatomy" to "Freight of Fire" on the set list below, Desaulnier's plaintive lead vocal on "Liquor Store," and a predictably rousing version of my favorite Scuds song, Pernice's ode to drunken stupor, "Lift Me Up."

Peter Graves' Anatomy
Sangre de Cristo
Silo
Freight of Fire
Grudge F***
Massachusetts
In a Ditch
Lift Me Up
Oklahoma
Penthouse in the Woods
Knievel
Liquor Store (Desaulniers on lead vocals)
Cigarette Sandwich
Wichita Lineman (Glen Campbell cover, Tull on lead vocals)
One Hand
Encore: Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves (Cher cover)

The biggest highlight of the night, though, was the feeling we were witnessing a reunion of good friends who had—and still have—tremendous musical chemistry, and who could take another 15 years off from playing together and still pick up exactly where they left off.

That, of course, underscored a personally nostalgic feeling that my pal and I were going back in time to experience something that was fairly commonplace 15 years ago, but which was made all the more special by its rarity in the present day.

Where Have All My Friends Gone?

I first saw The Jayhawks live on the Tomorrow the Green Grass tour back in 1995. It was at a place called Saratoga Winners, in the Albany, New York suburb of Latham. The venue took its name from the fact it's on the drive back down-state from the race track in Saratoga Springs.

That Jayhawks show was one of only two I saw at the now-defunct club, which burned down in 2009 in an incident that resulted in its owner being convicted of insurance fraud, but acquitted of arson. Go figure. Both of my visits to Saratoga Winners were for shows I consider to hold a special place in my personal history. The other was a Wilco/Scud Mountain Boys performance that still stands as the best double-bill I've ever seen, not the least important reason for that distinction being it was my introduction to the brilliant—in my opinion—Joe Pernice.

The Jayhawks show was so important to me because it was the only time I'd seen their classic lineup, including both Gary Louris and Mark Olson. Olson left the band only a year or so following that show, and all the subsequent times I'd seen them live—and there have been many—Louris was the lone front-man. Of course, you can probably guess where this is all leading.

Sorry, I'm not a great photographer.

Last Tuesday night marked the occasion of The Jayhawks reunion tour's return to Boston, and my first time seeing them live, with Olson, in over 15 years. The Jayhawks' visit to the Paradise Rock Club was also KJ's first time seeing them, not to mention it was our future son's first concert ever. Well, sort of. But, it almost didn't happen for us.

You see, KJ is 8+ months pregnant, and as the date of the performance drew closer, we came to the realization there was no way she was going to be able to stand for the duration of a club show. So, I called the Paradise and inquired about their limited reserved seating for persons with mobility issues.

Long story short, they took care of  us, and I can't express how truly grateful we are for how accommodating they were. Every member of their staff that we dealt with was extremely helpful and polite, and I want to thank them for allowing us to see this show from a pair of chairs set to the right of the stage.

Unfortunately, this also meant we had to split up from the four friends who attended the show with us—including el-squared, who it seems has gone to about a dozen Jayhawks shows with me, although that's probably a slight exaggeration—but that was an understandable price to have to pay.

Although Louris has proven to be a more than capable band leader, nothing beats the version of the Jayhawks that features the lead vocal harmonies of Olson and Louris together. So, while this performance probably fell short of the magic of seeing them for the first time in the mid-'90s, it sure brought back some pleasantly nostalgic memories.

The show also gave me a greater appreciation for their brand new material. Prior to the show, the consensus among my friends was that the new album rates as solid, but falls far short of Hollywood Town Hall and Tomorrow the Green Grass. Last week's performance didn't necessarily change that assessment, but that's more an acknowledgment of the brilliance of those two albums than a negative reflection of Mockingbird Time.

Seeing Olson, Louris and company perform this new material live highlighted how truly strong songs such as "Closer to Your Side," "She Walks in So Many Ways," and "Black-eyed Susan" are.

But, of course, the set's real highlights were the old standards, particularly back-to-back renditions of "I'd Run Away" and "Miss Williams' Guitar." The former is one of the many songs that KJ and I consider "ours," and realizing how apt the third verse of that song now is reinforced our feeling of ownership.

One day, I suppose, we'll tell the little boy about the first concert he attended, and how much he seemed to enjoy it, judging by—according to KJ, of course—how much he was moving and shaking during the show. Depending on how old he is at the time, he may roll his eyes at the notion, but we'll know we couldn't have made a better decision.

King of Carrot Flowers Parts 1 & 2

Jeff Mangum is an indie rock legend. He's also a recluse. As the singer, guitarist and primary songwriter of Neutral Milk Hotel, he released two critically-acclaimed albums—including the seminal In the Aeroplane Over the Sea—in the 1990s, then disappeared into obscurity.

It was around this time I was living in Albany, with my pal Skip, who turned me onto The Velvet Underground. He also introduced me to the legend that VU's debut album sold only about 10,000 copies, but everyone who bought it went on to form a band. More recently, I've heard a similar claim made about NMH's sophomore effort.

Of course, The Velvet Underground & Nico was released over a quarter century prior to that. I was a latecomer to the NMH bandwagon as well, but only by a few years. Which reminds me of a little list I've been thinking up lately...top five bands I discovered too late and, therefore, never got to see live.

First, let me qualify. This does not include artists who were before my time (e.g. The Velvet Underground). These are bands I missed the boat on because I either didn't fully appreciate them, or simply hadn't heard of them, during their heyday:

1. Uncle Tupelo
2. Neutral Milk Hotel
3. The Replacements
4. Pavement
5. The Police

I thought I'd never get the chance to see Jeff Mangum, and that didn't change when I heard, several months too late, that he was playing his first tour in over a decade and a Cambridge show had sold out in a matter of minutes.

Then, a second Boston area show was added, but that too sold out in minutes. So, I decided it might be worth my while to make the trip to western Massachusetts on a weeknight, and I plunked down just under $66 (including fees) for two tickets to that show.

I recruited my good friend June, who had alerted me to the two added New England shows, to drive me to Northampton's Academy of Music Theatre this past Wednesday in exchange for the other ticket. I left work at 4:30 to take the T to Newton to meet up with her for the journey to the 8 pm show.

I got home around midnight, so that means I invested 7 1/2 hours of my time (in addition to shelling out the $66 for essentially one ticket).

But, it was well worth it. My brewing partner, AB (once again, not August Busch), had previously declined interest in the show, on the grounds that he'd be willing to pay $30+ to see NMH, but not Mangum solo.

Well, Mangum did take the stage alone, and would have been forgiven for being a little rusty, but he played his most celebrated material with more energy and enthusiasm than anyone could have expected.

He definitely exhibited the shyness that would be consistent with someone characterized as a recluse, but still had tremendous stage presence, joking with the crowd and encouraging them to sing along, particularly to the horn parts otherwise missing in this solo set.

June and I passed the time on the drive home, piecing together the set list from the notes she scratched on an envelope during the show, using my iPhone to help us with the song titles we didn't really know. Here's the final output of that process:

In case you can't make that out, here's the translation:

Oh Comely
Two-Headed Boy Pt. Two
I Love the Living You (Roky Erickson cover)
In the Aeroplane Over the Sea
Song Against Sex
A Baby for Pree/Glow Into You
Ghost
Naomi
Gardenhead/Leave Me Alone
The King of Carrot Flowers Pt. One
The King of Carrot Flowers Pts. Two & Three
Holland, 1945

Encore:
Engine
Two-Headed Boy

Wouldn't you know it, but two nights later, I got a call, from the aforementioned AB, informing me that his band-mate's brother is the sound guy for the Mangum tour and could get us on the guest list for the Saturday night show at Boston's New England Conservatory of Music. So, two shows in four nights it was.

The Boston show didn't differ all that much from the Northampton performance. Instead of Roky Erickson's "I Love the Living You," he covered Daniel Johnston's "True Love Will Find You in the End," and he was also joined onstage by members of opening act ACME, a string quartet who backed him for a stirring rendition of "April 8th."

The real highlight of the Boston show was that he played a legitimate encore. I'm not talking about the kind of encore that's come to be expected at concerts these days. What I'm referring to is a true encore, "a reappearance or additional performance demanded by an audience," according to Merriam-Webster.

That is, after playing the same two encores he did on Wednesday night, he said good night and went backstage. The hall's lights came on, prompting the audience that it was time to leave, but no one did. For ten minutes, the audience cheered, applauded and essentially begged for Mangum to reappear, which he eventually did.

Those who chose to stick around—which was pretty much everyone, as far as I could tell—were rewarded with hearing the last song Mangum is likely to play in New England for quite some time: "Ferris Wheel on Fire."

Déjà vu All Over Again

Neil Young played in Boston last night, marking the first time he's played here since a three-night stand at the Orpheum Theatre in December of 2007. I attended one of those shows, although it didn't occur to me until now that, of the eight teams I've seen him, only two of those shows have been in Beantown. In fact, despite living here for the past 14 years, I've seen my favorite artist live just as many times in Worcester, of all places.

Last night's show was the first of two nights he'll be playing at the Citi Performing Arts Center Wang Theatre. At least, I think that's what they're officially calling it now, although Neil's joke of the night—in obvious distaste for the concept of corporate sponsorship—was that it's now called the Kellogg's Corn Flakes Center.

Young's set started off with acoustic renditions of "My My, Hey Hey (Out of the Blue)," "Tell Me Why," and "Helpless," at which point I was struck by a distinct feeling of déjà vu, and it wasn't because the latter song appeared on a CSNY album of the same name.

No, it was because Neil proceeded to perform the exact same set list at last night's show as he did the last time I saw him live, almost a year ago. OK, not exactly. The exception was that he ended things one "Heart of Gold" encore short this time.

This, of course, I considered disappointing, even though I'm a much bigger fan of the new material than I thought I would be when I heard it previewed last year. It's just that, being a huge fan of an artist with such an extensive and diverse catalog, I look forward to being surprised a few times.

Maybe I should have seen the signs coming. He brought along the same opening act—Scottish folkster Bert Jansch—and was touring entirely solo again. Maybe I was expecting too much from a 65-year old artist. I'm sure it's difficult enough re-learning songs that you haven't played in years, and it probably gets harder as an artist gets older.

So, perhaps I should have realized what was in store. Actually, I kind of did, in that I expected a similar format to last year's show. Just not an exact replica.

Regardless, Young played the material well, the venue's sound was good, and the rest of the crowd didn't really seem disappointed. But, I'm sorry to say that I was.

The Mariner's Revenge

The Decemberists opened last night's second consecutive date at the House of Blues in Boston with "The Sporting Life," as fitting an anthem for Colin Meloy's delightful dorkiness as there ever could be. The song recounts his dubious high school football days, experiences which included frustrating his coach, disappointing his dad, and losing his girlfriend to the opposing team's captain.

It's fiction, I presume, but I don't know for sure. I highly doubt Meloy even bothered attempting to play sports. But, I say this not to poke fun at him, but because, given his artistic abilities and his charming confidence, I like to think that he didn't waste his time with fruitless endeavors.

Meloy and company's musical abilities and penchant for theatrical comedy were on full display throughout their hour and a half set in support of the recently released The King is Dead. The five-member band was joined onstage by Nickel Creek's Sara Watkins, who essentially filled the roles that Gillian Welch and Annalisa Tornfelt play on the album. Of course, I would have been ecstatic to find out that Welch—who hasn't released an album of her own since 2003—was touring with the band, but I didn't expect that, so there was no disappointment.

About halfway through the show, I tweeted a tongue-in-cheek remark that Meloy made to the crowd:

I learned later that this was, most likely, a response to a recent article in The Boston Phoenix, appropriately titled "How the Decemberists ruined indie rock." This knowledge was gained thanks to a friend of mine, who responded to my tweet with the following:

The article seems to be mostly an attempt at humor. The author, Luke O'Neil, makes fun of himself several times throughout, suggests that he was among the folks who "...fell pretty hard..." for the band, and even refers to The King is Dead as "...well crafted and precisely played and really, really nice and good." So, I really doubt that The Decemberists were all that bothered by what was written, especially considering it came from someone who also produces a blog called "Put That Shit on the List." I'll just leave it at that.

Anyway, back to the show. The major highlights for me, in addition to "The Sporting Life," included their newer material—especially "Rise to Me" and "This is Why We Fight"—and a stirring rendition of "The Rake" from The Hazards of Love. The latter featured four of the six band members on drums and a heavy distorted bass line backing Meloy's tale of mass filicide.

Despite these high points, The Decemberists' encore performance of "The Mariner's Revenge Song" was worth the price of admission all by itself. The eight-plus minute epic tale of a young mariner seeking his murderous revenge on the man he blames for the demise of his mother—enhanced by the band's onstage theatrics, as well as audience participation—proves that The Decemberists' brand of indie folk-rock (or whatever you call it) is alive and well. Take that, Luke O'Neil.


[The following is a three-plus year old video of the band performing the song live in their hometown of Portland, Oregon.]

Best of 2010

A little later than I did this last year, here are my other Best of 2010 awards in categories related to this blog.

Best Brewery
While attending a conference in Chicago back in April, KJ and I visited Piece, the brewpub partly owned by Cheap Trick guitarist Rick Nielsen. It was, hands down, the best new brewery I checked out this year.

Best Beer
While Piece's Wack Job and Dysfunctionale were both excellent, my favorite new (to me) beer of the year goes to Mikkeller 1000 IBU, which I sampled at the Armsby Abbey in Worcester, just prior to the Neil Young show at the Hanover Theater.

Best Ballpark
Although I visited U.S. Cellular Field for the second time—12 years removed from my first visit—George M. Steinbrenner Field in Tampa was the only park I visited for the first time this year. It was an impressive complex, nonetheless, so although it takes this award kind of by default, the Yankees Spring Training home is a winner.

Best Concert
I slacked off a little on the concert-going in the first, third and fourth quarters of 2010, but I attended a fair amount of shows in the three month period from April to June. While Keith Emerson and Greg Lake's reunion tour stop in Lynn would be the runner-up, The National's House of Blues show in June was definitely my concert of the year.

Best Trip
I used to call this category "Road Trips," but that description really didn't apply to my top travel experience this year. Although our frequent wedding planning treks to Grafton, Vermont were quite memorable, it should come as no surprise that KJ and my honeymoon excursion to Italy was by far my favorite trip of the year.

The National @ House of Blues

The National frontman Matt Berninger is an entertaining performer, to say the least. Thursday night's show at Boston's House of Blues wasn't the first time I'd seen him live, but it was the first occasion that I noticed how endearingly spastic he is.

Spastic might not be the right word, as I once used it in reference to The Hold Steady lead singer Craig Finn, someone who really fits the description. But, Berninger's onstage antics definitely indicate some type of anxiety, whether clinical or not, particularly because he doesn't seem truly comfortable except when he's actually singing.

But, this is just an observation, as it didn't affect his performance and seemed to wear off as the night progressed. Of course, that was mainly due to the effects of the alcohol—wine or champagne, perhaps—that he was pouring into a cup from a bottle located in front of the drum kit. Witty banter definitely flowed more freely during the second half of the show, and Berninger didn't seem at all uncomfortable when he took his microphone into the crowd on more than one occasion.

Once again, none of this detracted from what was easily the best concert of my 2010 to date. The National are further establishing themselves, in my mind, as the best indie band to come out of Ohio since...oh, screw Guided by Voices (aka Blighted by Noises)...The National are the best band from Ohio, period.

As the opening act, The Antlers were much better than I expected, and definitely better than on record. I bought Hospice on eMusic last year, thinking it had serious potential after multiple sample track previews, but I just never got into it. I might have to give one more last chance.

Thursday's show was also the first time I sat in the House of Blues' stadium seating, and I couldn't have been more pleased. I don't think I've ever had a more comfortable seat for a concert in my life, and HOB's idea of stadium seating is comparable to that experienced in newer movie theaters. That is, each row sits considerably higher than the one below, so no matter how tall the person in front of you, you're pretty much assured of an unobstructed view.

Rounding out my reasons for being more than content with the night's entertainment was the fact that the seven band members beyond Berninger—two guitars, bass, drums, keyboards, trumpet and trombone—displayed a high level of on-stage energy that seemingly wasn't aided by liquid courage. Their generous two-hour set of tunes—culled mostly from their latest, High Violet, and 2007's Boxer, with a few well-chosen older selections sprinkled in as well—left no doubt that, despite a reputation for writing sad-sack songs, this is a serious—and by that I mean seriously great—rock band.

Twisted Road to Worcester

It seems that, whenever KJ and I travel to and from Worcester, our GPS takes us on the most circuitous routes. Worcester trips are fairly uncommon for us, of course, but Friday night our paths met up with Neil Young's Twisted Road Tour at The Hanover Theater for the Performing Arts, a somewhat recently renovated venue in Massachusetts' second-largest city.

On Twitter, a fellow beer geek recently lauded one of her friends as a master of pairing beer and music, a description said friend is yet to truly live up to, in my opinion. But, the suggestion got me thinking about this concept. Are there certain beers that would go better with certain bands?

I suppose a Belgian white or a hefeweizen would go great with a summery sounding album, and maybe a porter or a stout would go well with music that could be described as dark. Also, quite possibly beer that goes well with certain types of food could be paired with a band whose style is indigenous to the area known for that particular cuisine. So, I can see how this could work. Nevertheless, it's an angle I might be exploring in the future.

Neil Young's varied catalog would make such an exercise almost impossible, though, but since this was our night out to celebrate my recent birthday, KJ surprised me by taking me to a great place called the Armsby Abbey. Specializing in Belgian imports, this small tavern had such a diverse selection of drafts that I only recognized about one-third of the menu, one of which was the 20% ABV Dogfish Head 120 Minute IPA.

I wasn't feeling up to the task of drinking a beer three times the alcohol content of what I'm used to, so I opted for one that was only twice as strong. The 13.6% Dark Horse Double Crooked Tree IPA was the closest thing on the Abbey's menu to something that sounded appropriate to consume prior to a Neil Young show. Obviously an Imperial IPA, it was good, although the alcohol seemed to sneak up on me like hard liquor, but it wasn't the best beer we tried that night.

KJ's first—and only, since she was driving—beer of the night, a Mikkeller 1000 IBU, was the best selection of all. A 9.6% Imperial IPA produced by a small brewery in Denmark, this creation has that wonderful grapefruity hops aroma and flavor that I recently discovered is my absolute favorite characteristic of the best beers of this style. Just as importantly, of course, it's very well balanced, and the fact that it's brewed by two guys—Mikkel Borg Bjergsø and Kristian Klarup Keller—who, just five years ago, were home brewers working out of their kitchen, only added to its appeal.

Legendary Scottish folkster Bert Jansch opened the show. I honestly thought he looked younger than Neil from my seat in the balcony, but it turns out he's 66, two years Young's senior. Despite his advancing years, there is no doubt he can still play the hell out of an acoustic guitar. Not being very familiar with his material, I thought his set was good, but of course, I was eagerly anticipating the headliner.

Friday was the seventh time I've seen Neil live, but this was the first occasion it was an entirely solo show. His set started out really strong, with acoustic versions of "My My, Hey Hey (Out of the Blue)," "Tell Me Why," and "Helpless" to kick things off, but that momentum quickly subsided when the next three songs were his less-than-inspiring new material.

I'm not generally one to complain about an artist playing the new stuff that I haven't heard yet, but—and it pains me to say this—Neil's songwriting abilities are clearly fading. I have friends—much tougher critics than I—who think that Greendale and Sleeps With Angels are his only worthwhile albums of the past 20 years—since Ragged Glory, that is.

Personally, I think the '90s and '00s have produced a lot of good, even great, Neil Young material in addition to those two. But, his last album—Fork in the Road—is easily his worst since the debacle that was Are You Passionate?, and my initial impression of his forthcoming material doesn't provide me with a lot of optimism.

The fact that he played his new material wasn't really my issue. However, the fact that the show was almost entirely new material and greatest hits was a bit disappointing. I guess I was hoping for a set list that included a few more "deep cuts," like his show at the Orpheum Theater that I attended back in December of 2007.

But, when it comes to concerts, you rarely get what you expect, and overall, this was still a pretty good show. The sound was excellent, and Young's somewhat unorthodox rendering of the classic "Cortez the Killer," which surprisingly didn't seem instantly recognizable to most of the crowd, was the true highlight of the performance. But, I don't think it's setting the bar too high, given that he's my favorite artist, to say I expect better than pretty good from Neil Young.

Let's hope it was just that I chose to pair the wrong beer with this style of music.

Band of Horses @ Newbury Comics

The record shop in-store appearance is a great concept, at least in theory. Sometimes, it's a great concept in practice as well, like when Paul Westerberg played the Virgin Megastore on Newbury Street and Massachusetts Avenue, back when he was supporting Stereo in 2002. That intimate acoustic affair, which lasted just over an hour and included a great selection of solo and Replacements material, as well as a couple of covers, set the bar high for in-store performances for me.

I certainly don't expect anything to ever match that show, so this afternoon's Band of Horses outing at the flagship location of Newbury Comics was far from a disappointment. After all, it's really a great idea to offer a chance for fans to witness a 30-40 minute set from a band in exchange for paying a bargain price of $7.99 for their CD. It's especially ingenious to offer such a deal when the band's indie rock following doesn't want, or can't afford, to pay to see them open for Pearl Jam on a tour that stops at Boston's TD Garden tomorrow night.



Their set consisted of four tracks from their new album, Infinite Arms, two from 2007's Cease to Begin, and a couple of well chosen covers: The Replacements' "Can't Hardly Wait," which had younger fans scrambling to identify it; and Gram Parsons' "A Song for You," which apparently bored said younger fans enough to talk through it. The latter situation, of course, is something you'd better be prepared to endure if you plan to go to any show in this town.

Of course, the drawback to such shows is that record stores are not music venues, and it's not the acoustics that I'm complaining about here. It's just that 175 people crowding down two aisles separated by CD racks doesn't really allow for very many people to have a good view of the performers. Still, this show was worth the investment of a couple hours of time on a late Sunday afternoon, and this type of event is further evidence of how this regional independent record store chain is remaining vital while most of its counterparts have failed.

Live at Manticore Hall

Sunday night's show at the Lynn Memorial Auditorium was billed as "An Intimate Evening with Keith Emerson & Greg Lake," but when the band was introduced prior to taking the stage, the public address announcer's greeting was "Welcome to Manticore Hall." This, of course, was in reference to Emerson, Lake & Palmer's fascination with the mythical creature that has the body of a lion, the head of a man, the tail of a scorpion, and a trumpet-like voice.

This was one of those shows that I decided was worth attending alone, which was necessitated by the fact that very few of my friends share my admiration of the English progressive rock supergroup. When I took my seat at the venue, next to me was another solo concertgoer. A few years older than I, he shared with me that he and his wife have much different taste in music, using Mariah Carey as an example of where her interests lie. I told him that, while my wife and I share much more musical taste in common, this was one band I never really attempted to turn her on to. He seemed to agree with my somewhat stereotypical claim that those of the female persuasion generally don't appreciate prog rock. This generalization was not reinforced by an event that occurred later in the evening, but I'll get to that soon enough.

Just as I predicted in a conversation with KJ prior to the show, the 65 and 62-year old rockers played two sets separated by a short intermission. Highlights of the first set included a rendition of King Crimson's "I Talk to the Wind," a song Lake admitted he hadn't played since 1969; and a medley that began with ELP's "Take a Pebble" then transitioned to excerpts from "Tarkus," which included a fine display of Emerson's still impressive keyboard chops.

Both Emerson and Lake let the on-stage banter flow freely, and the second set included several such highlights. The first was a story told by Emerson about meeting one of his idols, Leonard Bernstein, and Bernstein's somewhat sarcastic and arrogant dismissal of the music of The Nice and ELP.

What was even more interesting was when they initiated a Q&A session with audience members. I wanted to ask why they didn't hire Ian Paice as their touring drummer, but I didn't get the chance. One of those chosen was a 14-year old girl who called ELP her favorite band. I found this quite interesting, of course, and then I tried to imagine my 14-year old niece's reaction if I played her Brain Salad Surgery in its entirety.

Personally, I love when performers are adept at successfully interspersing a few stories into their set. Emerson and Lake may have overdone this a little, but it never detracted from the music, which certainly did not disappoint. Even the somewhat bizarre fact that they used a drum machine during the Tarkus medley didn't really bother me.

The final highlight of the night was their encore performance of "Lucky Man." I'm not sure what I was more surprised about: the fact that they ended a show of mostly deeper cuts with their most commercially successful song, or that I enjoyed hearing it as much as I did. While it was Keith Emerson's playing that shone the brightest for most of the night, it was during this song that I realized just how lucky we fans are that Greg Lake's vocal ability has held up so well over time.

Midlake @ The Paradise

I can't remember when the last time was that I saw a show at the Paradise Rock Club. In fact, trying to use this blog to determine this proved fruitless, as there isn't a single post about a Paradise show. It was only late 2008 that I began regularly writing up concerts, but nevertheless, it's probably been at least a couple years. This is unfortunate, because the Commonwealth Avenue club is still one of my favorite venues.

It used to be that when a band graduated from Paradise to Avalon status that I was pretty much done with seeing them live. But, Avalon is no more—thankfully—and has been replaced by the House of Blues, a venue that is slightly larger but much better suited for rock shows. Still, I've only been there once since it opened just over a year ago.

Last night was the third time I've seen Midlake in concert, twice of those at the Paradise and all of them excellent shows. The seven-piece from Denton, Texas, led by the vocals of Tim Smith and no less than four guitarists, seems to have a knack for live music that fully captures the magic of their studio output.

Speaking of Smith, it occurred to me during last night's show that he is the only member of Midlake whose name I know, which is somewhat surprising considering they're one of my favorite current bands. I have no problem remembering the names of all the members of Styx from their heyday: Dennis DeYoung, Tommy Shaw, James Young and the Panozzo brothers. Well, I'll admit that I had to look up the first names of the latter siblings—Chuck and John—but you get my point. Knowing the names of band members is pretty much my thing, but somewhere along the way, this ability has faded, or this information has become less important.

Also faded is my ability to stand in one place for three hours without my legs and lower back aching. But, that's another story. Part of the reason this was an issue was the opening act. Previously unknown to me, John Grant was a pleasant surprise in a supporting role. His music beared much resemblance to Midlake's—not surprisingly since they served as backup band for his recent album, Queen of Denmark—except with much lighter lyrical subject matter, as evidenced by song titles such as "Sigourney Weaver," " Chicken Bones," and "Jesus Hates Faggots."

I've already written here that I think Midlake's latest release, The Courage of Others, is nowhere near the masterpiece that The Trials of Van Occupanther was, but the songs from Courage did not disappoint live. That's not to say that hearing "Roscoe," "Bandits," "Van Occupanther," and "Young Brides" from Van Occupanther weren't the highlights of the show, but the band seemed perfectly constructed to perform the newer material. To that point, another highlight was an extended jam during one of the show's closing songs, "Rulers, Ruling All Things."

It's also been quite some time since I've seen two shows in just three days time, but that will be the case this weekend, as I have plans to see Keith Emerson and Greg Lake—two-thirds of the legendary progressive rock trio Emerson, Lake & Palmer—play at the Lynn Auditorium tomorrow night. More on that to come.

Late Night at the Old Tavern

Only those who lasted beyond midnight at our wedding reception were witnesses to an unexpected special treat: a surprise performance by Anders Parker. Unbeknownst to the bride and groom, the groundwork was being laid for the late night one song show since earlier in the day, when my good friend Afshin—who was doubling as our wedding ceremony piano player and reception MC/DJ—heard him playing "Feel the Same" on the Old Tavern's house piano.

That song happened to be included on the wedding mix that we made for our guests, so Anders was successfully convinced that it would only seem appropriate for him to perform the song just after we were required to turn the reception music off. Personally, I really enjoyed the story he told as an introduction, where he reminisced about his Town of LaGrange Little League days and his childhood impression of how intense my father and I were about baseball.

Anders' performance, of course, fully lived up to our expectations. He claimed to not completely remember how to play the song, but this didn't seem to be a problem as he improvised an intimately reworked version. Suffice it to say, Anders earned a few new fans that night. But, it was those who already were his fans who were most pleased, particularly me and KJ. We both agreed that this moment perfectly closed out a perfect day and a fantastic weekend that was all we had hoped for and more.

Anders Parker @ Club Passim

This past fall marked ten years for me living in Cambridge and Somerville, yet last night was only the second or third time I've visited Club Passim. That's probably at least in part due to the fact that, up until about a year ago when they started serving local offerings from Cambridge Brewing Company, it was a dry venue.

The occasion of my return to Passim wasn't the addition of craft beer to their menu, but instead was Anders Parker's debut at the small Harvard Square music venue. Anders was opening for popular New England singer-songwriter Jeffrey Foucault, who happens to be married to Kris Delmhorst, an even more recognizable name in the Boston folk scene. So, most of the capacity crowd of 100+ fans—present company excluded—were not necessarily there to see Anders, but he was extremely well received.

The thing that impressed me the most about last night's crowd was that they actually listened quietly and attentively to each and every song played by both artists. I honestly thought I would never again experience such a phenomenon. In fact, it was just this past December, when KJ and I attended the Boston Pops' holiday performance, that I was dismayed by the fact that not even that crowd was capable of shutting up and listening.

Anders' set was excellent, with the highlights being an acoustic version of "Song," from his former band Varnaline's swan song, Songs in a Northern Key, and a stirring rendition of "Horses Running Over the Hills," from his latest, Skyscraper Crow. I couldn't help but feel that the rest of the crowd was equally moved by the latter performance.

This, of course, reminds me that I'm way overdue in putting together my 2009 compilation. Be patient, though, as there is good reason for its delay, as many of you are well aware. I'm targeting late March for its completion and distribution, in fact.

Last night's show also made me realize that playing to the clientele and type of venue that Club Passim has to offer is a great career move for Anders. During a backstage conversation I had with Jeff, he told me that Anders was looking to get away from the dingy indie rock club scene when the two met. So, in that respect, it seems that meeting Foucault a few years ago in Newcastle, England has been a significant boon to Parker's career. Hopefully, an upcoming collaboration with Son Volt's Jay Farrar, My Morning Jacket's Jim James, and Centro-Matic's Will Johnson, will help him to continue to increase his profile.

Best of 2009

Before I begin the countdown of my top albums of the year, I thought I'd try something a little new. I'm going to hand out a few awards, by which I mean some "best of" designations in categories related to this blog. That's the important point here. To be eligible, there had to be some discussion of the award winner right here, on this blog, at some point this year.

So, without further adieu...

Best Brewery - Despite visiting some excellent brew pubs in Portland, Oregon in August, I'm going back to February and giving this award to Brewery Ommegang, Cooperstown, New York's fine purveyor of Belgian-style ales.

Best Beer - Although Ommegang Abbey Ale, Southern Tier Pumking, and several Oregon brews were contenders, Portland brew pub Old Lompoc's LSD (Lompoc Strong Draft) was the best new beer I tasted this year. It's too bad I don't know when the next time will be that I'll get a second chance to enjoy some.

Best Ballpark (Majors) - The new Yankee Stadium was great, but it really was hard to think about it in terms of how I usually feel my first time at a new park. It's pretty overwhelming, and although I arrived two hours early during my first visit, it was still very crowded and, therefore, difficult to take it all in. Rangers Ballpark in Arlington was everything I look for in a new stadium, and it was definitely my favorite of the four major league parks I visited this year.

Best Ballpark (Minors) - Since I called it "...the nicest minor league park I've ever visited," it goes without saying that the Portland Beavers' PGE Park wins this award.

Best Concert - According to this blog, I only count six concerts that I went to this year. It's possible there were a couple that I didn't write about, but that's still a pretty low number. There was a time when six in a month was closer to the average. Anyway, even in a year in which I showed further signs of slowing down, The Flaming Lips put on a show worthy of concert of the year status.

Best Road Trip - KJ and I went on a lot of great road trips this year. Plus, it's hard to imagine there could be a better trip than one that included attending a baseball game every night. But, although I sometimes took liberties with my definition of road trip here, our late May vacation in Georgia and South Carolina, particularly the Savannah part, gets the nod in this category. Just to set the record straight, it wasn't my favorite just because it was legal to drink in the streets, although that certainly didn't hurt. Probably the biggest reason was that, of all the trips we took this year, this one was to a place that was new to both of us.

I've got one more "best of" post in me before getting started on the countdown of the year's best albums. That post is going to be where I honor a few of my readers with a list of the best comments of the year. It should be an enjoyable look back at some moments that have either made me laugh, or simply appreciate what you've had to say.

Ordinary Event on Hamilton Place

Local radio station WFNX dubbed last night's Spoon/Phoenix/Passion Pit show at the Orpheum Theater "Miracle on Tremont Street." I suppose this was intended to be a play on "Miracle on 34th Street," it being Christmas season and all. Well, the Orpheum is actually on Hamilton Place, just off of Tremont Street, and in reality, the show was nothing special.

Passion Pit is pretty much the undisputed hottest local act in Boston right now. The winners of four "in Boston" categories in The Phoenix's Best Music Poll for 2009 (Best Album, Local Act, Male Vocalist and Song) opened last night's show with a highly recognizable set of songs from their award-winning album Manners. Their brand of '80s inspired synth-pop played out almost as good live as it does on record, but the sound left a little to be desired—as it often does with opening bands—and their set was somewhat brief. I do have one piece of advice for Passion Pit front-man Michael Angelakos, though. If we've learned anything from Jon Anderson, it's that male lead vocalists should either play an instrument or else have a knack for on-stage performance. Otherwise, they just come across as a little...let's call it less-than-manly.

Phoenix's performance was the highlight of the evening for me, although when they opened with "Lisztomania," the opening track from their latest album Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix, I was afraid I was going to have to suffer through an entire set of singalongs with the annoying college girls to my left. A couple songs later, though, I really came to appreciate "Lasso" as one of the show's highlights and possibly the best track on the album. My favorite moment of the whole night turned out to be a surprising one, and somewhat contrary to what I said a couple of sentences ago. I returned from getting KJ a bottled water as the band played their final, and most recognizable, song. Listening to the crowd chant the chorus to "1901" in unison, I suddenly felt overcome with the desire to go out and buy a Cadillac.

Spoon's set was solid, but there was something about it that just seemed less than inspired. Honestly, I came away from the show realizing that this is a band that was meant to play rock clubs. There's a certain pecking order to the Boston concert scene, and once an artist graduates from the Paradise/Middle East downstairs level—venues with capacities in the 550 to 650 range—they’re generally not worth seeing after that, although it sometimes takes a show like last night's to drive that point home. I'm sure I've made that statement, or something similar to it, quite a few times before, so I'll refrain from harping on it.

Overall, I give last night's show a respectable B-minus. It's just that, for such a highly anticipated triple-bill, it fell considerably short of being worthy of comparison to one of the most successful Christmas movies of all-time.

Flaming Lips @ Bank of America Pavilion

Flaming Lips took on a whole new meaning Sunday night when the band members emerged from an on-screen representation of a certain female body part to kick off their show at Bank of America Pavilion. All of the band members sans one, that is, as Wayne Coyne suddenly appeared inside a large clear plastic ball.

If you think you've seen it all, you'll have to reconsider, unless you've actually witnessed a lead singer crowd-surf while emulating an embryo inside a womb. In fact, if you've never seen the Flaming Lips live, you're really missing out. Even at a venue that is far from my favorite, they put on an unbelievable show. The best way I can describe their live performance is that it's akin to Frank Zappa fronting Pink Floyd, and teaming up with the rejects from the Denver Broncos cheerleader tryouts, to play the guest slot on Sesame Street. Of course, I mean that in the most reverential way.

With ticket prices that were certainly on the steep side, especially when factoring in the additional charges of almost $20 per, the Lips chipped in a few extras themselves. Each online ticket purchased came with a special code to download three tracks from their forthcoming album Embryonic, three rare B-sides, and an official live audio recording. For the latter, I waited the two days necessary for them to post the audio of the Boston show. I was torn between that and downloading a show I hadn't attended, until I realized I received two codes for the purchase of two tickets. So, I can use the other for a different concert, perhaps the Portland show that we missed by just a few days.

Listening to the live recording as I write this, I've come to the conclusion that Wayne Coyne is a worse singer than I realized, even for someone who ranks near the top of the list of my favorite singers who can't. But, that's OK with me, because he's an exceptional performer—aided on this night by a couple of Red Bulls and some whiskey—with an endearingly quirky voice. Musical highlights included the feel good singalong "Bad Days", the rare lead vocal from Steven Drozd on "Pompeii Am Götterdämmerung", and "Vein of Stars", which was dedicated to—in the words of Coyne—their "cosmic brother" Ted Kennedy.

Although it seemed there were fewer balloons traveling around the audience than usual, and the crowd atmosphere never quite reached Grateful Dead show status—not that I would know from personal experience, but I swear their last show did—this was another exceptional performance from a truly great band. I can't imagine giving as much to the crowd as the Lips do, and doing it night after night while on tour, but these 40-something indie rockers do not hold back, nor are they even slightly lacking in appreciation for what the audience gives in return.

It Feels So Good When I Stop

The title of singer-songwriter, and leader of the indie rock band that bears his name, Joe Pernice's new novel invokes a sentiment commonly expressed by runners. Having not read the book yet, I'm not certain what exactly the author means by it, but I'm sure it won't be long until I find out. I had the opportunity to hear Pernice read a couple passages from It Feels So Good When I Stop last night when his recent book/music tour brought him to the Brattle Theater in Harvard Square.

It was an evening filled with vulgarity as Boston natives the Walsh Brothers opened with their tasteless but humorous comedy act. Then, Joe read a couple of f-bomb laden passages from his Hornsby-esque novel about an aimless 25-year old who abandons his wife after only a few days of marriage and retreats to his native Massachusetts.

The story, of course, includes numerous musical references, prompting Pernice's decision to record cover versions of ten of the songs mentioned in the book and release them as a soundtrack. Last night's show also included two brief sets of music, the first consisting of a handful of songs from said soundtrack, with Joe's own material comprising the second.

Pernice was noticeably much more comfortable playing music than he was reading his written material, but he still delivered on both accounts. Somewhat surprisingly, I was mildly disappointed that he didn't play more of the newer material, as normally—and I know I'm not alone here—I tend to prefer to hear more of the stuff I'm familiar with. Highlights for me were Dream Syndicate's "Tell Me When It's Over" and the Dan Penn and Spooner Oldham penned "I'm Your Puppet." I did really want to hear his version of Tom T. Hall's "That's How I Got to Memphis," though.

Following the show, as he signed my copy of his book, I had the opportunity to briefly reminisce with Joe about the Wilco show in suburban Albany, 13 years ago, when I first discovered his old band, the Scud Mountain Boys. He made my evening when he asked if we'd ever met—which we hadn't until last night—but I suppose that maybe I looked familiar from the dozens of small club shows of his I've been to.

The brief taste of the novel that last night's show gave me has me excited to dive into it, something that I'll be doing on my upcoming trip to Portland, Oregon. I'm sure I'll also find the time to review a couple of brew pubs while I'm at it.

Sunset Rubdown @ The Middle East

I honestly don't recall when the last time was that I attended a show at Cambridge's premier rock club, The Middle East, especially on a weeknight. The problem is that the headliner always takes the stage so ridiculously late, and I just don't recover as well the following morning as I used to. The only thing different about last night's Sunset Rubdown performance—their set started at 11:30—was that I didn't have to go to work today, as I'm working my "flex time" summer schedule of four longer days with Fridays off.

Musically, the show was worth the lethargy that I'm feeling today, although admittedly the consumption of four Harpoon IPAs probably had as much to do with that as the fact that the show didn't end until 1am. Surprisingly, for a band whose two most recent albums were among my favorites in their respective years, I recognized a very small percentage of the songs they played. Their soon-to-be-released record, Dragonslayer, was the major emphasis of last night's set, and the new material did not disappoint. Front-man Spencer Krug's manically off-kilter vocals, and his complex but accessible songs that are equal parts arty indie pop and classic rock, translate well to the live setting. Despite the quality of the newer songs, a personal highlight for me was a rousing version of “The Taming of the Hands That Came Back to Life”, from 2007's Random Spirit Lover.

Once again, my not-so-newfound philosophy of picking and choosing my moments when it comes to the club shows was reinforced. This time, I think I chose wisely.