I am writing for the Midnight Cafe and will periodically discuss bootlegs there. Come join me over there!

Free tickets to see one of the greatest live bands playing today and no one responded. I think I need to find new friends.

So we arrived at the venue early, hoping we might find some hapless soul willing to buy the one ticket. Almost immediately we found some guys on bikes with signs saying they were buying tickets. There was a little haggling, and I found myself on the losing end of that. Ten bucks and I was free one ticket. That’s a lot less than I paid, but a little more than nothing.

The Murat is a beautiful old theatre in downtown Indianapolis. Having arrived early to unload the ticket and having already done such, we walked into the entryway of the theatre to await the doors to open. Many folks were already there. An odd thing this always was to me as we had assigned seats so there was literally no reason to arrive so early, but there we were.

Our earliness was paid off as a young man came out stating that the band had asked him take fan requests. My mind went racing. I was dying to come up with something obscure and unique – something that the band would see and love and no doubt talk about from the stage. Maybe even ask me to come on down and sing it with them.

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Instead I came up with something off the new album, something they would undoubtedly play even without my request. “Hate it here” is possibly my favorite song off of Sky Blue Sky, and I was most anxious to hear those Stones riffs live.

Sitting back down I encouraged my wife to choose something but she’s shy about these things, and couldn’t come up with anything. I suggested “Outtasite (Outta mind)” off of an older album, Being There, and she stood up to make the request.

“No, wait,” I said, “pick something off of the Woody Guthrie tribute.” “What’s the name of the one with the repeat? Oh yes, it’s ‘Walt Whitman’s Niece,’ choose that one.”

Yes, I know that’s one that Billy Bragg sang lead on, but Wilco played most of the music and they did the back up parts, which would be awesome live with all the audience singing the repeat.

The wife goes and makes the request coming back with a puzzled look. A few minutes later she begins cursing herself, when I ask why she says, “Walt Whitman’s Knees.”

What?” I ask.

“I wrote the song down as ‘Walt Whitman’s Knees.’ I knew that wasn’t right when I wrote it but I couldn’t think of the right name.”

We laughed and laughed at that. I hoped, I prayed Tweedy would see it and laugh with the band and say something about my silly wife from the stage.

We had quite literally the last seats in the house – upper balcony, last row, very last seats stage left. My view was a little obstructed by an archway, but overall the stage was quite visible.

A band I had never heard of, Low, opened. I won’t say they were bad, but I won’t deny it either. I normally do my best to dig an opening band. I usually get very angry at the crowd when they talk through the opening act. This time, I was kind of with them.

It isn’t that the music wasn’t any good, it was they were in the wrong venue, opening for the wrong band. They had a very relaxed, ethereal feel – think Mazzy Star or Luna and you’ll come close. For the wide-open acoustics of the Murat, they sounded too muddled. When we’re all jazzed to hear the loud, ruckus of Wilco, relaxed and ethereal is not what we want, or not what I wanted anyway.

Luckily their set was short and Wilco came out with a fury. I tried writing down their setlist, but it was so dark in my little corner that I quickly realized there is no way I would be able to read my scratchings. And looking at them now, they are all a mess.

This is the tightest band in show business. Even though half the members have only been with the band a few short years, they play like a well-oiled machine. Nells Cline, the guitarist, is especially amazingly awesome. They guy simply tore it up. The roof was on fire, let me tell you.

They stuck primarily to songs off of their last three albums. I don’t know if this was because Tweedy likes his newer stuff more, of that most of the band hasn’t been on board for longer than those albums, or these are just the songs the fans prefer to hear. This fan would have appreciated some more older stuff, bug I take what I can get.

From our in the rafter seats the sound was a little less than spectacular and I struggled to differentiate between some of the instruments, but the band was playing like Moses on fire. Enthusiasm oozed from everybody as they jumped and shook and moved like a giant, twitching snake.

About mid show they played “Hate It Here” and I had to poke my wife with a little “they’re playing this for me” even though most likely they would have played it without my request. Still it added a fun element to the show, which I would guess is the very reason they do the requests.

It was a darn fine version too, what with the big sing-along chorus and the fun lyrics about washing clothes and what-not. The whole show was filled with nice little moment and fun sing-alongs. Although, everytime I see Wilco I am reminded of how few of their lyrics I actually know.

I’m just not a lyrics guy. I have a terrible short term memory and as such I have difficulty remembering lyrics past the moment they are sung. Instead I concentrate on the music and turn into one of those flailing arms to the beat of the guitar riff guys.

There was a lot of arm pumping this night. After a double encore with the surprise old album shot of “Outtasite (Outta Mind)” we went home happy.

They never did play “Walt Whitman’s Niece” and no one but me made fun of my wife’s mistake, but even so it was a darn fine night of music.

Setlist:

1. A Shot In The Arm
2. Side With The Seeds
3. You Are My Face
4. I Am Trying To Break Your Heart
5. Kamera
6. Handshake Drugs
7. War On War
8. Impossible Germany
9. Sky Blue Sky
10. Jesus, Etc.
11. Hate It Here
12. Walken
13. Shake It Off
14. I’m The Man Who Loves You
15. Hummingbird

Encore 1:
16. Sunken Treasure
17. Spiders (Kidsmoke)

Encore 2:
18. Heavy Metal Drummer
19. Outtasite (Outta Mind)
20. California Stars

Thanks to <a href=”http://wilcobase.com/index.php” target=”_blank”>Wilcobase</a> for the setlist.

Etree has the show up for <a href=”http://bt.etree.org/details.php?id=507594″>download</a> right now.

Until this week, we’ve seen exactly none of those things. Since we are headed to China in August, we finally decided to buckle down and attend the bluegrass festival. Even then, we had plans to attend every night of the eight-day festival, but due to problems of infinite proportions, we were only able to make it Tuesday and Saturday.

You could say bluegrass is in my blood, though I didn’t know it for many years. My great-uncle played with Dolly Parton when she was little, and my cousin plays guitar in Ricky Skaggs band. Most of my dad’s family plays some sort of instrument, and they say family reunions are a sight and sound to behold.

None of this information was actually known to me for many years. I thought we were a pretty boring family for most of my youth. In fact I can remember my parents deciding to go to a bluegrass festival when I was in my early teens an

d I had to ask what the heck bluegrass was.

“It’s like country, but faster and with more twang,” Mom told me.

The Bill Monroe Bluegrass Festival is the oldest bluegrass festival in the world. It has been picking and a grinning for the last 41 years. Everyone who is anyone in bluegrass has played this stage. This year over 50 acts played morning, noon, and night for 8 straight days.

On Tuesday we saw Karl Shiflett, Anita Fisher, Bluegrass Strangers and IIIrd Tyme Out. It was a full day of fun, sun and good music.

There were rows and rows of lawn chairs set up in front of the stage and we couldn’t quite figure out if they were all owned by individual concertgoers, or if they had been set up by the venue. They were all unmatched, but most of them were empty and they were perfectly set up. It seemed strange to me that so many people would have come in and set up their chairs in neat little rows and then abandoned them.

This worked perfectly on Tuesday, and we found great seats just a few rows back from the stage, and right in the middle.

IIIrd Tyme Out was the highlight of Tuesday. Russell Moore has some of the best vocals in bluegrass and the rest of the band can pick right along with him. They can play traditional bluegrass like the old folks, but aren’t afraid to add something new to the mix and update those old sounds. Plus they are a ton of fun to listen to and watch.

Saturday was much fuller than the Tuesday afternoon crowd, and we were all there to see one man, Dr Ralph Stanley. Legend is too small a word for the man. He is the living embodiment of bluegrass music. He is distinguished and incredible. A giant in a little man’s shoes.

We took seats again up close, but after a few songs someone approached us stating that we were, in fact, in their chairs. Looking around and seeing how full the venue was getting, we decided to pull our own lawn chairs out of the car and sit to the side so as to not miss anything.

We saw very enjoyable performances from Alecia Nugent, Paul Williams, Jim Lauderdale, JD Crowe and of course Dr. Ralph Stanley. As I said though, the crowd was all holding their breath for Ralph Stanley. When the time finally came, and the announcement was made, we all went nuts.

For the first few songs Stanley didn’t sing a note. He allowed his band play instrumentals and his guitarist sing a tune or two. I began to wonder of the good Dr. hadn’t fallen ill and couldn’t sing, or if he was too old to do much more than joke with the band between songs.

My worries were unfounded, it seems, as Stanley finally took center stage, and enchanted us all with his distinctive voice. His voice is not what I would ever call beautiful, it is certainly original, and it delivers a perfect old timey sound. It roared and called out to the crowd on this night.

Stanley is a generous performer and spent much of his long set talking about the records his band mates and children have recently put out. Most of the band got to perform at least one song, and in a very sweet moment a little boy from the area came out and nervously belted out an old Stanley Brothers tune.

Even with three encores the crowed belted, screamed and begged for more. Stanley closed with an a capella version of “O Death” that I believe must have stilled the entire state.

We left a little after 11. Kids were still playing ball and freeze tag, the food vendors were still churning out their unique brand of edibles, the stars were still shining brightly, and the music was still playing. But we were hot, covered in dirt and completely exhausted.

You could do worse things on a summer Saturday night in Indiana.

After the whole Ryan versus Gillian debacle I had settled down into a wonderful Ryan Adams groove. I’ve been listening to his music for weeks and generally freaking out about seeing him. My mantra has been “I’m going to see Ryan Adams, I’m going to see Ryan Adams.” The world’s troubles melt away with these words.

But before I talk about the show, I must say a few words about Holly. She is my wife’s friend from college. I was also supposed to have married her instead -(acording to my sister anyway.) You see while I first started to date the girl who became my wife, my sister was then in college with Holly (a different college than the one my wife and Holly attended, but that’s another story) and she noticed some similarities between me and Holly (all of which have long since been forgotten) and decided we were perfect for each other. And she told us this information, separately and frequently. We both collectively shrugged our shoulder and moved on.

Somehow, a few months ago Holly and I became fast friends. It turns out we do have a lot in common, namely a great passion for music and Ryan Adams. Lots of e-mails have passed through our portals and a few phone calls, but the whole physical presence thing was absent (well except for a couple of weddings, but both of those were brief and pre-friendship weirdness.)

All this to say that I was looking forward to her coming and a little nervous about it all.

She came, it was a little weird, then it was fun and silly and great. There was one of those long, 3 am I’m-sure-I’m-going-to-regret-saying-all-this-in-the-morning conversations. Except I don’t regret it. Not at all.

We made a day of Louisville, eating some fine food at a Hookah bar, and digging through the record bins at Ear X-Tacy. The doors at the Brown Theatre opened at 6, so we arrived about 4:30. We weren’t the first. Fanboys and girls abounded.

As a general rule people tend to annoy me. As a solid, never-bending absolute truth, fanboys piss me off (well, excepting one.) I get fandom. I get solid adoration of an artist. I simply cannot understand slovenly devotion to a single musician. As we stood in the lobby waiting for the doors we had to stand the asinine fanboy conversations. One boy claimed he would not befriend anyone who was not a Ryan Adams fan. Another made the bold proclamation that the Eagles were better than the Beatles and the Stones, though all three really sucked and Ryan Adams blew them all away.

Someone please school these boys.

In ways the fanboys shaped my entire concert experience. We landed a seat in the third row, center, and the hardiest of fanboys were in front of us. I couldn’t help but gage their reactions and observe their behavior.

Paula Cole started the show. I’ve never much cared for her music, but she carried herself well. The voice wavered from time to time, but the band backed her up sufficiently and it was a good time. After some new songs, and some very awkward talk where she proved herself way to aware of her time out of the spotlight, and the audiences indifference to her come back she simply nailed “I Don’t Want to Wait.” I had never liked the song before, but it shimmered and glowed in this night.

The fanboys sang along, their faces tinged with irony and scoffing laughter. I may not like Paula, but I respect that she can write her own songs and have the balls to get up and sing them. With feeling.

Next was Charlie Louvin and he tore the roof off. He completely lives up to his legendary status. Even the fanboys were enjoying themselves, even if they were pretending that enjoyment was only in an ironic way.

Even with the irony and a few mocking laughs at his more sentimental songs, Louvin was the consummate professional. He made mention that some of the young people might not understand his type of music, but if they listened closely, they just might have a good time anyway. During “Cash on the Barrelhead” he leaned forward inviting one particularly obnoxious fanboy onto the stage to sing along. It was a brilliant moment – embarrassing the fanboy without being vicious or mean, yet still staying within character.

Suzanne Vega was up next and I wondered if most of the audience even knew who she was. She was very much the total professional too. Where Paula Cole seemed too aware of the precariousness of trying to make a comeback in this business, Suzanne let it all roll off her shoulders. She seemed to be saying that she had never left the business, and while the fans may have slipped away, she was always around making her music. Her performance was as unique and quirky as ever. She did a few songs with just her and her bassist and it was beautiful. She closed out with “Luca” and “Tom’s Diner” and the house did seem to remember.

A new NY band, Vietnam hit the next spot. I won’t say they were bad, but they were not what we needed at that point. We were all exhausted and ready for nothing but Ryan Adams. They had their 70’s era Allman brothers band schtick down pat. Except it wasn’t really schtick, but done completely serious. It was all rock, no subtlety.

And then he came. Stools were set in a half circle towards the back of the stage. The lights were incredibly dim. Mood I guess. The Cardinals came and then Mr. Adams in a shower cap, hoodie and dark sunglasses. The recently torn ligament and subsequent cast kept him from playing guitar, but his voice has never sounded better.

He played about half the new album, which hasn’t been released and I didn’t know, but it was all good. The record should be brilliant – kind of subdued and sad, more Heartbreaker than Cold Roses, but genius in the way only Ryan Adams can be.

Throughout everybody’s performances there was trouble with the monitor speakers. Every performer complained about it and was followed by stagehands running around on stage for a bit. During Ryan’s first song, you could tell it wasn’t fixed for he pointed at the speaker then his finger went into the air dozens of times. By the second song he had called a stage hand over to chew him out.

“Please don’t piss Ryan off,” Holly begged, for Ryan Adams is a bit notorious for walking off the stage early when he gets pissed. Pissed or not, the performance was magic.

The dim lights turned from blue to read and the shower cap came off. They played an Alice in Chains cover, “Down in a Hole” that turned the auditorium inside out. Just as I began to think this might be the most amazing concert experience of my life Ryan let out a “Thanks” and took off.

Twenty minutes and he’s gone.

Bastard. Son of a monkey. Words I cannot write for my mother might read.

Man, I know you have to keep up your eccentricities. I know it is part of your allure to pull this crap. But it is called being a professional. Did Charlie Louvin walk off because he couldn’t hear himself? Did Paula Cole or Suzane Vega? Man the Vietnam guitarist just moved over to the one working monitor. We paid good money, drove long distances, and generally did what we could to see you perform. You should at least do you freaking job.

Much cursing ensued during the drive home. But then a fanboy posted videos, and I watched, I listened, I teared up just a little, and I have to say, I forgave.

“Goodnight Rose” – Forgive the lousy video quality, as I said the lighting was terribly dim. But the audio is good.

“Rip Off”

It wasn’t that they were bad, the songs were interesting, and I could sense some excellent musicianship in there, it’s just that none of her songs really spoke to me. Nothing really stood out as something magic.

But like I said, I trusted my friend’s opinion and bought the tickets.

Oh Patty, you broke my heart, and taught me to love again – and that within the first three songs.

Normally, when my wife and I make the 60-mile trek to Indianapolis for a concert, we head straight to the venue for the show. This time, being a beautiful Saturday we figured we would make a day of it. Noticing that the venue was in the district known as Broad Ripple, and that I had heard good things about this area, we made this our destination.

I didn’t actually know anything about this district other than I heard commercials for various stores and restaurants in the area and my friend Heather had once praised it’s name.

I should have taken into consideration that Heather is about ten years younger than myself and her idea of a good time involves dancing and copious amounts of legal and not so legal substances.

Expecting a quaint shopping district where I could find great local cuisine and interesting shops, I instead found what looked more like a college strip. The streets were lined with pool halls, dance clubs and bars. There was one music shop, and a couple of clothing stores, the rest was ready for debauchery, but not for me. The bars all served food of some sort, and there were three Mexican restaurants. Other than that it was bupkis. And not the good kind of bupkis that you can take home to your parents. No, this was the get down and dirty kind of bupkis only good after a month of solitude and a night of heavy drinking.

We hit the clothing shops, I checked out the above par music store and we walked up and down the block several times. That’s a lot of filler for three hours.

The door-opening hour came and we stood in a way too long line. Finally making it into the building I was surprised by how much space there was. Folks, more knowledgeable than us in line had been bemoaning how crowded it would be, but the dance floor down by the stage was mostly empty. We found ourselves body space maybe three people back from center stage and stood our ground.

Jenny Devoe a local Indy favorite took the stage first with her big bushy hair, and bright orange pants. The music fit the look, for it was bouncy and fun, and just the right thing to pick up the crowd for what was to come. She had a short, twenty-minute set, which got me aching for Patty.

But first was Teremoto, a Texas duo full of South American rhythms. Their first song was a traditional Brazillian number that was slow, melodic and totally killed the mood. It was interesting music and all but a total turn around from the fun music we had just heard.

Before I could get my full kill-joy on, they cranked it up for the second song and the rest of their half hour set. The rhythms sparkled, and danced, and kicked my arse right off the ground. The two of them made a boisterous, joyful noise that got the crowd moving again.

Then came Patty.

She starts out solo, on the piano. It’s a slow, mournful number that causes my wife to turn around with a giant smile. At first I figure she knows the songs, and had turned it into something of a favorite, until I realize that Patty is singing in French. My wife gets a big goofy smile for anything sung or spoken, or danced in French.

Then the song hits me. I mean right into my guts, fumbling through my soul and ripping out my heart. I only know a little French, so all I can gather is its something about a lover who is leaving, or who has already gone, or something. But it’s not so much the words, as it is the way she sings. Patty’s voice isn’t what I would call traditionally pretty – it’s sort of wavy, with a quirky accent with just a bit of a guttural wail. But she uses it full throttle to create a wave of emotion. Halfway into song number one and I’m tearing up, and holding onto my wife for dear life.

“Good God”, I’m thinking, “If she does this the whole show, I’m not going to make it.”

After quieting the entire crowd with that first song, the band comes out and Patty plays the torch singer. She’s straight out of the 40s singing like Billie Holiday and being backed up like a jazz band.

Then they tear the roof off. From heart breaking weeper, to classic torch singing, they move into a full-on rave-up barnburner. The feet were tapping, the hands were raised, and the Vogue suddenly turned into a Gospel Tent Meeting.

And that’s pretty much the way the show went from there on out. She mixed heart wrenching sadness with forget-everything-else-in-the-world jubilation. We were moved. And then some.

The band was small, but right on. One of the guys from the Teremoto was on rhythm and he continued to prove he could play anything – congas, bongos and even a plastic bucket and make it move your booty. There was an electric bass and a stand-up acoustic bass. Though the girl on acoustic often transitioned to cello and piano as the song instructed her. The electric guitarist looked a little like Ryan Adams and played like a pro. They all created whirling, swirling sounds to accompany Patty’s idiosyncratic songs like they were born to play the part.

I came into the show, not knowing what to expect, but feeling like it might have been time better spent somewhere else. I came out a dyed in the wool fan.

That’s not a bad Saturday spent.

Ryan Adams is such an artist. I first heard him with his big hit “New York, New York,” shortly after 9/11. His infectious, hopeful tune about a city so prominent in the nations mind, coupled with the video, in heavy MTV rotation, shot on the Brooklyn Bridge helped ease my own (as well as many others) pain in such tumultuous times.

It wasn’t enough to make me buy the album, though. Over the next few months, I heard little more of his work. There was a song or two that came to me through movies or TV shows, and I caught him performing during a Willie Nelson tribute, all of which I enjoyed but other than making a mental note that I kind of dug him, I did nothing else.

More months slipped by and my Mondo Brethren began praising the name of Saint Ryan. I downloaded a few more upbeat songs and found I really was beginning to dig this man. Then I got a copy of Demolition and all was nearly lost. At the time I was living in a tiny apartment in Strasbourg with only my laptop and some cheap, crappy speakers of which to fulfill my musical needs. Demolitions brand of slower, softer, sad-bastard songs did not bode so well in this format. None, but “Hallelujah” clicked with me and I put off my Ryan Adams obsession after that.

The Mondo Brethren continued to elevate St. Ryan to savior status, so I found a few more tunes that weren’t so depressing and my interest again perked up. Then Ryan found the Cardinals and I grew to true love and ultimate obsession status. Something about that band brings out the best in Mr. Adams, and I dug it like nothing else. Not long after I found Heartbreaker, and downloaded the unreleased Destroyer and I knew I’d never come back.

I even grew to love Demolition.

Ryan Adams and the Cardinals
06/03/05
Northern Lights, Clifton Park, NY

If they only played the opening song – “Easy Plateau” – I’d call this one of my favorite bootlegs ever. The beginning of the song is just cut off, but it fades into a nice interplay of sweet licks. Though they’ve only been playing together for maybe a year or so by this point, Ryan Adams and the Cardinals sound like they are old compatriots and road warriors. They are gelled, greased, and working together like a fine engine. Clearly this is a band on a mission. Ryan takes me to that place where “the cold don’t come and the wind don’t blow,” and every things all right.

Damn, Sam, if this is the first song, what’s next?

What’s next is nearly three hours of some darn fine rock and roll. Did I say that this band is playing like well tested road warriors? Well, it stands true through two tellings. I hate to compare them to the Grateful Dead, because well Brewster’s always rattling on about the Grateful Dead and there ain’t nothing like the Dead, but these guys create a cohesive sounds that reminds me very much of those boys in their prime. Ryan seems to understand this as well, because he’s sure throwing out his best Jerry Garcia licks. They don’t ever get particularly out there or spacey, but each instrument seems to be telepathically transmitting what they are doing and where they are going to everyone else. It’s the type of thing I live for. Stretching a song in different directions, yet retaining a cohesive whole.

It must have been a hot June night there in New York for the band has to stop several times throughout to retune their instruments. Ryan complains loudly about the heat and it’s impact upon the equipment, but this non-professional ear can’t tell the difference. In fact if the heat is screwing them up, here’s hoping for a life of brutal summers for them.

Early in the first set they start to stretch out with an eleven minutes “What Sin” howls and yelps the blues like demons on fire. And the improvisational nature of the beast remains throughout the entire show. They even give nod to the Grateful Dead by covering their classic “Bird Song” to close out the first set.

Not everything is loud with a growl, for to love Ryan Adams is to love his soft side too. To the Cardinals praise, they know how to turn down the howling beast and allow the pink underbelly to show when things get slow and soft. Songs like “She Wants to Play Hearts” and “When Stars Go Blue” are performed beautifully, with tenderness and just enough bite to keep them interesting.

Though there are a few too many interruptions with heat warped instruments and rambly chatter, Ryan and the Cardinals put on a fantastic show full of too many highlights to list.

Though I came to Ryan Adams a bit late in the game, and my interest was slow to grow, shows like this make me thank the rock gods for having him around and this chance to have captured it on tape.

Listening to Pete Seeger, in concert, is like being with a historian and archaeologist of the world’s music. He seems to know every song ever sung, and to be friends with their writers and singers. He is the soul of America, a true treasure trove of song.

I have a handful of concerts by Seeger, some official, others not, and in every one is a historical road map of folk. Though he often plays by himself, with banjo for accompaniment, he is never short of musicians, for he makes everyone in the audience part of the band. No, Pete Seeger concerts are not Holy Places where the music is sacred, and the audience mere worshipers. We are part of the song, singers and clappers and performers one and all. In nearly every song, he points out a chorus, or a repeating line that he encourages the audience to sing. Where they can’t sing, he says they can clap and hum.

To be honest, I was not at all familiar with Big Bill Broonzy before I listened to this concert. I’m not particularly well versed in the blues, and Broonzy is a name that circumvented my musical heritage.

To be even more honest, I’m not one to particularly care for the blues. For the most part, I just don’t *get* it. For his part, Broonzy makes me wish I did. He is of the acoustic blues school, and his tunes are jaunty, even happy at times, and it is a simple pleasure to listen to him sing.

As for positioning, each performer takes turns singing his tunes, song for song for the most part, while the other one sits in the back ground listening. They do perform together on a couple of songs, and they spend a lot of time conversing, talking about music and telling jokes. But mostly it is a solo show, split between two people.

Seeger likes to talk, and I for one, could listen to him talk for days on end. He tells stories about the songs, about the writers of the songs, and of his life. And what a life! He’s been everywhere, done everything. Most people talk in hushed tones about the night Bob Dylan went electric at a folk festival. For Pete, that’s personal history. He was there. He’s the exciting part!

In no way would I consider this a brilliantly performed performance, musically speaking, for Pete doesn’t show off. He seems more interested in creating a community of music, than coming off as a musical savior. In doing so, he creates something special, something different than a simple concert. It is a communal experience akin to a religious service, or family reunion. I don’t suppose there’s anyone who has heard a Seeger concert that will ever forget the experience.

Broonzy is less talkative than Seeger, but shows his own gift of humor by asking if he can sit down whenever Seeger launches into one of his long stories. He plays his guitar with the fervor of a true prodigy and his songs gap the divide between Seeger’s folk and children’s music.

The highlight of the show is when Seeger plays what he calls the “Goofing Off Suite.” Folk music, he says, needs its own version of chamber music, for the thinking man, so he’s wrote his own high minded piece. If you’ve ever seen the movie Raising Arizona, you will instantly recognize the number. It consists of what must be the main theme of that movie, which if you’ll remember is composed of this incredibly goofy bit of banjo and the wildest bit of yodeling known to man. He even throws in the humming and banjo version of “Ode to Joy” as the middle section.

The first time I heard this I was driving in a heavily trafficked piece of down town. I’m surprised I didn’t get pulled over for all the swerving I did from the tears rolling down my face from laughing.

I am quite saddened to know that I will probably never be able to attend a Pete Seeger concert. His age and health keep him from appearing much in public. But I am heartened by the knowledge that there are these recordings, and that a man like Pete Seeger ever lived and shared his love for great music.

In some ways, working will help me write, because my time is now limited and thus the need to schedule and prioritize is greater.

I have also been spending the past several weeks slowly adding my music collection to my computer, and then onto the iPod. It is slow, grating work, but it is moving along nicely. This has, in part, also kept me from downloading too much music, as the ripping process takes up a lot of memory, and slows downloads a great deal.

Enough of that, let’s get to the boots.

Ben Kweller
12/14/00
The Point
Mawr, PA

My recent purchasing of Kweller’s infectious self titled album, has been on regular repeat around here. His tunes are magnificent pop gems, that are so immediately groove worthy, that I just can’t get enough. I saw this show, I believe on the Archive, and just had to have it.

I’ve actually given it no spins whatsoever, even though I’ve had it a little while. I’ll blame my iPod project for that one.

Ryan Adams
02/15/06
Carling Academy
Glasgow, UK

The iPod project has taken up so much of my time and completely destroyed my regular bootleg downloading, that I hit freak out mode the other day and went looking for something magnificent.

The problem with quick digs for magnificence, is that what I often find doesn’t excite me. When I am constantly downloading the joy comes from finding obscure ditties that wind up performing greater than I expect. With this much time off, I really wanted something big, from an artist I love. That’s hard to find, since I have so much of what I already love.

I did find another Ryan Adams show, but it’s an audience recording, which was the cause of my initial doubts. Turns out it is a brilliant audience recording, and the performance is spectacular.

A good deal of it is acoustic, and Ryan sounds so wonderful and sad, and brilliant.

Norah Jones
06/23/02
Bonnaroo
Manchester, TN

It is rare that I do much trading anymore, and even rarer that I know the person to whom I am trading. Truth be known, the friends I used to trade with, simply don’t trade anymore. And the rest of the people I know, don’t know what a bootleg performance is all about.

But the tides are changing, my friends. The man, the myth, the legend otherwise known as El Bicho has proven a fan of the boot, and recently proffered an excellent couple of live shows for my collection. My new friend Holly, has also offered her limited collection for my rejoicing ears.

This is from El Bicho, and is a very nice audience recording of the ever lovely Miss Jones at Bonnaroo. The only other Norah Jones bootleg I have, suffers from poor sound quality and limited song selection. Here, though it is around the same time as my other performance, she nails some good cover choices, and the sound is well above par.

New Monsoon
10/02/04
House of Blues
Los Angeles, CA

I had never heard of this group, until the Bicho sent the show. I’ve only given it a couple of listens, but they’ve got a nice jam band thing going for them. From the little I heard, they have definitely made me interested in hearing what else they’ve got.

Robyn Hitchcock
10/06/05
NHK 505 Studio
Tokyo, Japan

To tell the truth of the situation, I’ve never heard a Robyn Hitchcock song, at least not that I remember. He is one of those artists that I’ve known about for many years, and often heard wonderful things towards, but have never picked up his albums. Don’t know why that is, it just is.

On Myspace, Gillian Welch is my friend. This simple idea is really the only reason that Myspace should be allowed to live. I mean, who doesn’t want to be Gillian’s friend? As such, I get little bulletins by the lady, which usually consist of concert information. As it turns out the wonderful Ms. Gillian, her friend David Rawling, and Peter Buck are acting as back up band for Robyn Hitchcock this Sunday in Nashville. Would that I could, I would be there, but as it is, I won’t be.

This information, however, did drive me to find this wonderful sounding Hitchcock performance from a Tokyo radio show. I’ve only given it the simplest of listens, but quality wise it is excellent.

Until next time…

Seriously, I have played it for die hard rockers, Deadheads, jazz aficionados, and even my uncle who hasn’t listened to music since the Hoover administration and they have all, without fail, said the same words. The song is that good.

The rest of the album, Other Voice, Other Rooms follows suit. It’s brilliant in its conception and perfect in performance. It is essentially Nanci, performing her favorite songs with her favorite performers (who also happen to usually be the writers of those songs.)

Like a number of my now favorite performers, I came to Nanci through the BMG music club. You know the drill, get 10 CDs for a penny and then agree to buy a few more at regular club prices. The thing with BMG is that they have lots of sales, and so their regular club prices come out not so bad. I’ve done this scores of times over the years, sign up, complete the deal, cancel and then sign up again. It was a great way to broaden my music collection without spending a fortune.

During one of those periods, the little magazine they send each month had a blurb on it for Nanci’s Blue Roses From the Moon, and I snatched it up. Turns out the album was pretty danged good, and I quickly went out and bough her live album, One Fair Summer Evening. Turns out that album is no less than absolutely brilliant.

That album finds a very young Nanci playing with a small band in a small club, proving to the world that she belongs. The music is fabulous, but she really shines when she is talking between playing. She is shy and quirky, cute and funny. She tells little stories about the songs, that aren’t really about the songs, or even with any point at all, but they are so wonderful no one in the world really cares.

A favorite is her long ramble about going to Woolworths stores throughout the world, which is really about the noise the elevator makes (or lift as they say in Europe) which sounds similar to one little note on the guitar that shows up in “Love At The Five And Dime.” I’d write it out for you, but it wouldn’t make any sense, and really it doesn’t make any sense when she says it either, but it’s a lovely ramble anyway.

11/29/98
Barbican Centre
London, UK

This performance came shortly after her album Other Voices, Too, which is a sequel to Other Voices, Other Rooms and follows in the same vein as the first one – meaning Nanci playing her favorite songs for her favorite people. And this concert features some of those very favorite songs and people.

Artists such as Odetta, Dave Von Ronk, and a host of others wander back and forth onto the stage, to help Nanci out. This creates some wonderful noise, as well as plenty of distractions. Because so many are coming and going there are often long pauses between songs, and since most of the musicians are only playing for short periods of time, the inspiration is sometimes missing.

However, none of this really matters for the music is beautiful. Nanci is clearly in her element here, playing great folk songs that fit both her voice and sense of arrangement to a tee. Her musicians friends, are just that, friends and admirers of her work, playing songs they either wrote or are deep fans of as well.

Unfortunately, in the story telling department, older Nanci is spanked by young Nanci. She may be wiser, but she sure isn’t any cuter. Her little stories are just as rambly as before, but they are neither funny or sweet. She seems like a perfectly lovely woman, like an old aunt you visit on the weekends. But the spunk and hilarity that I fell in love with on the earlier disk is all but gone.

But the music, let’s get back to the sweet pure music. Everyone is clearly having a grand time, and it shows in the performance. Every song is fun, and interesting and played to perfection. This is folk music. Americana in England. True, organic music being played by masters and fans.

It doesn’t get much better than that.

To me, it stems from his ability to continually knock out solid albums in a steady fashion for all those years. Every couple of years, Petty puts out an album full of solidly good, if not great material. There are usually a couple of standout hits in each, but no album really rises above the rest. Think about it. Is there one Petty album that you would consider to be an absolute classic? What is his Revolver? Or Dark Side of the Moon? Or Blonde on Blonde? No, in my ever so humble opinion, none of his albums quite make it to that genius level.

Petty’s career has remained relatively stable over the last three decades as well. He continues to put out solid albums, record hit songs and take his band on the road. There haven’t been any giant breakdowns or burn outs. He hasn’t even faded away. No, there has always been a Tom Petty making good songs and churning out classic rock. Where almost all of your great rock bands have all died by one mean or another, Petty has remained one of the few rockers to keep truckin’.

I think by continually putting out good, not great albums so steadily it is easy for the casual fan to overlook Petty’s achievement. Without one brilliant album to cling to, his dozen really good ones get overlooked. By never leaving our presence, it’s easy to sort of forget about how remarkable his career really is.

10/28/06
Double Down Stage
Las Vegas, NV
Download this show via Bittorrent
One of the great things about Tom Petty’s long career is that he can play a different set list almost every night and still sprinkle it heavily with hit songs. For this performance he performs half a dozen of his hit singles, while mixing in songs from his newest album, Highway Companion, slightly obscure older songs, and a few BB King covers.

The Heartbreakers never veer far from the original versions of the songs, but perform with the vibrant energy only found at live concerts. Occasionally there is an extended guitar solo, but it never wanders far from the song’s melody and always ends way too quickly for these ears. Mike Campbell proves over and over that while he may never make it to any top lists of greatest guitarist lists, he is more than capable of producing sweet licks and charbroiled sounds.

This is a pretty decent audience recording, and as such there is a good blend of the band playing and the audience enjoying the show. The band mixes are a little muddled, so this is nothing to put on your A-list shelf, but the audience is so exuberant and excited in their response and sing-along that I find myself getting swept away in it all. When the light is just right, I close my eyes and almost feel like I’m right there.

Tom Petty may never find the diehard fanship of The Beatles, Dylan or The Dead, but by continually writing good songs and putting on shows like this, he’s proven to be one of the most steady and long-lasting performers in rock and roll. Not a bad epitaph to have in the end.

Enjoy a few sample .mp3s: “Mary Jane’s Last Dance,” “Free Fallin’,” “It’s Good to be King,” and “American Girl.”