ten on Tuesday

10 Bands (and Performers) I Have Seen

It's been awhile since I actually, you know, Blogged, hasn't it? Here's an easy one - musicians I have seen, from "Ten on Tuesday."

Donovan - several times, beginning at Madison Square Garden, where thousands of people sang "Atlantis" in a gentle, rolling whisper; last time at a LI venue, where he told stories about India and Gypsy Dave.

Loudon Wainwright III - !!! Smart, deep, funny, introspective. Tells stories, acts, sings, involves. He's now doing a set of songs about his father, a writer. Two years ago, his surprise guest was Suzzy Roche.

The Roches - smart, deep, funny, magical harmonies. Did I mention "funny"? We were sad when Terre skipped the last concert, but charmed when Maggie whipped out a kazoo for "Yaketty Yak." 

Rufus Wainwright - we have seen him several times. The most magical was at a small LI venue, when it was just him, his piano, and That Voice. Imagine being in the first row, 6 feet away, as he plays and sings "Hallelujah." It just does not get any better.

Ray Davies - smart, deep, funny. (do you sense a trend?) Tells stories, sings from his deep, deep catalogue, and makes you wonder why his songs aren't embedded in Great Songbooks. "See My Friends" - here. Enjoy.

Christopher Parkening - the essence of classical guitar, with the pure and impeccable technique to make Bach appear in the overtones.

Melanie - of course. And yes, "lost in the overtones," as she sings in "Hold Tight." "Leap off the edge to see if you fall or fly." 

Vladimir Ashkenazy - a gentleman, shorter than I expected, and more nuanced than his early recordings would have suggested.

Ravi Shankar - many times, from large to small venues, with Oregon, Yehudi Menuhin (incarnated spirit), and (nearly) alone. He once told us he was going to do a traditional raga that would be at least 2 hours long. Those in the audience who were not true aficionados groaned. The rest of us experienced true immersion that may have taken hours, but felt like no time at all - true timelessness.

Aimee Mann - back to smart, deep, funny. A wonderful voice, exceptional lyrics, and the creator of one of my theme songs, "Humpty Dumpty."

I could go on and on - Randy Newman, Isaac Stern, John Hartford, Lisa Loeb, countless orchestras and soloists, Dan Bern, Glenn Tillbrook, They Might Be Giants, Richard Thompson, Roger McGuinn. A life without live music is just unthinkable.

Rufus and other delights

Was it only 3 weeks ago when we saw Rufus Wainwright in concert? Between Stuff Happening, insufferable heat, Big Decisions to be made, and everything else eddying around, I have totally lost track of time. 

Yes, 3 weeks ago, we saw Rufus in concert in the Hamptons on a hot, muggy night in an old, rather scruffy theatre. He sang many songs from his new CD, some older songs from older CDs, a few songs with his father, Loudon Wainwright III, and then two really old songs by Hector Berlioz from the song cycle Les Nuits d'Été.  

Rather ruefully, he said he'd sung the entire Berlioz cycle a few years ago and gotten such horrible reviews that he dug back into the music, determined to master it. I was happy with what I heard, but I can understand how purists might have been upset with Wainwright's lack of distance from the lyrics, or the lack of classical consistency in his voice.  I was happy because he inhabited the song as surely as his father inhabited "The Swimming Song" and others he sang about the death of his own father.


Let me share the two songs with you. The first is Rufus, the second is Loudon. Enjoy!

Here is the English translation of Gautier's poem: 

Open your closed eyelid
Which is gently brushed by a virginal dream!
I am the ghost of the rose
That you wore last night at the ball.
You took me when I was still sprinkled with pearls
Of silvery tears from the watering-can,
And, among the sparkling festivities,
You carried me the entire night.

O you, who caused my death:
Without the power to chase it away,
You will be visited every night by my ghost,
Which will dance at your bedside.
But fear nothing; I demand
Neither Mass nor De Profundis;
This mild perfume is my soul,
And I've come from Paradise.

My destiny is worthy of envy;
And to have a fate so fine,
More than one would give his life
For on your breast I have my tomb,
And on the alabaster where I rest,
A poet with a kiss
Wrote: "Here lies a rose,
Of which all kings may be jealous."

Music - that's how the light gets in

We went to a concert Sunday night, in the wind and the rain and the unfamiliar roads upstate. It's been tough around here for a few weeks, what with family and health and jobs and distractions small and large. I had bought these tickets months ago, and I had looked forward to the concert even if I had nothing much else to look forward to ever since. Even with the wind and the rain and the unfamiliar roads, the concert was - transcendent. The bill: John Sebastian and Roger McGuinn.

Alas for John Sebastian, his voice has gone completely unmusical, turning into a bluesy, growly, unmelodic thing. I was startled and dismayed. Even though I'd read about it, I wasn't expecting such deterioration of the sweet, gentle voice I had loved in his Lovin' Spoonful days.

Funny though: John Sebastian's performance, his musicianship, his presence is as sweet and easy and funny as it ever was. The truly startling thing, to me, was that I'd never realized what a splendid guitarist he is: versatile, flexible, and perfectly suited to his songs. "Darlin' be home soon," he sings, "I couldn't bear to wait an extra minute of you dawdle," and you know that both the raspy voice and his guitar are telling the truth. He plays a mean harmonica (several, actually). Alas, no autoharp Sunday night. Maybe another time.

We went to a concert last year where Roger McGuinn was the only performer. That night, we sat first-row center, and I was utterly absorbed in the music and the wizardry of two hands, one guitar, and a symphony of tones being produced by one person. Sunday night, we were a few rows back, but it didn't matter.

Roger McGuinn has been one of my rock idols from "Turn, turn, turn" on. I've been downloading songs from his Folk Den project for years. ("The Great Selkie" and "Waltzing Matilda" are so, so beautiful!) Sunday night, he did some Byrds songs, showing how folk music and musicians influenced them, and he did many folk songs, including "Wild Mountain Thyme." And, of course, "Eight Miles High."

I first heard his solo performance on NPR while I was driving to a wedding. Fortunately, it wasn't my own wedding, because I pulled into a parking lot, listened, and then just sat for awhile in utter, total awe. (I was Quite Late.) You can listen here, but it doesn't compare to being in the room, 30 feet away, hearing the song as if for the first time, with a bit of Ravi Shankar thrown in, and some Coltrane, and some Segovia added to the unforgettable counter-melody and McGuinn's sweet voice.

At the end of the concert, John Sebastian joined Roger McGuinn for a few songs. Sebastian's harmonicas soared and chugged and chortled along with McGuinn's guitar and vocals. These men have known each other for decades. Their music, very different, blends and defines the best of the folk and rock and folk-rock creativity of the sixties.

Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack, a crack in everything
That's how the light gets in.
(from Leonard Cohen's "Anthem.")

Why the verse by Leonard Cohen? Because right now, in my life, music is "how the light gets in." And I am so, so grateful.