"Tall Trees" - Matt Mays, Rockwood Music Hall, 8/25/08

"Cocaine Cowgirl" - Matt Mays & El Torpedo @ The Mercury Lounge 6/12/08

Weekend Update

Tandy at the Lakeside Lounge. With a firm grip on my camera, and my bag safely hidden under a pile of coats, I went to the Lakeside late Friday night to hear Mike Ferrio with his band Tandy and special guest Matt Mays. And it was weird, mostly because I've seen Mike do primarily solo shows for the last 12 months.



So hearing multiple guitars and harmony? It was like hearing a cover band do your favorite song.

Which is not to say it wasn't a great show. Just one in which I had to stop weighing the solo versions of the set against what I was hearing. Once I did that? Joy. Especially Matt's slide guitar.

It was also Mike's birthday. Happy birthday, Mike.



If this is Texas, you can have it. The choice was, see Dale Watson at the Rodeo Bar Saturday at 11 PM, or see him at 8 PM Sunday at Hill Country Bar BQ. My friend DJ and I opted for Sunday at 8. Big mistake. We met at 7, to be told that the downstairs music room wouldn't be open till 8. Once the doors opened down there, we would be seated for the show. Fair enough. We waited 15 minutes for an upstairs table, ate our dinner, and checked procedure with our waitress. "Sure, you can just take your drinks and food down when they open up," she said. So we did, and parked ourselves at the end of an unreserved table, only to be told that (a) the table was reserved, (b) if we wanted to sit close to the stage we would have had to reserve a table before we came down, and (c) the only unreserved seats at this point were at the bar, with a big honking pillar in the way, or at the back of the room. "I'm trying to do the best I can," said one of their floor managers. "If this is your [expletive deleted] best, then you're giving [expleteive deleted] Texas a [really foul expeletive deleted] bad name," I thought, and after trading an "I am totally effing annoyed" look with DJ, we left. Which is why I ended up in the Park Bar watching the Oscars. And why I will always--keep me honest here--always--choose the Rodeo Bar even if the show starts at 1 AM.



Oscar drinks my milkshake. Saturday night I got this e-mail from an ex-girlfriend who works at Price Waterhouse:

Guru:*

I forwarded your Oscar Predictions blog to some of the partners, and the Stonecutters among them are not happy. You predicted every category correctly for all the right reasons, so they have decided to Lyndon Johnson your Washington Post ass**. They’ve tweaked the numbers so that none of your acting picks are winning, and Best Director and Best Film go to someone else. But they were really amused at your rationale for Best Foreign Film, so The Counterfeiters is still getting the Oscar.

Thanks a lot; you just ruined me on the office pool.

Meroe

*An old nickname from 4 jobs ago.

**Back in the 60’s, when the Washington Post reported in advance that Lyndon Johnson would be enforcing the mandatory retire-at-70 law and retiring J Edgar Hoover from the post of FBI Director, Johnson was so pissed off that he made Hoover FBI Director for life, reportedly saying: “That’ll show those bastards.”

Random Oscar Thoughts.

Wow--there are so many red dresses it looks like a Chinese wedding.

Tilda Swinton is wearing a bedsheet and looks like Ziggy Stardust. The question is: is it her husband’s bedsheet or her boy toy’s bedsheet?

Unless I missed it, Marion Cotillard never mentioned Edith Piaf in her acceptance speech. This is the equivalent of no one mentioning the novelist Winston Groom, who wrote Forrest Gump, the year Gump took everything. Typical Hollywood.

Renee Zellwegger has no eyes.

There were so many clip segments it felt like a VH-1 Special.

Jessica Alba is not a happy person.

John Stewart getting Marketa Irglova back onstage to deliver her thank-you speech was the classiest thing I've seen in years. And in case you missed it, this is what she said:

This is such a big deal, not only for us, but for all other independent musicians and artists that spend most of their time struggling, and this, the fact that we’re standing here tonight, the fact that we’re able to hold this, it’s just to prove no matter how far out your dreams are, it’s possible. And, you know, fair play to those who dare to dream and don’t give up. And this song was written from a perspective of hope, and hope at the end of the day connects us all, no matter how different we are.

E-mail conversation with Ava:

MATTHEW: Foreigners! Four foreigners have won American acting awards! What's this country's premier pat-ourselves-on-the-back award ceremony coming to?

AVA: Its senses.

The 02:59 CD Release Concerts: Mercury Lounge - 9:30 PM, 8/16/07

I love the Mercury Lounge. The performance area, not the bar area. The bar area is the dive bar equivalent of a local train during rush hour, where everybody's all shoulders and elbows and if you ever do find a space to call your own, somebody's either leaning over your back to order a drink or pushing himself between you and whoever you're with like Germany looking for lebensraum.

The performance space is pretty much the dream black box venue, a room where no matter how far from the stage you are, you still feel like you can reach out and touch the musicians. Like the Continental; like Sin-é -- except that it's still here.

When Matt goes on, the place has thinned out from the previous show. There's a set list at his feet which I mistake for his, until I manage to translate the upside-down writing into song titles that I don't know. He plays some of the songs that I've heard from him this past week, as well as a couple of new ones and a cover from a Canadian friend of his. It's good, but not as memorable as the one he did at 11th Street, a song called February Snows by Al Tuck, lead singer of the memorably named Al Tuck and No Action. He does Tall Trees and dedicates it to Mike Ferrio; talks back and forth with Abe about what he should sing next; tells about meeting Bill Cosby at Duane Reade a few hours ago, where Coz was buying (you don't want to know). It's very loose and laid back, like a show at the Living Room.




In between songs, Matt tells the story of the first time he and El Torpedo played New York, which was also in the Mercury Lounge.

We drive down all the way from Halifax, in our shitty van, and we pulled up, went “Oh this place looks cool,” did our sound check and we came back, and this room was just jammed. And we were like, “Aw man, right on, first trip to New York, it’s gonna be awesome.” Like bitchin’, yknow? And we didn’t really know the New York way of things, where people leave after shows all the time. Back home people stay at a show and never leave till they pass out. So we come on and the place is empty, I mean the only people there are the roadies from the Cyrus show, taking equipment out, and there are like two other people in the audience -- I think Abe was here and that was it. And we were all bummed out and going “Holy shit, we have to drive all the way back to Halifax after this.” So anyways, we left, and this woman -- she’s working tonight at the door -- she stops me and she says, “Wait a minute, you haven’t been paid,” and I’m like, oh okay, at least we get some cash money. And she handed me like six US dollars. Six bucks. One for each of us. And that was our first New York gig.

And he sings some more, and then it's the last few minutes of the last show, and it's hard to believe, the time has gone by so quickly. Like a song you don't want to end. You hear the first verse, and you know it so well you can count the seconds till the last note, but if you do that, then you'll miss the song itself, so you have to give in to the moment, ride the wave, let the words and the notes fill you up like a breath you've never taken before, and make each moment an eternal chime, like the song is a flicking fingernail and you're the tuning fork, and even when the sound that you can hear finally comes to an end, there's another sound, a sound beneath the silence, a sound that never dies, a sound you carry inside you like a heartbeat, and it lives forever like a great picture . . .

The 02:59 CD Release Concerts: Lakeside Lounge - 9PM, 8/15/07

I wish I could say that this show topped them all, but the truth is, it's the last night when the guys are all playing together, and it's the Lakeside, which means two things: we're all expecting everybody to show up who said they were going to see one of the earlier shows and didn't (and if they don't show up, it's going to be disappointing); and because it's the Lakeside, you only get the one set and that's it, no encores, no extensions, no jamming till the hipsters come home. Plus Chris is having an asthma attack, so he's worried about having enough breath to wail like he usually does. Plus(how many pluses is this now?), after last night's show? I keep thinking of the theatre analogy as they tune up. If the 11th Street Bar show was a typically energized opening night, Lakeside is going to be a typically low-energy second night.


It's hard not to compare, but that's what we do. We measure this against that, judge those against these, see the present through the past, and expect something in the future based on what we did or didn't get, and how we did or didn't feel about it. This guy's new novel isn't as good as his last one, this woman's new CD is a step back, and don't get me started on Woody Allen's new movies versus his old movies, y'know the funny ones. It'd be a great world if we could take everything as it is, instead of measuring it against what it was or isn't, what it should be or could be. But that's what we do. And with my limited acting experience, I know that, as hard as it for an audience to let go of expectations and take something in without straining it through the colander of critical judgment, it's ten times harder for a performer to do it.

All of which is a roundabout way of saying that tonight's concert can't compare to last night's, and I wish I could stop trying to compare the two of them, which would make me enjoy this final hour for what it is. If I had only seen this one night out of the week's shows, would I be disappointed? Hell no. Am I disappointed now? No. it's not disappointment. I just wanted to have a repeat of last night, and my ex-actor brain is just smart enough to know that's one of the things you can never do as a performer. Trying to repeat something doesn't bring it to life. If anything it does exactly the opposite. I know this, in my alleged brain. I know this all too well. So why do I still want to see a repeat of last night's experience? Because that's what you do when you see something great. And these guys are really great.

Thanks for a great week of music, guys. And Matt? See you tomorrow at the Mercury.

The 02:59 CD Release Concerts: 11th Street Bar - 9PM, 8/14/07

The 11th Street Bar (between Aves A & B on 11th) is one of those dying-breed Manhattan locals which you walk by two or three times in each direction before you realize you've walked by it two or three times already. The bushes on either side of the entrance give it the feeling that it's been set back from the rest of the buildings on the street; it has a couple of park benches for smokers, it doesn't have a glaring neon sign, in fact it doesn't have any signs at all except for the beer signs that declare it has a liquor license. Inside, it's set up like the bar version of James West's two-car train: the first car is the bar, with tables on the right and the bar on your left as you walk in, and the second car is the sitting room/music room, which opens up into a rectangle with tables and chairs. It also has the coolest speaker system I've ever seen, period:

It looks like the backboard to a portable basketball net, but it's actually the Bose L1 Model 1 speaker system, featuring what Bose calls "the unique Cylindrical Radiator® loudspeaker." Guitar World says that the "… sound radiates and fills the room in a way far more natural than a typical loudspeaker . . . it's a real breakthrough in amplified sound . . ." And they're not lying. This speaker makes the brick-walled back room of a local Irish bar sound better than half the music venues in Manhattan. No lie. (And God knows it's universes better than the rat's-nest sound board at Pete's Candy Store.) This weird looking thing that looks like the Sentinel from 2001 makes what turns out to be a magical evening even more special. Because yes, this is the best night of music these three guys have given us so far.

Maybe it's the day off, maybe it's the atmosphere, maybe it's the musical equivalent of a bad technical rehearsal (Pete's) leading to a great opening (tonight). It does feel like an opening. The crowd is relaxed, the mood is casual, and the guys are obviously having fun playing with each other and listening to each other.

During one of the tunings, Matt tells the Pirates of the Caribbean version of a joke I heard 20 years ago about Lord Nelson, the punch line of which is "Ensign? Bring me my brown pants." In Matt's version it's "Arrrrr -- bring me my brown pants." As he tells it, I'm trying not to laugh at the set-up, because I know exactly where it's going. Chris meanwhile does the song he wrote for his fiancee MC, the one he's going to sing at is wedding, and he mentions that she's in the audience. Everybody starts looking around, but luckily MC went to the bar so she's not sitting audience right at the table where she used to be, she's behind everybody else, and those of us who see her refrain from pointing her out. And Mike, as he talks to the crowd and puts everybody at their ease, sings the praises of one of Matt's new songs, the one Mike can't get out of his head, the one I think of as The great Lost Bodeans Song, Tall Trees," which Matt ends up doing after Mike requests it.

Matt has two different styles, one for when he's playing solo and one for when he's playing with El Torpedo. "Tall Trees" has such a solo feel to it that I can't imagine what the band is going to do with it when they sink their musical teeth in it, but then I could say that about most of the full-band songs Matt's been doing solo. Subtle tempo changes and intimate vocals turn them into something completely different. You almost never hear the timber wolf howl that Matt does when he's fronting the group; but when you do hear it in his solo performances, the effect is electric.

It's one of those nights where you don't want anyone to look at their watch or their cellphone to see what time it is, because when that happens, Time is actually going to intrude on what could go on forever, like a home-team rally with two outs at the bottom of the ninth: nothing but hit after hit, score after score, and the potential to go on forever.

Tonight, instead of the Neil Young song they usually do together, the one I recognize the second it starts and forget the name of the minute it's over, they do a cover of Lodi by Creedence Clearwater Revival, and it's fantastic.

And then it ends, long after anybody thought it would. And Matt puts his hat on, and Mike starts to put his guitar away, and Chris is smiling at his fiancee, and then everyone in the audience starts asking for an encore. Since Matt has to do at least one song a night wearing some kind of hat, this works out fine for him. The guys confer a little, and after some back and forth from the audience (Nicole: "Handle Me With Care!" Matt: "Damn, I don't have the lyrics on this guitar.") they wind up doing "The Weight" and it is just joyous, it's good enough to make me laugh with delight.

It's nights like this that remind me how lucky we are to live in these days of modern times. We are so spoiled by having music at our fingertips, and we forget how hearing a frozen recording of a single performance or a compiled production cannot ever compare to the charge of the impromptu, the energy of the improvisation, the joy of the back and forth that a great live performance gives you, if you're lucky enough to be there. Tonight all of us were lucky. Tonight all of us were there.

The 02:59 CD Release Concerts: The Living Room - 8PM, 8/13/07

Chris Denny plays with Matt Mays at an 8 PM show. The way I understand it, Matt was originally going to be called up to sit in on a few songs in the middle of the set, but ends up playing along for the whole show.


Instead of a hat (he loves him his hats) Matt is wearing rock star sunglasses which you can barely see beneath his forelock. He plays along subtly and evocatively, singing backup now and then, and taking solos whenever Chris says in a low voice, "Take it, Matt," or "All yours, Matt."


Matt also gets the biggest laugh of the night during a tune-up. "If anyone out there believes in telekinesis," he says, "please raise my hand."



It's a great show. But I have a hard time concentrating because Chris looks so much like Robert Iler as sixth-season AJ Soprano that it's totally freaking me out:

The 02:59 CD Release Concerts: Pete's Candy Store - 9PM, 8/11/07

The good news is, Pete's Candy Store in Brooklyn has an intimate room with great sound that looks like a miniature art deco airplane hangar.


The bad news is, there's no air in the room and the rat's nest of a sound board looks like it was installed by the same sadists responsible for Sam Lowry's ventilation system in Brazil. The concert is about an hour long, and it seems like the guys spend 10 minutes each fiddling with the board before their songs.

Matt and Chris wind up solving the sound board problem by switching guitars back and forth when they do their numbers. And because the stage is also so tiny that only two people can occupy it at the same time, one of the guys is either sitting on the floor or standing off to one side while the others are on stage.

It's a good show but it seems like a step back from last night. I miss seeing everybody on stage at once, two of them listening while the other one plays. It feels like less of a group show and more like three guys getting up one after the other without the group connection I felt last night at Union Hall.

The 02:59 CD Release Concerts: Union Hall - 9PM, 8/10/07

Friday night in Brooklyn, where Doors @ 8 means the show starts around 9, 9:30 or when the band's finished eating, whichever comes last. Downstairs at Union Hall is like being in your grandparents' cellar-the only thing that's missing besides a ping pong table is plastic sheets over the couches. It's a very down-home intimate space with a stage that's only about six inches off the floor.

Every time Mike plays, Chris sends his astral body out to listen to him. Because Mike rephrases his songs differently every night, it's like he's walking into a familiar room by a different door, or a new window, just to see what the room looks like now from this strange new vantage point.

The guys are definitely getting better and better. After last night's Midtown mob scene, tonight's small but receptive audience brings out a lot of confident co-playing and a relaxed sense that they've been playing together for months, not days. I just wish more people were here. (I bet Abe does too.)

For their last song, the guys play "Handle Me With Care," with Matt doing the Dylan part and Chris doing Orbison (duh). It is such a joyous moment; I'm laughing with glee and singing along like the nerd I am at heart.

Then the place turned into a disco and we danced for a couple of hours.

The 02:59 CD Release Concerts: Bar Nine - 9PM, 8/9/07

After the Banjo Jim's concert, I was giving Chris Denny and his fiancee MC a preview of what it would be like to play at Bar Nine. "There'll be a lot of people talking and a lot more people yelling to be heard over the people talking, and then when you finish your song you'll get a polite clap or two and then everybody will go back to yelling at everybody else until you finish your next song. People getting drunk, guys trying to pick up girls, a crowd that gets bigger and louder as the night goes on -- typical Thursday night in Midtown." Chris looked at me and said, "You've been to Little Rock?" I shook my head. "Because there's a bar called Midtown that's just like that." I laughed and said, "Well, here in New York, we have a whole ten block radius that's just like that."
Since I always try to be early, I get to Bar Nine at 8:40 or so for the 9PM start. Silly me. The only person there is Janine, who comes in from Philadelphia now and then. DJ shows up pretty much at the announced start time, then KP, then there's a whole flood of people, none of whom are the actual performers. The place is pretty packed by the time they get there at 9:15, and it only gets more packed as the night goes on. If this was a concert crowd we'd be in for a great time. But it's a Thursday-night-in-Midtown crowd, so those of us who are into the music worm our way to the front of the pack as the show starts.

Even though I’m five feet away from the stage, I can’t understand a word Mike says when he speaks between songs. Matt seems very do-it-and-get-off, saying “Thank you” and backing up a millisecond after he finishes his numbers, like a man who expects no response at all. Chris starts out with a shirt under his overalls but it’s so hot he says to hell with it, takes the shirt off, and plays bare-chested. Directly in front of Mike, there’s a blonde necking with her boyfriend, and all I want to do is yell “Get a room!”

But a funny thing happens. The louder the audience gets, the better the guys play. And the more they play with each other. Yeah, they're playing in front of an audience, but they're not playing for the audience--they’re playing for themselves, and the concentration required to block out the pick-up bar shouting results in a great concert because they're listening to each other instead of trying to get a bunch of loud drunks to listen to them..

Some of the people who were listening: (from right to left) Abe Bradshaw, DJ Fuller, and Janine Bacchi. The guy to Janine's right is some guy she told five times she was from Philadelphia, before he staggered off to look up where it was in his Blackberry.

The last number is a group performance of "The Weight," with Matt doing the Rick Danko part. Believe it or not, even though four-fifths of the people in the bar didn't seem to be listening to the show at all? This is the one that had the most CD's sold.