last night: charles bradley and his extraordinaires

(Apologies for the terrible phone pics--I don't even have an iPhone, but I had to capture it somehow!)

After last night, I really believe that Charles Bradley is the most important thing to happen to music in years. His album is great, but his live performance is the stuff of legend. I had a revelation, while watching him, that the reason so much of music today falls flat and feels like so much yawning sameness is because it doesn't really have soul. Not really. And yes, Charles is a "soul singer," but the definition does not make the man. So many bands today are formed by YouTube-happy teenagers who haven't the slightest idea what life is really about, and even if those bands grow and change they do so in a sort of musician's unreality. They stick with simple, angsty themes--songs about first love or heartbreak or the pressures of youth--songs that seemingly apply to everyone and yet, in their generality, to no one (like horoscopes, or dream analysis), as as they grow up they predictably go on to lament still more lost loves and the pressures of minor fame (the usual afflictions of the upper class). So often it seems like they don't really feel those things--they're living their lives merely for material, to write still more songs about the same things.

The great thing about Charles Bradley is that he has really lived. He suffered, and struggled, and was been forced to settle for less and grind away in the dull aching agony of dreams unfulfilled. And then, miraculously, he started making it. His isn't the story of a man who grew up in a suburban home in New Jersey and played the small clubs of New York for decades for a pittance and a pathetic crowd. He was born in Florida, grew up on the streets of Brooklyn, and spent the better part of his adult life working as a chef in Maine, Alaska, and California before finally returning to New York to pursue his passion for music. Even without knowing his background, the genuine feeling that comes across when he is onstage is remarkably, unmistakably real. He carries a great sadness with him, but is also filled with tremendous joy and gratitude--how many men can say their dreams came true at 65?

When it comes to Charles Bradley, I almost have no words. You have to experience his genius to believe it. He is a modern James Brown (sequins and all), with a splash of Marvin Gaye, and a whole lot of raw, honest soul (and wild dance moves). His story is one that inspires--it's never too late to be great.

last night: natalie macmaster

Last night my parents took my brother and me to see Natalie MacMaster in St. Johnsbury. The photo is terrible, but the show was amazing! Natalie is a fiddler from Cape Breton, an island off Nova Scotia with a pretty incredible fiddling tradition, and a culture strongly influenced by the Highland Scots and Irish who settled there centuries ago. Not only is Natalie an unbelievably talented fiddler, but she is just bubbling over with joy and passion for her art, and the energy she has on stage is infectious. At one point, she "invited" us to a typical Christmas Party at her parents' house, and as she described the scene I truly felt like I was there--tapping my feet beside the piano in the cozy Cape living room, or step-dancing on the aged wooden floors while fiddlers of all ages played rollicking folk jigs.

This is the life that I want. I want to have and attend parties where people play music in living rooms and everyone dances and drinks and is merry, always. The concert made me appreciate more than ever my family, and the folk songs we play together, and all of the dancing and merriment that goes along with it. It made me realize how important it will be to keep that tradition alive in future generations--to play music simply for the pure joy of it, and to keep it raw, and real, and honest. It also made me wish I had never put down my fiddle. And maybe I'll try to pick it up again in the New Year :)

It made me appreciate more than ever where I grew up, in the middle of nowhere in rural Vermont, where the winters are harsh but the community is close (probably to counteract the effects of the cold), where friends are for life and family is for longer and you have to make your own music if you want to dance.

(It was quite a show.)

last night: gogol bordello

Last night K and I went to see Gogol Bordello perform at Higher Ground, and it was awesome. This band has to be the most genuinely cool group of musicians out there. Eugene is like a giant, pulsing slab of heart on stage, encouraging the audience to truly live on the dance floor--to revel in the pure "joy of existence". Of course, he was stirring up the mosh pit when he spoke those words, but in his exuberance he captured everything that I love so much about dancing. And boy, did I dance.

Dancing to me has always been a purely personal experience, and I totally go for it every time--no matter who is there or what the music is like, I will probably be the wildest dancer in the room. There is just something about it that is so freeing. I initially became interested in Sufi Mysticism for this very reason--the whirling dance of dervishes is their form of prayer, and the Sema represents a man's mystical journey beyond ego, through love and truth, and finally to perfection. I've always felt that way about dancing, and while I prefer a wide berth to the bruising, top-stomping of the mosh pit, Gogol Bordello is one of those bands that really makes you feel like you're whirling a little closer toward whatever version of Nirvana you aspire to.

The encore was at least an hour long--they just kept playing and playing and playing and we kept dancing and dancing and dancing. Eugene has roots here in Vermont (this is where he was resettled as a political refugee when he first came to the States), and it was obvious that he has great love and appreciation for the "fucking amazing" energy of his fans here. I'd never seen the band perform live before, but it was quite the show. And I basically want to be Elizabeth Chi-Wei Sun. I could totally rock those cymbals, no?

More Eugene:

The Pied Piper of Hutzovina

(An excellent and human documentary by a woman who was infatuated with the man and accompanied him on an adventure through Eastern Europe)

Everything is Illuminated

(I didn't even realize that Mr. Hutz played Alex in this movie, since I only watched it because I loved the book so much, but nobody else could have played the part. He totally made the movie--one of the best book-to-film adaptations I've ever seen)

LAST NIGHT: JARROD GORBEL, STEEL TRAIN, FUN.

So, as I mentioned, K and I went to a rockandroll show at Higher Ground last night. Since K has always been a rock-and-roller, he knows what's what and who's who when it comes to awesome bands and musicians who happen to meander through our little town (usually mid-week, since we're not cool enough to score hot ticket nights on the tour), and he was über excited about this one.

First on the billet was Jarrod Gorbel (always introduced as the former frontman of The Honorary Title, gone solo). When K first heard that JG would be coming to town, he played a bunch of hilarious You Tube videos that Jarrod made (for what appears to be no apparent reason except perhaps as a promotional stunt). When we got to Higher Ground, Jarrod was already on stage, and I must say that I was far more impressed with his live performance than the recordings I had seen. One thing that I was especially not impressed with was the audience. Everyone was totally disrespectful, talking throughout the entire set. Loudly. It felt like we were at a frat party that Jarrod just happened to be performing at, and I think he was kind of bummed that nobody would just shut up and listen. Maybe I'm projecting here, because he was gracious with the audience and didn't express any irritation, but I was embarrassed for him. What's the point of going to a show if you're just going to talk to your friends the entire time?? I mean, I get that he was the opener (and acoustic) and most people were there to see a upbeat rock show... but still. Don't stand around trying to talk over the performer, it's just plain rude. Okay, rant over. Jarrod is a really great musician and I wish I could have enjoyed his set more (right, so maybe rant not quite over). On an almost entirely unrelated note, he was accompanied by a lovely violinist, who kind of made me wish I hadn't stopped playing. If I had known that playing the violin would eventually be cool/fun, I would have been a lot more dedicated to practicing and forcing myself through those boring orchestra camps.

Steel Train took the stage next, and they were awesome. I didn't really know what to expect, because they are a pretty standard pop/rock group and usually those can be hit or miss for me, but they were really ON last night (maybe because frontman Jack Antonoff [playing double-duty on tour with Fun.] had his entire extended family in the audience [so it seemed], or maybe just because the band has been together for a long time and have perfected their onstage chemistry). Jack's between-tunes banter had us laughing out loud, and you could tell that the guys were having a great time--really enjoying themselves and playing the music because they loved it. The set was lively, the songs were catchy, the band was charming--what more can you ask for on a Wednesday night?

Finally, after much ado, the headliner (Fun.) came out to face their anxious fans (and honestly, I was pretty surprised that everyone in the audience was so excited and seemed to know all of the song lyrics--I feel like I've never seen a show in Vermont where the band had an established fanbase!) I had mixed feelings about Fun. (and if, like me, you're not familiar with the band--the singer for Fun. was formerly the frontman for The Format), but before I get into what struck a sour note, I just want to say that they also put on a really great show. They had lots of energy, lots of enthusiasm, and lots of talent. I liked the horn. My first (minor) complaint was that the songs had no real structure--which I know is great and experimental or anything, but it seemed as if the song would end abruptly just as I was starting to get into it, and while that's not really a negative review because the songs themselves were good enough that I wanted them to keep going, it was kind of irksome. More importantly, I was put off by Nate Ruess' evident self-love. He spent as much time preening as he did screaming, and although I know that's what rockandrollers are all about, it was difficult for me to appreciate his music when I could tell that he was a person I wouldn't particularly like. Maybe that was a complete misjudgement, and if he's a delightful, selfless individual I will eat my words. But sometimes you can just tell about people, you know? It probably didn't help that all of his songs were about leaving women behind and drinking and smoking himself to sleep every night--they certainly painted a portrait of the sort of individual I intuited he was (not that there is anything wrong with that per se--I've certainly never been Miss Angelic Humble Pie, but rampant narcissism tends to vex me). But, you ask, what would a rock and roll band be without a mandiva at the microphone? Perhaps something a little more like Steel Train :)

After I leave a show like this I always wonder what my life would have been like if I had any sort of access to rock shows when I was growing up. I'm always inspired to write music and get back on the stage, and I usually leave a good show with fragments of song lyrics gestating in my mind with nowhere to go. If I had these sorts of influences in my life when I was younger, who knows? Maybe I'd be living the rock and roll dream by now!

All in all, it was a great lineup of fantastic musicians who put on a fun. show (I couldn't resist). Well played!

LAST NIGHT: ANAÏS MITCHELL

Last night I went to what may have been my favorite live show so far!

Anaïs Mitchell (a local Vermont singer-songwriter) was in town, armed with a guitar, a few friends, and a big voice. When I was in high school, my dad got a copy of her CD from her mother (who happened to work in my dad's department). I thought she was very clever -- (inevitably over-drawn comparison: Ani Difranco) -- and I've been meaning to see her live ever since.

She was playing at the Langdon Street Cafe in Montpelier, and the room was warm and bathed in a soft red glow and she knew many people in the audience personally, so it was a very intimate environment... almost like she were playing in someone's living room (with a better sound system). I was drinking red wine and feeling a little hot in my furry collar but my mind was so intensely focused on her charming style, profound poetic lyrics and incredibly elastic vocals that I hardly noticed.

She was inspirational. Whenever I see or hear a great female singer-songwriter I almost (for a moment) think it would be worthwhile to seriously learn how to play the guitar. Simple chord progressions don't count. I just get so frustrated because (try as I might) I just don't have the requisite musical ability in me.

Alas, I'll have to settle for living vicariously. This weekend I'm definitely going out to pick up The Brightness, and so should you!

(The photos are not from last night, they're from her website.

I didn't want to be "that girl" creepily taking photos in the back. I always feel slightly weird trying to photograph a live show, especially in a small, cozy crowd like this one - doesn't it kind of ruin the experience? I know that I'm indubitably part of it now because I have happily succumbed to the blogging world, but part of the reason I find sites like Facebook and Myspace repugnant is that I feel like they can cheapen the raw experience of life. That's quite a statement, I know. I could go on and on but I will cease&desist for your benefit).

Now Coveting: an Umlaut. What if I started spelling my name "Caïtlin?" "Caitlïn?"

Just kidding. But it is cool.