June 2004 Archives

Went to the Bela Fleck & the Flecktones show in Hampton Beach, NH last night. Their show at the Orpheum last April was the first I'd ever recorded with my new mics/preamp and still remains one of my favorite and best-sounding tapes ever.

I usually carry four tapes in the front pocket of my taping bag - two two-hour tapes and two three-hour tapes. What I use depends on the band, the venue, one set or two, whether I'll be taping the opener or not, etc. Last show I taped, I used two three-hour tapes by accident, and to compound the error, when I packed my bag for the show, I apparently replaced them with two-hour tapes. So I get to the show, set up, reach into one side of the pocket and pull out a two-hour. No problem, the three-hours must be on the other side. Load up the deck, start recording, at about the 2:15 mark, look down to see the tape at 0:00:00, fully rewound, not recording. Hence, the title of this post. In the words of Kuni from UHF...

"Stupaaaaaahd! You're so stupaaaaahd!"

(If you've never seen the movie, rent it if you're in a goofy mood. Cult classic. Weird Al, Michael Richards, Victoria Jackson, Fran Drescher, and some hilarious plot lines and side stories.)

Or, tolerate me, abuse my car.

Back in 2001, I quit my job to reclaim an extra two hours of my day that had been gobbled up by the 35-mile commute to and from Framingham. We were officially a one-car family once I sold my old Celica to my brother (a great price at the time, though the car bit the dust not long afterward). When the lease was about to run out on our old Saturn sedan, the hunt was on for a new car. I had wanted a Passat for a while, but Saturn had a deal where they basically paid off the last two months of our old lease in exchange for buying a VUE, and Saturn is famous for having one set price for their cars, so this was a deal too good to pass up. So we ended up owning a slightly larger vehicle than I had planned (and substantially larger than we had owned before) but the reasoning was that if we DID have only one car, we might as well make it a useful one.

Fast-forward to this weekend.

As I've blogged before, I've somehow become somewhat of a handyman around my mother-in-law's house. Last time we were there I hung a couple of blinds in the family room...not something I've ever done before, but hey, I can follow instructions, right? This time, the projects were bigger - literally. My brother-in-law decided he wanted a new TV. Problem is, he drives a Camry and his mother drives an Altima...not ideal for schlepping around enormous electronics boxes. Enter the VUE. We had been able to fit the boxes for our 32" (returned) and 34" (kept) into ours, so getting the 30-incher was a piece of cake. Of course, we also had to do the TV shuffle at home, moving the existing one (and its stand) to the bedroom, and moving the new stand (this hideous bamboo bar that he had some inexplicable emotional attachment to) in from the garage. The tiki bar is now open, and there's a new TV on top of it.

While we were at Circuit Shitty, he also decided it was time to enter the broadband age (welcome to the 90's!) and got a cable modem for free due to some kind of cross-promotion they're doing with Comcast there. Got it home, realized that his laptop is older than God's father and didn't have an Ethernet port (or a USB port, to give you some idea...I think the laptop dates to the Upper Cretaceous). Back to the Shitty for an Ethernet card. Got it home, hooked it up, loaded the drivers, and his laptop is now screaming. SO much better than AOL dial-up before. Should be much easier to be in touch over the weekend now.

Lastly, although I'm not doing the installation, we headed over to Lowe's to pick up new pilasters, base blocks and cross board for the outside doorway, which isn't in good shape. The boxes that held them were 9 feet long, and I wasn't optimistic about the fit but damned if we didn't need every inch of the inside of the car to hold them. They ended up sitting diagonally from the back left corner of the trunk, over the back seats, over the front passenger-side seat, and up on the dashboard, touching the windshield. VUE to the rescue!

Now for three days of bachelorhood...the wife's out on her first road trip of the summer...time to do absolutely nothing. Lots of it.

I guess I understand the concept of spam - it's a way of selling something. Things that the typical insecure and stupid person might decide that they need upon reading an unwanted intrusion (is there any other kind?) to their inbox. But this one gave me just the kind of Friday morning laugh I needed.

Dear Sirs,

we can offer ex Uzbekistan, Cotton as follow :

Product: COTTON FIBRE 2003 CROP, ALL GRADES, ALL CLASSES, 4-5 TYPES. CODE OF GOODS HS 520100900

Description: UZBEK RAW COTTON-2003/2004 YEAR CROP (SAW GINNED COTTON) SHOULD CORRESPOND TO THE REQUIREMENTS OF THE
CURRENT STANDARD OF THE REPUBLIC OF UZBEKISTAN O~RZ
DST 604-2001 AND SHOULD BE CONFIRMED BY THE CERTIFICATE
ISSUED BY THE CENTRE ~SSIFAT~T STANDARD OF O~RZ DST
[etc...snipped]
Quantity: 2.000 M/tons

That's two thousand metric tons of cotton. TONS. OF COTTON. What volume of cotton is *in* two thousand metric tons? I mean, think about how much your typical bag of cotton balls weighs. How do you run this kind of purchase by your wife? Your accountant? Where do you keep it all? And most importantly, what mouth-breathing, knuckle-dragging, tapioca-for-brains moron would see this in their inbox and decide out of the blue to plunk down thousands of dollars for eighty bazillion cubic feet of Uzbek cotton?

There are so many things wrong with this that I can't even begin to count them. To avoid giving the show any publicity, though, I'm not going to link to the news story or the show's web site. But basically, the deal is this in a nutshell: a new reality-based program is coming out soon that will be holding auditions to choose the new lead singer for INXS. As a friend put it, Michael Hutchence must be spinning in his grave right now. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

07/08/04 Guster, FleetBoston Pavilion, Boston, MA
07/10/04 Guster, Oakdale Theatre, Wallingford, CT
07/11/04 Guster, FleetBoston Pavilion, Boston, MA
07/12/04 Blues Traveler, Hot Tin Roof, Edgartown, MA
07/13/04 Blues Traveler, Knitting Factory, New York, NY
07/15/04 Blues Traveler, Meadowbrook Farm, Gilford, NH
07/16/04 Blues Traveler, Paradise Rock Club, Boston, MA
07/17/04 Blues Traveler, Starland Ballroom, Sayreville, NJ

I'm getting tired just writing it.

I have now been addressed as "homes" (by a video store clerk) and "dawg" (by my friend Chris) in the past week. I'm really not sure what to make of this. It's sort of like some secret status has been accorded to me, or I've been conferred a special title.

Despite calling New England home for all of my 29 years, I had never made the hour-plus trek down to Pawtucket, Rhode Island, to see the Pawtucket Red Sox play. Unlike the team's Double-A affiliate - which in my lifetime has moved from New Britain, CT to Trenton, NJ to Portland, ME, and which I've seen in both Trenton and Portland - the PawSox have been the Triple-A affiliate for as long as I've been alive. In fact, in an interesting bit of trivia, they started as the Double-A team, but moved up to Triple-A in 1973. So when my mother requested a family outing to venerable McCoy Stadium just over the border in Rhode Island, the long wait was over.

The lineup was unexpectedly littered with former major-leaguers - thanks to my fantasy baseball studying over the past couple of years, not only did I recognize erstwhile Sox Brian Daubach, Frank Castillo, Andy Dominique, Ramiro Mendoza and Adam Hyzdu, but also one-time Mets Danny Garcia, Jeff Duncan and Wilson Delgado, as well as super-prospects David Wright and Kelly Shoppach. As is his wont, Frank Castillo put the Sox in an early hole during an endless top of the first. It seemed like more runs, but it was only 2-0. Then a string of zeroes followed and we were quickly bored (not to mention chilly - we were under the overhang so the sun wasn't hitting us). So Matt and I started tossing random obscure former Red Sox names back and forth. I'd throw out Josias Manzanillo, Dwayne Hosey and Gary Gaetti, and he'd counter with Damon Berryhill, Wayne Housie and Ed Jurak. Highly entertaining. By the 5th and 6th innings, the sun had finally reached us and the bats came alive, so we got to see a few runs score before we adjourned for the afternoon. Total cost - $4 (hot dog and fries), not including gas. Hell, it cost us more than that in gas to get down there and back, I'm sure. Parking was free and a two-minute walk...not a bad deal!

We got home in time to see Jason Schmidt one-hit the Sox, and then toss a flank steak on the grill to have dinner with the fam. I also got the rest of my birthday presents: a Mel's Diner T-shirt (a Florida landmark we stopped at when we went to spring training), a large batch of gazpacho (my favorite soup, which apparently is highly time-consuming to make, according to my mother) and three books: Chasing Steinbrenner by Rob Bradford, the story of the 2003 AL East as seen from the point of view of Boston and Toronto GMs Theo Epstein and JP Ricciardi; Watching Baseball, Sox announcer Jerry Remy's book on baseball observations and life in the booth, and Moneyball, a look at the front office of the Oakland A's and an insight into the workings of how players are scouted, ranked and evaluated. Sense a bit of a theme?

I actually haven't started any of the three yet - I'm still working on Angels and Demons, the precursor to The Da Vinci Code - but Viv has started Moneyball, causing me to mention yesterday that she was earning major wife-bragging points on my behalf. To top it off, this was on our way to the park to play some catch...if there were any doubts about her being converted to a true baseball fan, let this lay them all to rest.

...to read crap like this. An actual page of an actual manuscript that we're actually going to publish. I feel like this guy just decided to pick fifty words out of a dictionary and include them on that particular page as he was writing. Original text:

Una nube esbelta que va engordando de sonido, la luna fuma de los orgullosos riscos que saludan a Hitler. Hasta hace poco, no tenía antecedentes el raso cuerpo, y en la lenta escena del discreto crimen, fotografías suavizan los blancos papeles mientras dejaba mi huella dactilar entre alas sin plumas del cabalgado caballo. Y el sudor negro que las espuelas calientes que se espetan en las orillas de la noche intentan evaporar y la pubertad con once o doce hombres mas aguantan el crecimiento.

Allí escucha el silencio la dilatada pupila que la luna irá tragando. Sobre una cuchara hervía el polen de donde la abeja muere espetada, ahí va dilatada de amor, a recordar el invierno. Y el mundo duerme bajo fronteras de pesadillas que oriné para coronar mi espacio. Y los dientes que se desvisten de calor, saliban y espantan la sobriedad a las rodillas del vaso. ¿Podrá ser el hechizo de una bruja, que en un charco de ruego hirviendo, dos santos dejan caer sus caras y el sueno se baja la falda para que no estén ligando?

And the translation...rough, but still, you get the idea. Or not.

A slender cloud that is fattening up with sound, the Moon smokes the proud curls that salute Hitler. Up until recently, the smooth body had no ancestors, and in the slow scene of the discreet crime, photographs smoothed the white papers while I left my fingerprint between the featherless wings of the mounted horse. And the black sweat that the hot spurs try to evaporate, the spurs that skewer the edges of the night, and the puberty with eleven or twelve more men hold up the growth.

There, the dilated pupil which the Moon will swallow up slowly, listens to silence. The pollen was boiling on a spoon where the bee died, pierced; it goes there dilated with love, to remember the winter. And the world sleeps under frontiers of nightmares that I urinated to crown my space. And the teeth that come out because of the heat, salivate and scare sobriety at the knees of the drinking glass. Could it be a witch's hex, which in a pool of boiling request, two saints let their faces fall, and the dream lowers her skirt so that they do not connect?

Ok, now that I'm a prisoner in my office (the wife is on the phone with some student parental unit who called about 45 minutes ago and continues to monopolize her), I figure now's a good a time as any to recap the ol' birthday weekend.

Over the past few years, with my brother Matt moving out into his own apartment, and with me being out in the big bad real world for years now, birthday and familial celebrations have somehow extended themselves into days and days and weeks and (occasionally) months of orgiastic celebration. Ok, so that's a bit of an exaggeration, but just to give you some idea, on Sunday we're going to a PawSox game in Rhode Island to finish off the celebration of a) my mother's birthday, b) Mother's Day, c) my birthday, and d) Father's Day, which it actually happens to be that day. I actually can't remember which of a) or b) apply to our excursion; that's how long it's been pending. I think we're also celebrating Columbus Day...no, not last year's, but the original Columbus Day back in 1492, with the landing and the discovery and the sailing of the ocean blue and all that.

So my celebration this year actually began a few days early, since by sheer coincidence, the movie Word Wars was showing at the Coolidge Corner Theatre, a very chic and retro movie house that tends to show smaller-run stuff, also known by its technical term, "artsy-fartsy". The movie is loosely based on Word Freak, the most excellent book about the Scrabble culture and one outsider's experience at getting sucked in. Word Wars focuses more on the four main characters of Word Freak and does so quite well. I sat there having the same reaction as I did while reading the book - that it's weird reading/watching something where you already know all the characters. I managed to spot my brother within the first few minutes of the movie, and then Viv and I popped up in the background of a few shots later on. Interesting to see these people's homes, and a little frightening to find out that Joe Edley studies flashcards on his way to work. In a car. While driving said car. I would also be remiss if I didn't mention the cool restaurant we hit beforehand, The Fireplace. I had made one request of my birthday dinner, and that be that it include duck. Since the place was mostly grilled food, the duck came out a bit smokier than I would have liked, but still quite tasty.

Saturday morning I got to sleep in (the luxury!) and then hit breakfast at our local diner. After walking back, I got inspired to do something outdoorsy, so I got out the pair of hedge clippers we'd bought...hmm...last summer...and attacked the bittersweet that was threatening to engulf the rhododendron out front. It was even snaking its tendrils up onto the power lines and starting to choke off a nearby tree and hedge. I spent a good 90 minutes climbing all over that rhododendron (including a few trips inside the thing - I had visions of jumping out of it and scaring the crap out of the joggers that passed by, but we live in a small town and word gets around when you start jumping from bushes). Ended up clipping some stuff thicker than my thumb at the root, and cut off what I couldn't reach. The power lines are now safe and the rhododendron/tree/hedge look much happier. Still a little bit to do at the end of the hedge, but perhaps another day. I've got the battle scars to prove it.

Next we headed off to get me some more battle scars - a trip to Golf Country for some mini-golfing followed by a large bucket of balls at the driving range (the actual source of the battle scars...not the putt-putt). Mini-golf was fun except for the inept and obnoxious foursome in front of us who constantly whacked the ball out of bounds and went trolling for extra balls in every water hazard they came across. I ended up winning, though the wife may have let me win. Then she left me with the bucket while she went for ice cream, and I gave myself a nice blister on my left hand while going through it (the bucket, not the ice cream). Gotta wear my gloves the next time... That was it for the rest of the day, other than watching the Sox (which isn't anything out of the ordinary).

Sunday breakfast was donuts (mmm...Entenmann's rich frosted donuts...) after another sluggishly late-rising morning, followed by some gift-giving. Very golf-themed - the wifely one gave me a hand-written certificate for a new set of irons (the ones I have now are so old, they have Al Geiberger's name on them. Geiberger is a great golfer and all (and the original Mr. 59, having shot an unbelievable 59 over 18 holes on one glorious round in 1977) but he's 66 and I'm, well, not. I got the clubs ten years ago for $75 at Play It Again Sports...let's just say it's time for a new set. And to accompany that new set of irons, a lesson with the PGA pro at the local course. I guess it's time to actually get out on the links, huh?

The rest of the morning was spent lounging about, reading the Sunday paper, and generally being useless as I could get away with, being royalty-for-a-day, until we trucked up to Exeter (aka the other evil empire) to meet my parents for lunch. The 'rentals were on their way back from a trip through the midwest, where they visited four ballparks - Wrigley and US Cellular in Chicago, the Metrodome (or as Jerry Remy affectionately refers to it, the "Humpty Dump") in Minneapolis and Miller Field in Milwaukee. Probably ~1000 miles of driving, but in honor of giving birth to someone as OLD as me, they thought they'd swing by and see me on the day of my birth. We ate and chatted up a storm at the Loaf & Ladle (good food) before going to our respective homes, and then it was off to a birthday baseball game at Fenway. Against the Dodgers, for their first visit there. With Pedro pitching. Two words: Boo. Yah. We'd even managed to score better than usual tickets (looking straight up the first base line) thanks to the father of one of the girls in our dorm - he had four tickets drop into his lap on Friday and his daughter called us on our way up to Exeter to see if we'd be interested. Hell, yes. Pedro threw a masterpiece and handcuffed the Dodgers, and the Sox whacked around former Bostonian Hideo Nomo to win 4-1, a far cry from the 15-4 drubbing of the night before. Got to see Nomah in his third game back (0-3 but he stole a base and scored a run) and Pokey Reese did his best Ozzie Smith impression in the field, turning in a few sparkling plays and even getting the job done with the bat.

Still waiting on some presents, to be presented presently (ok, to be presented on Sunday, but that doesn't sound as good). Then the 2004 berfday celebration will officially be over.

Anyone up for a party while the wife is out of town? Cigars, card games, spitting on the floor?

Just got back from the doctor. Well, actually, the nurse practitioner. About eight syringes full of a water/hydrogen peroxide mixture later (and the feeling like I'd poured a 2-liter bottle of Coke into my brain), my ears (yes, ears, plural) are clean and clear and under control. And I'm now hearing stuff that I haven't heard in ages. No ear infection (or Vicodin) for me but I'd say the two even each other out...

I never really appreciated my sense of hearing until this morning, when I woke up and found my left ear completely plugged. Sparing you all the icky details, it's very weird walking around, driving around and working with only one functional ear. It's a good thing I don't work at a hearing-sensitive job...if I were a quarterback, I'd be eating turf by now.

Still, this morning I've already picked up the phone twice and put it to the wrong side of my head before realizing the reason there was no dial tone. D'oh. Now I feel like an old man, tilting the right side of my head towards anyone who's speaking, hoping they don't ask me why I'm leaning one way for fear of having to explain my aural obstruction...

A thought-provoking post from a discussion on taperssection.com, which originally began as a commentary on how the live music scene is drying up, with Phish calling it quits, Widespread Panic on hiatus, etc. It's not often I post or link to other people's thoughts (other than for credit where credit is due, like in the last post) but take a few minutes to digest this...I think it's spot-on, even if I don't particularly care for the bands that spun the discussion off in the first place. Italicized text is what the poster is responding to.

most likely it's you...but you're on to something with this analogy.  the big reason reality shows are so prevalent right now is they cost virtually nothing to make.  A good sitcom does not make money until the episodes are repeated.  that's why we have 23 show seasons.  they simply cannot make a profit until they are repeated, because ad revenues are down because there are so many cable channels that the number of viewers on any network show at a given time are way fewer than 10 years ago.

compare that with electronica bands.  if you equate the cost of making a sitcom with the cost of learning to play instruments well (years of practice) vs. the low cost of making reality shows equated with the low cost (lack of practice and musicianship) in learning how to make trippy, trancy electronica, it sort of explains why music has gone in this direction.  it's the short cut.  people that pick up guitars learn to create loops and effects-pedal sounds instead of years of learning how to emote with their instruments.

another interesting similarity is that while reality shows appeal to base instincts of a television watching audience (watching women compete for the bachelor or compete against each other in phoney competition for $1 million), it's similar to electronica bands feeding off the prevalence of ecstasy and molly.  i mean go see disco biscuits, sts9, etc., everyone there has got pupils the size of quarters.

No-mah! No-mahhhh!

No, seriously ... NO-MAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

(quote from this column. More required No-mah reading here.)

Funny: Up until today, Nomar Garciaparra led all American League shortstops in voting. His stats for the season: .000 average, 0 HR, 0 RBIs, 0 games played.

Funnier: Today, Derek Jeter passed Nomar in votes for AL shortstops. HIS stats for the season: .233 average, 7 HR, 27 RBIs.

Funniest: The best shortstop in the AL plays for the team that lost 119 games last year. His name? Carlos Guillen. HIS stats: .325 average, 8 HR, 35 RBI.

Voting Nomar and Jeter onto the All Star team makes about as much sense as Mr. Burns drawing up the Springfield Isotopes' team:

Burns: I've decided to bring in a few ringers. Professional baseballers. We'll give them token jobs at the plant and have them play on our softball team! Honus Wagner, Cap Anson, Mordecai "Three Finger" Brown!

Smithers: Uh...sir...I'm afraid...all those players have retired and...uh...passed on. In fact, your right-fielder has been dead for a hundred and thirty years.

"...I donna think it means what you think it means." --Mandy Patinkin, as Íñigo Montoya, in The Princess Bride

Some words that came up in conversation today...the first one three times, in fact. I just find this trio amusing in that they look like they mean one thing but really mean another in their main definition.

Enormity doesn't necessarily mean the state of being enormous...the announcer talking about the "enormity of the Calgary crowd", if using the usual meaning of the word, would actually have been talking about the great wickedness of the crowd.

Largesse also has nothing to do with size - just plain generosity.

Noisome isn't noisy, or even loud. In fact, it has nothing to do with the auditory sense at all - rather, the olfactory sense. Noisome is just nasty-smelling.

This concludes this regular missive from the werd nerd.

P.S. The name is "Íñigo", not "Indigo", people...the guy's not dark blue.

Last night I had the privilege of attending an All-Star Jam at Southpaw in Brooklyn, to celebrate the memory of Bob Sheehan, Blues Traveler's original bassist who passed away five years ago this August. Shortly after Bobby died, there was an impromptu fan gathering at the Wetlands in NYC, and there was a funeral for the family, but never a true musical tribute until his little brother Jonny finally decided it was time. So I took off work at noon on Thursday and drove down to my friend Heather's place in New Jersey, from where we headed into the city. Following is my review of the show that I posted to the blackcat list, the Blues Traveler discussion list:

From: Dave Mallick
To: blackcat@fellowtraveler.org
Date: Fri, 4 Jun 2004 19:34:07 -0400 (EDT)
Subject: [blackcat] All-Star Jam

Ok...now that I'm safely at home, and the list appears to be working... what a fun night last night. Not just the music, but the whole atmosphere. New York shows are always great because of the family that shows up but last night was definitely a special event.

Before doors opened there was a private party for friends and family, with the soundtrack provided by Rick and Redbone of various shows with Bob guesting and other New York-area gigs featuring old-time guests - a great mix. On the stage was a movie screen with a slide show of nothing but Bob pictures - lots of fishing shots, a high-school graduation picture, shots from the bus, live shows, early and recent. Folks kind of milled around, looked at the pictures up on the walls, and someone mentioned that downstairs they posted all of the emails and remembrances that were forwarded to the Sheehans from the fans. As Jonny Sheehan later said many times, Bob was still in the house...that he'd never left the building.

Around 9pm the doors opened, and the mini-grove of three stands rapidly expanded to a forest of eight sets of mics, and at least a half-dozen more patchers. A true testament to the music that was about to happen. Jonny took the stage and gave a very heartfelt welcome and thanks to all for what he billed as the "first annual" all-star jam - a promising beginning. John also gave a pre-recorded greeting before the show, wishing he could be there (in true John fashion, with loads of word play and strangeness) but also thanking everyone. Apparently the show was videotaped and he said he'd be watching it later, so he asked someone to moon him. They also rolled a video of John playing "Sweet Pain" from 9-20-99 at the TLA (on the John Popper Band tour), which was interspersed with footage of Bobby playing with BT, with other bands, or just messing around and hamming for the camera. Then the screen came up and the music began.

First to take the stage was the newly-reunited (one night only) Michael Parrish Band. I hadn't seen Michael since they opened for BT in '98 and he had cut his hair short and was wearing a suit - for a minute I thought it was Dickey Barrett (Bosstones); that's how different he looked. The MPB also features an additional family connection - Jonny Sheehan on guitar and washboard. Tom Kaelin (ex-dreamspeak) was on drums, and Chris Hansen played guitar; I unfortunately didn't catch the bassist's name. They played a 45-minute set or so, spiced up at the end with a guest spot by Mr. Warren Haynes, and several songs also featuring Craig Dreyer (ex-Sweetones) on sax. This guy can PLAY. There are a few BT shows out there with Craig on them - definitely worth listening to if you havent checked them out yet. One of the MPB tunes was apparently a song that Michael had co-written with Bobby, which I'd never heard before.

After a short break, Jono Manson came out and did a couple of tunes solo, after which he was joined by Wally Ingram, who played djembe with Jono for a couple more songs. Wally had just come off a two-month tour a day or two before and wasn't even supposed to be at the show, but he called Gina yesterday morning to say "I'm coming". From Los Angeles. Apparently he got there right around 8pm and barely had any downtime before he got out on the stage! Wally is an old friend from BT's days of touring with Sheryl Crow on the HORDE and fall of '94 - apparently Wally preferred being on BT's bus to being on Sheryl's bus; he even had his own bunk back then! Cool guy.

Then out came Chan, Tad and Brendan to play some more Jono tunes, with Craig Dreyer joining back in. Jono is good solo, but with a full band, he REALLY works the crowd well. The joint was jumping by the first tune of the full band. After a couple more songs, Jono and Craig left, and Chan, Tad and Brendan were on their own (prompting Dave Rogers to joke, "Uh oh...who's gonna sing?!"). Then they launched into GBU, so there was no need. Chan took the mic between songs and announced that they were going to play a "medley of Bob songs", and proceeded to play instrumental versions of Freedom and Defense & Desire before calling Jono and Warren back out for a LONG rendition of Mountains. Warren, Chan and Jono took turns trading licks in the middle and when Jono stepped back up to the mic, it was almost like he didn't want the song to end! He encouraged the crowd to join in on the last chorus, which they did with gusto. VERY touching.

For the last set of the night - there was practically no break in between - Warren called out Matt Abts and Andy Hess for some Gov't Mule action, joined by Michael Parrish on keys and (if I remember correctly) Craig on sax again. They played two or three Mule tunes, and then Andy yielded to Mr. Mike Gordon for a few more tunes. Mike seemed a little tentative at first (or maybe just low in the mix) but he really took charge within a few minutes, and the guys were roaring by the end. After about 2:45 of music and celebration, the main set was over. But Jonny grabbed the mic and said some thank-yous - especially to Gina, who did a tremendous job organizing the whole night - but then said "Oh, we're not done YET...just you wait!".

About five minutes later, just about everyone that could fit on the stage came back out to play - Tad and Chan, Matt and Warren, Michael Parrish, Craig Dreyer, Jono, Tom Kaelin, and maybe one or two others. What followed was a colossal, 18-minute "Miss You" that really capped the night in just about all ways possible - the music, the feeling behind it, the conglomeration of talent on the stage, and the vibe among the friends and family in the room. A great way to end things and send people home happy - if a bit misty-eyed.

It took us about a half-hour to get out after the show just because there were so many people to stop and say hi to, to hug and catch up with - all in all, a smashing success and undoubtedly the first of many annual Bob memorial jams. I think Yossi put it best on the way back to our car - that this was the "One for Woody" that Bob never had. How true.

--Dave