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And the detailed review...

The goods first:

http://www.archive.org/details/bt2006-07-28.km201.flac16
http://www.archive.org/details/bt2006-07-29.km201.flac16

A month or two back when I told a friend of mine we had a baby on the way, I asked him if he had any advice, since he'd recently become a father himself. Expecting some wisdom about parenting or some other pithy counsel, he instead passed along these two tidbits:

1) Becoming a parent is like going from being a rockstar (doing whatever you want, staying out late, partying) to bieng a roadie for a rockstar (having to answer ridiculous demands and be ready for anything).
2) Do yourself a favor and go on one last road trip.

So with that in mind, and the schedule in front of me, Vicksburg looked like the target - small venue, two shows, somewhere I'd never been before...groovy.

I posted to the mailing list, the message board and a taper's board seeing if anyone else was going, and got an answer from a taper who had decided to pass on Panic in Memphis because he'd just gotten a new job and couldn't afford the road trip. However, his parents lived in Vicksburg and could offer a free place to crash in exchange for my help getting in. And so it began.

I ended up flying into New Orleans because it was about $200 cheaper, rented a car (PT Cruiser!) and trucked on up to Vicksburg, about a 220 mile drive. Pulled in late afternoon, checked in with Colin at the venue, and we were good to go. Killed 90 minutes with a spin around the Vicksburg National Military Park (impressively immense), then headed back down to the casino.

The Bottleneck Blues Bar seats about 300 according to the web site, though that's with actual seats. Five or six rows of seats on the lower floor level, then three steps up (past a video poker bar), a row of stools at the bar, and five or six more rows. That's it. A big bar at the back (which was closed - oddly, they give you two drinks at the beginning of the night with your ticket, and that's all you get), and from there the exit out to the casino. My cohort Kevin and I snagged seats at the back row of the lower floor, and began setting up our gear when the guy behind us growled "Hey, don't do me any favors". A bit self-conscious, we ran as low as possible - basically head-height - but were alternately pleased and disappointed to see that nobody was allowed to get up and dance during the show. A few folks tried, but security asked them to sit down until Colin finally came out and laid down the law - and from that point on, about half of the crowd was up and grooving. Well, half of the crowd that was left - apparently around 30-40% of the lower floor tickets were comped for 'high rollers', many of whom ended up being of the...older, female persuasion. They defected about four songs in, which gave us a bit more room to move around and get out from underneath our mics (which were right between our heads).

The first night was John's setlist, and it looked it - the split Devil was a tipoff. Brother John was good as an opener, and the Shout tease got people going. By the time they hit Devil it was seeming like a more radio-friendly set, but then they hit a streak of Slow Change>Optimistic Thought>Mulling It Over>Can't Win True Love>But Anyway that brought the old-school. Then in true southern blues tribute style, they launched into Make My Way - a treat since I was regretting missing Red Rocks this year. The rest of the set was up and down - Imagine>Psycho Joe was odd, though the electric/acoustic changeover from You Lost Me There>She Isn't Mine was fun to watch. Ending with Hook, then a Run>Devil encore was definitely a crowd-pleaser.

Kevin and his girlfriend got after-show passes so we got to hang out after the show for a bit; he recommended a local barbecue place (the guys were sick to death of dinner buffets) as well as a local blues bar (well, *the* local bar - Vicksburg is pretty dead at night other than the casinos). They sounded interested but didn't show. Worth a shot. Brendan asked if I wanted a request, so I went with Mountain Cry - a rarity this year with only 4 plays (only 2 last year, and 1 the year before that). That prompted "Ooh,
Mountain Cry". Brendan said he was also toying with the idea of playing Price to Pay, but the request was already in. Chan jokingly said "How about Suite? Nah, casino crowd, don't want to blow 20 minutes on that." I wouldn't have complained...

After transferring Kevin's copy of the previous night's show, we took a trip around Vicksburg in the daylight to see some of the bed & breakfasts, converted from antebellum houses, and the old town hall which, despite its prominence, never took a cannonball during the Civil War. Turns out it's too far up the hill from the river where the gunboats went. Vicksburg is a very hilly town, and on the rare occasions when it does get cold enough for ice to form, there are accidents all over the place because the roads are so steep. We took a mid-afternoon break at a local bar to people-watch and cool off (and get stared at by some guy who'd obviously had WAY too much of something), and then after a home-cooked dinner of crawfish etouffee (sort of a gumbo, but thicker, made in a roux with crawfish instead of shrimp, and
served on a bed of rice - delicious) it was back to the Bottleneck.

Night 2 had far fewer grandma-types (down front, anyway) and a more active crowd. People were up and dancing for most of the night, and we set up in front of a woman who, as it turns out, is on the message board! She was all too happy to let us run our mic stand way up out of harm's way, and we chitchatted for a good hour before the show started. Halfway through she'd abandoned her seat completely to go stand at the front of the stage, and by the time I ran into her after the show, she'd gotten a harp, had the band
sign her road-trip map (she'd driven down from Little Rock) and she even got a few pictures with John and Brendan.

As for the setlist, much better than the night before. The Believe Me>GBU>Love & Greed segue was especially nice, as was Defense & Desire>Bagheera. And the new keys-drum-bass bridge in the middle of the solo area was a big surprise - sounded amazing. They switched up the setlist a bit toward the end - Rubberneck was supposed to be Can't See Why, and the encore was supposed to be just Mountain Cry, but they stuck in You Can't Stop beforehand. More songs, what's to complain about? They blew a good
15-20 minutes past curfew both nights but by the time the last notes of Mountain Cry came out, everyone was on their feet and applauding. Always good to see.

After the show we headed out to a local bar to see some more music, before finally turning in around 2am. Up early the next morning for a southern breakfast of eggs, bacon, toast and grits (not nearly as bad as I was expecting) which was just enough to power me back to New Orleans for the flight home.

So...first show of 2006 comes three months later than expected (had to miss Toad's Place in April for a work trip to Mexico) but well worth it. Here's hoping they blanket the northeast even more for fall tour...

Two completely new experiences within one week...a trip to Vicksburg, MS and a signup on Flickr. Yes, I've finally caved. Photo gallery is linked from the picture above.

Most commentary from the trip is on the pictures but I would be remiss if I didn't mention those that took care of me - the band for putting me and my hosts on the guest list AND taking my "Mountain Cry" request, and my generous host who not only showed me around town and took me to see the sights but also put me up at his parents' house, a mere 10 minutes from the venue. Saved me a ton of money and a lot of lonesome time.

And nearly that much work. Both Mrs. Dave and I have been buried lately, but I have had the good fortune to catch a few shows over the last couple of months.

01/08/06 - Erin McKeown at Club Passim, Cambridge, MA
I've seen Erin a few times over the last few years, most recently last June in Boston and Maine. For the most part she's played her brand of spunky and thoughtful folk music, but for her next album she's decided to pay tribute to some of her older influences - music from the turn of the century, Tin Pan Alley-type songs and a few musical numbers. She billed the show as "Erin McKeown's Show of Standards", and she and keyboardist Sam Kassirer graced us with 100 minutes of old-timey music with her own twist on it. Club Passim is a very intimate venue - the type of place where music lovers go to see music. There's no bar, it's not a "see and be seen" place, just a place to enjoy a performance. And enjoy it we did. From Judy Garland to Django Reinhardt to Fats Waller to a few originals, she had us in her thrall all evening long. The show is still available for download via BitTorrent if you're so inclined.

01/29/06 Storyhill at Club Passim
Back to the scene of the crime. My first experience taping at Passim was a success, so going back three weeks later, I was hoping for the same result. This trip was on recommendation from Mel, who'd emailed us in December telling us not to miss it. Chris O'Brien opened with a short set, including a haunting cover of Martin Sexton's "Can't Stop Thinking 'Bout You", and then it was on to the main act - some very heartfelt strumming and humming. The high point, for me, was a tune about a giant statue of the Virgin Mary outside of Butte, MT, called "Mary On The Mountain", but it was also great to just get to talk to Chris and John before the show - I'd written to them asking permission to record them and they responded positively. So I showed up plenty early and we got to chat about their earlier days and the last time they'd played the northeast (turns out it'd been close to ten years!) as well as bands they'd toured with and/or considered touring with. Very gracious, nice guys and excited to have sold out a 250-seat club after such a lengthy absence. Already looking forward to coming back.

02/03/06 - Mieka Pauley, Club Passim
By this point they're really getting to know me at the Club. I'd seen Mieka before as well - twice, actually - but had never gone to see just her. A friend of hers opened, but not with music - he opened with comedy. In one of those odd degrees of separation, Mieka is friendly with Baratunde, who went to Harvard with my friend Paul (by the way, congrats on the impending wedding!). At any rate...Baratunde opened with a half-hour of topical comedy but - at the risk of sounding geeky - I was almost more interested in the MicroTrack 24/96 he used to record his set. He did get a good reception from the hometown crowd, especially for his segment of what he calls MoJos - Momentary Jokes. For some more of his material from that night, check out his Podcast #009. Mieka's set had much the same material as I'd seen at her set in Boston last March, but with a significantly different flavor - the keyboard accompanist was the same, but she had an electric guitarist along as well to add some "tasteful licks" as she put it halfway through her set. And she was right - it definitely added a texture I hadn't heard before as a duo. She still did a few tunes solo, including what may have been the fastest request ever for her encore, and the results can be heard here.

02/18/06 - Grace Potter & the Nocturnals, Paradise Rock Club, Boston, MA
It's hard to regret not having gotten into a band sooner if they've only been around for a few years, but within a few songs, I started wondering why the hell I hadn't followed up on last October's set opening for Blues Traveler in Baltimore to see them at one of the FIVE Massachusetts gigs they played between October 8th and December 30th. Though to be fair, while they put on a good show even in the 26 minutes I saw them, it's enough to make you wish they'd play a full set every single time. No chance of disappointment this time around, as Grace & the Nocturnals plowed through a 2.5-hour set at the Rock Club, shaking the ceiling tiles and more than a few asses in the crowd. Four of us were there taping, three at the front pole, and I got to see up-close what I'd only seen from the remote balcony at the Rams Head Live - four people on stage having a hell of a good time. The band plays foot-stomping blues rock, and leaves it all out there on the stage, with Grace taking on triple duty on vocals, guitar and keys. By mid-set, when they were rolling through a ten-minute cover of Junior Perkins' "Mystery Train", I'd made up my mind not to miss them when they came back through again. Do yourselves a favor and do the same. BitTorrent if you're interested. The band actually came asking for a copy of all Boston recordings just a few days later, and they could well be listening to my discs right now. Pretty much the highest form of flattery for a taper...

(sorry, I ran out of inspiration for titles right around the same time I ran out of inspiration to finish this series of posts...which, I realize, has been holding up the rest of my posts...which, on the other hand, would mostly have echoed Mrs. Dave's over the past month since we've been pretty much flying in the same circles...end parentheses!)

After getting back so early from the Boston show the night before, I thought I was in pretty good shape for the last night of the big run - a quick (?!) jaunt to New York and back, on a Sunday night, with work the next morning. Oy.

To avoid having to drive into Times Square in late afternoon, the wife had the brilliant idea of stopping short in Stamford, CT, and taking the train in. Turns out that Grand Central is a mere four blocks or so from Times Square, and it's a straight shot. Groovy.

The drive down was uneventful though a bit fast (I left a half-hour later than I was expecting) and a bit nervous at the end as I wasn't sure if I'd run out of gas before I got there. Now, a minor digression, in the name of your fiscal safety should you decide to choose poorly as far as which parking garage you choose. There are two parking garages. Use the one closer to the station. Upon parking in the first one I came to, I was walking out when I saw a sign saying that the garage closed at midnight. Considering the SHOW wouldn't be ending until after then, I got a little panicked. However, a security guard told me I could go into the building next door (a business center) and get the guard on duty to open the door for me when I came back. He somehow neglected to tell me that it would cost me THIRTY-FIVE DOLLARS for approximately seven hours of parking. Blissfully unaware at the moment, I sauntered into the station, got my ticket, and was off to New York.

Rolled into Grand Central an hour later, managed to walk the four blocks to Times Square without cudgeling anyone with my mic stand, and found the with little to no difficulty. No hassles at the door, though it's the first venue where I've ever taken an escalator DOWN to see the show. As it turns out, the place is below the MTV building, and is a converted movie theater. They actually left some movie seats up top in the back, and I guess the view is good from up there, but who wants to be that far back when you can have your own taping section dead center in the sweet spot?! Seriously, this might be quite possibly the best-set-up venue ever for taping. You walk in on the middle level, and you can go down three steps to the lower level that runs up to the stage. At the front of the middle level is a railing where people can stand and overlook the lower level, and they had an area literally taped off on the floor for us tapers to set up. No obstructions, no running slightly left or right of center to avoid blocking the view of the soundman - nope, we had four stands dead fucking center, in a perfect triangle with the speaker stacks on either side of the stage. Best. Layout. Ever. And four stands! Admittedly, it's a bit short for a New York show but throw in three or four patchers and it's a pretty good showing. Me, Scott, Alan and Freddie ran stands, I had one patcher, Rick patched from Freddie, and Freddie ran another deck for our buddy Redbone. Good times all around.

Carbon Leaf opened the night; it was my third time seeing them and probably the mellowest set of theirs I'd seen. They played a festival with Guster in Pittsburgh in '03 (oy, now that was a drive), I went to see them on a frigid night at Harper's Ferry in early '04 (great show but my rig died and the tape is incomplete, but a long, good show) and now this set. A mere 46 minutes long...I really should see them the next time they come to Boston as they put on a good show. Check out the recording if you're so inclined.

BT always comes out firing for a hometown show and this was no exception. It was a little surprising not to hear them lead off with their typical hometown song (Dropping Some NYC, which they never even played in the set), but Freedom gave the set an appropriately older-school vibe. When the second tune came up as Slow Change, the tone was set. Slow Change segued into Eventually, and then a high-energy Pattern, and the crowd was boiling. Unfortunately, then they went all stunty on us and pulled out quite possibly the biggest show-stopper ever (and I don't mean that in a good way).

As part of their promotional junket (not really a junket, but how often do you get to write junket anyway? and does anyone else remember Junket pudding? does anyone remember where I was? oh yeah...promotional junket). As part of their promotional junket, the band stopped by Howard Stern earlier in September. John has been friendly with Howard for quite some time - he's been appearing on the show at least since 1996, possibly earlier. This time the entire band stopped by, but before they did, they had apparently caught wind of Staind doing a cover of a song known as the "Beetlejuice Song". For those of you unfamiliar with the tune, first of all, consider yourselves fortunate. It was written by a member of Howard's passel of studio regulars, who goes by the name Beetlejuice because of his smaller-than-normal head (you may remember the final scene of the Michael Keaton vehicle, where the title character's head is sprinkled with some magic dust that - you guessed it - causes his head to shrink).

At any rate, due entirely to his studio time with Howard, Beetlejuice has written some "songs" and gotten them played on the air on Howard's show, after which Staind came on and covered the tune in their own inimitable (well, maybe it's quite imitable, but whatever) fashion. Enter BT, who did the same thing a few weeks later. Well, ever since then, there were numerous meatheads at every show in the northeast clamoring for the band to play the tune live. But because Howard records the show in New York, the band decided to save this lyrical gem for the New York crowd. Their hometown crowd. And immediately turn the show into a farce.

They segued into their single, and then into the one other song they'd written that sounds like their single, and by the time they got around to playing Support Your Local Emperor, the buzz was completely and thoroughly killed. Things picked back up at the end of the set with a lengthy Go Outside & Drive segue, ending in an ear-lashing NY Prophesie, and when they began the encore with Sweet Talking Hippie, I thought we might be in for a great ending...but they still have yet to properly finish the song like they used to, instead segueing into the lightweight Thinnest Of Air to send their fans off. A letdown overall to be sure.

Thankfully, the best two parts of the evening still awaited me - Scott and I walked back to Grand Central together, where he introduced me to the gastronomic joy that is the knish vendor outside the station - we each partook of two (with mustard, of course) and discussed life, the universe, and everything while I awaited my train's platform announcement. Then, while boarding my train, I saw a guy I recognized from the show who had come up to introduce himself between Carbon Leaf and BT, so I sat with him and his friend on the way back to Stamford as they recounted their days of seeing the band at the Wetlands, all over New York City, and show after show in southern Connecticut. They said they'd gone to the trouble of bringing a cassette deck to several shows back in the day, and I'm not talking about a portable one, but an actual home stereo component. Turns out we'd been to many of the same shows in the mid to late 90's, funny how small the circle can be when you're talking about the most dedicated of the band's fans. We swapped stories and joked about their buddy Dennis, whom they'd lost at the show and who hadn't turned up at the train station with them...they played rock-paper-scissors to see who'd get the unenviable task of calling his wife to say he'd missed the train. High comedy at well past midnight.

I finally stumbled out of the Stamford train station around 1:15 and made my way to the business center parking garage. The guard on duty informed me of the exorbitant sum her parking garage would be bending me over for, and oh, they didn't take credit cards. Or payments from mortgaged property, apparently. One begrudging trip to the ATM later, I was back in my car and she was rolling up the garage door to let my newly-impoverished ass out. I slouched back home close to 4am, dragged myself out of bed by 8:30, and squinted my way through the rest of the day, realizing my great road trip had come to a close.

There are few better feelings than crawling back into your own bed after a long time out on the road, though having the bed be warm is one of them. And even though it was 3 in the morning, I was glad to be back, as was the wife. After sleepwalking through work on Thursday, I pulled the old-man routine and hit the hay at 9pm that night to catch up on some direly-needed sleep. Friday was thoroughly uneventful, and after a day full of running long-since-forgotten errands on Saturday, we pointed ourselves down 93 en route to the Roxy for show 5 in 8 days.

The Roxy is BT's newest stop in finding a decent venue to play in Boston - they're a little too big for the Paradise (plus they had their gear stolen there at a gig in '91, and thereafter didn't play it again until last summer's Pilsner-sponsored gig), and a little too small for the Avalon. Actually, other than the Pilsner gig, it had been a full four years since they played a show in Boston proper, so really, we were just glad to have them back. The Roxy, unfortunately, suffers from the same affliction the Avalon suffers from - eurotrashitis. That is, after 10pm, anyone who actually enjoys music is broomed out of the place to make room for the boom-tiss-boom-tiss crowd. So doors were at the odd hour of 6pm, show at 7ish. It was almost like early bird hour at Grassfield's; I half expected bluehairs wandering around the place asking for an extra Jell-O cup with their overcooked haddock fillets.

After a rousing set by no opener whatsoever (for the third show in a row - two "an evening with" and one "oops, our van broke down in Delaware"), BT took the stage shortly after 7. John opened by saying how great it was to be in Boston, then apologized for not playing Boston proper more recently. He said it was because he'd moved to Seattle and got caught up in the whole "alternative" scene, and hoped it hadn't changed their sound at all. So of course they open with what they call "Fucked Run" - an angry, grinding version of Run-Around, played in a minor key, that usually succeeds in confusing the hell out of the casual fans. The show itself was average, nothing special, though they did do a good bit of sandwiching - Gina>GBU>Gina and Brother John>Run-Around>Brother John (which was part of a five-song Four ending to the set, including Stand and The Mountains Win Again), followed by an old-school encore of Dropping Some NYC>Crash Burn>Dropping Some NYC.

One bizarre moment - some extremely sweaty, extremely overzealous guy came dancing out of the crowd during the end of Gina, and then went absolutely batshit fucking loco when they started playing Amber Awaits. I mean...who loses their shit over Amber Awaits? The dude pulled up his shirt and toweled himself off repeatedly, cleared about a 5-foot radius around himself for dancing, fist pumping, and general woohooing, then tookhis jacket, toweled himself off again, tossed it over the rail behind him
(on top of a friend's jacket...I think he went home and burned it), picked it up, then walked off when the song ended. Mrs. Dave was unfortunately a close-up party to this whole episode, and she just kept edging slowly away from him, a step at a time, fearing for her life, or at least fearing being splattered by this guy's copious sudatory production. As he walked off, he tapped her shoulder - I guess to apologize, but we'll never know - and she moved about as fast as I've ever seen her move. A wise decision.

And then it was back to the illegally-parked car, just in time (there was a meter maid making the rounds less than a block away) and we were back home by 10:30, even taking into account a stop at Espressospleasehold on the way home. A very odd feeling. Five down, one to go.

o/~ ...man my ass is swollen, rawhiiiide... o/~

(yes, that's right..what other blog brings you obscure "City Slickers" references?)

When last we left our intrepid hero, I was taming the savage beast upon his reentry to the greater DC area. And despite my pleasure with my success of the night previous, there were miles to go after I slept...so I couldn't sleep for long. I'd instructed Chris to wake me at the bright-n-early hour of 8:30 to ensure I got on the road by 9:30. Since he had to get up anyway to walk Jack, he was more than happy to oblige. And so up and at 'em I was by 9, out the door closer to 10, headed north. WAY north.

Google maps puts the trip from Alexandria to South Burlington at a whopping 546 miles. Now, 546 miles is a long trip any way you cut it. It's even longer when it's fucking RAINING the entire way, and longer still when you have a passenger-side wiper that is bleating like a tasered sheep every time it drags across the windshield. Got from Virginia, around DC, up into Maryland (got my first and only speeding ticket of the trip thanks to a speed trap just over the Tydings bridge, before the toll plaza), through Delaware, New Jersey, and then the long haul up the New York thruway.

The weather finally broke for a bit and I pick up a bit of time, but then realize that I need to, in three consecutive rest areas, fill up my tank (stop 1), stop to plug in my phone so I can call home (stop 2) and get some lunch (stop 3). Very poorly planned for a family that prides itself on stopping a MAXIMUM of once per trip. I am ashamed. I will make one note though - before you put your $1.75 (ehighway erobbery) into a vending machine clearly labeled as a Pepsi machine, make sure it actually sells...wait for it...wait for it...PEPSI. No, I ended up spending a buck seventy-five on a bottle of Dowser Spring water - the only thing this godforsaken machine sold.

Another interesting subplot to my dead cell phone - I was supposed to either stay at a hotel in Burlington with friends who had rented a room, or stay with a guy from the BT mailing list who had offered a place to stay. I'd emailed both of them but never heard back from either one before my trip started so I was starting to think I'd have to scrounge for a room...when that morning I got an email from one and a phone message from the other. So fully expecting to call them once I was in town, I set off armed with their phone numbers, and a cell phone that was apparently hemorrhaging battery power at an alarming rate, which promptly died within an hour. Oh, and I don't own a car charger. Gah.

Doors were at 6pm and it was becoming increasingly obvious that I was not going to make it in time. I ended up rolling into Burlington at 7pm, but the venue was maddeningly difficult to find. After several trips up and down US2 - this despite Mapquest informing me that the place was less than a quarter-mile from the exit - I finally stopped at a 7-11 whose clerk took pity on me. Turns out the place is almost impossible to see from the road (a four-lane highway in both directions, so you can't exactly poke along and inspect every tiny sign) - it's behind a Dunkin' Donuts and attached to a Chinese food place called the Silver Palace. Sounds like a total oddball place but it's actually a pretty nice venue - they just moved into the location less than a year ago, there's plenty of free parking, and there are actually two rooms in the place.

Still, I was a bit panicked about being late for the opener...except there was no opener. Word eventually filtered down that their van had melted down somewhere in Delaware - I may have just blown by them in my rush northward. Apparently they weren't due to go on until 8 anyway, so I would have been ok. Now, because they weren't coming at all, BT moved up their set time and played at 9 rather than 9:30 or 10, which gave me the crazy idea of just going home. Of course, my phone was still dead, so I couldn't call either of my housing benefactors, but I'd done the drive home from Burlington before, and I was surprisingly awake for someone who'd just driven 546 miles plus a few laps on Route 2. I figured I'd wait to see how I felt after the show.

Good decision, as the show was quite energizing, and I got to exchange pleasantries with the other two tapers who were there. One was running what I'm hoping to make my newest toy - the MicroTrack 24/96 - so we chatted about the contraption for a while, about the sound in the room (good, as it turned out, despite our position), and general regional taping. The show ended up selling out, and the guys played well off the crowd despite a bit of a low-energy vibe in the room. John continues to have fun on-stage, and they even pulled out a little Canadian Rose tease in honor of the Burlington shout-out in the lyrics. The best part of the evening was John stopping right around the 2-hour mark thanking the crowd for being fucking excellent - usually the sign that there's one more tune left before the encore break. Except there was a 6-minute NY Prophesie...followed by a 7 minute Slow Change...followed by an 11-minute Brother John. An excellent old-school way to really blow out the end of the set and make it a good solid 2.5-hour show.

After a quick post-show chat with the friends I was supposed to hit the hotel with - they managed to find me; not sure what happened to the other guy - it was back to the 7-11 for the largest Pepsi they had, and then into the car for the 3-hour drive home. So if you're counting at home...that's 12 hours in the car, 5 hours at the venue. Bitchin'.

I woke up at 8:15 to the sound of my nephew scampering about the upstairs hallway. The last time I saw him, he could barely string two words together and was too hyperactive to sit still and do anything for more than a minute unless it was playing with Thomas the Train Engine. So when I heard him talking to my sister-in-law, in full sentences (with completely proper intonation, no less - he saw the cat go walking by and said "Solie's *cute*!"), I figured I had to get up to hang with my homenephew.

I headed downstairs after cleaning up as best I could (though my hair was doing its best to escape the pull of gravity and tear itself off my head at all sorts of weird angles) to find him devouring a bowl of Froot Loops. While making some idle chatter with my sister-in-law, I noticed my niece/god-daughter sitting in her chair carrier, just watching the world go by. No crying, no squealing, no "pay attention to me!!!" fussiness - just some adorable gazing about at her surroundings. When sis-in-law made the mistake of trying to separate her son from his cereal, he protested - there were still six Loops to go, goddammit, and he wasn't leaving until he had finished all parts of this nutritious breakfast. Or something to that effect. She finally got the munchkins packed up and out the door (bro-in-law had left an hour earlier) so I had the rest of the morning to myself. Watched me some SportsCenter, showered, and then hit the road back to DC. Rolled in around 2pm, did a few hours of work, and then went out to pick up some stuff for dinner, as I'd offered to do. And so began another adventure.

Let's just say that the directions I got were...minimalist. Right on Route 1, go about a mile, find the Giant Supermarket sign (not an enormous sign; that's actually the name of the place), pick up groceries, come home. Turned right on Route 1, went a mile, saw a whole bunch of Route 1, no Giant Supermarket. Went a few more miles, no Giant Supermarket. Turned around, came back, no Giant Supermarket. Drove a mile the OTHER way on Route 1 in case Chris had a right-left deficiency...yep, you guessed it, no Giant Supermarket. Determined to get us some dinner, dammit, I just kept going on Route 1 until I hit North Carolina I found a Safeway. Still managed to make it back before Chris did, upon which we took Jack out for a lengthy walk by the Potomac and discussed his multiple outings on Monday (first a Washington Capitals game, then a Kaiser Chiefs/Weezer/Foo Fighters show at George Mason, which he thoroughly enjoyed). Came home, absolutely tore through dinner (it didn't stand a chance), and then Chris decided he'd really rather not deal with an 11pm set time for Traveler in light of the previous evening's escapades, and bailed on the evening's activities.

So I left chez Chris around 9:15, cruised in around 9:45, and was in the venue and set up by 10. The 9:30 Club is just a terrific place to see a show; outstanding sound system, great sight lines, and a good size. The taper's section is slightly misplaced - there's a taped-off area to the left of the soundboard, so you're kind of shoved into a corner near one of the bars - but the sound is more than enough to make up for it. Some wag even printed out a picture of a tapir, wrote "Tapir's section" below it, and taped it (what, you thought he'd use tacks?) to the wall behind the section. High comedy. Friends and fellow tapers Yossi and Rob showed up, and soon the section was in full effect.

The show kicked off a few minutes past 11 with The Devil Went Down To Georgia, segued into The Good, The Bad, And The Ugly, and the groove was on. It's always a good thing when you hear John say "right about now we'd like to bring out a friend of ours..." - immediately I started spinning through my mental Rolodex to see which of their friends was in town to play with them. Warren Haynes? Someone from the Foo Fighters? Bill Clinton? Wrong, wrong, and wrong. No, instead, John brings up András Simonyi, the Hungarian ambassador to the United States. Of COURSE!

The back story is that John is Hungarian and apparently knows the ambassador, who himself has a band (called "Coalition of the Willing", humorously enough). The guy strummed his way quietly through The Mountains Win Again, and I figured it was nice that John had given a friend a chance to be on stage with them. But then suddenly the band tears into a blues riff, and the guy starts singing. They rip through a cover of Hoochie Coochie Man and then the guy leaves the stage to thunderous applause. A few tunes later they play a touching Sweet Pain, then close the set with a churning Defense & Desire>Money Back Guarantee>Carolina Blues>NY Prophesie.

By this point it's well past 1am, and the curfew is fast approaching. The encore begins with a mellow Can't Win True Love and I figure they're letting us down easy to send us off into the night. But Brendan starts up a drum beat outro, into another song, and then suddenly Rob - who had set his rig up behind mine and then vanished into the crowd - was walking out on stage. He's followed by another guy named Matt...and they're both carrying harmonicas. The band slides into Business As Usual, and Matt and Rob alternate on one backup mic with some filler riffs. When they get to the breakdown in the middle, Matt takes over the mic, and Ben, the keys player, beckons Rob over. Ben tells him to go play into Tad's vocal mic, but no go. So John just hands his elephant trunk of a harp mic - a duct-taped monstrosity with all sorts of dials, knobs, and switches attached to it - to Rob. The moment of truth.

As Rob put it, "the heavens parted, a light shone down and Popper handed me his mic. I damn near crapped my pants." The look on his face was absolutely PRICELESS. John shows him how to use the thing, shows him how to lean into the feedback amp, and Rob figures it out pretty quickly. John yanks the mic out of Rob's hand just in time for his big mid-song solo. Then back into a breakdown, where Rob gets the bright idea to try playing into John's vocal mic. Except that Rob is maybe 5'9", and John is easily 6'4" or 6'5". Comedy ensues. High comedy.

They finished up with the last-half of Devil, playing the last note at the stroke of 1:30 - curfew - and I was out in record time, back to Chris' place by 2:15. Upon entry, there was just a small yip from Jack - danger, intruder! - but as soon as I stuck my head in the staircase to say hi, the tail started wagging doubletime and there wasn't another peep from him. I have a new friend.

Blues Traveler, 10-11-05, 9:30 Club, Washington, DC

Most of Sunday morning was spent in an unconscious state, recovering from yesterday's drive(s) and concert. Chris' new dog Jack is the excitable type - or rather, he's the type to wake the entire zip code up at 7 in the morning because a gnat is walking too loudly across the street in front of the neighbor's house, and GODDAMMIT GNAT SHUT UP BECAUSE WE'RE TRYING TO SLEEP HERE WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF. So except for that 10-minute shit-my-drawers morning panic attack, we were mostly unconscious until about 11. Finally sated our hunger with an obscene amount of breakfast food, watched SportsCenter, took Jack for another walk, and then headed out for a round of golf. Chris thoroughly thrashed me and that's about all I have to say about that.

The late-afternoon weather didn't lend itself to the home improvement we'd had on the agenda, so instead we headed out to Pat Troy's, a local establishment that's one of the few dog-friendly restaurants in the town of Alexandria. Turns out an ordinance was passed a few years ago banning animals in most eateries, but since this place has a separate patio, and since it's a local institution, they have their own doggy menu. Chris and I dined on the Kenmare salmon while Jack partook of Pat's finest chopped chicken and a couple of milkbones as an amuse-bouche. Then back home to ignore the fact that the Sox were no longer in the playoffs - we queued up game 5 of the 2004 ALCS, whose TV coverage I had never seen due to being at the game. Good times. Good, good times.

Next morning, after Chris split for the Capitals game (he's a season ticket holder), and a couple hours of work (I brought the trusty laptop along with) it was off to Philly. Rolled into town, spun around the block a few times, and found the Trocadero...smack dab in the middle of Chinatown. The place was built in 1870 and remodeled in 1986 as a concert hall. But for a solid block on either side, it's Chinese, Japanese, Korean, Thai and various other Asian establishments - restaurants, markets, grocery stores, dry cleaners, clothing stores, music stores...apparently all sprouted up around this concert hall. It's a nice enough place though it looks a little run-down inside. And the crowd seemed run-down as well - the place held 1200 and I'd be surprised if they sold half of the tickets. Considering John lived in Bucks County, and the band came up through New York, it was disappointing to see the room so empty and the crowd so dead. The setlist was solid enough, and the playing was fine - they ran close to 2 1/2 hours when all was said and done - but this is a band that feeds off the energy in the room, and there was close to none all evening long. I did get to hook up with a few friends and drop off a package of tapes. In the "boo-fucking-hoo" department, I found out that my VIP pass really got me absolutely nowhere - I was following a friend out of the venue, then realized I wanted to go back in...but no dice. The guy was nice enough about it, but...a little disappointing.

On the way to my brother-in-law's place - about a 30-minute drive - I listened to the end of the Yankees-Angels game, and was quite satisfied to hear the Yankees lose. Thuhuhuhuhuh Yankees lose. Once the postgame wrapup was over, I flipped over to FM for the last 5 minutes of the drive...and either through an incredible coincidence or a wiseass local DJ, the station had the Rolling Stones' "Sympathy For The Devil" in rotation. My bro-in-law greeted me at the door, we watched the end of Monday Night Football, and finally called it a night. 700 miles on the odometer.

Blues Traveler, 10-10-2005, The Trocadero, Philadelphia, PA

Saturday morning I got up and hit the road around 10am, en route to Baltimore. After a quick fillup near home, I managed a full 400 miles before I needed to stop for gas - in Maryland. Love the Passat. A half-hour later, I was circling around downtown Baltimore, in search of Rams Head Live. Took me three circuits before I discovered that the sign for Market Place was covered up by construction. Parked, met my buddy Chris, ran into another friend, Ivan, and we chowed down at an Italian place next to the venue. And man, we've gotten old.

I first met Ivan in 1997, shortly after I graduated from college...my second real BT road trip, which basically involved a ridiculously expensive BT show, my not having a car, and my friend Steve needing to return a car from Massachusetts to some long-since-forgotten relative in New Jersey. Another story for another time. But Ivan got the nickname of "Crazy Ivan" the next year when, come New Year's Eve, he said "Fuck it", dropped several hundred bucks, and flew from Jersey to Chicago at the drop of a hat to see the band play two New Year's Eve shows (and as it turns out, their final two to date). I suppose it helps that he's Jewish (no pressure to stick around the family near Christmastime), but more that, at the time, he was probably bordering on crazy. Now? He's married, has a 2 1/2-year-old daughter, and when I asked him if he'd be going to the show in DC on Monday - a mere hour's drive away - he just kind of shrugged and said he couldn't make it.

Dinner concluded, we traipsed back into the venue, picked up our tickets (and passes - woohoo!), and after security got a look at my taping rig, we were nicely asked to set up in the balcony. (Another reason I love this band - not only do they let you tape their shows, but they are über-good about notifying venues that tapers might be in attendance. Not once on this trip did I get any hassle whatsoever about bringing in what I'm sure looked like a rifle and and some sort of heavy-ass briefcase bomb.)

The Rams Head in Baltimore is a brand-new venue - just opened in December of '04. Well laid-out, tons of space, great viewing lines, and super-clean. The balcony wraps around the top of the place so if you were on either end, you'd almost be over the stage. It's not a perfect U-shape, though - the right side of the balcony has a little jog to it, and the other taper who was there had made a beeline for that area (it's just behind the vertical beam in that linked picture; the stage is to the right). Along the bottom of the balcony is what appears to be an air duct of some sort, and there are support beams that stick out maybe 3 feet over the crowd to hold the duct up. Being the enterprising tapers we are, we clamped our mics to the beams and ran our cables back to safe ground, being careful not to drop pricey devices on the heads of the unsuspecting public below.

Grace Potter & the Nocturnals put on a great opening set which was over far too quickly - a mere 26 minutes of some terrific roots rock - and then it was time for Traveler to take the stage. They came out swinging with Partner In Crime and then slid right into Save His Soul, and Chris was a happy man. By the time they blasted into Love & Greed we knew we were in for a good ride. Chris had noted before the show that it had been a while since he'd heard Go Outside & Drive, and sure enough, halfway through the band snaked into it from The Mountains Win Again, and the jam was on. The main set finished with a hyperspeed Hook>Sweet Talking Hippie>Crash Burn, and when I looked at the time I realized that barely two hours had passed. I've seen much longer shows in the past but even when they encored with one four-minute tune I didn't feel cheated in the least - it had been a LONG time since I'd seen John so animated on stage, and I was happily chatting up Chris and the other tapers all night. Unanimously a "good show". And as an extra added bonus, Brendan, John and Chan came out for a meet & greet at the merch table after the show, so Chris got a chance to talk guitar playing with Chan and discuss old times with the other guys (he actually saw his first show before I did - he was head of the local crew at his college when the band played there in early '94).

After our run through the line it was time to head home - an hour south to Alexandria, where we rolled in at 2:30. Only the first of many late nights to come.

Blues Traveler, 10-08-2005, Rams Head Live, Baltimore, MD

Taping started off as a means to relive the shows I had gone to (by artists kind enough to allow it) but over the years it's turned into a great way to *discover* bands as well - many through recommendations from friends and fellow tapers. But due to the nature of taping - having to set up early, deal with security, beat the crowds to the sweet spot in the venue - I'm often among the earliest to arrive at a venue, and as a result, sit through the opener or openers. Some, like Cyclone Fence, are only memorable for their all-out awfulness, their combination of rusty-nail-to-the-eardrum caterwauling and jarring guitar crunch. Others are passable but nobody I'd pay money to see again if they came through on their own. Then there's the rare artist that comes along that makes me decide I need to get out even more and see them on their own.

I first saw Erin McKeown opening for Matt Nathanson at the Paradise in February of '04. She walked out on stage, all five-feet-nothing of her, with her Gretsch guitar and nothing else. Not everyone in the crowd may have been there to see her, but she started singing and strumming and my toe started tapping immediately. A little folk, a little pop, a little rockabilly, and a whole lot of engaging music. By the time her set was over around a half-hour later, I was hooked. Bought her album (Grand) and listened to it a good deal right away, but was a bit thrown by the fact that she played with a whole band on her album. I saw her two months later in Somerville, also an opening gig, but this time she had a drummer and keyboard player with her, and everything sounded much like it did on the album. I'd still love to see another show - full-length - with just her and her guitar, but in the absence of that, I was happy to see that not only would she be playing a full-length show, but that she would be playing the record release party for her new album at the Paradise, followed by a show up in Portland the night following.

A minor digression - Erin not only allows her shows to be recorded, but also posts a list of recorded shows on her web site, so that people can get in touch with the tapers and get copies of the shows. When I submitted the February 2004 show, I sent along a track listing, but one track's name escaped me because I couldn't find lyrics for it anywhere. For lack of a better title, I tentatively gave it the name "We Will Become Like Birds", after the last line of the chorus. Her response: "track 7 is untitled... we'll leave it with your title. congratulations. best to you, erin mckeown."

The new album comes out, and the track name has been changed to "Air" (the first word in the song). The album itself? We Will Become Like Birds.

Mrs. Dave decided to opt out of the Boston show last-minute, so I trekked to the Paradise by myself. Usually I tape from the balcony, for a few reasons: first, there are really only two good places to tape at the Paradise, the balcony and the center column on the floor. The center column is, at most, six feet from the stage, and is a high-traffic, high-chatter area where you basically need to block your gear all night long, whereas the balcony enables you to stick your mics out over the crowd, far away from the gabfest that inevitably ensues where music and alcohol mix. Second, the center column is right in front of the artist's face, and although I wouldn't use the mic stand for a non-taper-friendly artist, there's a difference between having mics at the back of a venue and having a constant reminder right in their face that they're being recorded. I also wasn't sure if the opener (Hem) was taper-friendly, so that was another consideration. As such, I didn't even carry my mic stand into the Paradise, figuring I could run from the balcony...except the balcony was closed. Back to the car, gear in tow, pick up the stand, set up front and center, hope for the best.
Just as I get my rig set up, I catch someone out of the corner of my eye, making a beeline for me from the merch table set up in the corner. Uh oh, someone with the band is coming to read me the riot act. But wait...I know this someone with the band, because he's someone with another band - it was good old Dalton, Guster's manager. Apparently he'd just hooked up with Hem recently as their manager, and after exchanging pleasantries, he went off in search of permission for me to tape. Unbeknownst to me, the band had already given blanket permission, and my stand wasn't distracting to them in the least as they wound their way through 45 minutes of countrypolitan harmonizing, a very lush, laid-back sound with guitars, keys, mandolins and vocals.
And then it was time for Erin. Her drummer and keyboard player started a snappy beat, she bounded up on stage, and they cut out their intro just long enough for Erin to extend a high-energy greeting to her hometown crowd (she grew up in Virginia but was born in Boston - "My mother went into labor at the Union Oyster House," she said. "True story.") and launch into "Cinematic". Most of the set that followed was a romp through the new album, with a few older chestnuts like James!, Slung-Lo and Le Petite Mort thrown in for good measure. A double encore, topped off with a lengthy rendition of "Blackbirds" that ended with a disco breakdown, was the finale to the night, and 79 minutes later she was gone.

She did come out to sign copies of the disc after the show, and since I was packing up my gear, I was pretty much at the end of the line. I got her to sign a copy for Mrs. Dave (or "Yo, Viv babe! We missed you tonight!" as she signed it) and I got to thank her for allowing me to tape and distribute. She was very gracious, and even remembered that I'd taped two of her shows before and offered them up through her site (which reminds me, I need to submit these...) - great that she would take the time, and even better than she remembered me!

I presented Mrs. Dave with her signed CD, which she listened to all the next day at work...and promptly asked if I'd be interested in going up to the Portland show the next night. The original intent had been for it to be date night, but she was offering and I wasn't saying no. So we made the trip up to Portland - driving a bit faster than we normally would for fear of missing the set - but it turns out the time quoted on the web site was the door time, not the set time, so we were there plenty early. The venue itself is called the SPACE Gallery, and is an actual art gallery space - a small stage is set up at the back, the ceiling is exposed wood and concrete, pipes and wiring, and there's a great big I-beam, dead center, 20 feet back from the stage. A perfect spot to tape and clamp. I love it when a plan comes together.

The show was much the same as the night before, although Hem played a song that they had apparently only played live a handful of times before, much to the chagrin of the fan I had met in Boston who was debating whether to go to Portland or not (sans car). As always...not going is a regrettable option! Erin's set was equally lively and talkative - each night she explained the background of several different songs - and Mrs. Dave finally got to enjoy a full-band, full-length Erin show. As we drove home after the show, the clock ticked past 12 midnight, and my musical June week was over.