I've Moved!
I've moved this blog to my own server.
Come and visit me at my new home, Between Wisdom and Murder, and please update your bookmarks accordingly!
A perspective on pop culture from the middle ages
I've moved this blog to my own server.
I will preface my commentary on the show itself by saying that I am no fan of the jam band scene, and I knew that going in. I am also not terribly familiar with Fleck’s musical output, so this was quite possibly the first time I’ve gone to a concert where I wasn’t already extremely conversant with the artist’s work. The musicianship on display last evening was nothing short of outstanding. Fleck is a generous artist who allows his band members, all virtuoso musicians in their own right, plenty of opportunity to shine, and shine they did. Victor Wooten and Futureman are a musical universe unto themselves, and saxophonist Jeff Coffin was a huge treat. The band was joined by Senegalese singer Baba Maal for two numbers that totally shook the packed house (note to self: check this guy out).
So, my final word on the music is that I’m glad I had the opportunity to hear them play - I’ve expanded my musical horizons and experienced something new, and that’s always a good thing, and I had a great time. I’m still not a huge fan of the jam thing - all of the songs tend to sound the same to me after a while. Perhaps I’m missing something here, or maybe not. The nice thing about having different kinds of things in the world is that there’s something for everybody.
Starving at the end of the show (having skipped dinner), we marched six rain-soaked blocks downtown to see if The Silver Spur was open. It wasn’t. We grabbed the subway back up to 57th Street, thinking for sure that we’d find a place before we got back to the parking garage. We didn’t. New York may be the city that never sleeps, but apparently it takes naps from time to time.
We headed back to Connecticut on a dark, windy, rain-soaked Cross Bronx Expressway, always an adrenaline-producing experience, what with the badly maintained road and the tandem tractor trailers that don’t slow down in inclement weather. On the way home, we stopped at a diner and had chocolate chip pancakes and Belgian waffles, which made up for our missed dinner. It was three in the morning when we got home, where we dried off at last and tumbled gratefully into bed. Today I’m reminded of why people our age don’t normally keep hours like this. I need another cup of coffee.
I've taken over the responsibility of putting together the Editor's Picks every week for BC (and cross-posting them to Desicritics as well). There's some really good stuff here this week, so check it out (there's a lot of really good music writing this week for some reason).
The Rolling Stones are clearly role models for my generation. Good grief, that was some kick-ass half-time show. Kinda makes me want to vow to go kicking and screaming into old age. Gnarly and energetic, and clearly loving what they do - much better than those golden seniors you see in the AARP ads, if you ask me. That's the way I wanna do it.