Peter Mulvey at the Gingko, 8 September 2005
I like live music. Really, really like it. But I go to fewer and fewer shows as I get older, because I find audiences more and more annoying, and because a lot of bands whose CDs I love are not really all that spectacular live, or I've already seen them once or twice or more.
There are certain performers, though, whose live shows I won't miss if they're within a three hours' drive and I've got a way to get there. Peter Mulvey is one of those performers. (In fact, I once arranged a trip to Seattle around a Peter show; but that's another story.) I've been attending the church of Peter Mulvey since 1997, and while some shows are better than others, because that's what live music means, I never leave without feeling that the world is better because he and his music are in it.
This Thursday I drove in to St. Paul to see him play a coffeehouse show at the Gingko. jackiekjono and katallison met me there (and Jackie very kindly sprung for my ticket). I had had a monster of a day and was wiped out from the drive and so got in line for a large oatmeal cookie and a small chai. And while I was standing in line, Peter came over and said, "Hey, so you've moved here!" (I'd mentioned at a show back in June that it might be the last time I'd see him in that venue because I was getting ready to move, and he'd wished me luck.)
"Well," I said, "not here, exactly, but here-ish. About two and a half hours away. But I wouldn't miss the show."
"Thank you," he said, really earnestly. "I'll make it a good one."
Yeah, 'cause I was worried about that.
We chatted a little while longer; he told me about other towns he plays that are more or less in my new neck of the woods, and then he asked about where I'm living: "I really want to spend March in the midwest," he said, "so I'm trying to work out a tour of college towns."
"We've got a coffeehouse," I said, "and it's a pretty small town, so there's kind of nothing to do; we could easily make you the biggest town event in March. Plus, in a pinch? I'll have forty students who'll do almost anything for extra credit." So we left it that I'll get in touch with his management and booking agency, and with any luck there's at least one show in the near future I can ride my bike to instead of driving.
The opening act was... well, the less said about the opening act the better. I've seen worse, but given the number of spectacularly bad opening acts I've seen, that's saying basically nothing. Let's move on, shall we?
Peter's set list
1. You & Me & the 10,000 Things *
2. Abilene *
3. Louisiana 1927 (Randy Newman)
4. Marty & Lou *
5. Shirt
6. The Trouble With Poets: Sylvia Plath/T.S. Eliot remix
7. Girl in the Hightops *
8. Lovely as the Day is Long (Paul Cebar)
[set break]
1. I’m Beginning to See the Light (Duke Ellington)
2. Old Simon Stimson *
3. Pigeons *
4. Brady Street Stroll (w/ Paul Cebar) *
5. The Fly (U2)
6. Horses *
7. Denver, 6 a.m.
8. The Dreams
9. Penny Lane (The Beatles)
10. The Fix Is On *
11. Thorn *
12. Long Hard Road (Tim Gearan)
13. Bankrobber (The Clash)
14. Sad, Sad, Sad, Sad and Faraway From Home
encore: We’ll Meet Again / Every Time We Say Goodbye
* new songs
It wasn't the best Peter show I've ever seen - he wasn't as goofily abandoned as he sometimes is - but it was still a damn good show. The second half, as usual, was better than the first, as he got warmed up and silly. He finished "The Fly" and observed dryly that it's by "an obscure little Irish band called U2. Just doing my part to spread the word." He played "Denver, 6 a.m." on request, despite having forgotten most of the chords, which he busily tried to reconstruct while chatting about Rumi. In the middle of "Penny Lane" he asked "Does anyone have an orchestra?" and when none was forthcoming he proceeded to sing as much of the string section as he could manage. He talked about reading Socrates' Apology (at the behest of his philosophy-major brother) by way of explaining the first line of the love song "Thorn" (you my little gadfly). His covers of "Long Hard Road" and "Bankrobber" were as good as I've ever heard him play them - I mean smoking hot. And he ended with "Sad, Sad, Sad, Sad," which is the surest way to make me happy short of playing "Ithaca," "Out Here," and "The Road To Mallow" back to back.
A damn good show.
Kat had kindly offered to let me crash with her after, so I didn't have to drive home in the middle of the night. (Also, I can now vouch for the peculiar but undeniable joys of the water pillow.) And on Friday morning I was reminded again, as I was on the drive down to VividCon, that Kat is one of the coolest people on earth, not just because of her intrinsic awesomeness (which is considerable), but because she's one of those very few fen with whom I can have conversations that go seamlessly back and forth between fannish and real-life-job stuff, and whatever the topic she always has something to say that's smart or acidic or both. Which I really, really appreciate.
And then Kat went to work, and I finished my white peony-and-something-or-other tea, which was extremely tasty; and then I hauled my stuff back out to the car, cranked the volume on the stereo, and came home.
There are certain performers, though, whose live shows I won't miss if they're within a three hours' drive and I've got a way to get there. Peter Mulvey is one of those performers. (In fact, I once arranged a trip to Seattle around a Peter show; but that's another story.) I've been attending the church of Peter Mulvey since 1997, and while some shows are better than others, because that's what live music means, I never leave without feeling that the world is better because he and his music are in it.
This Thursday I drove in to St. Paul to see him play a coffeehouse show at the Gingko. jackiekjono and katallison met me there (and Jackie very kindly sprung for my ticket). I had had a monster of a day and was wiped out from the drive and so got in line for a large oatmeal cookie and a small chai. And while I was standing in line, Peter came over and said, "Hey, so you've moved here!" (I'd mentioned at a show back in June that it might be the last time I'd see him in that venue because I was getting ready to move, and he'd wished me luck.)
"Well," I said, "not here, exactly, but here-ish. About two and a half hours away. But I wouldn't miss the show."
"Thank you," he said, really earnestly. "I'll make it a good one."
Yeah, 'cause I was worried about that.
We chatted a little while longer; he told me about other towns he plays that are more or less in my new neck of the woods, and then he asked about where I'm living: "I really want to spend March in the midwest," he said, "so I'm trying to work out a tour of college towns."
"We've got a coffeehouse," I said, "and it's a pretty small town, so there's kind of nothing to do; we could easily make you the biggest town event in March. Plus, in a pinch? I'll have forty students who'll do almost anything for extra credit." So we left it that I'll get in touch with his management and booking agency, and with any luck there's at least one show in the near future I can ride my bike to instead of driving.
The opening act was... well, the less said about the opening act the better. I've seen worse, but given the number of spectacularly bad opening acts I've seen, that's saying basically nothing. Let's move on, shall we?
Peter's set list
1. You & Me & the 10,000 Things *
2. Abilene *
3. Louisiana 1927 (Randy Newman)
4. Marty & Lou *
5. Shirt
6. The Trouble With Poets: Sylvia Plath/T.S. Eliot remix
7. Girl in the Hightops *
8. Lovely as the Day is Long (Paul Cebar)
[set break]
1. I’m Beginning to See the Light (Duke Ellington)
2. Old Simon Stimson *
3. Pigeons *
4. Brady Street Stroll (w/ Paul Cebar) *
5. The Fly (U2)
6. Horses *
7. Denver, 6 a.m.
8. The Dreams
9. Penny Lane (The Beatles)
10. The Fix Is On *
11. Thorn *
12. Long Hard Road (Tim Gearan)
13. Bankrobber (The Clash)
14. Sad, Sad, Sad, Sad and Faraway From Home
encore: We’ll Meet Again / Every Time We Say Goodbye
* new songs
It wasn't the best Peter show I've ever seen - he wasn't as goofily abandoned as he sometimes is - but it was still a damn good show. The second half, as usual, was better than the first, as he got warmed up and silly. He finished "The Fly" and observed dryly that it's by "an obscure little Irish band called U2. Just doing my part to spread the word." He played "Denver, 6 a.m." on request, despite having forgotten most of the chords, which he busily tried to reconstruct while chatting about Rumi. In the middle of "Penny Lane" he asked "Does anyone have an orchestra?" and when none was forthcoming he proceeded to sing as much of the string section as he could manage. He talked about reading Socrates' Apology (at the behest of his philosophy-major brother) by way of explaining the first line of the love song "Thorn" (you my little gadfly). His covers of "Long Hard Road" and "Bankrobber" were as good as I've ever heard him play them - I mean smoking hot. And he ended with "Sad, Sad, Sad, Sad," which is the surest way to make me happy short of playing "Ithaca," "Out Here," and "The Road To Mallow" back to back.
A damn good show.
Kat had kindly offered to let me crash with her after, so I didn't have to drive home in the middle of the night. (Also, I can now vouch for the peculiar but undeniable joys of the water pillow.) And on Friday morning I was reminded again, as I was on the drive down to VividCon, that Kat is one of the coolest people on earth, not just because of her intrinsic awesomeness (which is considerable), but because she's one of those very few fen with whom I can have conversations that go seamlessly back and forth between fannish and real-life-job stuff, and whatever the topic she always has something to say that's smart or acidic or both. Which I really, really appreciate.
And then Kat went to work, and I finished my white peony-and-something-or-other tea, which was extremely tasty; and then I hauled my stuff back out to the car, cranked the volume on the stereo, and came home.