Notes on Notes
I picked up a CD at the HMV just north of Dundas this weekend - Jason Isbell, Live at the Twist and Shout. It's a short live disc, a half dozen or so songs from the beginning of his solo career, and half of it's DBT songs Isbell wrote in his time with the band. (The sixth song is a Van Morrison cover. When I sat next to Rumer's drummer on a flight a few months back, he confided in me that one of the tricky parts is always finding the right cover versions to fill out a full set with when the album's not long enough). It's not exactly where I would have expected to find the disc, which I'd been searching for sorta-kinda- in an off-and-on-scrounge sort of way for a couple of years, but hey, they had a pretty healthy selection of Isbell's music that someone had stuck a Janet Jackson CD in front of, so I bought the live disc and moved the Jackson and that was that.
A few weeks back, Melinda and I saw Isbell and his band, the 400 Unit, in Raleigh with James McMurtry and a local act whose name escapes me. Melinda's not much of a concertgoer for reasons that go all the way back to Missouri, and when the opening act - which was perfectly passable, and had a decent mandolin solo here and there, and had a bassist who was a dead ringer for Terry Pratchett and looked like he'd wandered in from another band entirely - launched into their set and she obviously wasn't feeling it, I got a little worried. One likes one's wife to enjoy this sort of thing, after all, and if she wasn't having fun, it was going to be a long night, or maybe a short one.
Then James McMurtry came on stage, and did a few warmup chords, and so help me God, my first thought was, "Ah. The grownups are here now." And I looked over at Melinda, and she was feeling it. Because when a man that much in control of his craft favors you with "No More Buffalo" and "Just Us Kids" and between-songs patter about how he's going to lay some country music on us, except all the country folk he knew growing up were KISS fans, that's what you do.
McMurtry played, wrapping up with a bring-down-the-walls version of "Too Long In The Wasteland", and life was good. Then Isbell and the 400 Unit went on, and blew out what was rest of the structural supports of the theater while taking turns executing a bottle of Jack Daniels onstage. The bottle died before the end of the set, but the band kept going - this was before their gear got stolen in Texas - and we stayed to the last, dying note. "Outfit". "Alabama Pines". "Try". "Never Gonna Change". Good old stuff, good new stuff, and an REM cover rounding things out. The contrast in the sounds of the performers was interesting; McMurtry's was more muscular and direct, all focused on his vocal-guitar combination, with lots of space around the edges. Isbell's was bigger, louder, bolder; it hit you in the face from the first note and never let up.
A good night. A good show. A good memory. That's why I shelled out for a 6-song disc at full price, not just for the music on it, but because in a way it's a piece of that night, a connection to Isbell onstage and making instant friends out of strangers in the crowd and hearing a single chord go through a room like an electric current and change everything.
And because "Danko/Manuel" still kicks ass, and always will.
A few weeks back, Melinda and I saw Isbell and his band, the 400 Unit, in Raleigh with James McMurtry and a local act whose name escapes me. Melinda's not much of a concertgoer for reasons that go all the way back to Missouri, and when the opening act - which was perfectly passable, and had a decent mandolin solo here and there, and had a bassist who was a dead ringer for Terry Pratchett and looked like he'd wandered in from another band entirely - launched into their set and she obviously wasn't feeling it, I got a little worried. One likes one's wife to enjoy this sort of thing, after all, and if she wasn't having fun, it was going to be a long night, or maybe a short one.
Then James McMurtry came on stage, and did a few warmup chords, and so help me God, my first thought was, "Ah. The grownups are here now." And I looked over at Melinda, and she was feeling it. Because when a man that much in control of his craft favors you with "No More Buffalo" and "Just Us Kids" and between-songs patter about how he's going to lay some country music on us, except all the country folk he knew growing up were KISS fans, that's what you do.
McMurtry played, wrapping up with a bring-down-the-walls version of "Too Long In The Wasteland", and life was good. Then Isbell and the 400 Unit went on, and blew out what was rest of the structural supports of the theater while taking turns executing a bottle of Jack Daniels onstage. The bottle died before the end of the set, but the band kept going - this was before their gear got stolen in Texas - and we stayed to the last, dying note. "Outfit". "Alabama Pines". "Try". "Never Gonna Change". Good old stuff, good new stuff, and an REM cover rounding things out. The contrast in the sounds of the performers was interesting; McMurtry's was more muscular and direct, all focused on his vocal-guitar combination, with lots of space around the edges. Isbell's was bigger, louder, bolder; it hit you in the face from the first note and never let up.
A good night. A good show. A good memory. That's why I shelled out for a 6-song disc at full price, not just for the music on it, but because in a way it's a piece of that night, a connection to Isbell onstage and making instant friends out of strangers in the crowd and hearing a single chord go through a room like an electric current and change everything.
And because "Danko/Manuel" still kicks ass, and always will.