You're east of East St. Louis, and the wind is making speeches...
First, while this is related to out-of-town friends and hobbyist get togethers, any Origins folks, if you'd like me to call and make a reservation for the Japanese Steak House on Friday night of Origins, just let me know how many and when? I will be unable to attend as I'll be at the Elvis Costello/Allen Toussaint concert that night (hope to hook up with folks afterwards, I'll just be around the corner) but would be more than happy to make the reservation.
You say you're gonna get your act together,
Gonna take it out on the road,
But if I don't get outta here pretty soon
My head's going to explode
Sure, I like country music,
And I love those mandolins
But right now I need a Telecaster
Through a Vibrolux, turned up to ten...
--John Hiatt, "Memphis in the Meantime"
Another Twangfest come and gone, the final chapter - or at least the end of this era of the festival - and I'm back at my desk in the real world (having tickets for Dar Williams Tuesday night and Lamb of God/Children of Bodom last night probably hasn't helped me on the whole rest thing.
In the short, I mortgaged my sanity in exchange for some memories, that kind of sweat you only seem to get in June along the Mississippi river, an upgrade on my sense of self, and the echo of sweet laughter. All of which I tucked away in whatever brain cells I failed to kill this weekend.
Since I got drawn into that circle by my local crew Matt Benz, Mark Wyatt (much missed at this year's festival, everyone talked about it) and Ed Mann, the Twangfest mob has rapidly become a group of my favorite people. People I'll travel to see - when not travelling to visit the lot of *you*, dear readers - and light up in the presence of, people who it feels like I've known forever and whom I'm honored to know. Random highlights this year included:
* Dancing to BR549 with Marie Arsenault, and watching her and John Wendland dance to Grand Champeen doing "Tracks of My Tears". Congratulations to both of them on the impending nuptials.
* Eric Wiland consistently besting me by buying me beer, I owe you about five or six, I think, the timing just never worked out.
* Sitting over hamburgers with Team Seattle, Jim Cox (who in addition to being the nicest man on the planet has possibly the best hair of anyone I know), his lovely wife Laura Levy, and the amazing Cynthia Peterson.
* Finally meeting Karen Cunningham and inadvertently eating part of her food during what we're referring to as our "Tour of Vietnam".
* Cruising through Clayton praying we wouldn't run out of gas with Kevin Fredette (whose name I think I misspelled), Carl Zimring (Dr. Z!), and Jamie Swedberg.
* Praying for rain while watching the patio-diners at Brandt's with Steve, Jamie and Chad, drinking red wine and eating some delicious tuna.
* Ed Mann on Lucero - "I didn't call them 'Loser-O' while that guy was standing there, did I?"
* Mocking bad television with roommate Bob Starker.
* Karla and her fiance, co-conspirators par excellence (about which I will say no more)
* Smilin' Jim Caliguri living up to his nickname in force.
* Trying to sing Stan Rodgers' "Northwest Passage" with Carl Wilson at 4:30 in the morning and talking about the noise scene.
* Julie DiJohn, lovely and insane as ever, regaling us with stories of her Twang trysts.
* Ken Zeiler slow-dancing with Heather in the back of the bar on Saturday night.
* Long rides and talking with Tom Huber, who recently suffered a loss but is rebounding with the kind of amazing wit and resilience he's always shown.
* Finally getting to hang with the lovely and brilliant Jamie Swedberg, and hearing enough about farm life to scare this city boy out of his mind.
* Alex Millar, looking great and never failing to hit us up with the rejoinder
* And so many others from Jim Fagan to Barry Mazor and Nina Melenchen to Bill and Amy Silvers to Heather Pyle to Steve and Cat Pick to Brad Bechtel and anyone I've forgotten. The music is fine, but it's not what keeps me coming back again and again to the scene of the crime.
Further descriptions of music follow behind the cut (to save you screens of raw text).
In summary:
Favorite set: The Dirtbombs
Close Second Tier: Mic Harrison, Glossary, Deadstring Brothers, The Sovines, Scott Miller, Grand Champeen (both sets)
Favorite meal: That Guatemalan chicken dish at that Maya cafe prior to bowling.
Flew in straight from work on Wednesday and within an hour of landing there was a cold beer in my hand. Perfect. Hit the new Airport Plaza Inn (formerly the Howard Johnson's we stayed at in years past, soon to be a Best Western, currently in transition. To find the hotel bar and the pool both dry. Yikes. But all was well because I ran into Steve Kirsch and Jamie DePolo within seconds of my arrival and hitched a ride to Schlafly's Tap Room for the first day of the fest with the Twang.
As soon as we arrived, we were helping push a car that was free-floating on a barrier between parking lots, piloting by pals Barry Mazor and Nina Melenchen with the assistance of Carl Zimring, then badges and food (some terrific grilled Mahi in a beer glaze with mushrooms, asparagus and wild rice and a tall glass of their Hefeweizen) before the music started.
I really dug Walter Clevenger and the Dairy Kings, good songs, fun playing, and a tight rhythm section. Didn't care for the Avett Brothers (like The Violent Femmes without the songwriting) or the Yayhoos (songs were too long and not catchy enough, though when they clicked they were *great*) but Wednesday is all about the catching up on the past year since I saw most of these lunatics, from the good (someone building a chicken coop, people having children, corrective surgery, raises and new responsibilities at work) to the bad (parents passing away, an impending divorce, ongoing health problems). Wednesday night is catch-up day, which there's nothing wrong with.
Thursday night was the rock highlight of the weekend and the night I was most looking forward to, headlined by the current kings of rock and roll, the ever-loving, almighty Dirtbombs. But beyond that favorite band of mine, I had never heard of the other three bands and only really heard of one of them.
It opened with Kip Loui's band The Transmitters. Kip is one of the nicest guys I've ever met, the rhythm section is tight, the solos are concise and tasteful. You all know where this is going, right? The songs aren't there yet. I'm saying yet because if they can slash and burn most of the lyrics and maybe beef up the hooks (exception being that "Put You On the Guest List" song which is already six kinds of catchy) this could be a band we're all talking about in a year or two. Not writing them off, and it's not that I wouldn't see them again, but it's so close to glory the weak songwriting was doubly frustrating.
After that came Glossary, the band from Tennessee with the least rock-and-roll name ever. A husband and wife duet vocal team, including the male half playing left-handed guitar and the female half playing percussion with a tight little band it was kind of ethereal ambient country at times, sort of like Mazzy Star, and at times jangly pop that wouldn't have been out of place on an Old '97s record. The tunes were catchy, the musicianship was strong, it didn't waste anybody's time. I was really stunned.
The Deadstring Brothers were up next, featuring a guy on guitar and vocals, a woman playing percussion and singing with him, bass, drums, organ and pedal steel. Tough-minded songs with a soulful swagger, arrangements that reveal new surprises and pleasures to you slowly and my new rock and roll crush in the form of singer Marsha Marjieh. Could be construed as a genre exercise, working through stacks of '60s Dylan and Stones records (I believe it was Carl Zimring or Jamie Swedberg who commented that any one of those songs could have fit on Stones circa Let it Bleed/Exile on Main Street or Dylan circa Blood on the Tracks or Blonde On Blonde if it had its amps cranked a little harder and in doing so made clear how deeply connected the two sides are). This was my find of Twangfest, Detroit comes through again.
And the Dirtbombs, headlining, kicked sand in the faces of weaklings and brought forth an earthquake of ass-shaking. Same lineup of the last few years, two drums, two bassists who doubled as backing vocalists, and Mick Collins on vocals and guitar, with enough soulful grime, humor, and punky sharpness to give you an Elvis-sized heart attack. Midway through the set, they did my favorite of their songs "Cedar Point '76" ("I just want to ask this honey / If she'll play a pinball game / With me!") followed by my favorite of their covers, Curtis Mayfield's "Kung Fu" ("My Mama bore me in ghetto/ There was no matress for my head / But no she couldn't call me Jesus / I wasn't white enough, she said / So then she named me, y'all, / Kung Fu") and I was in this state of twitching, mind-blown euphoria. We were bouncing into each other, Roy Kasten attempted his desperate, unsuccessful crowd-surfing. Fantastic. That's what I love about rock and roll. Even the band seemed stunned by the crowd response, "Do you all really know these songs, or are you humoring us?" Collins asked before the night was over.
Special props also to Matt Benz' MCing in the wake of the Dirtbombs, "Did they hit it one time? Did they hit it two times?!? That's all, there ain't no more!"
Twangpin was fantastic as ever, I was neither the best bowler nor the worst, though I was definitely the worst on our lane. Props as ever to Steve, Jamie, Maggie's husband Adam, and Chad for putting up with my zaniness. And the best part was the DVD of bizarre photos and quotes from past Twangfests.
The set of Day 3 was the Sovines reunion/curtain call. One of my favorite bands, some of my dearest friends, kicking out the jams one last time for the forseeable future. Blazing versions of "Whiskey Bottle", a heartbroken "Drinks After Church", the bittersweet "This Day in History" which is one of my favorite melodies Matt Benz has ever written and was introduced by his saying "I wrote this as fiction, and then it came true." A few of their signature covers - "The Havenots" by X, "Jason Fleming" by Roger Miller done Ramones-style, and of course The Runaways' "Cherry Bomb" about which my pal Carl Zimring said, "Just watching Bob do that, I feel like I need a shot of penicillin."
Saturday started with Barry Mazor's Twangclips, the best-paced and most consistently enjoyable edition yet. I always love seeing the clips but past years 3-4 hour marathons have been a little much for my hungover self. This year's two hours were perfect, and the stuff he had was as choice as ever. Jack Clement's home movies of Johnny Cash smoking sprawled out on AP Carter's grave; The Rolling Stones doing a righteously wasted version of "Dead Flowers" at the Marquee Club in the early '70s with one of the best Mick Taylor solos I've ever heard; The Sir Douglas Quintet doing "Mendocino" on Playboy After Dark; Ray Charles singing "You Don't Know Me" on a Brazillian television special in the early '60s; Clarence "Gatemouth" Brown playing a classic fiddle tune backed by a band which once included Jimi Hendrix on a local Nashville R&B show in the 1960s; CCR rebelling against the lip-synching rules of some TV show or another by pretending to play a giant rubber band, maracas and a washboard instead of their normal instruments.
After that, off to the Schlafly Bottleworks for some really good conversation with my pals Tom Huber and Eric Wiland, a ferocious set by Grand Champeen and a lovely turn by Dolly Varden. Overly warm, but so good hanging out with everyone and Grand Champeen came through like champs for the first time that day, but not the last.
Saturday night was featured Mic Harrison's burly roots-pop (happily with a band this time who also did a couple of their own songs which were terriffic), Scott Miller and the Commonwealth doing the kind of set that recontextualizes the material I already loved from his records, with more punch and grit. Lucero? Well, the less said the better, let's just say a number of us had an overwhelming urge to go upstairs and watch the hockey game. BR549 was a swinging, zinging dance party and Chris Scruggs (Earl Scruggs' grandson) is a *monster* of a guitar player.
And Grand Champeen tore the afterparty up with two-plus hours of every cover you wanted to hear, from "The Ace of Spades", Thin Lizzy's "Cowboy Song", Mott the Hoople's "All the Young Dudes", Dire Straits' "Walk of Life", The Only Ones' "Another Girl, Another Planet", a couple of classic Soul Asylum chestnuts I'm blanking on the name of, Billy Joel's "You May Be Right", Aerosmith's "Toys in the Attic", and on and on. People, and by people I mean me, were shaking it like they might lose it! It was the perfect end to a perfect weekend until I staggered out at 6:30a.m. to shower and catch my 9:30 plane.
Seven o'clock, eight o'clock,
nine o'clock, ten,
You wanna go home? Why, honey, when
We may never get this chance again?
Let's party for the rest of the night
--Warren Zevon, "The Rest of the Night"
You say you're gonna get your act together,
Gonna take it out on the road,
But if I don't get outta here pretty soon
My head's going to explode
Sure, I like country music,
And I love those mandolins
But right now I need a Telecaster
Through a Vibrolux, turned up to ten...
--John Hiatt, "Memphis in the Meantime"
Another Twangfest come and gone, the final chapter - or at least the end of this era of the festival - and I'm back at my desk in the real world (having tickets for Dar Williams Tuesday night and Lamb of God/Children of Bodom last night probably hasn't helped me on the whole rest thing.
In the short, I mortgaged my sanity in exchange for some memories, that kind of sweat you only seem to get in June along the Mississippi river, an upgrade on my sense of self, and the echo of sweet laughter. All of which I tucked away in whatever brain cells I failed to kill this weekend.
Since I got drawn into that circle by my local crew Matt Benz, Mark Wyatt (much missed at this year's festival, everyone talked about it) and Ed Mann, the Twangfest mob has rapidly become a group of my favorite people. People I'll travel to see - when not travelling to visit the lot of *you*, dear readers - and light up in the presence of, people who it feels like I've known forever and whom I'm honored to know. Random highlights this year included:
* Dancing to BR549 with Marie Arsenault, and watching her and John Wendland dance to Grand Champeen doing "Tracks of My Tears". Congratulations to both of them on the impending nuptials.
* Eric Wiland consistently besting me by buying me beer, I owe you about five or six, I think, the timing just never worked out.
* Sitting over hamburgers with Team Seattle, Jim Cox (who in addition to being the nicest man on the planet has possibly the best hair of anyone I know), his lovely wife Laura Levy, and the amazing Cynthia Peterson.
* Finally meeting Karen Cunningham and inadvertently eating part of her food during what we're referring to as our "Tour of Vietnam".
* Cruising through Clayton praying we wouldn't run out of gas with Kevin Fredette (whose name I think I misspelled), Carl Zimring (Dr. Z!), and Jamie Swedberg.
* Praying for rain while watching the patio-diners at Brandt's with Steve, Jamie and Chad, drinking red wine and eating some delicious tuna.
* Ed Mann on Lucero - "I didn't call them 'Loser-O' while that guy was standing there, did I?"
* Mocking bad television with roommate Bob Starker.
* Karla and her fiance, co-conspirators par excellence (about which I will say no more)
* Smilin' Jim Caliguri living up to his nickname in force.
* Trying to sing Stan Rodgers' "Northwest Passage" with Carl Wilson at 4:30 in the morning and talking about the noise scene.
* Julie DiJohn, lovely and insane as ever, regaling us with stories of her Twang trysts.
* Ken Zeiler slow-dancing with Heather in the back of the bar on Saturday night.
* Long rides and talking with Tom Huber, who recently suffered a loss but is rebounding with the kind of amazing wit and resilience he's always shown.
* Finally getting to hang with the lovely and brilliant Jamie Swedberg, and hearing enough about farm life to scare this city boy out of his mind.
* Alex Millar, looking great and never failing to hit us up with the rejoinder
* And so many others from Jim Fagan to Barry Mazor and Nina Melenchen to Bill and Amy Silvers to Heather Pyle to Steve and Cat Pick to Brad Bechtel and anyone I've forgotten. The music is fine, but it's not what keeps me coming back again and again to the scene of the crime.
Further descriptions of music follow behind the cut (to save you screens of raw text).
In summary:
Favorite set: The Dirtbombs
Close Second Tier: Mic Harrison, Glossary, Deadstring Brothers, The Sovines, Scott Miller, Grand Champeen (both sets)
Favorite meal: That Guatemalan chicken dish at that Maya cafe prior to bowling.
Flew in straight from work on Wednesday and within an hour of landing there was a cold beer in my hand. Perfect. Hit the new Airport Plaza Inn (formerly the Howard Johnson's we stayed at in years past, soon to be a Best Western, currently in transition. To find the hotel bar and the pool both dry. Yikes. But all was well because I ran into Steve Kirsch and Jamie DePolo within seconds of my arrival and hitched a ride to Schlafly's Tap Room for the first day of the fest with the Twang.
As soon as we arrived, we were helping push a car that was free-floating on a barrier between parking lots, piloting by pals Barry Mazor and Nina Melenchen with the assistance of Carl Zimring, then badges and food (some terrific grilled Mahi in a beer glaze with mushrooms, asparagus and wild rice and a tall glass of their Hefeweizen) before the music started.
I really dug Walter Clevenger and the Dairy Kings, good songs, fun playing, and a tight rhythm section. Didn't care for the Avett Brothers (like The Violent Femmes without the songwriting) or the Yayhoos (songs were too long and not catchy enough, though when they clicked they were *great*) but Wednesday is all about the catching up on the past year since I saw most of these lunatics, from the good (someone building a chicken coop, people having children, corrective surgery, raises and new responsibilities at work) to the bad (parents passing away, an impending divorce, ongoing health problems). Wednesday night is catch-up day, which there's nothing wrong with.
Thursday night was the rock highlight of the weekend and the night I was most looking forward to, headlined by the current kings of rock and roll, the ever-loving, almighty Dirtbombs. But beyond that favorite band of mine, I had never heard of the other three bands and only really heard of one of them.
It opened with Kip Loui's band The Transmitters. Kip is one of the nicest guys I've ever met, the rhythm section is tight, the solos are concise and tasteful. You all know where this is going, right? The songs aren't there yet. I'm saying yet because if they can slash and burn most of the lyrics and maybe beef up the hooks (exception being that "Put You On the Guest List" song which is already six kinds of catchy) this could be a band we're all talking about in a year or two. Not writing them off, and it's not that I wouldn't see them again, but it's so close to glory the weak songwriting was doubly frustrating.
After that came Glossary, the band from Tennessee with the least rock-and-roll name ever. A husband and wife duet vocal team, including the male half playing left-handed guitar and the female half playing percussion with a tight little band it was kind of ethereal ambient country at times, sort of like Mazzy Star, and at times jangly pop that wouldn't have been out of place on an Old '97s record. The tunes were catchy, the musicianship was strong, it didn't waste anybody's time. I was really stunned.
The Deadstring Brothers were up next, featuring a guy on guitar and vocals, a woman playing percussion and singing with him, bass, drums, organ and pedal steel. Tough-minded songs with a soulful swagger, arrangements that reveal new surprises and pleasures to you slowly and my new rock and roll crush in the form of singer Marsha Marjieh. Could be construed as a genre exercise, working through stacks of '60s Dylan and Stones records (I believe it was Carl Zimring or Jamie Swedberg who commented that any one of those songs could have fit on Stones circa Let it Bleed/Exile on Main Street or Dylan circa Blood on the Tracks or Blonde On Blonde if it had its amps cranked a little harder and in doing so made clear how deeply connected the two sides are). This was my find of Twangfest, Detroit comes through again.
And the Dirtbombs, headlining, kicked sand in the faces of weaklings and brought forth an earthquake of ass-shaking. Same lineup of the last few years, two drums, two bassists who doubled as backing vocalists, and Mick Collins on vocals and guitar, with enough soulful grime, humor, and punky sharpness to give you an Elvis-sized heart attack. Midway through the set, they did my favorite of their songs "Cedar Point '76" ("I just want to ask this honey / If she'll play a pinball game / With me!") followed by my favorite of their covers, Curtis Mayfield's "Kung Fu" ("My Mama bore me in ghetto/ There was no matress for my head / But no she couldn't call me Jesus / I wasn't white enough, she said / So then she named me, y'all, / Kung Fu") and I was in this state of twitching, mind-blown euphoria. We were bouncing into each other, Roy Kasten attempted his desperate, unsuccessful crowd-surfing. Fantastic. That's what I love about rock and roll. Even the band seemed stunned by the crowd response, "Do you all really know these songs, or are you humoring us?" Collins asked before the night was over.
Special props also to Matt Benz' MCing in the wake of the Dirtbombs, "Did they hit it one time? Did they hit it two times?!? That's all, there ain't no more!"
Twangpin was fantastic as ever, I was neither the best bowler nor the worst, though I was definitely the worst on our lane. Props as ever to Steve, Jamie, Maggie's husband Adam, and Chad for putting up with my zaniness. And the best part was the DVD of bizarre photos and quotes from past Twangfests.
The set of Day 3 was the Sovines reunion/curtain call. One of my favorite bands, some of my dearest friends, kicking out the jams one last time for the forseeable future. Blazing versions of "Whiskey Bottle", a heartbroken "Drinks After Church", the bittersweet "This Day in History" which is one of my favorite melodies Matt Benz has ever written and was introduced by his saying "I wrote this as fiction, and then it came true." A few of their signature covers - "The Havenots" by X, "Jason Fleming" by Roger Miller done Ramones-style, and of course The Runaways' "Cherry Bomb" about which my pal Carl Zimring said, "Just watching Bob do that, I feel like I need a shot of penicillin."
Saturday started with Barry Mazor's Twangclips, the best-paced and most consistently enjoyable edition yet. I always love seeing the clips but past years 3-4 hour marathons have been a little much for my hungover self. This year's two hours were perfect, and the stuff he had was as choice as ever. Jack Clement's home movies of Johnny Cash smoking sprawled out on AP Carter's grave; The Rolling Stones doing a righteously wasted version of "Dead Flowers" at the Marquee Club in the early '70s with one of the best Mick Taylor solos I've ever heard; The Sir Douglas Quintet doing "Mendocino" on Playboy After Dark; Ray Charles singing "You Don't Know Me" on a Brazillian television special in the early '60s; Clarence "Gatemouth" Brown playing a classic fiddle tune backed by a band which once included Jimi Hendrix on a local Nashville R&B show in the 1960s; CCR rebelling against the lip-synching rules of some TV show or another by pretending to play a giant rubber band, maracas and a washboard instead of their normal instruments.
After that, off to the Schlafly Bottleworks for some really good conversation with my pals Tom Huber and Eric Wiland, a ferocious set by Grand Champeen and a lovely turn by Dolly Varden. Overly warm, but so good hanging out with everyone and Grand Champeen came through like champs for the first time that day, but not the last.
Saturday night was featured Mic Harrison's burly roots-pop (happily with a band this time who also did a couple of their own songs which were terriffic), Scott Miller and the Commonwealth doing the kind of set that recontextualizes the material I already loved from his records, with more punch and grit. Lucero? Well, the less said the better, let's just say a number of us had an overwhelming urge to go upstairs and watch the hockey game. BR549 was a swinging, zinging dance party and Chris Scruggs (Earl Scruggs' grandson) is a *monster* of a guitar player.
And Grand Champeen tore the afterparty up with two-plus hours of every cover you wanted to hear, from "The Ace of Spades", Thin Lizzy's "Cowboy Song", Mott the Hoople's "All the Young Dudes", Dire Straits' "Walk of Life", The Only Ones' "Another Girl, Another Planet", a couple of classic Soul Asylum chestnuts I'm blanking on the name of, Billy Joel's "You May Be Right", Aerosmith's "Toys in the Attic", and on and on. People, and by people I mean me, were shaking it like they might lose it! It was the perfect end to a perfect weekend until I staggered out at 6:30a.m. to shower and catch my 9:30 plane.
Seven o'clock, eight o'clock,
nine o'clock, ten,
You wanna go home? Why, honey, when
We may never get this chance again?
Let's party for the rest of the night
--Warren Zevon, "The Rest of the Night"