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North Mississippi Allstars and Missing Cats

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Cody on washboard, Luther on drums, Malcom on bass, JoJo on keys. Not pictured: gang of female fans wearing ” More Washboard!” t-shirts.

Concert Review- NMA at Ogden Theater, Denver, CO 9/15/2012

WORLD BOOGIE FLATTENS MILE HIGH CITY!!!

( Phledge gets loose on Colfax – a street in Denver, not his latest scrip –  to commune with his heroes! – Editors)

      The opening hook of Keith Richards’ page-turning ” Life ” is the hilarious tale of Keith and Ronnie’s 400-mile drive from Memphis through west Arkansas on their way to a sold-out show in the Cotton Bowl in Dallas. The boys stop in a redneck bar, decide to get high for 40 minutes in the Men’s room, and proceed to occupy legions of the local gendarmes, the Highway Patrol, and authorities up to the Governor’s manse for the next 12 hours over the suspected contents ( not Tupelo Honey, Keith admits) of their rented ride parked outside the roadhouse.
And who sent them on this happy jaunt through country straight out of Charlie Daniels’ ” Uneasy Rider” ? As Keef says,  ” Jim Dickinson, the southern boy who played piano on “Wild Horses” , had told us that the Texarkana landscape was worth the car ride”.

Luther freestylin’ on… bass drum?.. as Malcom thumps along

Yes, that Muscle Shoals session that the Stones casually threw into their tour gave us        ” Wild Horses” and ” Brown Sugar”,  and later nearly caused a riot in Dallas had Keef and Ronnie missed the gig just for a  maintenance dose of that pharmaceutical Merck blow in the boys’ room. Jim Dickinson, a Memphis session pianist, had fortuitously been invited to the top-secret session at Jimmy Johnson’s studio, and struck up a kinship with Keef over the latter’s newfound affinity for southern country music, spurred by Keef’s time with Gram Parsons, who was not in Muscle Shoals, despite stories over the years. As Jim says,        ” Well, hell, if Gram Parsons had been there, I certainly would never have played the piano; it would have been him” .   And leave it to Jim to straighten out that perpetual controversy over the second verse of ” Brown Sugar, and the name ” Skydog Slaver”: ” Skydog is what they called Duane Allman in Muscle Shoals, because he was high all the time. And Jagger heard somebody say it, and he thought it was a cool word so he used it”.

Musicians in Southern towns like Memphis, Nawlins, and Muscle Shoals in the 60s and early 70s  were living out what Patterson Hood would later call the ” duality of the Southern Thing” ( “proud of the glory; stare down the shame…”), making great music with people of all races and cultures, while the struggles of the civil rights era were taking place within small-arms range. Small independent studios like Stax in Memphis and Fame in Muscle Shoals produced a stunning array of great songs by black and white artists, and might arguably have been the genesis, along with Nashville, of what is known as Americana today. Jim Dickinson emerged from this musical melting pot with a simple, direct sense of what ” good music” sounds like, and he became a well-known session player and producer. “I may not be the world’s best piano player, but I’ll put my taste up against anybody’s”. Jim located his family in Hernando, Mississippi, in the Hill Country populated by blues greats like Fred McDowell, R.L. Burnside, Kenny Brown, and Junior Kimbrough. To Jim’s amazement, his two sons grew up to not only embrace this music, but to play with and befriend the legends who were eager to see their historic sound not only honored, but updated by the young instrumental wizards. Jim nurtured the boys, produced their records, and mentored them as respectful students of a worthy genre of American music.

Jim was a tireless advocate for artists, and would often close cover letters  sent with the latest tapes or CDs to promoters and media outlets by saying, ” World Boogie is coming!”  Most figured this meant music as an irresistible unifying force. But as several have pointed out, surely Jim thought that World Boogie was already here. He passed in August, 2009, and the boys produced and recorded a great CD send-off to him, ” Keys to the Kingdom”.

I first saw the NMA about eight years ago in Minny with Gebippe at the famous Cabooze. Yes, that’s a train caboose, now a club. He’d turned me on to the “Electric Blue Watermelon” CD and I was anxious to see the boys live in a small venue. Luther turned out to be a revelation: a truly great slide player and compelling singer despite limited range. Cody was like a backwoods Charlie Watts on drums: always driving the sound, but never in the way. The younger Dickinson also played a nasty guitar himself, and blew out the crowd with his amplified washboard soloing. The bassist Chris Chew thumped along like a pulsating coffeepot, and stepped out for a soulful uptempo version of Al Green’s ” Love and Happiness”.  Gebippe and I later saw them opening for and backing John Hiatt at the Ogden in Denver, followed by shows over the years at the Freebird in Jax, the Boulder Theater, the Greeley Blues Festival, the Bluebird in Denver, and a memorable night at the Orange Peel in Asheville where we stood so close that Big Chew was hitting on my date, the Notorious Pamalama. I came to love and respect not only their artistry, but their integrity. They were playing exactly what they wanted to play, with no apparent concern for current trends or commercial appeal.

So when I heard they were coming to town, I called in several.. um, favors, and scored VIP for me and Il Padrone, my driver and consigliere. As we stood on Colfax outside the Ogden for our early entry, up walked Cody and JoJo, the keyboard player for the opener Missing Cats. The skinny Cody could not have been more gracious, stopping to chat with fans, and inviting us all in. We got to attend the soundcheck and see the boys working out endings to songs, and some cool improvising of the finale to the Stones’ ” Can’t You Hear Me Knockin’?”. I recognized Lightnin’ Malcom, whom I’d seen at Springing the Blues with Cedric Burnside doing Hill Country tunes, standing in for Chew on bass. Chew has had health issues of late, but is expected back soon ( See our Calendar page for update – Ed.). Then the Missing Cats did their soundcheck, as we realized that the NMA would be backing the Cats’ opening set. Hey, the mo’ Dickinsons, the mo’ betta!

Malcom, Luther and JoJo at soundcheck

After the soundcheck, the boys came offstage to meet the alleged VIPs and sign posters, and you would have thought they were the neighborhood garage band stopping by to make sure they weren’t playing too loud. Just a pair of nice Southern boys genuinely happy to see people show up to hear them play. Rendered dumbstruck in their presence, I was luckily able to mutter some thanks for coming to Colorado before they strolled backstage.

The Cats’ set was quite inspired, with JoJo Herman on keys and Sherman Ewing on guitar backed by Luther and Cody. The Cats harmonized nicely on a number of clever originals, and left space for Luther to solo on several tunes. I would love to have heard their CD,       ” Larry Brown Amen” before the show to catch the tunes quicker; it’s got some catchy stuff.

After a short intermission, the Dickinsons returned with Lightnin’ Malcom and kicked into a rolling set of classic Hill Country tunes like ” Drop Down Mama”, ” Skinny Woman”, and       ” Po’ Black Maddie”, and threw in originals like “This A Way”, ” Shake”, and the rearranged cover of Dylan’s ” Memphis Blues Again”. Cody wailed on the washboard, and traded licks on guitar with Luther. Malcom and Luther each took a spin on the drum kit, and JoJo came on to add depth near the end of the set. The crowd had swelled rapidly once the NMA walked on, and was now wildly rocking along to the rolling, irresistible beat, as Luther tailored the R.L. Burnside ” Georgia Women”  lyrics to the venue:

” I don’t know, but I been told: them Denver women… got a sweet jelly roll..”

Cody, Luther, Malcom, and JoJo

Much to the delight of the crowd, many of whom were hardcore fans who had followed the band on previous swings through the state, and had memorized the Boulder Fox Theater recording that the band self-released, ” Boulderado”. The fans roared the band back for an encore of more thumping bass, driving skins, and wailing slide until… the lights came on, and a magical night of music was a pounding memory in the brain. How had it passed so quickly?
The crowd shuffled out, heads shaking in amazement. World Boogie had arrived.

Phledge has been returned from VIP to Mere Poobah, and we’re all the better for it! – Ed.

Tab Benoit

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Tab Benoit and Luther Dickinson

Concert Review- Tab Benoit at Armstrong Hall, Colorado College, Colorado Springs, CO 9/14/2012

Our mountain correspondent Nanker Phledge gets his Double Secret Probation terminated in time for a supervised return to the rock show!

” Gotta like that 3:2 ratio”, I nodded with approval as I pocketed the coupon tickets from co-promoter George Whitesell and headed across the street to La’au’s Taco Shop for my complimentary three tacos and two beers. Having conned the clueless Editors into buying me a $40 ticket to the show– quite reasonable for a fine artist like Tab in today’s inflated ticket market- I was regaling in the fine VIP package arranged by George and Amy and looking forward to cashing in not only my coupons, but those of my recently-jettisoned ahem, escort, whom I’d sent on a fool’s errand once we hit the campus. ( How many times will they fall for that, ” how bout running in and getting us some lotto tix while I circle the block?”).  Now, six tacos and four beers, that’s what I’m talkin’ about! So I skipped across the street to La’au’s , grabbed the first two beers and a clever upright stand loaded with three tasty chicken tacos, and settled in to some great Hill Country-style blues from Grant Sabin. His set was yet another VIP perk, and when he strummed into R. L. Burnside’s  ” Po Black Maddie”, even Luther Dickinson himself would have been proud. Tacos, beer, and blues – what a concept!

Thankfully, I had scouted the venue after picking up my tickets, and knew that there was no food or drink available inside Armstrong Hall. Much less beer! Though a fine, acoustically pleasant space, it was much more akin to a recital or lecture hall than a concert venue. This sterile atmosphere would come into play later, as Tab would struggle to fit his gumbo and po’ boys act into the wine and cheese confines of the theater. It’s a truism of pain management and anti-inflammation that even the best meds will come up short if they have to come from behind. You have to stay ahead of the beast! Cagey concert veterans know that in situations like this, you better pre-medicate. Or pocket some Alice B. Toklas! Knowing that at least two hours of enforced sobriety lay ahead, I pounded the next round of Yellow Flag beers and wobbled across the street to my nicely reserved VIP section.

Tab was booked into Armstrong Hall in tiny, tony Colorado College after a great show at Stargazers Amphitheater last year. He plays Colorado frequently in the summer, and has a core of fans of all ages who love his Cajun-flavored, uptempo blues-rock. He’s tall, handsome, talented, and charming. Women frequently interrupt his short breaks during well-paced sets to ask that he remove articles of clothing, like he’s Tom Jones in the Sixties or something. He plays only what he likes, makes a good living, and makes people happy with his music. It can’t suck very hard to be Tab Benoit.

But Tab is a Loozianna country boy who wears jeans and doesn’t tuck in that Western shirt. He grabs guitar picks from the huge open jaws of a plastic gator head perched atop an amp, like his Mom was Polk Salad Annie. He plays a beatup Fender that looks like the woodshop class bandsawed it out of the desk you carved your initials into in kindergarden. His lyrics and music are from the swamps of the bayou, where nature reduces all to the most basic elements, like an all-day gumbo simmered down to the cast iron pot.

Grant Sabin goes Hill Country for the pre-show crowd at La’au’s Taco Shop

Sadly,  when I stumbled back across the street inside Armstrong Hall, the atmosphere was almost librarian. No drinks, no food, and strangely, no rest rooms on the same floor as the concert hall. Obviously not designed to accomodate beer drinking rock fans!

Tab Benoit

Tab disrupts study hall at Armstrong

The venue seemed to place the crowd in a sedated state. Tab joked that the house was eerily quiet, and that he felt like he was ” interruptin’ somebody studyin’ “. He remarked that he had played the Springs many times, in many joints, but this was ” the cleanest”. The blues-rockin’ Cajun wailed on that battered Fender, charging through several up-tempo rollers from his repertoire of crowd-raising songs, to no apparent effect. Though he had earlier played off several hollered requests– “not yet”- he began imploring the crowd to call for favorites:  “Now, how many times can you call out and have an artist do what you want? If you call Lady Gaga and ask her not to wear the meat suit, she’s still gonna wear it!”

Tab cools the raging cougars gathering stage front!

Things finally got to jumpin’ as Tab launched into ” Night Train ” and several numbers from his ” Medicine ” CD, with its message – ” bring me my medicine”- that anyone could get behind. He closed out the set with a bang, and blazed though a too-short encore that saw the crowd finally get involved and dance in front of the stage.

All aboard Tab’s ” Night Train ” !

You don’t spoon gumbo from fine china, and you don’t pour an Abita into crystal. Tab played a great, enthusiastic set in a hall that would be better suited for a chamber quartet recital, and never quite connected with the audience as a result. Artists like Tab feed off the energy from the room, and play better as a result. Catch Tab in a down-home venue where you don’t have to cross the street to get a beer!

( Memo to staff: please audit Phledge’s expense account — Editors)

Final Thoughts from the 2012 Americana Music Festival

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Kinky and Jesse

Kinky Friedman and Jesse Dayton

The Trishas all female band from Texas. Vavavavoom!!

(Having returned safely to his Northern manse, Correspondent Harry Gebippe offers these final observations, opinions, and ruminations about the just-completed 2012 Americana Music Festival in Nashville.)
– The $50 wristband is the best live music investment of the year, with more bands for the buck than you’ll get anywhere this side of a free festival. At about a half-dozen showcase and special events per day for 4 days, it works out to about 2 bucks per performance. When was the last time you saw John Hiatt for 2 bucks? Or Richard Thompson? Or Brandi Carlile? Heck, even Kinky Friedman was demanding a $45 cover when he appeared in Minneapolis recently!
– Old Guys Rule! John Hiatt slayed, Rodney Crowell put on a terrific festival-closing performance, and Kinky Friedman was hilariously off-color and politically incorrect (sample quip: “It’s a good thing when someone tells you, ‘Jesus loves you’ – except in a Mexican prison!”).
– Despite the appearances by Booker T, The Carolina Chocolate Drops, the gospel singing McCrary Sisters, and the integrated Stax/Volt revival band, The Bo-Keys, Americana is basically white folks’ music, as witnessed by the 99% Caucasian audiences and conference attendees.
– Big ups for the sound and stage crews at all the venues, for keeping the sets running more or less on time, and sounding great!
– Somebody paint a big bright yellow stripe on the edge of the raised platform around The Mercy Lounge’s bar, before one more person trips & sprains an ankle!
– And, while you’re at it, you could turn down the A/C at The Station Inn a tad, too!
– Revelations: Corb Lund, Brennen Leigh, Star and Micey [terrible name for a band!], Phil Madeira’s “Mercyland: Hymns for the Rest Of Us.”
– I’ll Pass On Him Next Time: Robert Ellis, Marvin Etzioni.
– Following the awards show, the tribute to Levon Helm at The Mercy Lounge was almost as star-studded an event. With a crackerjack house band providing the backup, one musician after another took to the stage to offer his/her rendition of a favorite Band song: Jason Isbell, Patterson Hood (together again!), Hayes Carll, Kurt Marschke (Deadstring Brothers), Webb Wilder, Chuck Mead (BR-549), Luther Dickinson, and more. And the celebrity spotting in the audience was, if anything, even better: Look, there goes Gary Louris of The Jayhawks! Isn’t that Jakob Dylan over there talking to Mike Mills, of R.E.M.? And I see Kelly Willis & Bruce Robison together up by the bar! Hey, it looks like Derry DeBorja and some of the rest of The 400 Unit are here with their sweeties, to support bossman Jason Isbell! Speaking of sweeties, The Mastersons showed up early to stake out a space near the bar.
– It will be nice when the mammoth Music City Center is finished next year, as the construction of this sprawling, 4-block long convention center/hotel complex disrupted the traffic flow to most of the venues. The free shuttles were a godsend, however, and, despite the $20/day cost (ulp!), The Missus and I were happy to let our vehicle sit for most of our 4-day stay.
– And, The Missus says the beds at the Sheraton are very nice.

Dispatches from the 2012 Americana Music Festival

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Rodney Crowell

Brennen Leigh – Minny hottie goes Austin
Kinky Friedman sipping “Mexican Mouthwash”
Gram Parsons’ notebooks

Americana’s Sweetheart — Tift Merritt

The Master of Disaster, John Hiatt
Jim Lauderdale with North Mississippi Allstars and David Hood
Luther Dickinson live solo at the Rutledge
Patterson Hood and Jason Isbell reunite to honor Levon
Raitt and Hiatt

(Our Northern correspondent, Harry Gebippe, has made the trek from his comfortable Upper Midwest manse, with The Missus, to Music City, USA, for the Americana Music Conference & Festival. In this, the first installment of his occasional dispatches, he offers some initial impressions).
Arriving at the Sheraton in downtown Nashville was a bit of a surreal experience. No sooner did me & The Missus trundle our bags to the front desk than we were greeted by a too-cheery concierge who was friendly & accommodating to a fault. I credit my uncanny resemblance to Lyle Lovett for the attention.
Gazing about the lobby as we checked in, we spotted Chip Taylor, the Mastersons, and a host of other folks who looked really important, but may have been there for the barber convention, too. We discovered that having made our reservation 8 months early was a real boon, as we scored a room near the top of the hotel. Why is that a boon? Not for the view (which is nice), but it gives you so many more opportunities to run into celebs (major & minor) as the elevator makes its way down to the lobby. So, we were able to chat up Jon Plantania an outstanding guitar player we saw in Austin in May, backing Chip Taylor. He was gracious to a fault & seemed genuinely interested when we plugged The Dakota Jazz Club’s singer-songwriter series for a gig for he & Chip.
After a great and CHEAP lunch at Demo’s (daily pasta specials for around $5!), The Missus and I walked around to check out some of the sites for the showcase music events, beginning after the big awards program tonight. The format for the festival is that there are about 6 showcase venues where the 100 or so artists & groups are slotted for hour-long gigs over the next 4 nights, anywhere from 3 to 5 individual shows per venue per night. We quickly learned that the massive convention facility construction project known as The Music City Center presents a formidable obstacle for walking to many of the venues South of downtown. We’ll have to see how well the circulator busses work; you’ll be the first to know.
Sitting in the lobby bar area, writing this & relaxing with a beverage, it’s clear there’s much biz being done here; lots of networking among artists & music industry types, “we should do lunch!” “when will you be in town?” “oh yeah? how is he to work with? I heard he’s kind of a dick.” etc. In other words, it could just as easily be a bar association convention. Except for the guitar cases & ironic facial hair.

Dispatch # 2: The AMA Honors & Awards Show, Ryman Auditorium, Nashville, 9/12/12.
“The GOOD stuff,” said emcee Jim Lauderdale, answering his own rhetorical question, “What is Americana music?” There was plenty of the good stuff to go around on Wednesday night, starting with the opening song, “Green Onions,” performed by Booker T. Jones (of course), with superb backing by the all-star house band (Buddy Miller, bandleader & guitar; Don Was, bass; Rami Jaffe, keys; Brady Blake, drums, and Larry Campbell, guitar/pedal steel). Richard Thompson served as a worthy substitute for Steve Cropper on lead guitar.
The song was a prelude to Booker’s receipt of the first of 3 Lifetime Achievement awards given out that night, for lifetime achievement in instrumental work. Introduced by Patterson Hood of the Drive By Truckers, who backed Booker on his “Potato Hole” release of a couple of years back, the estimable B-3 master was warm and gracious in his praise of the DBTs, both musically and for their hospitality in “taking me into their homes and dinner tables.”
The first of several unannounced cameos took place shortly thereafter, as LeeAnn Womack and Peter Cooper performed Tom T. Hall’s, “I Love,” one of the song of the year nominees. Just in time to sing the final verse, Mr. Hall himself strode onstage, to a roaring ovation from the crowd.
The show itself is run very much like a typical awards program, with the presenters reading off a list of nominees for the category in question, followed by the ritual opening of the envelope and announcement of the winner. Voting is done by the members of the AMA, the results dutifully tabulated, audited and secured by a Nashville public accounting firm. Only the Lifetime Achievement award recipients are announced in advance. Candidly, the suspense factor of the Oscars is absent, replaced by curiosity at the outcome and appreciation of the winner’s accomplishment – whoever she, he or they may be.
Like any good awards show, the presenters have as much star power as the nominees. Sam Bush and Amy Helm presented the instrumentalist of the year (to an absent Dave Rawlings); Rodney Crowell and Brandi Carlile teamed up to announce album of the year (“This One’s For Him: A Tribute to Guy Clark”); Bonnie Raitt handed Richard Thompson his Lifetime Achievment in Songwriting, and, in turn accepted her Lifetime Achievement Award for Performance from John Hiatt; the due The Civil Wars gave Jason Isbell his song of the year award for “Alabama Pines”; Sara Watkins and Jakob Dylan did the honors for the emerging artist of the year category, for The Alabama Shakes; Bruce Robison and Kelly Williis handed out the lumber (not the hardware; these are handmade plaques cut from Southern white pine) to Gillian Welch (also absent, being on tour with the aforementioned Mr. Rawlings) for artist of the yeear; and, finally, Mike Milles (R.E.M.) and Jody Stephens (Big Star, Golden Smog) did the honors for group/duo of the year, for The Civil Wars.
But the real star of the show was the music – and, oh what a night of music it was! From the poignant (Guy Clark leaning heavily on a cane to limp onstage to perform “My Favorite Picture of You”) to the hair-raising (Brittani Howard channeling Etta James with her Alabama Shakes, plus Booker T, on “Be Mine.”), the performers ran the full gamut of musical emotions. The smartly-dressed Punch Brothers’ urbane string band stylings contrasted nicely with the rural, jug band sound of The Carolina Chocolate Drops. Newcomer Robert Ellis seemed a bit overwhelmed performing his “Westbound Train” with the house band, while Justin Townes Earle exuded “I’ve been here before!” confidence when his turn came to do “You Always Look The Other Way.” A personal highlight was seeing Al Anderson in a rare public performance alongside Bonnie Raitt. Big Al left NRBQ over a decade ago, to pursue a songwriting career in Nashville.
Aside from Brittani Howard’s roof-raising vocal turn, another high energy highlight belonged to the recently reunited Maavericks, who brought the crowd to their feet with their smoking hot “Come Unto Me.” Lead singer Raul Malo possesses one of the truly golden voices of this or any other genre.
The finale was a true show-stopper, with everyone and his uncle – and a couple of walk-ons (including Emmylou Harris), joining in on a heartfelt version of “The Weight,” dedicated to the late Levon Helm. The song started with just the 3 members of Levon’s big band – daughter Amy, Teresa Williams, and Larry Campbell – singing the opening lines. The verses were handled by Emmylou, Bonnie Raitt, John Hiatt, and Brittani Howard – but, heck, by that time everyone in the audience was singing along. It gives me goose bumps just recalling it for this dispatch. It also gives me reason to come back next year, for more of this wonderful musical event.

Dispatch # 3:  The Showcase Events:

The AMA Festival is a baby boomer’s dream.  Rather than tent camping in a latter day Hooverville, one returns to the comforts of the Sheraton at the end of the day.  In lieu of standing in an open field getting sunburned with 50,000 of your closest friends, you listen to your favorite performers in air conditioned venues ranging in capacity from 150 to 1,000.  No waiting in an overheating car to leave the concert site; the AMA provides comfortable, free (but don’t forget to tip the driver!) shuttle busses that circulate between the Sheraton and the 6 showcase venues every 20 minutes or so.  Goodbye Woodstock, hello Lava Lounge!

As noted in dispatch # 1, the evening showcases are held at 6 different venues scattered around the periphery of downtown Nashville.  For those who prefer a concentrated listening experience, One Cannery Row offers 3 venues within the same complex:  The Mercy Lounge, The Cannery Ballroom, and the intimate High Watt.  The equally intimate (150 capacity) Station Inn, The Rutledge, and The Basement (below Grimey’s Records) round out the venue selection.

Plotting a strategy for the evening listening is indeed challenging.  Thursday night, for example,  Steve Forbert, Mary Gauthier, and Jim Lauderdale and the North Mississippi All Stars (featuring a rare concert appearance by Muscle Shoals session bassist David Hood) were all onstage at the same time, at different locations. Tough choices, indeed!  And, if you hop from one spot to another, will you wind up stuck behind a pillar, craning your neck to see over the early arrivals who staked out their turf when the night was young?  The Missus and I made such a calculated decision last night, ducking out of a special staging of Phil Madeira’s “Mercyland” at the downtown Prebyterian Church (before Emmylou made her appearance) in order to ensure a good spot for the Memphis Music Showcase event at the Rutledge.  I’m glad we did, as we scored the absolute best seats in the house, behind and above Mr. Soundman, dead center, with an unobstructed view of the stage. Kudos to Frank & the rest of the crew for the excellent audio all night, despite the challenge of switching from Luther Dickinson’s solo set all the way up to the 15 – 17 member Big Star Tribute finale!

What is equally impressive about the showcases is how closely the schedule is followed.  Performers are slotted in every hour on the hour, which means the sets are generally 45 minutes long, to allow time to change the stage for the next act.  The busses run on time, the performers hit the stage on time – what’s not to like, Boomers?  Just be sure to get in a nap in the afternoon, as you’re likely to be up even after Conan signs off.  Trust me, it’s an event well worth altering your sleep habits over.

Dispatch # 4, The Special Events:
As if the awards program and evening music showcases weren’t enough, the AMA and its affiliates also sponsor a number of events during the day, to keep both conference attendees and music fans occupied. [A brief explanation is in order: the full title of this 4-day bash is “The Americana Music Festival and Conference.” The conference part is just like any other profession or trade group convention; registrants pay a fee and attend seminars and workshops throughout the day, dealing with all aspects of the music industry. For those of us not registered for the conference itself, the seminars and workshops are off limits, but a $50 wristband purchase gains you access to virtually everything else, including all evening music showcases.]
Thursday, Sept. 13, was an especially busy day, with everything from radio interviews to a free outdoor concert headlined by The Wallflowers. The day’s events began with a wide-ranging interview of Lifetime Achievement award winner Booker T. Jones, by Memphis author, filmmaker and music fan, Robert Gordon. The interview mode continued with the self-described “Loon in the Afternoon,” Mojo Nixon, holding forth on Sirius radio with the likes of Richard Thompson, Jason Isbell and Steve Forbert. As the conference proper wound down for the day, there was a listening party at the Sheraton, celebrating the “sisterhood” between Music City USA and Australia’s Tamworth Music Festival. “Sisters Are Doing It . . .” featured Aussie performers Kasey Chambers, Shane Nicholson, and Kim Richey, among others.
Singer/songwriter Chip Taylor (“Wild Thing,” “Angel of the Morning”) was featured in an event co-sponsored by Rootsy, and Chip’s label, Train Wreck Records. At roughly the same time, unfortunately, was a stirring event at the Central Presbyterian Church downtown: a live staging of Phil Madeira’s “Mercyland: Hymns For The Rest Of Us,” alluded to in Dispatch # 3. The project was inspired by Madeira listening to various supposedly “Christian” broadcasts while on the road as a member of Emmylou Harris’s touring band. He collaborated with a number of other artists to create an album of songs that, while not always overtly religious, proclaim basic Christian values. You know – love your neighbor, care for those less fortunate than you, respect differences in people – all that fundamental stuff that the fundamentalists have lost sight of. It was an inspiring event in an inspirational setting.
More fun stuff on Friday: another Sirius radio event celebrating the music of Nick Lowe, listening parties sponsored by New Frontier artist managament (Darrell Scott, et al.) and Red Beet Records (Mary Gauthier, among others), and a very special showing of Gram Parsons’ notebooks and journals, co-sponsored by the online roots music magazine No Depression, the Hard Rock Cafe, the Gram Parsons Foundation and the Sin City Social Club. While various artists interpreted the late Flying Burrito Brother’s songs onstage, attendees were able to view an open copy of one of Gram’s many leather-bound journals (under protective glass) and watch as pages of his hand-written notes, drawings, lyrics and set lists were projected on screens throughout the bar. The Missus and I felt very privileged to be among the first people in the world to view the chronicle of this tragic but highly influential artist.
But, it’s time to wrap this up & head out to take in some of today’s offerings. Let’s see, what will it be? Songwriter Sessions with Richard Thompson and Tift Merritt at the Country Music Hall of Fame? An outdoor “Musicians Corner” concert featuring Sam Bush, Hoots & Hellmouth & others? The Lone Star Music magazine party headlined by erstwhile Texas gubernatorial candidate, Kinky Friedman? I know! We’ll catch a free circulator bus out to Grimey’s Records on the West End, for the day-long Americanarama V, with live music, food & record & CD specials all day long. See you at the showcases tonight!

Levon Helm – a conversation

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Two of our contributing editors link up for a dialogue on the recent passing of Levon Helm, the legendary drummer/singer/songwriter for The Band:

Phledge: Though my memory is foggy, I did see Levon and The Band backing Dylan on the Basement Tapes tour at the old Spectrum in South Philly during college. It’s ironic that many of us got to know Levon through a venture that he came to despise, the Scorcese documentary ” The Last Waltz”, chronicling The Band’s farewell show at Bill Graham’s joint in San Fran. Great movie that Levon never got paid a dime for, as chronicled in his book, ” This Wheel’s On Fire”.  According to Levon, Robbie Robertson and Scorcese controlled everything, and Robbie gave away the band’s performance without cutting them in.

But Levon spread a lot of love the rest of his days, beating cancer twice and making a couple great records at the very end. I saw him at the Times Union Center a year or so ago, and it was such a joy just to see him walk out and wave to the crowd. He always seemed humbled and inspired by the music he played.  His friends are doing a huge  “Love for Levon” show in East Rutherford, NJ on October 3, and the lineup is star-studded. If you’re in the area, check it out!

Always loved Levon’s voice. On the “Dirty South” DVD, you can hear Mike Cooley say,       ” Let me introduce you to the voices in my head… Paul Rogers, Levon Helm, and David Barbe..”  Levon’s version of Randy Newman’s ” Kingfish” on that last CD is just perfect!

Gebippe:  I can’t claim to have seen Levon with The Band, back in the day, but I was thrilled to see him a couple of times in recent years with his big band.  I think it gave him a great deal of joy to be able to tour with his daughter, Amy, and it was evident when they played & sang together in the smaller ensembles that the joy was mutual.  Has there ever been a more fun horn section than the bunch of guys that played in that band?  I loved seeing Howard Johnson; it brought to mind his tuba playing on another early 70’s classic live recording, Taj Mahal’s “The Real Thing,” especially the track Ain’t Gwine to Whistle Dixie (No Mo).”  These guys are real treasures and their music was an integral part of our formative years.  We owe it to them to see them, cheer for them, and enjoy their music every chance we get.

Phledge:   He seems to have touched many lives; it’s like he had a whole new career after beating cancer. Joe Walsh stopped his show to say, ” I lost a great friend… I’m not okay with his passing, but it helps me to play this..”, prior to a sweet version of ” Will the Circle Be Unbroken?”. Mavis Staples insisted on leading the crowd in chanting his name during her Red Rocks show.

I fondly remember the look on Levon’s face when he walked onstage at the Times Union Center and waved to the crowd. He seemed happier to see us!

Gebippe:  I saw Nick Lowe the night before Levon’s death, when it was clear that the end was coming.  He, too, dedicated a song to Levon (wish I could remember which one), with a “Good on ya, Mate!”  I’m looking forward to the close of the Americana Music Festival awards program in Nashville on Sept. 12, where an “all-star cast” will offer a full-on tribute to the late Band member.  How fitting!  A pretty good argument could be made that The Band was the ORIGINAL Americana band!

Phledge: I struggle with these genres all the time; what does it mean to say ” this is an Americana band” ?

( Gebippe’s espistles from Americana should answer that question. See the next post!- Ed.)

Carolyn Wonderland

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Carolyn Wonderland, Dakota Jazz Club, Minneapolis, MN, 8/31/12

(We close out the month of August with this review from our Northern correspondent, Harry Gebippe)

She’s a spunky, sassy redhead with a soulful voice and formidable blues guitar chops. Bonnie Raitt? you say? Guess again: the ginger in question is Ms. Carolyn Wonderland.
A native Texan, Ms. Wonderland (nee Bradford) grew up in the Houston area, where she made several albums with her band, The Imperial Monkeys, and garnered a number of awards from the local press. But, like all good Texas musicians (not to mention those from the rest of the country), she eventually gravitated to Austin, where she has since become a regular on the lively bar circuit there.
A nearly sold-out house greeted the Wonder Woman when she and her band (Rob Hooper on drums, Cole El-Saleh on key bass and keys) took the stage at The Dakota – a testament to the buzz created by her show-stopping performance there earlier this year. She opened on lap steel, with a slow-burning version of the old Canned Heat chestnut,      “On The Road Again”, with its John Lee Hooker beat. Showing off her impressive vocal range, she then offered up the title track to her 2008 release, Miss Understood, going from a cat-like purr to a throw-your-head-back-and-lean-away-from-mike howl. One more tune on the lap steel, before switching to the Telecaster for the remainder of the set,”Jack of Diamonds”, was done in classic Texas blues style (think T-Bone Walker). Ms. Wonderland’s guitar style brings to mind that of another great Austin-based blues player; the late Stevie Ray Vaughn. Eschewing a pick, Carolyn doesn’t so much play the guitar as attack it, grabbing at the strings with an open hand, as if trying to pull the notes from the instrument.
She fleshed out the set with a mix of choice covers (Los Lobos’ “Angel Dance”, and The Staples’ “Keep Your Eyes On The Prize”) and originals, including”I’m The Man”, inspired, she said, by having been awakened one night by a telemarketer’s call, asking for the man of the house. Introducing Lennon & McCartney’s “Two Of Us”, Ms. Wonderland noted that their current tour ended two days hence, at which time they’d all return to our apartments, cats, and undone laundry. In addition to her vocal and instrumental prowess, Ms. Wonderland is one heckuva whistler, leading her bandmates through a 3-part whistled refrain to that wistful Beatles tune. Switching gears, she next offered up one of the first songs Janis ever wrote, “What Good Can Drinkin’ Do?” channeling the late Port Arthur native’s trademark powerhouse vocal style to great emotional effect.
The second set showcased Ms. Wonderland’s multi-instrumental talent to full effect, adding mandolin (the original tune, “Shine On”, and a cover of Hendrix’s, “The Wind Cries Mary”) and trumpet (a cumbia, whose title I missed, as well as a song she co-wrote with Ray Benson of Asleep At The Wheel, titled “Walk On”) to her earlier repertoire. Her introduction to “Only Women Bleed” was both funny ( “This song proves that Alice Cooper was a feminist..” ) and poignant (noting that current Texas Governor and one-time Republican presidential hopeful Rick Perry had recently de-funded health care for the poorest 500,000 women in Texas. ).
For her finale, Ms. Wonderland chose the Larry Campbell-penned tune, “When I Go Away”, recorded by Levon Helm on his last studio album before his death earlier this year. She spoke reverently and humbly about what a privilege it was for her to have been a part of some of Levon’s legendary Midnight Rambles at his farm in Woodstock, NY. As the audience clapped along, Ms. Wonderland rose and led her bandmates offstage, to an a cappella version of the final chorus,  “And the sun’s gonna shine through the shadows/When I go away..”   Good bye, Carolyn Wonderland! Hurry back!

BB King

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Concert Review- BB King at Red Rocks, August 30, 2012

    On Thursday night at 10pm Eastern in Tampa, Florida, and 8pm Mountain in Morrison, Colorado, two iconic entertainers simultaneously took the mike two thousand miles apart and took their audiences on a strange, though not wholly unexpected trip. I awoke Saturday to a phone call from my old trail boss Gil Favor back East, who knows not what time zone I am in. “He was really out there… I had to call you”. I couldn’t tell what he was talking about, but then when he said, “he didn’t know his limitations”, I knew. The Harry Callahan reference ( ” A man’s got to know his limitations”) jogged a memory of an online blurb about Clint Eastwood going strange at the Republican convention. Gil and I spent many Sunday mornings watching the young Clint as the trail drive ramrod Rowdy Yates in  ” Rawhide ” reruns on WGN from Chicago. We are huge fans of his artistry, but rarely his politics.

Firing up the Dell, there it was, already the most e-mailed story on the NY Times site, revealing that Clint had been secretly given the prime slot before Willard’s acceptance speech, and delivered what the Times called ” the most bizarre, head-scratching 12 minutes in recent political convention history”, consisting of a “rambling conversation with an empty chair” that twice descended off-color and would be described by a furious Romney’s aides as “strange” and “theater of the absurd”. As I begged the modem to download the video and watch for myself, I imagined a senile Eastwood reprising his  “Rawhide” role and rounding up the convention hall of GOP pachyderms as if they were a herd of beevs on their way to Sedalia, and driving them out onto the streets of Tampa to graze in his own ” high and wide” pastures. But Clint didn’t just hijack a meeting; we’ve all been victims of that at some level. Oh no. Clint hijacked Mitt’s nomination moment. He took everyone off on a strange, meandering trip of the unscripted sort that terrifies the Romney handlers, and made himself the trend on the internet and TV the next morning instead of Mitt.

And the best part was, according to the Times, that Romney’s top aides so trusted ( read that, “sucked up to”) Clint that, unlike any other speaker, “they did not conduct rehearsals or insist on a script or communicate guidelines for the style or format of his remarks.” Clint was scheduled to speak for five minutes, and took twelve. He ignored the teleprompter, and instead pretended to interview an empty chair. He even kept going when they flashed a blinking red light signalling that his time was up. Not once, but twice, he purported to explain to the chair that neither Mitt, nor he, was able to perform an autonomous sex act.  “I can’t tell him that, he can’t  do that to himself”. ” I can’t do that to myself”, he smilingly chirped to the empty chair. But in defense of the cowering RNC heads, imagine the pre-show moment when the top guys finger some local hack whose political fortunes are in such decline that he can be sacrificed for the job of approaching Clint to find out what the hell he plans to say in the immediate run-up to Mitt’s big moment:

Hack: ” Uh, Clint, we..uh, don’t know what you’re going to say, and we’re..”

Clint:  ” Get off my lawn..”

Hack:  ” Umm, Clint, I’m not in your yard, we’re in your dressing room, and we wondered..”

Clint:  ” Didn’t you see ‘Gran Torino’?”

Hack: ” Thanks, I’ll be going….”

Yes, apparently no one in the GOP war room had the stones to insist that Clint tell them what he planned to do, say, or perform with the chair he requested at the last minute. And in a signature gesture of meeting pirates everywhere, Clint even pimped Mitt’s moment to hype his own brand, leading the conventioners in a “Dirty Harry” call-and-response of ” Go ahead, make my day” to close out his show, to roaring applause.

At the same moment in a galaxy far, far away from Tampa, the great BB King gingerly strode onstage at Red Rocks in tiny Morrison, Colorado. Having seen BB twice recently, I knew that he would be seated throughout, would tell  a lot of stories we’d heard before, and hopefully deliver a few magical moments of the most distinctive blues guitar playing of my lifetime: that ringing bell tone and shivering vibrato that many imitate, but few ever approach. But this show was tenuous. The pre-show email directed ticketholders to arrive by 8pm because BB would be opening the show, not the lower-billed Tedeschi/Trucks Band, as if to say that ” visiting hours are over at 9 and Mr. King will be going to bed”. This is to be expected when you’re 86 years old and still playing hundreds of shows per year. BB has earned the right to do as he pleases, and can keel over onstage when he’s ready if that’s how he wants to go out. But I have to wonder, does he really want to go out like this?

I first saw BB on a bill with Bobby ” Blue” Bland at the former Civic Aud in Jacksonville back in the early 80s. They played a 7pm and a 9:30pm show, and what a scene it was. The sisters were dressed to the nines, the men had their best shoes shined, and the bands all came out in tuxes and evening wear. BB sang and played until midnight, and was wildly received. Soon after, I saw him at the Florida Theater with Derek Trucks opening, but then it was years later when I saw him in the new Moran Theater on the site of the old Aud. With the passage of time, he had aged considerably, though still played with brilliant joy.

But when you get an email warning you that he’s opening the show, despite being the headliner, and to be there by 8pm or you might miss him, you start to wonder. Then, when you’re worried if he can walk from the wings to his chair onstage, and you’re relieved when he does so without falling, you start to question. But what got me was his “don’t call what you’re wearin’ an” outfit. His Majesty, the King of the Blues, was wearing what looked like one of those hospital gowns with no back that freeze your ass, or at best, his pajamas. This only served to reinforce the image of BB being wheeled from the lockdown unit at the Senior Center to the backstage entry at Red Rocks, on a brief hall pass with an expiration hour, not date. Now I know that Mike Cooley went straight from the tourbus to the stage in his pajamas at First Avenue due to the late encore by the hometown Hold Steady during the “Rock and Roll Means Well” tour, but that was way after midnight. BB was rockin’ his jammies at the start of the show, or so it appeared. Having seen him nattily attired in tuxes and tailored suits over the years, it was a bit embarassing, despite my buddy Pat’s insistence that it was ” a Hawaiian shirt”.

But that paled compared with the cringe inducement to follow. After purporting to introduce the band, BB audibly insisted to one of this assistants onstage that he ” did everyone”, despite obviously overlooking the long-time horn player who had done the voiceover for BB’s entry — just as he had when I saw them back in the 80s! After a couple numbers where BB was able to share brief moments of blissful, stinging notes, he began a medley, if you will, of treachly singalongs that reached its nadir with ” You Are My Sunshine”.

There are moments in most shows when a cagey vet knows to head for the restroom because you’re not going to miss anything onstage. Drum solos are an obvious choice. Any drum solo performed after Ginger Baker’s ” Toad ” on Cream’s ” Wheels of Fire” LP is, and has been, redundant and intolerably boring. A great time to hit the head! Another safe bet is any instrumental solo where the lead singer or guitarist unplugs and walks offstage. If they’re not sticking around for this, why should you? But BB had brought a double restroom whammy here – a juvenile singalong to musical cotton candy. BB, you’re better than that! Remember what Townes Van Zant told Steve Earle: ” There are two kinds of music. There’s the blues, and there’s zippity doo-dah”.  The sight and sound of blues royalty laying on that doo-dah was way too much for me. I took in the scenery overlooking the Mile High City, gazed back at the long line that had since formed at the men’s room, and strolled back in when I thought the coast was clear.

BB managed to rally from this stupor to play several bars and sing several verses of his finale, including a credible version of ” The Thrill Is Gone”. In gracious fashion, he took pains to treat several disabled fans seated in front to souvenirs and waved greetings, and sincerely lauded the Tedeschi/Trucks show to follow. His kick-ass band slammed through his exit serenade, and fans everywhere turned to each other while BB waved goodbye, saying ” this might be the last time we see him!”

I’m glad I was there. It pained me to see him in fragile health, and his face lacked the joy that I’d seen in earlier shows. BB has always lived to tour, and maybe he still likes playing 300 dates a year. Maybe he figures he can wear what he pleases, and play silly fluff if the old ladies want to sing along. Maybe none of this seems beneath him, and maybe he doesn’t care. But I got the same sickening feeling listening to ” You Are My Sunshine” that I did watching Dirty Harry struggling to debate with an empty chair. Is there no one in their ear who has the guts to tell them they’re embarassing themselves? BB is the steam engine pulling a long train of musicians, roadies, managers, helpers, and pencil pushers, all of whom earn a tidy living when the Gravy Train is on the tracks. Will any of them say,    ” Hey BB, why aren’t we playing something from the old greats instead of this crap?” And certainly the RNC and Mitt’s handlers were too busy counting the dollars they hoped would be tossed into the coffers to notice the partially sawed-through steering rod that would send that Gran Torino into an embankment like Sheriff Pusser’s patrol vehicle. None of them even had the temerity to ask Clint what he was going to say; apparently, no one in Clint’s ear did, either.

— Nanker Phledge would be happy to take BB’s spot on the unit

John Hiatt

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CONCERT REVIEW- John Hiatt at Arvada Center, August 29, 2012

” I thought we were gonna make that bridge; what do I know? Me and my expectations was always high” — John Hiatt, ” My Old Friend”

     When I caught up with my old school chum Harry Gebippe at the reunion in ’03, I reminded him of his music guru status and asked who he’d been listening to. Although I knew of John Hiatt, and loved his ” Perfectly Good Guitar” CD, Harry’s ringing endorsement of Hiatt as “The Man” inspired me to check out his catalog, and begin trying to see him live. Aided by Gebippe’s assemblage of a Hiatt mix CD loaded with gems- as the surfers used to say, “all killer, no filler” – I began to not only wildly enjoy, but humbly admire Hiatt as an artist of great integrity and dedication to his craft.

Soon after, I was able to catch Hiatt at the Florida Theater in Jacksonville, backed by the Goners ( great name!), including arguably the best slide guitar player of our day, Sonny Landreth. Hiatt’s energy, animated expressions, and compelling songs lifted the show beyond a mere concert, and I was hooked. In a typically humble moment, Hiatt thanked a “little redheaded girl (Bonnie Raitt)” who ” recorded this song and put my daughters through college”, before tearing into a jumpin’ version of ” Thing Called Love”.  Later, Gebippe and I caught The Man in a memorable show at the Ogden in Denver, backed by his old friend and producer Jim Dickinson’s boys Luther and Cody’s North Mississippi Allstars. Hiatt’s daughter, a recent graduate from Denver U., was in the house, and her Pop proudly told of how she had prodded him, a Grammy-winning songwriter, to finally get his G.E.D. that year so they could “graduate together”. By this time, Hiatt had become an old friend that I hadn’t quite met, but somehow knew, and could be called upon for advice, inspiration, or insight as needed. So much so, that at this point, I must withdraw from writing this review because I cannot possibly be objective about an artist that I admire so much.

Right!  As if you came here for objectivity!

I later caught the great “Songwriters” tour with John, Lyle Lovett, Joe Ely, and Guy Clark, where the four masters sat on stools and traded songs on the fly, with no set list and improvised pairings, and shows at the Zoo in Minneapolis with Shawn Colvin and in Jacksonville again with his new band, The Combo. So it was with the great expectation noted above that I gleefully scored great seats at the lovely Arvada Center to catch The Man on his latest tour.

The new band, the Combo, is dimmed only by comparison with his former backing. Hiatt has had the gravitas to attract a stream of excellent musicians, most notably a series of sixstring slingers that include the esteemed aforementioned Mr. Landreth, the Hill Country wizard Luther Dickinson, and the little-known Michael Ward, who tore up the landscape on the ” Perfectly Good” CD and the fabulous Austin City Limits DVD during the same era. These guys provided a sonic alternative to Hiatt’s rhythmic strumming and singing, and set off the lyrics with soaring fills and runs. The new band played all of the old stuff very well, but several of the arrangements either seemed to lack fire, or were played at a tempo that was, shall we say, more restrained than the original versions. The breathtaking pace of the live CD version of ” Tennesse Plates”, with its getaway-car careening down Pikes Peak with no brakes feel, was replaced by a loping version that had little edge, and felt more like a Sunday drive than a desperate flight to avoid prison.  The arrangement of the joyful          ” Memphis in the Meantime” was similarly tepid, leaving me to fear that John was tired, or worse yet, feeling old, and that maybe those days of inspired shows had come to an end. Surely, his voice was not as strong as I recalled, and the ventures into his high register less frequent. I’d never seen him wear a hat throughout a show; was this the Old Man Hiatt finally showing up?

But the Man came through, rousting us with fine versions of ” Drive South”, ” Cry Love”, “Slow Turnin'”, and ” Riding With the King” , as well as  a great uptempo re-working of his usual show closer, ” Have A Little Faith In Me”. And during his intro to ” Thing Called Love”, Hiatt revealed that he was honored to have been chosen to present that ” little redheaded girl” with a Lifetime Achievement award at the upcoming Americana Festival in Nashville on September 14. ( This event to be covered by Mr. Gebippe himself! – Editors).  I hope he’ll mention putting the girls through college! And what a neat closing of the circle between the two great artists, with Bonnie “getting (Hiatt) started” by recording John’s song, and John presenting Bonnie with a career honor. Sweet!

So my dear friend John, I’ll promise to not expect you to act like you’re a young man anymore, and as you’ve implored in song, I’ll have a little faith in you. Thanks for a great show, brother!

– your humble correspondent Phledge

Tedeschi / Trucks Band

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Fresh from the center of the musical universe, Morrison, CO, comes the latest from Phledge–

CONCERT REVIEW: Tedeschi / Trucks Band at Red Rocks, August 30, 2012

When Derek Trucks was 15 years old, I saw him open a show for blues legend BB King at the Florida Theater in Jacksonville. At the time, BB was riding the long-overdue resurgence of blues music, finally getting his due as an artist and performer, and playing with mega-acts like U2 on “ Rattle and Hum”. It was with no exaggeration that he was introduced as “ The King of the Blues”. So it was no small gesture when Riley B. invited the local kid back onstage to play a number with him, and while awash in applause afterward, cradled the wide-eyed, ballcap-wearing, barely-look-at-you teen in his arms and announced, “Just think how good he’ll be when he gets to be my age!”

The big man from Indianola, Mississippi was a freakin’ Nostradamus. It might have been last year, it might have been a couple years back, but at some point it happened, and can no longer be credibly denied: Derek Trucks is our greatest living blues guitarist.

Now, “I know what you’re thinkin’ “ ( and it’s not, “did he fire six shots, or only five?”).
You’ve heard Clapton say years back that Buddy Guy is “easily, and by far, the best living blues guitarist”. You’ve seen Jeff Beck return to touring with a vengeance, evoking memories of the trailblazing days with the Yardbirds and those two incendiary LPs with the then-unknown Scot singer Rod Stewart, “Truth” and “Beck-Ola”. You’ve seen guys like Joe Bonamassa and Warren Haynes play with speed and feeling that, for the moment, seems untouchable. But spend one night listening to Derek, either with the fine TT Band that blasted Red Rocks last night, or with the ridiculously talented Allmans lineup that also includes Haynes, and I dare you to tell me that anyone is better.

And with my favorite female blues singer, the other half of the First Coast First Family of
the Blues, Derek’s wife Susan Tedeschi, scorching the landscape with vocals that Janis, Aretha, or Billie would embrace, this is one formidable band before they even leave the house to head for the gig. Add the Allmans’ bassist Oteil Burbridge and his brother Kofi on organ, sterling horns and backup vocals, and the classic Allmans two-drummer attack, and you have a Dorsey or Ellington-like Big Band playing straight blues, jazz, and new landscapes in between. The sold-out crowd at Red Rocks began roaring early on, as Susan belted out gems from the Grammy-winning ( not that that means much; ask Mojo Nixon!) CD, “ Revelator”, and choice unexpected covers like George Harrison’s “ Isn’t It a Pity?”, the Elmore James classic “ Sky Is Crying” and the encore of the Bonnie Raitt signature “Give It Up”.  Susan has a deft ear for covers; when the Allmans played Red Rocks three years ago, she joined them onstage for a great version of Clapton’s Blind Faith chestnut, “ Presence of the Lord”, and two years ago at WanneeFest she wowed with a remake of the Delaney and Bonnie Bramlett rocker, “ Comin’ Home”, another
nod to Derek’s namesake, in that Clapton played on that track with Delaney and Bonnie before the “Layla” sessions. ( As Casey Stengel used to say, “you can look it up!”).

Throughout the show, Derek modestly strolls about the stage, never addressing the crowd, intently monitoring the band’s sound. His playing is frightfully fast at times, but always seems under control, and intended purely for sonic effect, not showmanship. John Mayall used to say that slow blues are the hardest to play, because your mistakes are so evident. So when the band slowed down for twelve-bar blues, or dropped volume for jazzy wandering, Derek’s skill was most apparent. And none of the annoying guitar tech running onstage with a freshly-tuned axe; Derek never put down that red guitar, and tuned his own instrument quickly between songs, or during band solos. Cool!

This band is worth seeing just for the guitar playing and singing, and the material is clearly blues-based.  But Derek is much more than a bluesman, and as noted, this band covers a lot of ground that is more jazz than rock or blues. You may have come to the show to rock out, and you may not dig everything they play, or feel like you had to hear a “banjo bass” solo before you died. But the joy of hearing an ensemble of talented musicians’ inspired playing melts away boundaries and genres, and reminds that “good music is good music”, whatever you wish to call it.

Get out and see this band. Then get back to me on that Best Guitarist thing.

Cassie Taylor

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Cassie Taylor unplugged at the Yukon 8/18/12

CONCERT REVIEW- Cassie Taylor at Yukon Rock and Roll Bar, Colorado Springs, CO 8/18/12

We interrupt our planned review of Joe Walsh’s Hudson Garden show to send Mr. Phledge’s dispatch from the front lines:

The little city of Colorado Springs is not known for tolerance, diversity, or any noticeable support of the arts. The Springs is the national headquarters for Focus on Family and over one hundred other right-wing evangelical groups, as well as the home of the Air Force Academy and the Army’s Fort Carson, neither of which has distinguished itself with any leadership on civil rights issues. Few national bands bother to book shows in the city, other than acts that play well to a rodeo crowd or a convention of holy rollers. A telling sign is a search of city bookings on pollstar.com. The search between now and April, 2013 is only two pages long; a similar search of Denver occupies 18 pages. The biggest “rock” act booked in the Springs in that time is Jackson Browne; nice, but not a rocker, and not even a bit edgy. The city has no memorable museums, galleries, or even a hip neighborhood to speak of. But it continually foists pulpit-pounding reactionaries like Ted Haggard upon the rest of the country, at least until their foibles become public. Meth and prostitutes, anyone? Is that you, Rev?

So it was with some surprise that I read the email from local blues promoter Amy Whitesell announcing that rising blues/rock singer and composer Cassie Taylor would be playing a Springs date on Saturday night. The daughter of noted Chicago bluesman Otis Taylor, Cassie gained some notoriety with her role in the “Girls With Guitars” project and CD, along with distaff rockers Samantha Fish and Dani Wilde, and is now based in Boulder, CO, a city ruled by intellectuals, hippies, and artists. Cassie probably felt like a newly arrived Martian, with her Noel Redding in 1967 hairdo, self-designed ( she has her own line of clothing) cloaked miniskirt stage attire, and take-no-prisoners attitude, as she boldly strode to the Yukon’s stage in the shadow of Peterson Air Force base and the front range of the Rockies. The venue itself might be daunting to some; walls adorned with encased Stratocasters and Flying Vs purportedly played by bands like Poison and Motley Crue, as if the Yukon were a time warped exhibit curated by the Hair Band Hall of Fame, probably located in Fort Lauderdale. Who knew that Whitesnake was still huge?

Flashing charm, defiance, and stage presence beyond her years, Cassie did several originals accompanying herself on electric piano and organ, two with only her Fender bass, then added her guitarist and drummer for the “party” portion of the set.On blues-based rockers and jazz-tinged ballads, she displayed a smooth, pliable voice that varied tone and volume easily, and she played keyboards and bass with equal aplomb.

It takes no small measure of confidence and hutzpah to play unknown original blues/rock  tunes to a skeptical crowd in a redneck town, and thankfully, this girl has no shortage of either.  Cassie quickly won over the crowd, even pulling off a re-configuration of the seating — ” there’s too much space up here, bring your chairs down front”- and the attendant audience participation that can often fall flat on its face. I ordinarily can’t stand that sort of thing at shows, and often resist on principle. Hey, I bought a ticket, drove down here, tolerated some kid who can’t grow a mustache asking me for i.d. to get a beer, and waited for you to tune up. Don’t tell me when to clap, sing along or stand up. If you can move me to do those things without prompting, great. But this isn’t Romper Room, you’re not Mister Rogers,  and I don’t need you telling me what to do at the rock show!

(Memo to Phledge’s physician- might want to titrate the dosages- Editors.)

Cassie’s winning performance in this town and venue was quite impressive. Her originals shone brightly, and appeared to be lyrically worthy of further contemplation. The stripped-down, “Unplugged”-like set break seated amongst the fans was wildly received, including her take on Hendrix’ version of Billy Roberts’  “Hey Joe” and a blistering solo by her guitarist Steve LNU, not otherwise identified and not the guitarist named on her web site. Not surprising, perhaps; she doesn’t appear to suffer fools gladly and probably goes through sidemen like most women go through shoes.  On break, Cassie breezily greeted fans and hawked wares – “we’ve got the cheapest merch around”- and appeared genuinely surprised at the positive response. The second set was delayed by the action at the merch table, and Cassie remarked that she had never sold so many CDs at a show-         ” thank you, Colorado Springs!”- a tribute to her committed performance and the stacked-house of blues fans guided to the Yukon by Amy’s tireless campaigning for blues artists. A memorable night of unexpected musical bliss in the cultural hinterland!

Due to Mr. Phledge’s walkaway, err, unauthorized furlough on Saturday evening – yes, Nanker, those photos on Cassie’s web site were pretty hot – facility rules did not permit him to attend the Joe Walsh show on Sunday. We are currently searching post-concert arrest records and ER admissions to find a suitable replacement correspondent for that review.- Editors