the high lonesome truth

Overheard while getting in line at the Rio Theatre for night two of the Rawlings Machine: "I don't know who the other guy is. His name is Rawlings. I hear he's good." What the what?!

Dave Rawlings Machine, Rio Theatre, March 25, 2009: Puhleeze don't act surprised to find this post or force me to reiterate all the goofy measures I've taken to catch David and Gillian. Besides, I'd been to the Rio previously to see Colin Meloy--this is practically my backyard. (It's not my backyard.)

However, it was no lazy day at the beach, and I had to jump through several hoops to make it to Santa Cruz at all. I had given up on the idea of arriving early enough to nab a primo spot, so I wasn't too disheartened to see the lengthy line of fans. Hey, I can't always be in front! And though I was a little disappointed to find that the show would be seated, that wasn't too surprising either. David and Gillian aren't exactly magnets for adoring teenage fans, and as it turned out, not a single hand-crocheted scarf change hands between audience and artist this evening.

I'm not sure what I expected of this gig, but I can tell you what I ultimately got: a musical performance, pure and simple. It wasn't the David and Gillian Variety Hour at Largo, featuring a steady stream of friends, nor was the audience interaction as prominent as the night before in San Francisco. Instead, we listened as David and Gillian did what they do best, with a minimum of distractions.

In the spotlight, Dave and Gillian veritably shone on several tracks, such as their own "Throw Me a Rope," their cover of "Turn Your Radio On," and Gillian's solo banjo number "Fly On." Dave threw himself so completely into "I Hear Them All" and "Big Rock Candy Mountain" that I wondered if he'd find a way out of the solos. I suspect he took a slightly more circuitous route to the Woody Guthrie section of the former, but he eventually hit that mark.

My favorite number of the night remained "Knuckleball Catcher." For one thing, I'm a sucker for music about listening to music (see also: "Sunken Treasure," "The Lonely 1," "Radio King," to name a few), so they have me on that count, but I just love how it takes the populist conceit of folk music to its very contemporary and even empowering conclusion ("a den mother can be a dashboard drummer"). And though my description sucks, the tune itself assuredly does not.

I've come to love that song for another reason: It's funny, and it lets Dave and Gillian be funny, especially in the closing duel of "do do do"s. Certainly, they've let down their hair at Largo, usually with some prodding from Jon Brion, but this may have been the loosest and most charming I've yet seen them at their own show. They took a similar approach with "To Be Young (Is To Be Sad, Is To Be High)," trading escalating falsettos before thrashing out the song's coda. Gillian, especially, warmed up to bantering, joking about the drive from San Francisco to Santa Cruz, sharing the sights they saw on the way, and making oblique references to Magritte. Maybe it had something to do with being back in her old stomping grounds; maybe it was something in the water. (Maybe I should just shut up and enjoy it.)

For the encore, Mike McKinley joined them again for some serious bluegrass action. The "Hot Corn Cold Corn"/"He Will Set Your Field on Fire" sequence made me (1) realize how much of their influences and repertoire remains unknown to me, and (2) marvel at how they could turn on the twang so heavily and so readily after merely hinting at these abilities during the main set.

Finally, I'd be remiss if I didn't mention the garrulous old Deadhead sitting next to me who delighted in their entire set--not just the Dylan, Dead, and Neil Young covers, but the Cyndi Lauper closer too. Kudos to him for keeping Santa Cruz weird.

p.s. The torrent is up!

See also:
» hear them all
» hotter than a pepper sprout
» wish you were here

hotter than a pepper sprout

Though I've been spending a lot of time at other venues lately, I sincerely love San Francisco's bona fide musical palaces. The reigning champ is the Great American Music Hall, especially when the bookers nab the likes of the Dave Rawlings Machine.

Dave Rawlings Machine, Great American Music Hall, March 24, 2009: Knowing how much San Francisco adores Gillian Welch and Dave Rawlings, I lost sleep hesitating a single day to buy tickets to this show. I actually had some weeks to spare, but as expected, the duo sold out the Great American Music Hall and inspired one of the more amusing streams of Craigslist posts of late. On offer were not the usual dubious sums of money or even vague hints of sexual favors, but rather a whole farmer's market: organic sourdough bread, sandwich toppings, and quince cardamom butter. (What, no arugula?)



I'm not one to condemn gluttony, however. I know full well that I've seen the Rawlings Machine more often than most humans could possibly need, yet I step up to it again and again. And most times, it takes a lot more effort and machinations than catching the 38 Geary.

But convenience wasn't the only thing this gig had going for it. For instance, three very understanding newbies put up with my pleas and joined me (thank you, ladies!). And of course, there was the glorious Great American itself.



It's fair to ask a serial concertgoer what a performer/artist/band could possibly bring to each venue or town that compels us to return to these relatively static shows. I'm not sure my arguments for the subtleties we eat up--the dynamic arrangements, the hypnotic harmonies, the megawatt grins--could ever convince someone else to take the plunge. Instead, I'd turn that question around; I reckon it's more enlightening to consider what each locale brings to the musicians.

In San Francisco, this meant a downright doting crowd in an informal, intimate setting, all adding up to a lively show on both sides of the stage. By the third song, "I Hear Them All," the entire room joined David and Gillian in belting out the Woody Guthrie portion. Gillian duly complimented us on our abilities (the audience's tepid jokes, however, went unremarked); she'd hear more from us before the end of the night.

I've seen the Rawlings Machine so many times in the last few months that I've probably caught most of their standard repertoire: the originals, the collaborations, and the covers they favor. Still, I heard a couple of new-to-me songs, one sung by David and one Gillian solo turn on banjo. They might be originals or traditional tracks; with these two, it's always hard to tell.

But beyond the setlist, there were plenty more treats to go around. Without Morgan Nagler, they handled "Sweet Tooth" as a duo, and Gillian added some of the sassy inflections that I had always credited to the Whispertown 2000 singer. Elsewhere, David stumbled on the lyrics of a song or two, but in this open, unpretentious setting, it was more charming than distracting.

I'll say this about the Great American as opposed to Largo: Proximity counts. More specifically, I've always dug their version of "Queen Jane Approximately," but when you're standing a few feet from Dave Rawlings and watching him move his fingers faster and more nimbly across the guitar strings than you knew was possible (an unfortunate thought that crossed my mind: Man, he'd be great at Rock Band), you finally get it: Oh my god, they've transformed the original's meandering ebb and flow into a focused, full-blown tsunami. Now that's a cover.

Largo, however, had primed me for the "Method Acting"/"Cortez the Killer" segue, which nearly made me jump out of my chair earlier this month. Readiness does not, however, detract from delight; I remained the beaming, anticipating idiot in the front row.

They filled out their encores with additional beloved covers, but since I don't write these things down, I can't tell you exactly what they played. I know "White Rabbit" made it in there, with appropriate reverb and a huge helping hand from the audience, and I think Neil Young's "Tired Eyes" slipped in as well.

For the second/final encore, they brought out Mike McKinley from Harmony Grits on mandolin for three songs. Again, I can't recall all the titles, and I'm pretty sure I can't even name one of them--an old-timey number featuring David on banjo dueling with Mike for speed-picking honors--but there was no mistaking the closer: "Jackson," which almost made me fall out of my seat in February. (I never claimed to be graceful.)



A deliberate start, with Dave and Gillian facing each other, syncing up the rhythm on their respective guitars, gave way to a burst of music as soon as they started singing, and we were right there with them. The whole room was jumping, including the performers themselves, as we sang, danced, and whooped it up. It remains, of course, Johnny and June's song, but you can't deny that David and Gillian's version holds its own as well.

See also:
» cortez, cortez
» oh me oh my oh

spider wisdom

Drizzly skies and Monday doldrums almost kept me at home, but I had to make up for the bout of early-onset senility that caused me to totally blank out on a gig last week. Also, it's always a pleasure to catch Nels Cline in yet another musical lineup--this time, the jazz ensemble known as The Good Life.

The Good Life Featuring Trevor Dunn, Ben Goldberg, Nels Cline, John Dietrich, and Scott Amendola (playing the music of Ornette Coleman, Jimmy Giuffre, and more), Cafe du Nord, March 16, 2009: Deep breath--that's a mouthful. It was also a mindful, at least for this pop-raised girl.

Even if I knew anything about Ornette Coleman, whose compositions the players returned to several times, I'm not sure how much of his work I'd recognize in the band's versions. Maybe some of his numbers are meant to build to a crescendo that called to mind Sonic Youth, then eventually trail off in a stop-start amalgam. In that case, the artists were a lot more faithful to the originals than I expected. Mixing it up, they also performed Nels's own "Spider Wisdom," cacophonous and sprawling.

One of the reasons I see Nels in all these formations is because there's something new to take in every time--and I'm not talking about guitarist John Dietrich's resemblance to actor Topher Grace. The last two appearances I've seen were with the Nels Cline Singers, both at Cafe du Nord and Largo, but this was something else altogether.



With the exception of Scott Amendola, I don't think I've seen him play with any of the other people onstage, nor was there a clear director. Ben Goldberg, on clarinet, provided the titles and the introductions between songs, and you could argue that he and Nels traded leadership duties. At the same time, Scott proved the anchor, sitting center stage, providing hints and ideas, and urging his bandmates to play shorter and longer accents as befit the song.

Add it all up, and you get The Good Life.

See also:
» still carries a torch
» blues, too