i wanna reach that glory land

Hardly Strictly in February? Not exactly, but the spirit was the same, even if we were gathered in memory of Warren Hellman, the benefactor who made it all possible. In case it wasn't immediately apparent, this was no funeral march, starting with the name of the festival itself. Instead, San Francisco hosted the Warren Hellman Public Celebration, with many of the artists who've saved the dates in October for several years over.

Warren Hellman Public Celebration, Great Highway, February 19, 2012: I apologize for all the times I've prattled endlessly about the Hardly Strictly Bluegrass Festival and my nearly ringside seat to the festivities -- but you'd do it too if you had the chance. Thus, when Warren Hellman passed away last year, it was one of the few celebrity (?) deaths that affected me, simply because his generosity truly touched the city, the region, and beyond every year. Clearly, he led a fine, full life, and through his efforts, he gave each of us a taste of it.



If you've been to Hardly Strictly, the logistics of this celebration looked somewhat familiar. The Banjo and Arrow Stages were set at opposite end of the closed-off segment of the Great Highway, with just enough distance in between that you could sort of hear the tunes if you were camped out on one side (as is my wont). To the west was Ocean Beach and the great Pacific, and from where I eventually rolled out my blanket, you could view the Cliff House and the edge of Marin. Overall, it was a gorgeous, nearly cloudless day, though we could've used a couple more ticks on the thermometer (obligatory Californian weather whine concluded).

I can't tell you what happened on the Arrow Stage because I settled in near the Banjo Stage soundboard for Gillian Welch's set and, predictably, didn't move, though it was a mellow enough day that people seemed to wander off without worry. The guy next to me came back with reports of Steve Earle's set, but I had to make do with glimpses of Steve taking in several acts at the Banjo Stage. It's a good thing his beard is so recognizable, even from a distance!

John Doe was the first musical voice ringing out from the Banjo Stage for the day, accompanied by Cindy Wasserman. I've seen John in several musical outfits over the years, including as a solo artist and with a full band. They didn't get a whole lot of time onstage, but I recall they did "The Golden State," as well as one X song that escapes my memory.

Dry Branch Fire Squad followed, with charming tales of meeting Alan Lomax, as well as a reference to T.S. Eliot -- a surprising choice for self-proclaimed rednecks. Buddy Miller was next in line, with the expected appearance from Emmylou Harris for a Porter Wagoner/Dolly Parton song. Finally, it was time for Gillian Welch and Dave Rawlings, bedecked in coordinated bling, as they called it. I loved the sparkles, and I hope they break it out on less momentous occasions.

I can't say I've really enjoyed any Gillian/Dave set I've seen at Hardly Strictly -- not because of the performers, but due to the circumstances. Also, it's hard for any gig to compare, even at smaller spaces, after the Largo shows. I was thankful to be less than a football field away, to tell you the truth. Despite these caveats, by the end of their set, I basked in an overwhelming certainty: I love these two.

They opened with a banjo song, they said, in tribute to the clawhammer player Warren Hellman, and it turned out to be my oft-cited favorite track "Hard Times." If I recall correctly, they did three more songs from the new record, including "Six White Horses" accompanied by Gillian's clogging. The relatively short set couldn't encompass all the favorites, and I get the feeling they narrowed the selection with Warren in mind, so some of my potential picks were inevitably left out. Of course "Miss Ohio" was in the mix, and just as surely, Emmylou joined them for "Go to Sleep Little Baby." Less of a certainty, we got a couple of Revelator tunes. Heavenly!

They transported me -- and a large segment of the crowd, it appeared -- from their opening stance, but "I'll Fly Away" sealed the deal, for so many reasons. The song itself was perfectly suited to the festivities, and it allowed us to join in at the top of our lungs. I know sing-alongs aren't for everyone, but they almost always work for me, especially when you're among beloved performers. Dave entreated us to extend the choruses for a few more rounds. I probably could've sung the exact same words for another hour.

We stuck around for Old Crow Medicine Show, a band I've never seen as a whole, though I've caught a few of their personnel in other settings. The standout song was their cover of Whitney Houston's "I Wanna Dance With Somebody," and I'm pretty sure you can find clips of it on the Internet right now. I can't attempt to tell you why some musicians appeal to me, while their brethren, not far removed, don't ring the same bells. For whatever reason, Old Crow falls into the latter category, though approximately 15,000 at Ocean Beach that day would tell you the opposite.

And then we left, without catching Emmylou's set. I always say my seat for Emmylou at Hardly Strictly in 2007 can't be beat, so I won't bother trying to best it. Though part of me knew this memorial would be different, I ultimately couldn't stick around. I have all the faith in the world that she didn't disappoint the remaining concertgoers, and who knows? Maybe I'll give it another try in October.

See also:
» falling, yes i am falling
» so much going on in my head
» watch the waves and move the fader
» please take my advice
» feels lucky to have you here
» any old time
» built up with their bare hands

embracing the situation

In school, we were taught that if California were its own country, it would have something like the eighth largest GDP in the world, and man, I fully grasped my home state's size and influence with this round of rock tourism. Wilco played nine dates here alone, and that doesn't cover extra engagements, such as Conan and Largo. You could amortize that over the two years they regularly take to return to these shores, but that's still a lot of shows. With six of those gigs already under my belt, I probably didn't need to go to the Mondavi Center in Davis. Then again, what's one more?

Wilco, Mondavi Center for the Performing Arts, February 1, 2012: Technically, Davis isn't part of the Bay Area. Located about 90 minutes outside of San Francisco, it's closer to the Central Valley, maybe even the delta region. I've trekked to nearby Sacramento for a handful of shows, but those trips are rare. I have to give it up for the hearty souls who drive down I-80 to San Francisco and Oakland for their entertainment needs. I can't even take the 22 Fillmore across town sometimes!

Ordinarily, it'd take a lot more than the likes of the Mondavi Center -- one of those well-designed, acoustically calibrated auditoriums that have a way of sucking the fun out of the room -- to lure me to Davis, but it was hard to resist the combo of friends and vacation time. I apologize for the ill-informed detour to Bouchon, but I'm glad we got something for our troubles. Also on the bright side, as befits a building named after a major vinter, the pours were exceedingly generous at the Mondavi bar. Cin cin!

Though the early signs were discouraging, our sour grapes quickly transformed into delicious balsamic vinegar. My seat at the edge of stage right became an asset, as it meant I could stand up for the majority of the show without blocking anyone's view or hearing any complaints from the rows behind. I could see a handful of people trying to do the same in other areas, but it might've been hard to justify being on your feet for the first stretch of the show. No words were exchanged with the audience for a good six or seven songs, and I think it took a dumb "Freebird" request before Jeff veered from the script. I agree with the singer -- that concert cliche deserved a good dose of pepper spray.

Other awkward exchanges followed, including a short dialog with the couple in the front-center who stepped away in unison somewhere in the middle of the set. "Capitol City" resulted in a confusing exchange, when a small sampling of the audience started clapping during one of the instrumental bridges toward the end. First of all, their timing was off, but Jeff took it as tepid approval of the tune and, with mild sarcasm, refused the follow-up approval -- that is, the real applause. More endearing was the fellow in the front, called out for having the most pens in his pockets of any fan Jeff had ever seen. The two had a sweet moment when Ramon (the fan) gifted Jeff with one of his pens -- no words on its vintage, however. (Gel? Ballpoint? Color? Fine point? Extra fine? Your guess is as good as mine.)

I can't recall exactly when the crowd collectively chose to get out of their chairs, but as we approached the encore, I could see the familiar signs of fans leaving their seats and crowding the aisles to get close to the stage. I made my move during the encore, climbing over the seat to take my more customary spot and snapping -- I swear! -- my only concert shot of the entire series of shows. All night, my ears had been filled with the sound mix from Nels's monitor; if I managed to blow what's left of my hearing by crowding around Nels's rig in Davis, I'd still chalk it up as a triumph of art.

I apologize to anyone who's read through these accounts and noticed the lack of commentary on the music, but (1) I don't sufficiently possess the technical vocabulary to do justice to the performances, and (2) it's hard picking out the finer details of seven consecutive shows the week after the fact. I love the pop tracks from The Whole Love, and the two new art pieces exceeded my expectations. They have to be experienced live, where their discrete levels and dimensions become apparent. I'm especially in awe of "Art of Almost," and I still can't believe the disparate elements somehow work as a whole.

As for the older songs -- dare I say classics -- they're not exactly the same these days. I noticed the likes of "Handshake Drugs" and "I Am Trying to Break Your Heart" have been edited somewhat, maybe to make way for the new sprawlers and surely to accommodate as many selections as possible from the band's double-digit discography.

Early in the travels, I composed whole dissertations in my head about the peaks and valleys, soft contours and hard turns, brute force and subtle whispers that can comprise a single Wilco tune, much less the entire arc of a show. But no one needs to put up with that hot air. The point is I've missed this band and the adventures, discoveries, and camaraderie that go along with these excursions. At this point, I can't predict if a trek of this breadth awaits me in the future, but I can always look at this stretch as a reminder of how much I had and how much fun may still be in store.

See also:
» tired of being exposed to the cold
» one sunday morning
» my mother's sister's husband's brother
» can't stand it
» thank you for nothing at all
» so flattered by fate

tired of being exposed to the cold

With two of three shows out of the way, Wilco's gigs in the Bay Area had already surpassed the dates in Los Angeles. Would the Fox Theatre in Oakland complete this Northern California hat trick? Find out below!

Wilco, the Fox Theatre, January 31, 2012: Several years ago, I overheard a conversation between a guy and his concert companion as the former pointed out an older man. The object of his attention, he informed her: Frank Riley. All of a sudden, several dots connected in my mind -- that was the man responsible for booking many of my favorite acts! Now I can't stop spotting him at shows, both near and far, and I've nursed a daydream of slipping him a note reading, "Wilco. Three nights. Fox Theatre." Fortunately, he saved himself from my folly with this gig, as well as the pair that preceded it.

Ever since the Wiltern debacle, we'd been joking about surprise admission fees, but the Bay Area venues proved refreshingly equitable and respectful, with the Fox Theatre perhaps taking top honors. The fellow who welcomed us at an ungodly hour directed us to the right spot, without a hint of judgment, and the other workers who trickled in throughout the day were just as open and helpful. Even better, though the Fox's attached bar was slinging drinks before the doors opened, there was no horseplay or favoritism. We nitwits marched in first and on schedule. Props to Another Planet! And that's not even mentioning the proximity to Bakesale Betty, Xolo, Rudy's Can't Fail Cafe, and the Sears bathrooms. If only they could've added a few degrees to the thermometer?

Once the crowds settled in, it became apparent to me that I'd make an awful booking agent. Wilco could probably sell out two nights at the Fox, especially for a weekend engagement, but they'd push their luck with three nights. Mr. Riley, the floor remains yours.

In all other respects, the Fox provided a wonderful bookend to the weekend-plus, with a setlist encompassing such beauties as "Spiders" and "One Wing," as well as titles that hadn't been aired up north, such as "Muzzle of Bees," "Theologians," and "Wilco (The Song)." As a fan of obvious plays for the audience, I ate it up when Jeff changed the lyrics to "Kingpin" to "Living in/Oakland," and I loved that the crowd knew when to roar along without prodding from the band. In fact, the whole dumb rock song encore was a great way to go out.

The general consensus among our circle placed this show as the best of the local gigs, owing to the grand surroundings, the audience adulation, and the band's spark. My bias may show, but I'm sticking with San Jose as my favorite of the trifecta. However, it's the contrast between the three, even the oddly somber San Francisco date, that keeps me coming back. In the end, Oakland gets a bonus point, if only for Jeff's comment that they miss the Bay Area when they're gone. The feeling is mutual, in case he can't tell.

See also:
» thank you for nothing at all
» my mother's sister's husband's brother
» one sunday morning