And when you believed, they call it rock and roll

On Saturday we slept in as long as we could. We took advantage of Evonne's hospitality to loiter over fresh fruit and showers, eventually mobilizing for an excellent late brunch at Millie's. From there it was on to Intelligentsia for a coffee boost before hitting the road for north San Diego.

Why were we headed to Solana Beach? Well, Britt Daniel had announced an early show at the Belly Up Tavern just days before. So why wouldn't we be headed to Solana Beach? (I so love that I have an entire group of friends who share this attitude.)

I saw Britt Daniel sit in for a few songs with Jon Brion on New Years Eve in Chicago. Aside from that, I hadn't seen him since my first and only Spoon show: at the tiny Annex in Madison back in 2003. We made good time down Interstate 5, reaching Solana Beach in time for some pre-show gelato in the late afternoon sun. Upon entering the Belly Up Tavern, I was immediately struck by how much I liked the space. It reminded me a bit of the High Noon Saloon; the type of place you'd be glad to have in your city. Anya Marina (yes, there was even an opener for the early show) was just beginning, and we caught most of her set. Britt followed in short order, playing many of the songs I know best from the three latest albums, I was happy to note, as well as some new songs. He was good natured and friendly onstage throughout, and dealt well with some rather obnoxious and intoxicated fans. I got the impression he was used to it. Last time I saw Spoon, their most recent album was Kill the Moonlight, so there were many songs I'd never heard live. Of those, the one that really blew me away was "The Beast and Dragon Adored." I'm a fan of the song to begin with, but I absolutely loved the version Britt played on Saturday.

Britt finished up right at 8:00. Time for dinner and drinks and hanging out at the beach while the last of the daylight faded? Perhaps you know us too well by now to be fooled by that idea. No. Time to get in the car and motor back up to Los Angeles for the last Saturday night show at Largo on Fairfax: Paul F. Tompkins!

Traffic was not a problem, and we were parking at Melrose and Fairfax by 10:00. The show had begun, and we could see from the sign on the door that it was sold out. A quick look around when we stepped inside confirmed that Largo was packed to the gills. By the grace of God, Mike, and Flanny, however, we were admitted and seated in one of the only free areas: the floor directly in front of the stage. That was something.

The show itself was something, too. Paul F. Tompkins was hilarious, and brought up a number of special guests in traditional Largo style. Among them were many familiar faces from the night before: Fiona Apple, Sara and Sean Watkins, Benmont Tench, and Jon Brion to name a few. There was music, including a song Fiona had written about Largo. (My favorite line: "When Mr. Tench is on the bench, I want to be the piano.") Paul F. Tompkins talked a lot about Largo on Fairfax again, but he also talked about how great Largo at the Coronet will be. (Summer gelato in the courtyard has been promised by Flanny.) The mood was decidedly more upbeat on Saturday than it had been on Friday. As PFT said, "Last night was the wake. Tonight is like the baby shower!" The musical collective also played a rousing cover of "Nightclub" by the Old 97's. I enjoyed that very much.

And so, my true last night at Largo on Fairfax came to a close. Paul has mentioned a similar sentiment, but I feel blessed to have had the chance to become even a tiny part of that universe; as a repeat spectator, if nothing else. Such a wonderful community has grown up around Flanagan's place, and I hope - and believe - that the same spirit will carry over to Largo at the Coronet.



Also check out:
A review of Friday night's show from Variety
Fiona's Largo song on Youtube

It's all around you

Nine days in California went by far too quickly. For the most part they were a blur of activity. I did far too many things to do them justice in a single entry, in fact. I'll break this up, then, into two parts. This one is Saturday through Friday; the next one will be the following Saturday. We had a very busy Saturday. Uyen does detailed and reader-friendly show accounts way better than I could ever hope to, so I don't need to worry about the chronicling aspect. That frees me up, then, to ramble at my leisure.

The night I arrived, 4/26, was Jon Brion's last official show at Largo on Fairfax. I joined Paul, Evonne, U, and Heidi - the latter of whom had seen Jon the night before as well. A special show had been announced for the following Friday, which would be the true final JB date, but Saturday was the last show done in Jon's usual manner. I was thrilled as always to hear "Knock Yourself Out" - probably my favorite Jon song. "This is Where I Belong" seemed to have particular significance that night, too. In fact, everything took on a special significance. My last Largo salad! The last time I'd see Mike tease U by calling her over to her table from across the room! The last time the music would be turned up in small increments to almost painfully high levels before the show began! Come to think of it, they could do that at the Coronet too.

Sunday it was back to San Francisco with Uyen, and then Stephen Malkmus and the Jicks on Sunday night. Seeing Malkmus and the Jicks at the Fillmore was an unexpected treat. I guess I technically saw them open for Radiohead once, but that experience was marred by distraction and late arrival, so I barely remember it. I found them thoroughly entertaining this time. Stephen seemed relaxed and engaging, the songs were excellent, and it was nice to see Janet Weiss on drums. I can also understand why Live Nation wanted to brand the Fillmore and deploy it in multiple markets, but having now visited the original I just hate them for it all the more.

Then, work. Palo Alto is very pretty - what I saw of it, anyway. I still swoon a little when I see lots of palm trees, no matter how many times I visit California. I was originally supposed to fly home on Thursday morning. The last-minute confirmation of Jon Brion's final final show on Fairfax for Friday, however, wouldn't stop gnawing at the back of my mind. Far from satisfying me, being back in the Largo world just made me more eager to go again while I still could. I was already in California, after all! Luckily the planning worked out, I took an extra work shift, and found myself at Largo once more for its final weekend on Fairfax with Uyen, Paul, and Evonne.

This is the part where I talk about the show, but there's no way I can do it justice. Mike's variation of his usual speech before the doors opened was an indication of things to come: "No cameras, no cell phones, no crying." Two of those rules would be broken before the night was through. And from the time the first person hit the stage, we could tell it would be a hell of a night. Bobb Bruno, in full costume, played a Jon montage. Dave "Gruber" Allen related the hundred-year history of Largo on Fairfax, involving Jon's great uncle Jelly Roll Brion, and the great immigration of the Finnigan family from Ireland. A "supergroup" consisting of Dave, Griffy, "JB" on bass, and Flanny himself on brass entertained us with music and haikus about red Miatas. The camera ban was lifted just long enough to snap some pictures of the aftermath. Flight of the Conchords took the stage and played two hilarious songs. And all that was just the opener.

The rest of the night was a whirlwind of music, comedy, "magic," roast-style Largo stories, and special guests. Through it all, the significance of this particular Friday was never far from the surface. Jon played right through his usual break between sets. Around 1:30, when Sean and Sara Watkins were onstage with Gabe Wicher, Jon instructed them to play a song while he went to the back and watched. They played "Say Darling Say" and were then joined by Benmont and Paul Bryan for two of Jon's songs, "Trouble" and "Same Mistakes," while Jon remained a spectator near the kitchen doors.

When he returned to the stage as the others left, he remarked that in twelve years he'd never gotten a chance to watch one of the Friday night shows. "And it's pretty fucking great!" As he took up his guitar, Jon introduced the next song. "Flanny just suggested I do this one alone, and I had been thinking of doing it too ... so that shows it signifies something." He proceeded to play "Waterloo Sunset;" just Jon and the guitar on the old Largo stage, in the familiar room, dark with its islands of candle light on each little table, silent except for the clinking of glasses and bottles from the staff at the bar. And as I idly glanced down at my watch, I saw with a jolt that it was a little past 2:00 a.m. And I realized, oh fuck, this was really it.

But it wasn't; not quite. As the final note of "Waterloo Sunset" faded away, the applause began. People stood up, the din swelled, and Jon put down his guitar and attempted to collect himself for some final words. I wish I could remember more of what he said, but what I really remember is how he said it. It was a short speech; choked and emotional and sometimes hard to understand through the tears. It was about how much this place meant to everyone. Jon left the stage and headed back through the kitchen doors, and the audience kept up the standing ovation as "Don't Dream It's Over" by Crowded House played over the house speakers. Soon Jon emerged, dragging a stilll-weeping Flanny out from the back, and pushing him toward the stage. They embraced, Flanny picked up a guitar, and Jon sat at the piano, remarking that we would be so pissed at Flanagan after this for never having played it before. A spare, gorgeous "All is Full of Love" followed, with Flanny on vocals. And that was really it.

But it wasn't the last time I'd set foot in Largo on Fairfax. As I said, we had a very busy Saturday.

Work hard, play hard

I'm currently in the middle of a whirlwind week in California. (I hadn't realized quite how fitting the last blog entry's subject would be for this entry, too.) By the time Sunday rolls around, I'll have been in and out of Los Angeles twice, and also briefly in San Diego. I'm based in San Francisco/Palo Alto during the week.

Already accomplished: Farmer's Market, Pinkberry and Tuttimelon, Jon Brion's last Saturday night at Largo, wandering around U's neighborhood in SF, my first Fillmore show (Malkmus!)

To be accomplished by Sunday: Jon's last Friday night at Largo, more Pinkberry (I'm just hoping here, although now I do know there are worthy substitutes), Britt Daniel, and more!

Oh yeah, there's also the middle portion of this, which involves 60 hours of work. Mostly at night. Sleep keeps asking me why I hate it so much.

You always end up in the city

Given all of my travels lately, I’ve been neglecting local shows. I did my best to remedy that situation early this week: hitting three shows in three nights; Monday through Wednesday.



First up was the New Pornographers with Okkervil River. Though Okkervil River opening was a great bonus, I bought the ticket because I love the New Pornographers. It was a little surprising to me, then, that I wound up enjoying Okkervil’s set more than the NP’s on Monday. Not that the New Pornographers played a bad show. I enjoyed it, and “Myriad Harbour” with Will Sheff performing Dan’s parts was completely awesome. It's just that aside from the Okkervil River guest appearances, nothing distinguished this performance for me from any other. The high stage at the Orpheum – about which I’ve never seen a performer fail to comment – isn’t the most conducive to audience interaction. That didn’t seem to bother Okkervil River, though. They played a terrific set, and Will made a definite effort to connect with the crowd.



Tuesday was my first of two Colin Meloy shows, at the Pabst in Milwaukee. The presale treated me well, and I found myself seated in the first row of the pit. Unfortunately, at the Pabst, the front row is a bit too close. Not too close in an “oh, poor me so close to the performer in the front row!” kind of way, but too close in a “my knees are in danger of bumping the stage, and half an hour into the show my neck will start to hurt” kind of way. Nevertheless, it was a fun perspective for a nice night of acoustic songs from Colin. The crowd at the Pabst was a bit more subdued than I was expecting given the usual tone of a Decemberists show, but the Pabst does have a way of hushing people. Discovering Colin’s tour EP of Sam Cooke covers was a nice surprise for me. He’s done a cover EP for each of his solo tours, but for some reason this one totally escaped my notice until I saw it at the merch table. Seeing him duet with opener Laura Gibson on “Cupid” was a lot of fun. Speaking of Laura Gibson, her voice was a great fit with the quiet theatre.



Wednesday was Colin Meloy and Laura Gibson, again, at the Barrymore. It occurred to me before the show that it was the first time I’d ever attended multiple Decemberists or Colin Meloy shows on the same tour, let alone on back to back nights. I was pleasantly surprised by the setlists: Colin only repeated six songs over the two shows. One of those, “Red Right Ankle,” was a request on Wednesday night – so it’s possible a different song was planned in its place. “Red Right Ankle” is always welcome, but I would have loved to hear “Grace Cathedral Hill.” Something tells me the Bay Area may get that next week, when I’m working night shifts mere miles away. Other highlights for me included “Engine Driver” at the Barrymore, and various amusing psychedelic song intros in Milwaukee. I also enjoyed previewing three new songs, which the Decemberists may or may not record. Presumably Colin will learn all the words before that happens.

They're finally up

All of my Australia and New Zealand trip photos, that is.


Feel free to take a look if you've got some time to kill. That's got to be the most photos I've ever sorted through - and hard as it may be to believe, I did actually weed out some duplicates and bad shots. Some.

You can feel it all over

This is where I would normally put a picture I took during last night's wonderful show at the Hotel SnS. Unfortunately, due to a stupid water-spilling move on my part, my camera is out of commission and may be down for the count. So I don't have any photos of last night's show.

But don't cry for me, friends. Even if my fellow basement show revelers hadn't taken enough pictures to go around, the images would still be stamped in my brain for posterity. You don't forget weekends like this one. I'm sure I say something similar every year, and every year it's true.

The fun commenced on Friday night with the Rock 'n Roll Hell party at SnS. I'm very proud of our collective creativity: there was nary an Elvis nor a Janis Joplin in the house. No, a peek into Rock and Roll Hell in Humboldt Park on Friday would have shown Allen Ginsberg chatting with Don Ho as DeeDee Ramone and Waylon Jennings faced off in a Guitar Hero battle, while Laura Branigan, Dusty Springfield, and Mimi Farina discussed pork cheeks with John Philip Sooza. I went as Lisa "Left Eye" Lopes, and although I wasn't forced to sing "Waterfalls," I did brandish my gasoline can and threaten to burn down random people's houses. Sam (or should I say Michael Hutchence?) always has the best party ideas.

Saturday got started seemingly just a few hours after Friday ended, with the annual Hot Doug's outing, followed by the annual baking and cooking and Hotel SnS prepping. I really think our chefs outdid themselves this year, with a truly stunning array of pork-related items among other delicious dishes and desserts. Alison needs to make at least twice as much mac and cheese next time. Same with those oatmeal butterscotch cookies. Evonne wins the creativity prize for the year, though, by making commemorative pot holders for all.

Not long after Jeff and Susan (and Mike and Paula) arrived, the show got underway. It seems like each year's basement show has its own unique vibe - this might have been the "chatty" year. We're all easily distracted, it seems, and somehow managed to spend four-plus hours of concert time singing, playing, telling stories, asking questions, petting dogs, cooing over babies, teasing one another, dancing, and laughing. To focus on the "singing" part of that wonderful amalgam, there were many songs that stood out for me. "More Like the Moon" was lovely as always. "Thirteen" was excellent, and "Simple Twist of Fate" was an inspired choice that (eventually) worked out really well. (I liked the thought of Bob Dylan playing a living room show somewhere and being inundated by requests for Jeff Tweedy songs.) "I'm Always in Love" was a fitting choice to dedicate to Nat, and the upbeat song helped to counteract my sadness. For the first time I won't be chatting with her about our show today - and that's a damn shame, because she would have loved the story of the dedication.

Finally seeing "The Unwelcome Guest" performed was as amazing as I could have hoped. After years of Alison requesting it, her wish was granted at last - with the added bonus of Mart and Dave accompanying Jeff on vocals and guitar. As always, the talents of our musical friends made the night even more memorable. "Airline to Heaven" and "Long Cut" sounded great. And watching Jeff take a seat to watch Mart play "Sir Duke" (which they theoretically were supposed to play together) is a memory that will make me smile possibly forever. If we get to do this again next year, I hope we manage to convey some of our more unusual requests ahead of time so Jeff can feel more prepared - I did feel guilty about peppering him with so many requests for songs he could hardly be expected to know out of the blue. The performance of "Sir Duke," however, was perfect just the way it was.

After Jeff's last song was finally played, the group picture taken (about ten times), and the awesome Jay Ryan posters were signed, we bid the Tweedys goodnight. After a break for more chatting and consumption of various baked goods, it was back to the basement for the evening's main event (just kidding! or AM I?): more songs by Mart and Dave. From "Rocky Raccoon" to "Purple Rain," and the full ballad of Officer Ron Tugnutt and the Golden Nugget Rug, we sang and danced until we could sing and dance no more. Saying goodbye to everyone in the early morning hours is always bittersweet. We've had a fantastic time together, but it's almost over for now. People have planes to catch and drives to make, and some of us won't see each other again for quite awhile. Until people upload pictures, anyway.

How many different ways can I find to express how thankful I am, every year, that we get to do this? I don't think I'll worry about that too much. Whatever words I find, they're always genuine and from the heart. A lot of families had a brighter start to their new year thanks to the money raised by Letters to Santa. I am so fortunate to have an incredible group of friends who make this weekend so much more than just a show, or just a party, or "just" anything. Jeff and Susan are so giving of their time and energy, kindness and talents - and patience - in making these events possible. And then making them amazing. If I say that every year, then I guess it just means I'm one lucky girl.

Also see:
2007
2006

Oh great ocean, oh great sea

I crossed the Pacific for the second time just five days ago, and still don't know if I've really had time to process the big adventure. However, time, tide, and basement shows wait for no man ... as the saying goes. I think I'd better get this done before the weekend.

On one of our last days in Auckland, Paul and I were discussing our answers to the question, "What was your favorite thing?" I protested that I hate questions like that, while Paul argued that even so, it's kind of a pussy move not to give some sort of answer. (Paraphrasing mine.) So, here's some sort of answer.

The beaches in Sydney, the cliff walk from Bondi to Bronte, and swimming in the Bronte rock pool. Looking up at the sky at the end of our walk back from a late dinner in Te Anau, actually exclaiming "Holy shit!" and stopping in my tracks because I couldn't believe how many stars I could see and how dazzling they were. We even tried to take pictures of them with our point and shoot digital cameras. We knew they wouldn't turn out, but we had to try. The beaches near Whitianga - Cathedral Cove and Hot Water Beach. Realizing that when they say "hot water" they are not kidding. Belting out "Six Months in a Leaky Boat" at a Split Enz concert in their home country, along with an arena full of bouncing Kiwis. Giving a kangaroo a drink of water at a farm outside Melbourne, and seeing the penguins come in later on Phillip Island. Spending the night on a little boat with eight wonderful people on Doubtful Sound, which is numbingly gorgeous. That's true of Fiordland in general. Your jaw is on the ground for a few hours, and then it's as if you just can't process it anymore. (Actual quote from Paul a few hours into our cruise: "Ugh, all my pictures are just going to be waterfalls and rainbows.") Visiting One Tree Hill, about which I once wrote an English class essay.

I'm proud of many things about the trip, too. Proud that I survived a month of travel and even managed to duck the overweight baggage charges on domestic flights in NZ. Proud that we planned and booked this entire trip from the ground up back in January, and our choices were overwhelmingly good ones. Proud of driving the winding mountain roads between Auckland and Whitianga on my first day in New Zealand, most of the Southern Scenic Route and Milford Road later on, and actually passing other cars on the road by the drive to Queenstown. Proud that I bungy jumped with no hesitation whatsoever. (Interestingly, although it was a very cool experience, for some reason bungy is not one of the things that stands out most in my memories of the trip.)


Other things I learned in Australia and New Zealand:

• You never know who you'll bump into on the street or in an airport. Just one example: Paul and I attended a bone carving workshop in Christchurch with two other people. Nine days later I spotted them waiting at the gate at the Auckland Airport - we were on the same flight from Auckland to Los Angeles.
  
  
• Whitcoulls: they're everywhere!
  
  
• Not that Heidi didn't tip us off, but New Zealand dairy products are far superior to ours. And I live in Wisconsin.
  
  
• People in Southland pronounce the "i" in words like "fifty" or "bit" in a unique way. Fush and chups!
  
  
• I could have explored the lanes and alleys of Melbourne for at least another two weeks. Also, eaten at a different awesome-looking place at every meal for two weeks and still barely made it off my street.
  
  
• People in Australia and New Zealand are serious about their coffee, and they do it well. They made me into a coffee drinker for a month. I never drink coffee in the U.S., but I was averaging at least one flat white per day.
  
  
• Sheep are awesome. Galloping sheep are awesomer.
  
  
• Children and teens in Wellington are crazy for skateboarding.
  
  
• You can buy the Best of Split Enz CD at virtually any petrol station in NZ.
  
  
• If I could bring any bird back from extinction, it would totally be the giant moa.
  
  

My trip by the numbers:

Planes, beginning with my flight from O'Hare: 17
CDs I bought: 1
Books I bought: 5
Shirts I bought: 9
--For myself: 7
Promotional concert posters I nicked: 2
Kilograms my suitcase weighed at the end of the trip: 29
Times we heard a random Split Enz or Crowded House song in a store, restaurant, or on the radio: 7+
Pavlovas I ate in NZ: 2
Times Paul or I randomly said the word "peninsula" with a NZ/Sean Connery accent: 50+
Times since I got home that I've been walking along and veered to the left instead of the right when faced with oncoming traffic: 5+
Pictures I took (including duplicates and duds): 1739

And here is a sheep sticking out its tongue: