Hey Milwaukee, We’ve Got Friends in the Music Biz: Strand of Oaks & Jason Isbell & the 400 Unit at Shank Hall 4-19-09

Timothy Showalter/Strand of Oaks

I just got home from yet another fantastic live music experience at the hands of Milwaukee’s own 91.7 WMSE.  It was the warm up show to the first annual Radio Summer Camp, a festival that is bringing great music to some of Milwaukee’s best venues from tonight (August 19) thru Monday August 24.  Tonight’s preview was a religious experience followed by rocking throwdown at Shank Hall that featured my friend and favorite new songwriter Tim Showalter/Strand of Oaks opening for the amazing Jason Isbell & the 400 Unit.

Now I know that I have written and gushed over Tim’s work before but his songs and personality continue to blow me away and introduce my slightly coffee stained chompers to whoever’s around.  He impressed me even more tonight by showing up with nothing but his beautiful voice, guitar, and some effects pedals that enhanced the already pleasant atmosphere.  It’s so unbelievable that one man can produce the sound and explosiveness of songs that were recorded with a full band.  After the show I thanked him for playing “New Paris,” my personal favorite, and he smiled with appreciation but said “Aw, they sound so much better with a full band.”  I say they sound great any way we get to hear them.  We got a touch of some new material in the form a lyrically funny but sweet sounding song about post Blues Brothers Dan Akoroyd and his closing number that he wrote after a dream he had about his grandfather.  Obviously, I loved both.   Can’t wait to hear more and see a lot more of Mr. Showalter.

Jason Isbell

Jason Isbell & the 400 Unit followed and blew the roof off.  Being familiar with his work with the Drive-by Truckers and his two post Truckers albums, I’d say I was a casual fan.  But after tonight there isn’t an album I won’t cop or a show that I won’t see that has Jason on the bill.  They tore through some of his Truckers’ work and dominated newer songs to make them sound like they’d been playing them for decades.  Super tight playing all around.  If you’ve never heard him before I strongly suggest getting a hold of anything with his name on it if you enjoy good rocking accompanied by down home storytelling lyrics.  Highlights of the night for me came from “Outfit,” “7 Mile Island,” “Decoration Day,” Chicago Promenade,” and a lengthy and rocked out “Never Gonna Change” that featured the facemelting riff from “Spiders (Kidsmoke)”.

Big thanks to WMSE for throwing this whole thing together! If tonight is any indication of how the next couple of days are going to be, Milwaukee’s in for a real treat!

What Does Your Music Smell Like?

I’m nostalgic by nature. Not sentimental. For some reason, physical artifacts mean very litte to me. I crave memories, mental images that take me back to places and times that were fantastic or fatalistic. Right now I’m thinking about the smells that have the power to transport me back decades.

Right now there are two specific smell memories on my brain. The smell of Nag Champa incense. It always reminds me of my 87 Toyota Celica GT and a copy of Moe.’s fantastic live album L. that I had stashed in the glove box. I had kept a box of the sweet smelling sticks in the gb with it, and the slipcase and discs still pleasantly reek of it. I play(ed) the hell out of that album the summer it came out and my memory tells me that it was one of the best summer’s of my life.

The second one is not as pleasant as the first. In 1988 the song “Patience” by Guns N’ Roses dominated this kids life. I loved the song, I loved the video, I loved the girls in the video, and I especially loved the snake around Slashes neck in said video. I felt so cool when I heard it. When I wasn’t cruising radio stations for LL Cool J’s “I Need Love,” I was intently playing my radio taped version of Axl’s ballad until the bastard wore out. When that happened, it was time to get my mom to take me to the nearest place that sold cassettes and buy Guns N’ Roses second album, G N’ R Lies. So, like most moms do (I think) when they are about to buy a piece of possible propaganda for an easily influenced kid, she probed the hell out of me about the content. She wanted to see the cover, hear a song, and know if there were any swears on it. So, like any other kid in need of something that they probably shouldn’t have, I lied my head off. I played her “Patience” instead of the new single getting radio play at the time, the one with the lyrics-”I used to love her, but I had to kill her…” Smooth I know. And then I guaranteed her that there were NO swears on it. I probably even promised her. She bought my jive and then bought me the tape. I marveled at it. I was so happy to finally have it in my clutches. I unwrapped the bastard in the car and held it close and with caution. I had to. I wasn’t sure of what was pictured with the liner notes and wanted to make damn sure that if there was a naked dead woman or FUCK YOU inked on it that my trusting mother didn’t see it.

A valuable and crucial fact pertaining to the writing of this post, the paper that Geffen used or the ink of the liner notes, had a very distinct smell. I can’t quite explain it, just that it permeated through the case and hit you like a bus when it was opened. It wasn’t necessarily unpleasant until….

Fast forward to me putting on headphones in my room and pushing play while I made sure the volume was low enough so no one would hear. I wasn’t a hundred percent sure that the album was dirty, but there was a pretty good chance so I played it safe. And then…..the first thing to meet my ear drums was “Hey Fuckers, suck on Guns N’ Fuckin’ Roses.” Now I’ll admit I was a little taken aback the immediacy of the profanity, but there was a lot of album left. It played alright for the most part, not sounding too bad to a nine year old who was too young to understand the sexually devious nature of the lyrics that is blatantly obvious these days. And then came the last track; a sweet sounding song, in the same vein as my beloved “Patience” that held some wholesome promise. “One in a Million” was going to be my saving grace, that was of course until I heard-”Police and n***ers, that’s right, get out of my way, Don’t need to buy none of your Gold Chains today…..chorus…..Immigrants and faggots, They make no sense to me, They come to our country And think they’ll do as they please, Like start some mini Iran, or Spread some fuckin’ disease….”

My nine year old ears were shocked. I took the tape out, put it back in it’s case, and hid it in a dresser drawer. I felt horrible. I lied to my mom and wasted my allowance on racist nonsense. But, I still couldn’t force myself to get rid of it. I kept it in that drawer for what seemed like years just in case my mom would happen to ask me about it. Trust me, she would’ve been pretty upset with me if I had lost or traded it. (I suppose my feeble mind thought this was better than telling the truth.) So, I dealt with that smell every time I opened the drawer and also with every tape that I purchased or was purchased for me. It made me ill and to this day if I catch a whiff of anything smelling even remotely close it, a dirty feeling fills my soul. It’s a smell that I’ll never forget. Bollocks.

Introducing The Trusty Knife

I’ve got one of those nine to fives that nobody wants.  It’s a tad back breaking, a bit demeaning, and a whole lot of ridiculous.  But there was a time when small victories were won by the soul resurrecting activity that we called the “dock dance party.” These impromptu gatherings on the dock of the warehouse were momentary get downs and shimmy shakers that would take place whenever a real ass kicker of a song would scream out of the shitty PA.  So if you can picture it, a bunch of dudes would bust a move to ? and The Mysterious’s “96 Tears” or EP’s “Don’t be Cruel” and when the shaking was done, we’d hang our heads and go back to the grind.

All of my dance partners have since moved on and all of their replacements are far too Stepford to shake a leg at work but I merely bring up this fond memory to find out if you’ve heard Milwaukee band The Trusty Knife? Wait.  Better question.  Have you seen The Trusty Knife?

The five-piece plays an influence heavy brand of jangle-y pop that remains unique.  And trust me that’s not just because there’s an incredibly driving bassoon that weaves texture and a foundational groove to a lot of their songs.  While cursory listens may call upon “garage” associations or classifications, they are too sophisticated to be labeled just so.  After just a few listens my ears and The Trusty Knife started to feel like old friends as the sound peeled like an onion and the phrasing and vocals of lead singer Zach Pieper revealed Bowie-ified Lou Reed stirred with some spastic David Byrne, and the jingle of the guitar that strums over the groove heavy bass (and bassoon!) is reminiscent of‘ Maggie’s Farm”-ish Dylan.   But all associations aside, this band’s music is super tight, fun, and my favorite thing to come out of Milwaukee in a while.

Every listen to their debut album can be turned into a dance party and even though the band may not think they make dance music, I’d find it pretty hard not to shake the plaster off of a body cast to songs like “Flash in the Pan” and “Now This Is Love.”  The kids at Locust Street Days this past Sunday proved just that (sans body cast) as they bopped and pogo’d along to every audible sound like it was a 50’s beach party.   Based on that aspect alone, they are now for me a “must see” band.  They can be my fog lifter.  Who needs dock dance parties when we’ve got The Trusty Knife?

Wilco ((The Album Cover (that Could’ve Been))

By now most Wilco fans and almost certainly all Milwaukee Wilco fans are aware of the new record cover that was shot in our beautiful city.  Peep Mader’s in the background!  While this album art looks pretty sweet, it is not the cover that Gentle John and I had hoped for.

On April 15^th Gentle John and I arrived at the Pabst Theater two plus hours before the second Wilco show due to Jeff Tweedy’s announcement that a photographer was in town to shoot the cover of their next album and WE could be a part of it.  There was tons of milling about and petting of dogs before the photographer showed up and selected three people to wear rhine stone suits worn by the band and also one lucky person to hold a gigantic birthday cake.  To our dismay, we were not one or two of the four selected so we instead lined up with the rest of the unlucky ones.  However, as it turns out we ended up right next to one of the guys chosen to wear a suit and a super cute kid wearing a Union Jack beanie.  It was at this point we were certain that we’d made it.  We’d signed waivers. WAIVERS!!! We were guaranteed to be on the cover.  I even rolled up my ticket stub from the previous night and cigarette gripped it (ala McCartney on Abbey Road) in order to make sure that I stood out from the rest.  Gentle John and I, glowing and elated due to our future fame, walked across the street to have some celebratory beverages and text the news to our closest (and sure to be jealous) companions.

Well, looks like we should’ve bought that camel some drinks. I bet they didn’t make him sign a waiver:(   Here’s a photo set of our lousy time.

photographer and a girl in one of the suits

photographer, girl in one of the suit, and dude's got the cakeback of the suit this lucky fella got to wear (not cooler than a camel)

the cute kid that should've been our path to glory and his pop

the infamous cake

Grizzly Bear’s Veckatimest

Upon pushing play for my first listen to Grizzly Bear’s highly anticipated and extremely hyped Veckatimest I half expected cotton candy to flow from my speakers onto and covering my living room floor.  To my dismay, that didn’t happen.   I walked away from our first meeting in a WTF type daze with a head full questions.  I didn’t quite understand the colossal hype, I didn’t know how the album would fit into their catalogue, I didn’t get how a fantastically upbeat song like “Two Weeks” worked as a lead single and more importantly I didn’t know if I would need to ever listen to it again.  I had never mulled over an album this much after a mere handshake and frankly I wasn’t quite sure what to think of that either. 

 But that all changed when Barcelona’s star forward Lionel Messi placed the final dagger into Manchester United at this years Champions League final.  That’s the exact time that I stepped out of a crowded Milwaukee pub and stepped into an empty record store to purchase said album on shiny black wax.  And from that point on, Veckatimest’s sharp melodies, dark harmonies, quiet bombast, and utter beauty unraveled and opened up like a peacock showing its colorful feathers. 

 “Two Weeks” and “Cheerleader” are poppy multilayered head bobbers to put on repeat and play dashboard piano or kneecap drums to.  They’re not really sing-a-long songs only because Edward Droste’s vocals are too pretty to muff.  The same goes for the rest of the delicately quiet album that I imagine would be best listened to in an empty house with vaulted ceilings and windows open wide. But not to worry, if your castle is being cleaned, it sounds just as good in sedans or sloppy apartments.

 As a whole the album proves to be extremely labor intensive on both the part of the creator and what it asks of the listener.  There’s no way to definitively label it, making my first few listens confusing and hair pulling.  But this became my favorite aspect of it.  It is sophisticated and intricately layered, while still managing to be simple. It asks you to construct each sonic structure from the hushed ground beneath it.  Sometimes you build it up just to tear it down, like in my current favorite “All We Ask”.  And sometimes you sit atop and marvel at what was just built, like in the lead off “Southern Point”.  And this is why the album as a whole succeeds.  It doesn’t matter that “Two Weeks” is not a perfect representation of the rest of the album.   Like Voltron, all 12 tracks exist as separate entities that in the end meld together to create the dynamic force that becomesVeckatimest.

Concert Review: Animal Collective-Riverside Theater Milwaukee, WI 5-19-2009 (Do Your Ears Bleed Like Mine?)

whatkatiedoes.com

I’m pretty sure I’ve only read one review of Animal Collective’s live show.  I’m also pretty sure that that review was negative (horrible even) and should deterred me from attending their stop at Milwaukee’s Riverside Theater, but since the keys are tap tap taping you better believe that I didn’t. How could I? For one, a couple of years ago it would have been nearly impossible to see them without driving to Chicago or Minneapolis and secondly, this years Merriweather Post Pavilion has been causing permanent ear damage since it’s January release.  Needless to say, I was excited to hear songs that have made me as elated as the arrival of the first Spring day after an extended winter but also nervous about the possibility of being frozen, dumbfounded, in the crowd while inescapable and unfamiliar noises laced with unintelligible chants made me wish I had brought ear plugs. 

 But when the 2nd #9 was empty and “In the Flowers” started to ooze from the stage (> a giant glowing sphere dangled above them while behind them, the trippy green alien blood droplets of MPP’s cover acted as a backdrop) a slight perma-smile started to take shape. This may be my favorite song of the year and even though the sound in the room was too loud and the bass deep enough to make my heart palpitate with each pulse, I liked how it translated. While I was pleasantly surprised that most of the material played was culled from this years critically acclaimed release (the bouncing, sweaty, and bearded hip kids up front too) the highlight of the evening had to be “Fireworks” from 2007’s Strawberry Jam.  It was 13 or so minutes of harmonic bliss and emotion that live, easily trumped its version on record.   It’s a song that gets stuck in your head, makes you frantically bob your head, and scream along the lyrics.  I did all that on this evening and I loved it!  Other musical highlights: “Banshee Beat” “Comfy in Nautica” “What Would I Want Sky” (new song) and “Leaf House”.

 Post show, Gentle John and I discussed how we were both pleased that we stood up front.  Even though I had a hard time hearing this discussion, it was nice to be able to move freely.  Many times at the shows most jolly moments, “Brother Sport” for instance, I hopped along in a sea of happy music lovers while the seated appeared paralyzed.  I’d a been jealousJ had we not gotten lucky and allowed wrist-bands from a very friendly Riverside employee. 

 Overall, I was extremely impressed by the three guys that hovered over their white cloth covered machines that made loud noises.  It would have been nice to see what they were doing up there but I guess they only came to dominate one of our senses.

Concert Review: The Killers-Milwaukee, WI 4-30-2009 Eagles Ballroom

 

Truth be told, when I decided to spend an asinine amount of money on two tickets to see the still semi popular band from sin city, The Killers, it was only because I needed a Valentine’s Day gift.  While I liked a handful of tracks from their first two releases, I shrugged at their third release, Sawdust, and had blown off the first two singles from their newest album, Day and Age.  While “Spaceman” is a head bobber and a bit of a leg shaker, the first single, “Human,” has lyrics that can only be described as laughable. I mean, “Are we human. Or are we dancer.” What in the sam hell is that supposed to mean? Another detractor was the fact that the show was to be played at The Eagles Ballroom. Anybody that has ever been there knows that it’s A) one of the worst rooms in Milwaukee to hear live music B) beverages are often warm and overpriced (beer is $7.50 & WATER is $2.00) and C) the place sweats more than a fat kid Florida in August. (Trust me on this one) So, again, I was going to this show because “All These Things That I’ve Done” dominates EVERY workout playlist I’ve ever put together and more importantly, my wife has been dying to see them ever since she gushed over Hot Fuss and glued her eyes to Brandon Flowers donning a pink suit on SNL.

 It has now been over a week since the show and I am still somewhat amazed at how great it was.  Minus witnessing multiple women throwing up in a gargage can not ten feet away, the sights and sounds were some of the best that I have ever seen and heard in that shit box.  Overall it kind of felt like I was living the Ben Folds song “Zak and Sara.”  ”I saw the lights, I saw a pale English face, some strange machine repeating beats and thumping bass, visions of pills that put you in a loving trance, that make it possible for all white boys to dance.”  It was bar none the largest production that I have ever seen in that building.  The usual basic and bare backdrop was exchanged for a Vegas show stage backlit by thousands of bright white bulbs.  Bright pink, purple and blue lights snaked around the crowd, obliterated the stage, and added an awesome visual dimension that was very welcomed by this reviewer.  

All I can say about the sounds is that it was impossible knowing or not knowing the songs, the words being audible or inaudible, to not bounce along to nearly every note they played.  I found that live, The Killers music is better, more energetic and more infectious than the Swine Flu at an elementary school lunch table (sorry, it was the day news broke).  Infectious was also the fun that front man Brandon Flowers was clearly having as he moved around the stage like a sprite singing everyone’s favorite songs and melting the crowds hearts by telling them multiple times that it had been way too long since they played Milwaukee.  As good as the entire show was, they TKO’d me as they closed the set with the 1-2-3 punch that was “Read My Mind,”  “Mr. Brightside,” and “All These Things That I’ve Done.”  It was one of those smiling wtf moments.  A welcomed cluster fu@# where you are in utter amazement that they are playing all of the songs you like in a row. 

 NOTE TO SELF: See The Killers whenever they are within a comfortable driving distance.

 

 

 

A Declaration to My Brewers Brethren

 

This is going to be a pretty exciting year in baseball for me.  It’s going to be exciting because my loyalty has shifted from a born loser that continually has a good team and a ceiling-less payroll to an up and coming team that plays America’s favorite past time almost directly in my own backyard.  That’s right kids. I no longer skip backwards from Bill Schroeder and Craig Coshun to search for the often not Milwaukee televised voices of Len Kasper and Bob Brenly.  And I most definitely never skip over Bob Uecker  and Cory Provus to get to the still quite funny and riotous commentary of Pat Hughes and Ron Santo.  I hereby declare: I am a 100% Brewer fan, 100% of the time.

 That being said, a lot of people have asked me just how I came to be affiliated with the baby bears, so I will give you a short run down.  As a child growing up in Milwaukee, the Brewers were in the American League and had other rivals to worry about.  Back then we got spit upon by the Blue Jays, Orioles, Tigers, and Indians while paying very little attention to the National League standings.  Another very important factor is, also as a child, there were generally four teams that dominated television coverage on the national level: The Yankees and Cardinals on Fox Saturdays after TWIB, The Atlanta Braves on TBS, and the Cubs on WGN.  Historical dominance, cool uniforms, and possibly the best lead off hitter ever led me to be a Yankee fan, and regional loyalty aligned with the fact that afternoon baseball greeted me at the doorstep most days when I’d get home from school, helped me choose the Cubs.  I owe nearly entirely my love of the sport of baseball to WGN telecasts of day baseball games.  It was practically the only time that I commanded the remote.  It is safe to say, when I wasn’t watching Masters of the Universe or G.I. Joe I was watching the Cubs and listening to the fantastic commentary of Harry Carey and Steve Stone.

 While the great chatter of Harry Carey and Steve Stone were a big reason and retainer for my love of Cubs Baseball the clincher and overall reason I was reeled in was Ferris Bueller’s Day Off.  In 1986 I was seven years old and as incorrigible as the day is long.  After seeing that film, I had dreamed of skipping school to sit on the third base side of the “Friendly Confines” and catching a foul ball.  I also wished I had that kick ass vest Broderick wore and even tried and failed miserably at impersonating Abe Froman, the Sausage King of Chicago, leaving the only attainable goal as Cubs fandom. 

 So, coming off of a great year by the Brewers, not thinking so highly of the horrific stories of bloodied fans at the hands of the rival faithful (rivalries should be fun, not blood splattering), and the fact that I can watch 140+ games on FSN (I love that I can actually watch nearly every game, not only because they’re televised but also because my wife wouldn’t tell me to turn off the Crew), I resign.  I can honestly say that I will never hate the Cubs. Or wear this shirt for that matter:

But I reserve the right to laugh like hell every time I see it.  C’mon, it’s pretty damn funny! No matter who wins the division, hell it may be Pittsburgh, can we try to keep the rivalry friendly and remember that we’re all baseball fans first. I know that I am. 

Small Shows Yield Great Experiences: Strand of Oaks on Easter Sunday

There are days that I wish that my car windows were tinted so dark that no one could peer inside.  You see.  It’s just that. My car is my sanctuary. It’s the first place that I get to road test and familiarize myself with new artists, songs, albums, etc.  And more importantly it is the most likely place that I can be found gushing like a little girl, fist pumping the steering wheel in time with a kick drum, or shredding my vocal chords as I sing along to the music that corrals my sanity.  I may just be a little weird when it comes to this.  It’s almost as if I experience the emotion and feeling of the music that then exits my body in a Joe Cocker like spaz-out whilst in traffic.  I go through a stigmatism weekly, except no marks are left on my wrist or in my side.  I merely bring this up not because I totally want to let you behind the curtain but because on Easter Sunday Reese, Gentle John, and myself were three of very few audience members at Madison’s Café Montmarte to witness Strand of Oaks pour his heart out in song. 

 

On this night, Timothy Showalter’s words and voice, pregnant with what might be the most emotion ever put to music, hung in the balance and lingered in the air long after the last note was played. During his set he told brief and comical stories to momentarily move away from the loaded content of his lyrics, like when he joked about the night’s previous performance in his hometown where he nervously played “Sister Evangeline,” a song about a failed relationship that yielded a child and a broken heart, in front of his grandmother.  Joined on stage only by the rhythm guitar work and hushed vocal echoing of his cousin, Tim glided through the majority of his first album, Leave Ruin, with a delicate and focused nature that was more than fitting as an Easter night cap.  The live version of “Dogs of War,” stripped down and bathing in its naked truths, instantly became my favorite song of his. Very soon after, similar qualities that brim from “Two Kids” returned it to its place as number one.  A back and forth battle similar to this goes on nearly every time I push play, usually ending with a different answer each listen. The autographically tragic “End in Flames,” closed the book on the set and we three music lovers were to finish our pints and head back to Milwaukee.  Only we didn’t…

 

While the rest of Madison slumbered and prepared to return to classes the next morning, Ryan from Muzzleofbees introduced Tim to Capital Brewery’s Mai Bock as we all talked about music, politics, the Midwest, and the probability of Huey Lewis & the News playing a basement show in a small town.  We got to know each other as much as we could in the short few hours that we spent together.  The only reason I bring this up is because of how it relates to the first paragraph.

 

To say Leave Ruin moves me is a bit of an understatement (see earlier post titled Music for the Harvest).  The electrical charge given off by it is enormous and has affected me since my first listen.  But I found that when I listened to track five, “New Paris,” a song purposely omitted on Easter for personal reasons on Easter, on my way to work more than a week after that glorious night, I felt my eyes begin to moisten in their corners.  And as the song built up steam and the tempo increased, I began to bob my head and stomp my feet on the floor mats as my Mazda crawled past Miller Park.  Surely onlookers may have thought I was nuts but the choice to flail that way was not my own.  The music owned me in a way that it might not have ever owned me before. 

Tip: If a band or artist that is gaining momentum or popularity but is still relatively small is playing in your area, you go.  Each and every time you go.  Because maybe, just maybe, you will amass a connection to the music that you never thought possible.  Or, maybe you’ll have a horrible time that will go down as the most forgettable night of your life.  But believe me, the small entry fee is always worth the gamble!

 

Concert Review: Ray LaMontagne’s Voice Holds the Power to Move the Stouthearted. Riverside Theater: April 21

 

Tonight Ray LaMontagne played Milwaukee’s Riverside Theater to what appeared to be a capacity crowd.  There was a strict no photo policy, meaning there was a woman in a yellow shirt running around and taking her job way too seriously, but who needs photographs to remember the sonic beauty that can only be the product of one man’s vocals.  Ray’s voice melted the crowd’s hearts and was as comforting and relaxing as a broken in pair of blue jeans.  Accompanied by a multi instrumentalist, a drummer, and a bass player, material was culled from all three of the soulful singer songwriter’s albums with the same gentleness and emotion that can be found on record.  There was no glitz, no glam, and very little whooping from the mostly silent audience.  There was no gaudy image painted on a banner behind them, a modest light show, and no large effects filling the airspace.  It was a stripped down performance that was perfectly fitting for such a crowd that was merely there to listen to the strength of voice of one man alone. 

 

For most of the show, our hero on this particular evening stood in the same exact spot on the stage and flooded the ears of his listeners with tales of new love, lost love, and heartbreaking genius.  I kept thinking to myself that it was a shame that this show wasn’t played on this past Saturday, a day that saw the changing of the seasons pass before Milwaukee’s eyes with the movement of the hands on a clock.  Just like that particular day, Ray LaMontagne’s songs can be reminiscent of the winter frost that dangles off of winter beards, gently greets you on a spring morning, breezes and billows through the windows and ruffles the curtains on comfortable summer afternoon, and chills you to the bone like the first feeling of the crisp fall air.  “Empty” was particularly intense in this regard as it sucked every breath, leaving the crowd gasping for air and yearning for more at the same time.  Songs like “Shelter” and “Trouble,” played successively, were just as sweetly punishing live as I had hoped they would be.  Not once did his voice crack or falter.  Truly, if you are a fan of his and have not seen him, you must. 

 

Near the end of the show Ray’s ear caught a gentlemen in the crowd shouting “we love you Ray,” to which he answered, “It’s always the guys.  I don’t know what to do with all this man love.”  To this I just shook my head in a positive way.  His music has the power to bring out emotion in even the stoutest of hearts.  I remember often times when troubled or contemplative, putting on Till the Sun Turns Black and just meandering through the streets of my town while cigarette paper burned and negative thoughts evaporated. This meditative performance will go down in my heart and mind as one of the calmest and calming that my ears and eyes have ever witnessed.  Thanks again Riverside/Pabst/Turner.  If you bring them, we will come!