Saturday, January 31, 2009: Wheeler Opera House
John McEuen is a goofball. Best known as a multi-instrumentalist for the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band, he loves to perform on his own, with his sons, and with other refugees from the incestuous country-folk-rock smorgasbord of the 60s and 70s.
McEuen is a lanky, long-fingered string wizard, adept on banjo, violin, mandolin, and serviceable on guitar. He’s still got a full head of wavy, silver, shoulder-length hair. Sparkling eyes sit atop apple cheeks, setting off his devilish grins. He sort of loafs through his 45 minutes set, noodling on his banjo while he tells stories from his past. But the lean, whippet quick digits on his left hand bely his seeming lazy approach to musicianship.
I suppose the banjo is a humbling instrument. McEuen’s diffident performing style suits his choice of instrument well. He’s basically a jammer, constantly roaming his Day Timer for friends and sidemen to play with. Last night, he brought out his youngest son, Nathan, to join him on several pieces. The kid (in his mid 20s) clearly admires his dad, and is a little in awe of this 64 year old who can still pick with the best. There’s something about family that breaks down all personal space. Nathan and John seemed to meld into one aura as they traded licks on their amplified acoustic guitars. And Nathan seemed used to being the butt of John’s gentle humor. But then he gave his own right back. After John set him up for a “big solo”, Nathan wrapped his hands around the microphone and did some 21st century mouth noises, in rhythm to John’s strumming. In the midst of the rapid fire tongue clicks and lip pops, he dropped in two quick “NathanMcEuen.com”s, with a sly glance to the audience. That might actually beat selling CDs in the lobby after the show, although they did do that as well.
After teasing the audience with a cameo appearance in the McEuen set, Chris Hillman came out after intermission, with Herb Peterson and Larry Park. These names might be obscure, but their pedigree is not. Chris Hillman played bass for the Byrds’ during their tenure at the top of the rock charts, and helped guide their turn into country rock in “Sweetheart of the Rodeo”. He was a key member of the Flying Burrito Brothers, trying (and failing) to temper the chaotic genius of Gram Parsons. He joined Steven Stills in the 70’s band, Manassas. And for the past 20 years, he’s been linked with Peterson as they sporadically tour in tandem. Peterson made his career os a sideman in the 70s, usually in country flavored projects such as Emmylou Harris’ first albums, and as a replacement in Flatt and Scruggs while Earl Scruggs was down for four months with surgery. Larry Park is an acoustic guitar picker from Monatana, providing needed instrumental depth to Hillman’s mandolin (his instrument of choice), and Peterson’s unadorned strumming.
Picking seemingly at random from a catalog of 75 pieces on a list set on a stool beside him, Hillman led the group (joined half way through by McEuen) on a tour with a few Byrds’ oldies, and a broader selection of country and folk selections from the thirties to the seventies.
Hillman, even at 64, still has a pure voice. The mandolin is almost hidden in his beefy hands, resting on his blue collar paunch. A musician more than a performer, he raises his head above his doubling chin, closes his eyes, and reaches for the high notes. His apple cheeks are even plumper than McEuen’s, and his bushy grey mustache hides his persistent smile. He’s clearly at peace with himself and his music. After 45 years, why not?
I always get amazed at those voices I remember from the 60s, back when the children of the 40s were experimenting, merging forms, trying out country, folk, Texas Swing, whatever. Even in their own 60s, now, they still can hit all the notes, just as pure, but fuller now, befitting the measure of their years. When someone like David Crosby (another Byrd who teamed with Stephan Stills) steps on stage, you can forget his ballooning silhouette and liver transplant when he launches his reassuring tenor into a Kris Kristofferson tune.
From the second row of the Wheeler, we looked up at the guys who could still bring a smile to an audience just out to have a good simple time that night.
Sunday, February 1, 2009
So different, but just the same, I guess, as another child of the 40s (from my own class of ’49) seen by about 100,000 times as many people this evening. Bruce Springsteen was my NUMBER ONE rock hero from the first time I heard Born to Run and saw him in Robertson Gymnasium in Santa Barbara. Bruce followed Paul McCartney, U2, The Rolling Stones, and Prince in the biggest stage in the world – these guys (along with Bob Dylan) ruled the 60s, 70s and 80s, no doubt. At least, they are the ones still in business.
The half time show is a unique venue. 12 minutes. That’s all you get, and there is no encore, no time for flubs or improvisation. It has to guide the audience through their memories, with all the signature moves and riffs, and still not irritate the NFL brass, who have vowed no more wardrobe malfunctions.
So Bruce started off with himself and Clarence in shadow silhouette, evoking the cover of “Born to Run”, and leapt into “Tenth Avenue Freeze Out” from that album. Of course, he did the title tune as well, then moved into the title song from his newly released album “Working on a Dream” complete with a choir that looked like his own personal Verizon network.
The E Street band (minus the late organist, Danny Federici) supplied the power and the drive, almost making me forget that Bruce has lost some of his higher register and shrieks. Clarence Clemens (thank goodness) has slimmed down, and was resplendent in a floor length black overcoat with shoulder width lapels, music clef silver sequins, and an oversized fedora. Wife Patty Scialfa and violinist Soozie Tyrell served as back up vocalists and acoustic rhythm guitarists. Nils Lofgren and the perennially do raged Miami Steve (little Steven) Van Zandt provided the electric frets; Max Weinberg and Garry talent remain the drum and bass foundation of the E Street nation. Professor Roy Bittan doubled on organ and piano. A full horn section filled up the wall of sound along with the church gowned multi cultural choir.
The Super Bowl, of course is a spectacle made for TV, and both the stage and the stadium itself erupted with roman candles writ large, in tune to key parts of the songs. The stadium fireworks were really only visible from the panorama camera set a mile away. While it looked great on TV, I can only imagine how the live show appeared.
Bruce did all his moves – he jumped on the stage amps, windmilled his guitar, and slid on his shins smack into a stage cam, laughing as he hit his belly into the lens. He low-fived the crowd at the stage edge. He smiled, buddied up to Clarence and Steve, and generally provided enough mature exuberance to power all the cell phone cams flashing back at him.
Chris Hillman and John McEuen will never play the Super Bowl. And unless he takes up skiing late in life, Bruce will never play the Wheeler. But they are all brothers born in the 40s, a little larger, a little slower, but just as happy, maybe even more so, to still be singing and leading the band for the rest of us. Their smiles rise above the years, their songs can still bring the tears, and for 12 minutes, or two hours, or however long they play, we can sit back and just relax, secure in our family of music.