Dia de Las Puertas!

Did something completely nutty the other day and listened to ALL SEVEN Jim Morrison-era Doors albums (including the posthumously released "An American Prayer", some of which was totally new to me).  The others were quite familiar - old ground I travelled many years ago and frankly wondered if I'd ever revisit.  There is only so much music you can fit into your life and I had long since written the Doors off as a group that didn't make it into adulthood with me.  I was a huge fan in high school and college, had all of the important albums on cassette (although had only upgraded two of them to CD).  I had read "No One Here Gets Out Alive", owned a copy of "Wilderness" (Jim's unique poetry) , burned out a VHS copy of "Live at The Hollywood Bowl", and went with a group of college friends to see Oliver Stone's biopic as soon as it was released.   My freshman roommate was a big fan and I recall vividly his criticizing my drunken drumming-along (slapping my palms to my legs) to "Light My Fire" while he was trying to sleep (he was a drummer himself, so his critique had an added weight).  A also recall, the following year, sitting in a friend's apartment riding on a mellow mushroom high when someone in the room pointed out a poster of Morrison on the wall (the iconic "American Poet", Jim-as-Jesus pose, and likely the same poster I had had on my dorm wall the previous year -- between a poster of the Old Man With Lantern from Led Zeppelin IV, complete with Stairway lyrics, and a poster featuring an anonymous scantily-clad woman and bearing the slogan "Man Cannot Live on Beer Alone" - which speaks volumes on both my own intellectual and maturity level at the time, as well as the depth of the philosophical and literary contributions of the Lizard King).  At any rate, regarding this other person's Jim poster, the commenter questioned whether Jim Morrison idolatry should really be practiced by someone who has already graduated from the twelfth grade.  I remember tittering along as the accused fumbled weakly to justify the poster, all the while feeling inwardly red-faced at the realization that I, too, still appreciated the poet/singer - a fact that I suddenly saw as a mark of obvious immaturity.

 As it happened,  my interest in the Doors did genuinely begin to wane in those college years as I was introduced to music beyond Classic Rock.  Groups like the Stones, Beatles and Pink Floyd continued to interest me and still get regular play on my stereo, but the Doors fell by the wayside (The Who did too, actually, although I was never nearly as into them as I was into Jim and company).  Over the years I've almost completely ignored the group, dismissing them from my musical landscape.  Once in a while I'd let a song play on the radio, or watch a few minutes of "Hollywood Bowl" on VH1 Classic, mainly for the nostalgia, but otherwise I haven't really had much time for the group.  As I started to collect vinyl I usually skipped over the Doors section at the stores.  Once in a while, for curiosity's sake, I'd examine a copy of the first album or LA Woman.  But the discs were usually over-priced for the quality of the vinyl, and for my interest level.  Then one day I picked up an imperfect copy of The Soft Parade for cheap.  I recalled having a particular affinity for that album and when I took it home and played it I found that the songs were still sounding great and I began to open my mind just a little to once again appreciating the band's music.  I later picked up Strange Days on LP and, while I was a bit less impressed with that one, the record left me with a rekindled (although relatively weak) Doors fever.  I set about acquiring the 5 Morrison-era CDs I didn't already own and decided to jump right into the deep end by playing them all back-to-back, in order (although in going from memory I screwed up the order a bit). 

 I have to take a moment to thank Silvie, who was kind enough to tolerate this undertaking.  Actually she was typically game for such madness and passed the time crafting alongside of me on the couch (more on that in a later post).  She is generally pretty neutral about The Doors and during the evening made occasional welcome remarks such as "So far this is the most circusy song we've heard" (Alabama Song) and "Back Door Man?  Isn't that the same thing Led Zeppelin sang about?  Did they steal blues songs, too?"

 My impressions throughout the evening were generally along the lines of a fair-to-middling appreciation of the hits, welcome re-acquaintance with some forgotten gems ("Yes the River Knows" and Hyacinth House" for example), and the noting (often aloud) of what I would consider filler, seemingly on each disc.  I concluded that, allmusic.com-be-damned, I still consider The Soft Parade to be my favorite Doors album, and I ended up throwing a dozen or so tunes from various discs into the ipod.  The group's best songs really are up there with my favorite songs of all-time ("The End", "LA Woman" and "Wishful Sinful", to name three) and I'll likely add the four missing Doors LPs to my shelves eventually.  I regained an appreciation for Jim Morrison (although in a bit less elevated sense than I had back in the day -- I still appreciate his lyrics, but am less inclined to call him a poet, and recognize his strong song-writing and vocal skills, diminished for me, but still worthy).  Incidentally, I also came to learn that guitarist Robbie Krieger's songwriting contributions were far more noteworthy than I ever suspected.  I still like Robbie's understated and great playing, John Densmore's skillful, impassioned drumming, and even Ray Manzarek's ubiquitous keys (I prefer his piano-playing to organ, but you have to give the man props for handling some of the band's bass duties on a keyboard).  In summation, listening to the Doors again was like catching up with an old friend who hasn't changed much over the years, and whose many qualities and quirks you immediately recognize all over again making you wonder why it took so long for you to look them up.  You promise to stay in touch, but you realize that they probably won't be much of a presence in your life in the foreseeable future - and that's okay too.

 

Furthur

I had a dream the other night that I went to see Furthur at the WaMu Theatre.  The dream goes like this:  I took the light rail to the Stadium District and then spent a somewhat ridiculous amount of time trying to walk the few blocks to the theater.  I could see the sign for the venue between the stadiums but I was unsure how to traverse the terrain (fenced -in vacant lots, rail yard, highway on-ramps) between the station and the theater.  After following a thin dirt trail to a dead end at a busy intersection with no crosswalks, I found myself doubling back and eventually walking up a spiraling cement walk that turned into a bridge that passed over the vacant lot and the train tracks and pointed me in the direction of the WaMu.  When I arrived there was a tiny but lively scene of the usual crunchy neo-hippie folk.  There was a small parking lot with a rather pathetic Shakedown brightened up by a good-sounding band set up in a corner of the lot.  I saw two guys getting in each other's faces, which you hardly ever see at shows, but they eventually went their own ways without real incident.  I sat on the sidewalk and ate the sandwich Silvie had made me, took a picture of the marquee poster and headed into the theater.  It was my first time at this venue, and it was interestingly strange.  They have a rather large space that can be used for convention-type activities, or which can be configured into a more intimate theater setting with a dark, cavernous lobby area with plenty of room in which to roam or stretch out.  It was 90 minutes or so until show time and I walked right up to the front of the floor (there was a stand of seats in the back and a large floor space).  There was a group of about a hundred early-arrivers who camped out near the stage and so I stood around for ages about three people from the rail, stage left.  There were distinct groups of folks but individuals from different groups seemed to interact in such a way that it seemed as if everyone knew each other.  A few people struck up conversations with me, but mostly I just people-watched, wishing I had brought a book, until the floor got quite crowded and show time neared.

As soon as the band launched into their opener, "Victim or the Crime" (a Dead tune being debuted by Furthur that Bob Weir dedicated to the NFL), one of the guys I had been talking to, Alex, sparked up a large joint.  He passed it among his friends until a nerdy-looking guy to my left tapped him on the shoulder and asked for a hit.  A few minutes later the joint was gone and I turned to my left to see the nerdy guy standing rigid, bug-eyed, with mouth wide open, while a girl behind him asked him if he was okay.  He shook his head yes but told his buddy that he had to get out of the crowd.  He had clearly entered orbit.   I made it a point to watch for when Alex would pull out another joint.

Meanwhile the band was continuing through a nice version of Bob's Lost Sailor > Saint of Circumstance combo.  They would end up playing a mix of tunes that weren't necessarily my favorites but which were really well done.  When Alex's second joint came around I made a motion for it and took a few deep puffs.  Moments later I started to blast off.  I felt like I was starting to float and at the same time I felt the floor slanting to the right and I was careful to remain upright in the tightly-packed crowd.  I saw instantly why the nerdy guy had panicked and headed for the back of the theater but I was determined not to become a casualty.  At any rate I had no choice but to ride the wave as I didn't trust my legs and feet to carry me across the floor.  So I kept on dancing and singing and trying really hard not to levitate.

It was during this time that a singularly strange thing occurred.  I was doing my best to keep my focus on the band but everything was suddenly so intense (the music, the people, the lights) that I briefly found myself wishing that Silvie was there to steady and reassure me, maybe take me out to a waiting car and drive me home and put me to bed.  It was just then that I turned slightly to my right and... oh my god, there she was!  Right there next to me.  She was moving towards me, staring into my eyes, and she had her arms out to me.  I was truly confounded.  What was going on here?   I just stood there, frozen, as the girl leaned in and hugged me and kissed me on the neck.  Part way through the encounter I decided that this was not Silvie.  It was a girl Silvie's height, wearing glasses like hers, who looked so much like Silvie that for a few confused seconds I really thought it was her.  Oh, did I forget to mention that she was wearing a turtle costume?  I watched her as she moved away from me and through the crowd, hugging and kissing each person as she went.

I continued to ride the wave of those few tokes through the first set (with the floor now tilting to the left), wondering if I'd be able to walk through the crowd at setbreak.  To my relief I was indeed able to make my way to the lobby and my legs gained strength and coordination as I walked from end to end of the sprawling, purple-lit lobby.  After standing in line at the water fountain (I was so parched that I took a full minute at the fountain, which was less time than most folks took - clearly dry-mouth was going around).  I made my way back into the theater to await second set, or as I think of it now, Paranoia Time.  Suddenly everyone seemed, in one way or another, sinister to me.  I stood next to a guy who took off his jacket and started flexing his arms like a boxer loosening up.  I was convinced that he was going to start something so I moved to a different spot.  I found myself standing near a group of people and thought I heard one of them say my name and tell me that she knew I was watching them.  I got the hell out of there.  As the second set started I moved about a half-dozen more times because people were creeping me the fuck out.  Even when I'd found a relatively good spot to stand, I would be looking around every few seconds to make sure no one snuck up on me.  I kept checking my wallet.  At one point I ended up next to the boxer guy again!  I freaked out and two-stepped the fuck away from him.  Another guy tapped me on the shoulder and told me that the song they just played was great.  I nodded and agreed with him but I thought he must have been insinuating something, or had some ulterior motive.  Another time I thought I heard my name, this time my full name.  I bowed my head and fled.  I ended up hunkered down next to the soundboard operator with my back to a railing so that nobody could get the drop on me, and I kept my eye on everyone.

I wasn't in the best frame of mind, obviously, but I did manage to enjoy the set.  The band played great versions of "Passenger", "Estimated Prophet", and one of my faves, "Jack Straw".  As the show drew to a close I was feeling a bit less paranoid, and a little more steady on my feet.  I decided to cut out before the encore, mainly because I thought it was getting too late and I didn't want to call Silvie from the train too late, or (god forbid) miss the last train.  I walked out and took a few more snaps of the poster outside as I turned the corner and headed back the way I had come 6 hours earlier. 

I climbed the stairs to the walkway and was soon on the spiraled concrete walk down to the street level.  I passed a homeless person at a quick pace, feeling a lot less high and paranoid, but still wary of my surroundings.  As I rounded the curve I saw a figure ahead of me.  He looked to be a kid in his twenties with layers of clothing and a backpack, and he was weaving from side to side as he went.  I was clear-headed but unsure of whether to hang back or speed past this guy.  Besides the homeless man there was no one else around, and even though the walkway was adequately lit, I still felt decidedly less than safe going down that walkway.  The kid shuffled to the right side of the walk, so I decided to walk briskly past on the left.  As I passed him I turned to look at him.  He turned too, and when he saw me he ran directly at me, with his hands up in front of him, screaming at the top of his voice.  I jumped back and sprinted thirty yards or so back up the walk.  He didn't come after me, but turned and continued to walk to the bottom of the walk.  He had gotten scarily close to my face and his scream was menacing but also kind of anguished-sounding.  I gave him a few moments to reach the bottom and was glad to see him turn right, as I was going to be crossing the street and continuing forward.  When I reached the bottom I looked down the street to see him striding beside another lone walker.  He seemed to be harassing the person or arguing with him.  At one point he took off his sweater and angrily flung it down on the sidewalk.  I paused at my crossing.   The streets were deserted and I didn't know if I should follow the two in case an attack happened or run like hell away from there or get out my phone and dial 9-1 and wait to see what happened next. 

What happened was that the guy who was being harassed moved onto an ascending walkway and the messed-up kid turned away and gave up.  I decided I didn't want him to see me and start walking back my way so I took off across the street, sprinting two more blocks to the train platform.  The platform was of course deserted and I realized that, as the platform had only one access point and there was no indicator as to when the next train was coming, I needed to find a way out of there in case I saw the kid approaching.  On the other side of the northbound tracks there was a too-tall fence, so I planned an escape across the southbound tracks, over a short concrete barrier and onto the busway.  From there I'd just have to run for it and hope he was too out of it to pursue.  But after a small eternity the train thankfully arrived and I was pleased to find it far from empty this late at night.  I rode the rest of the way in ease after a night of adventure with a great story to tell Silvie when she picked me up at the station.

 

Mt. Dickerman

I took a solo hike on Mt. Dickerman in August.  Dickerman is located on the Mountain Loop Highway in the Mount Baker-Snoqualmie National Forest, and its trailhead shares a parking lot with the trailhead of the Perry Creek/Mt. Forgotten path, which I've hiked four times in the past.  I got an early start, reaching the trailhead at 8:00, after a two-hour drive.  I was the first to sign the register and started off eagerly.

While the Perry Creek trail lulls you into a false sense of security, only to spring steep switchbacks on you after the falls, Dickerman gets right down to business.  The weather was coolish and overcast, and I felt good as I negotiated the scores of switchbacks through dense forest.  Eventually, I came upon the meadows which were just lovely, carpeted in red, white, yellow, blue and purple wildflowers.  There were quite a few meadows, and walking through them on long, not-so-steep pathways was a nice reward for having come through the switchbacks.

I reached the top in just under three hours, having stopped a few times for photos and snacks.  While the hike was tough, I made it through with surprisingly little real difficulty.  The summit was grand, with two main peaks and a flowery sloped meadow.  Fog obscured most of the long-views to the horizons, although the middle views into the valleys were impressive.   I planned to spend an hour at the top and began to wonder if the clouds would push through sufficiently so that I could see some of the surrounding peaks. 

During that hour, the fog pushed through in waves, steamed up from unseen valleys, and blew through the meadow where I stood.  The sun tried to poke through, and I got glimpses of clarity here and there, but eventually the fog blanketed the view in all directions, the sky darkened and it got uncomfortably cold.  Luckily I had a hooded windbreaker, although gloves would have been nice as well.  I was soon shivering and looking for places to stand so that the swirling winds would miss me. I walked down the meadow towards a lower cliff and was surprised to find a metal box with solar panel and antenna mounted on the cliff edge.  A sticker on the back identified the box as belonging to Snohomish County Search and Rescue.

I trudged back up the meadow towards one of the peaks.  The fog hadn't lifted, it was still cold, and my predetermined hour was nearly up.  I was just about ready to head back down when I was startled by a gray jay flapping right by my head.  He alit on a nearby treetop and eyed me.  I took the hint and dug into my bag for the almonds in my trail mix.  He wasn't shy and flew onto my hand.  His mate was a little more reserved and waited for me to toss one onto the rocks for her to scoop up.  Soon there were more jays, about 5 or 6 total, and each took turns at landing on my hand for an almond.  Luckily I had plenty of almonds and so I settled in (as the air warmed and the fog lifted slightly) and spent a good long while enjoying the birds' company.  I truly felt blessed by nature that the jays showed up to save me in my hour of discomfort.

When I ran out of almonds I walked around a bit more to snap pictures here and there, as the fickle fog allowed.  I soon saw a group of seven mountain goats grazing on a slope in the middle distance.  They were too far away to get a clear look at them, and a fully-zoomed picture still made them seem remote, but I felt blessed again to see them.  I had heard of folks seeing goats in the area, and I wondered when I would (well, wonder no more).  They were patient grazers and I watched them for a short while from my lofty perch. 

It was difficult to tear myself away from the summit, but I had to leave sometime.  In the end I spent two and a half hours on the mountaintop, and didn't see another hiker until I was a half-hour down the trail.  I would pass seven people total on my two and a half hour descent.  I was sore and exhausted by the time I reached the trailhead and enjoyed a sandwich and some lemonade before starting the drive back home.  The fog had never fully cleared, so I missed a good chunk of the available view (including Mt. Baker) but that will only serve as a good excuse to come back and climb Dickerman again sometime.  I had a great day on that beautiful mountain; a day made even more special by the beautiful wildflowers and the friendly jays.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mr. Monkey goes to Tahoe

Mr. Monkey took a week's vacation in south Lake Tahoe and was kind enough to invite me along.  My mom and bro came along, as well.  We stayed at the Ridge and had a very relaxing and fun week.  We hit the beach (water was pretty darned cold), flushed a few shekels at the casinos, took a drive to historic Virginia City, and did a lot of hanging out.  I hit a record store in South Lake Tahoe and two in Reno, and scored some choice LPs (including Astral Weeks, Plastic Ono Band, and a few Miles titles).  All in all it was a great week, with perfect weather and no cares except what to eat next.  Here are some pics featuring Mr. M:

Freshies!

 

Emerald Bay

 

Virginia City

 

Good Karma 5k

On Sunday I ran in the Good Karma 5k at Seward Park. It was my first organized race in a few years. This is a choose your charity event, and I picked the Seattle Humane Society. I'd gotten back into running a couple of months ago and Silvie bought me a pair of the just-released New Balance Minimus Zero shoes, which I love. I've been going to Seward Park twice a week after work and on Saturday mornings - lately running the 5K course in preparation for Sunday. They threw a bit of a curveball, as the course was run counter-clockwise, with the uphill loop being run clockwise (exactly the opposite as I was used to experiencing it). My best time in training was just under 30 minutes, but on Sunday I ran 31:52. Middle of the pack, and 5 out of 10 in my age/gender division. Not horrible, but I'd dearly love to improve. I'm on the lookout for other 5ks and I plan on doing the Pumpkin Push in October which I've done twice before. Here are the results (I'm far down the list at 170) and a pic of me looking rather winded at the finish:

Miles

Today is the 86th anniversary of the birth of Miles Davis, the badass king of jazz, and a musical hero of mine.  Admittedly, I only started to get into Miles, and jazz in general, a few years ago.  I started off with Coltrane, Monk, Tatum, Brubeck, Corea and Getz.  But when I got around to Miles, that was it.  I'm still learning much about the man and his music.  His career was a long and winding road, from the bebop of Charlie Parker, through hard bop, cool jazz, his great quintets, his work with Gil Evans and Teo Marceo, his amazing electric period, to the fusion and pop of the eighties.  Miles was restless, ever pushing his music out into new directions and leaving a stunning collection of recorded works.  The most immediate for me is the electric period, paricularly In a Silent Way, Bitches Brew and Tribute to Jack Johnson.  These albums offer a somewhat smooth transition to the jazz world for a jam band fan.  Davis in fact opened for the Grateful Dead in 1970 which, if I could time-travel, would probably make my head explode.  From there I worked backwards, not entirely in a straight line, to experience his 50s and 60s output.  As I become more a fan of this period of jazz in general I find my appreciation for Miles growing even greater.  The combination of his consistantly beautiful music, his knack for surrounding himself with talented collaborators, and his tone on the trumpet put him in the rarified company of Jerry Garcia in my personal musical pantheon.

My favorite Miles album?  Well, I mentioned a few choices earlier.  In a Silent Way has a real grip on my psyche, and Jack Johnson is hard to beat with it's driving rock and immediacy.  Lisa Simpson went way back to the Birth of the Cool compilation album for her pick.  But, I'm going to go to 1959 and one of the most celebrated jazz albums all time, Kind of Blue, which is just about perfect.

Happy Birthday, Miles.

 

Happy Birthday, Bob!

Today is Bob Dylan's 71st birthday.  One of my all-time musical heroes, maybe number one when all is said and done.  I first got into Bob in high school when my Deadhead friend Jason hooked me up with a copy of Biograph.  I used to play those tapes in our family car and my mom quickly got to like the tunes (we even share the same favorite Dylan song, "Abandoned Love").  I recall sitting at the typewriter in our dining room pecking out the lyrics to Hard Rain and Desolation Row.   My brother actually bought an album before I did, a cassette copy of Highway 61; but within a few years I would have a couple dozen Dylan CDs in my collection.  I saw him a few times in Pittsburgh; the first time at the great Syria Mosque during my freshman year at college. My dorm-mate, and later roommate, Ethan, was a Bobhead too, and we geeked out for countless hours (when the first triple-volume of the booleg series came out, we both walked downtown to buy copies and I remember lying on the floor of my dorm room giving those great discs a run through).  I still love Bob, and have about 15 of his LPs on my shelf (including a nice copy of Biograph).  Sil and I were lucky to catch Bob at Bumbershoot two years ago.  Here's to you Bob.  Happy Birthday, and many,many more....

Sexy Liberal Comedy Tour

Sil and I caught Stephanie Miller's Sexy Liberal Comedy Tour at the Moore. The progressive radio host was joined by John Fugelsang and Hal Sparks for a night of stand-up. Each did a solo set before all three did a panel discussion of current events. We agreed that Fugelsang, who led off, had the best set, while Hal Sparks was a close second. Miller got an A for effort, and was pretty good herself, given that she's not a professional commedienne. A fun evening, for sure.

Fugelsang, Miller and Sparks

Phish at the Gorge

After catching only one of the 2009 Gorge shows, Silvie and I had vowed to do the double the next time Phish rolled into the Columbia River valley, and we made good, securing tickets and camping passes through the band’s website several months before the early August shows. We made the trek out east with all of our camping gear and snacks, plus a case of bottled water and a gallon of wine (which was hardly touched, as the searing heat of the desert does not exactly whet the appetite for fermented grapes). It was HOT out there. The temps were in the low 90’s, but the real problem is that at the Gorge, if you want shade, you have to bring it with you. Some folks did – in the form of canopies. The moment we stepped out of the car and I saw our new next-door neighbors erecting theirs I thought “Damn, I wish we had one of those!” We set up our tent and quickly realized that we’d have to sit in our hot little tent, or in the car, if we wanted to have any respite from the relentless sun. We saw our other next-door neighbors (so close you could reach out and tug on their dirty dreads without straining) rigging up a tarp between their raised trunk hatch and tent. I remembered that I had brought a tarp, as well as a bunch of bungee cords and rope. Sil and I set about strategizing a make-shift canopy, and we were able to create a rather truncated but hell-at-least-we-got-this shelter within which we found sparse, but adequate respite from the baking heat. With our camping chairs setup in the small space between open trunk and tent we whiled away the hours until showtime. This was Friday, the 5th, the first day of Phish’s two-day stand, and I must admit to telling Silvie very early on in our stay that I already was regretting our trip.

After we settled in, I started to feel a bit more optimistic about our situation. We had food, water and shelter. Evening, and the concert, would have to arrive sooner or later. We passed the time chatting and snacking, while occasionally modifying our canopy as the sun creeped across the sky. All around us people talked, played music and partied as hearty as the temperatures would allow. At one point I decided to take a walk through the lines of cars and tents to find Shakedown and see what was being offered up. It was a long, hot walk. Shakedown was at the bottom of the camping area, a nice long row of tents hawking t-shirts, food, jewelry, and other goodies. Mushrooms seemed to be the choice whispered offering of the weekend, and there were the usual scattering of cooler jockeys offering, amongst other brews, my beloved Newky Brown. The actual real Furthur bus was parked in the area and I stopped for a brief second to check it out. I was wearing a Duquesne t-shirt and was stopped by a ragged little guy who graduated from the college in 2003 and was living in Denver. We chatted a bit; he was wasted but coherent, a nice guy. He gave me a couple of hits from his pipe right there in the middle of Shakedown Street. But his pipe was nearly spent already. We said goodbye and I headed back to the tent to see how Sil was faring. I poured a tall cup of wine and got a nice little buzz on (although I believe that buzz was pretty much quashed by the heat once we started walking to the show). The walk to the concert ground was loooong. At the end of the camping area there was a ridiculously lenghthy pathway through the dirt and chaparral to the venue. Security pat-down was both tedious and pointless. You are led into metal-railed chutes where the security personnel either a) do a cursory grope ‘n’ peak at your attire and bag, or do the slightly (but only slightly) more thorough move of asking you to faintly shift a few articles in your bag or pockets so that they can appear curious about the deeper contents, but really it’s just a time-wasting hassle and I can’t imagine there is anything you can’t easily smuggle into the place. I was wearing cargo shorts and was carrying a cell phone, camera, car keys, eyeglasses, and who knows what else. My guy felt a couple of my pockets and played a guessing game as to their contents. He was pretty good at guessing, but it really was a joke as far as a security check goes.

We found a nice patch of sloping lawn towards the back, stage left, and counted the minutes until the sun dropped behind the hills and the boys hit the stage. [insert standard comment regarding the immensely awe-inducing majesty of the setting here – this place really is amazing] The Phantastic Phour took their places and the show was on. The first set was a long one and while the band would, over the two nights, continue their tradition of not giving me any of my favorite tunes, it was a high-spirited set with two standouts: a seriously jammed-out cover of the James Gang’s “Walk Away” and a spacey “Roggae” which was soon to be hailed by some on the interwebs as the best Roggae ever. I can’t vouch for that, but it was nice, indeed. I had a bonding moment with a passing drunk guy, a big dude wearing a Dodgers T-Shirt, who put his arm around me while we belted out the lyrics together. During setbreak, another drunk guy scooted down the hill to chat about the first set. Particularly he wanted to try to identify one song he particularly enjoyed.

Drunk Guy: Hey, what was that one song they played, it was a couple songs after that one song that goes “I can see through the lines….” I think it was a Stones cover, and, man, they just…

Me: …jammed the shit out of it?

Drunk Guy: Yeah!!

Me: Yeah, that was a James Gang song.

Drunk Guy: Really?? I had one of their albums once….

This guy was actually pretty cool. He was staying in the Premier Camping area. We discussed the various camping options available (believe it or not the Gorge actually has 4 levels of camping: general, premier, terraced and something called “Glamping” which is a combination of the words Glamour and Camping and costs several hundred dollars) and Sil and I later decided that at twice the price of general camping, Premier Camping sounded like a not unreasonable idea.

The second set featured an uber-cool cover of the Velvet Underground’s “Rock and Roll” which stretched out magnificently, as well as “Meatstick” complete with dance moves and Japanese lyrics, as well as a groovy “Boogie On Reggae Woman” and for the encore yet another cover, the great Stones classic “Loving Cup”. Overall it was a satisfying show, and we headed back on the long night’s journey to our tent and some well-earned sleep.

I knew that the second day would in a major sense be a lot worse than the first, and I speak, of course, of the heat. The evening and night had been a very comfortable 60 degrees, perfect for sleeping, but I knew that we would wake up hot, and stay hot for a lot longer of a day than the first. I had anticipated being able to sleep until at least nine but was chagrined to note, upon waking up uncomfortably warm the next morning, that it was only 7:00 which meant a full 13(!) more hours until sunset. I tried to let Silvie sleep as long as she could, although I was dying to set up our canopy and get at least a semblance of airflow going through our camp space. When we were both sufficiently “up” we set about preparing our setup and breakfasted on Luna bars, kettle korn and bottled water. The second day turned out to be not all that bad – in fact we had a lot of fun, despite the heat. Our area, while cramped, was homey and breezes did come through from time to time. We chatted, played Boggle, listened to the radio, and snacked as the sun crawled overhead in a painfully slow arc. Mid-afternoon we locked up our trunk and set out on a walk to Shakedown. We snapped pics at the Furthur bus, browsed the goods for sale, and searched in vain for some good vegan vittles. Eventually Sil returned to the tent and I was able to find a vegan-tamale vendor. I bought 4 and headed to the site. The tamales were delish and I washed them down with some more burgundy wine. Showtime was nearing.

On the way to the show we were offered cash for an extra, and Sil decided to sell her ticket so that she could head back to the tent for a much-needed evening nap. So we said goodbye and I walked the hundred miles to the venue. I chose a spot near where we were situated the night before. The boys took the stage shortly after sunset and the first set was a bit of a dud, to be honest. The setlist was predictably weak, and the highlights were few and not all that memorable. The set was helped immensely by a J that was passed around and which I hit numerous times. By setbreak I was feeling pretty good, and then yet another drunk guy flopped down beside and proceeded to stomp all over my buzz. This guy was majorly, overly impressed with the first set, calling it “the best set by any band ever.” In all fairness, as I listened to it a few days later, I realized that it actually wasn’t half bad, but still his reaction was just a bit over the top. Anyway, this guy was pretty genial, and he was a Pittsburgh native. He was understandably surprised to learn that I was from Pittsburgh too. He had gotten separated from his friends and it took all setbreak for me to get him to go and look for them. He was cool. I hope he found his buds.

Second set more than made up for the first with a handful of choice tunes like “Chalkdust”, “Tweezer”, “Caspian” , “Reba” and “Antelope”. The encore featured “Suzy Greenberg” and “Sanity” before the inevitable “Tweprise”. A nice ending to a fun weekend with Phish at the Gorge. I hiked back to the tent and we grabbed what sleep we could before waking up extra early to decamp. I think we will do this again, if Phish comes around, but we’ll probably opt for the more spacious premier camping, and likely splurge for a canopy. And an ice chest. And maybe some battery-powered fans….

Pete Townshend - "Save it for Later"

This is one of my favorite songs of all time, originally done by the (English) Beat. Here is a clip of Pete Townshend doing this tune live, and pretty much nailing the shit out of it:

Reintroducing Syd Barrett

I’ve been reacquainting myself with that delightful Cambridge madcap Syd Barrett, late of Pink Floyd (and late of this earth, as of 2006). I was always a big fan of Syd, both of his work with the Floyd and his brief solo career. I read the new book “A Very Irregular Head” by Rob Chapman, a mostly enjoyable tome that retold the pop star’s story while dutifully stripping away the myth, as well as the glamour, to reveal a very troubled soul. In Chapman’s telling, Syd is seen as an artistically-gifted but socially-challenged person who happened to blossom just as the psychedelic-pop scene was. Syd temporarily abandoned his beloved painting for pop music, and showed an undeniable flair for writing quirkily amazing pop songs. His star burned out early for several reasons (drug use figured in, but the main culprits were disillusionment with the music business, apathy to mainstream “success” and an isolating introversion spurred on by a never-fully-diagnosed mental unbalance).

After bowing out of the music scene, Syd found it difficult to either return to painting (he hadn’t the discipline) or to return to a nice, quiet “normal” life. He retreated from London to Cambridge where he spent the rest of his days gardening and “bicycling to the shops” while battling demons, real and imagined. Once a star, always a star, at least in some people’s eyes; he was forever hounded by the press and by fans, old and new. It’s a very sympathetic portrait without Chapman bending too far to make his case for a genius who spent all his talent in a few concentrated years and then tried in vain to be a regular bloke in his hometown.

It should be noted that Syd’s boyhood pal, David Gilmour, did much over the years to keep Syd in royalties, which brings me to the newly-released “An Introduction to Syd Barrett,” the first official release to feature both Syd’s Floyd and solo output. The collection was executive-produced by Gilmour, and the guitarist collaborated on new mixes of several songs, and even added bass to one of the tunes (“Here I Go.”)

As an introduction, it’s a pretty good effort; especially if one considers the 18-track limitation. Putting myself in the shoes of a Syd newbie, I’d be very impressed with this collection, and it would surely make me seek out the other available recordings. So, on that level (and really, it is an “introduction,” so this is exactly the level it is on) it succeeds.

Track listing:

Arnold Layne
See Emily Play
Apples and Oranges
Matilda Mother
Chapter 24
Bike
Terrapin
Love You
Dark Globe
Here I Go
Octopus
She Took A Long Cool Look
If It’s In You
Baby Lemonade
Dominoes
Gigolo Aunt
Effervescing Elephant
Bob Dylan Blues

Now, of course, for those Syd fans in-the-know, there is a little bit of room for quibbling. And I’ll do my quibbling (not much, really, and keeping the same 18-track limit) here: First three tracks, brilliant. I wouldn’t change a thing. All are Floyd singles, and all are genius. The new mix of “Matilda Mother” was a bit jarring at first listen, as it contains alternate lyrics(!), but after I got over the fact that I couldn’t as yet sing along with it, I rather enjoyed it. I would not have included “Chapter 24,” and would have substituted “Scarecrow.” “Bike” is genius. This is the extent of the Floyd stuff, but I’d have to get “Astronomy Domine” on there, so I’d axe “Terrapin,” which I think is a weak song.

“Love You” is a fun little ditty, but I’d be tempted to replace it with the rather more menacing and inscrutable “No Good Trying,” from the same album. “Dark Globe” is a gorgeous song, but I much prefer the version on the 1988 compilation “Opel” to the originally-released take included here. “Here I Go” would indeed go, as I would replace it with the title track to the “Opel” release. That song is just stark, unadorned brilliance, and “Here I Go” is, well, not.

“Octopus” is a new mix, although I’d have to go back to the original in order to compare it. At any rate it is one of Syd’s best. “She Took A Long Cool Look” is a new mix (although the only difference I can hear is the omission of some lyric page-turning after the first verse – I would have left that in). It’s a great tune, as is “If It’s In You” even if the false starts and off-key vocals are still cringe-inducing. It’s a shame they (presumably) couldn’t get a better take of that one. Also, it’s odd to hear those two previous tunes without the 2-minute “Feel” which sits between them on the “Madcap” LP. I always think of those as a triptych of sorts. I’d argue for including “Feel” and sacrificing “Effervescing Elephant” which is undeniably fun, but doesn’t quite make the grade. “Baby Lemonade” and “Dominoes” are essential, especially the latter which is another new mix that doesn’t separate itself from the fine original, not to my ear at least. “Gigolo Aunt” is also a keeper, although I’ll have to dig up my dusty old cassette of the Peel Sessions, which included (what I recall as) a slightly different but nice version. Probably the one included here is the more presentable one. Again, “Elephant” is out in favor of “Feel,” and this leaves “Bob Dylan Blues."

Now, I must admit that when I got this CD, I thought that “Bob Dylan Blues” was the great pay-off of this collection. Upon further research, I see that this tune had been released on a 2001 Barrett collection called “Wouldn’t You Miss Me” (presumably the tune was the Fan's payoff of that collection). Anyway, it was my first time hearing it. For whatever reason, I had low expectations for it, and ended up rather surprised by it. It’s well-done: a pointed stab at the ego-edifice of “Mr. Dylan, the king” set to an acoustic strum which cheekily lifts the ascending guitar figure from “A Hard Rain’s A-Gonna Fall.” It’s a pleasant tune, but I would leave it off of this collection and relegate it to the hard-to-find outtake category. Well, that leaves one track which I get to insert, and I’d go back to the Pink Floyd “Piper” LP and pluck out “Lucifer Sam,” which would fit nicely on this disc right after “Apples and Oranges.”

Those picked nits aside, this is a nice collection, and the packaging includes as faithful a representation of Syd’s lyrics as the producers could muster (Syd’s lyrics never having been officially reprinted), as well as many whimsical illustrations, and cover art by longtime Floyd pal Storm Thorgerson.

Xmas Haul, '10

Okay, it's probably not in the best spirit of the season to just rave about the goodies you reaped on Xmas day, but I have to admit I got treated exceptionally well this year. There were great gift cards from mom and bro, and a really nice 10-inch digital frame from sis-in-law (always wanted one of those...). But Silvie really outdid herself this year, and I got the pics to prove it:

This is a Grace Wireless Internet Radio. It allows you to tune in thousands of internet radio stations from all over the world, much like the Aluratek USB stick we have, except this is a stand alone radio, and you needn't have your computer on in order to access the stations. The sound is great from the single speaker, but it also can be connected to the external speakers we keep on the side table near the couch. I already set four of the presets: an ioradio all-Grateful Dead station, a fantastic ambient station from Bratislava, a catchy station called Sacred Sounds (from who knows where) and a rock station from Pittsburgh which carries the Penguins games. Sweet!

The Woody Allen Collection! 19 DVDs! Unbelievable. I'd seen all of these films before, but only had two on DVD. This collection has most of the all-time greats, and I can't wait to watch all 19! Oh, and soon after this picture was taken I did un-plastic them and put them in chronological order.


The Complete Annotated Grateful Dead Lyrics. This wonderful, thick book is taken from the website started by David Dodd to, well, annotate the bands many lyrics. Full of insights, illustrations, and most importantly lyrics, this is a fantastic book, and one I'll keep, for easy referencing, on the coffee table's bottom shelf with the massive Illustrated Trip (also a gift from Silvie).

A Big Lebowski kit(!), containing an oriental rug mouse pad (which would presumably really tie my work cubicle together), a Walter and Dude coffee mug (I suppose caucasians could be served in it as well), a Dude name patch (for my overalls), a customizable Little Leobwski Urban Achiever certificate, and the real treat, a (fake) severed toe, complete with green nail polish.

Super Mario Galaxy 2 for Wii. I am part-way through the first installment of this game, which I find to be very fun indeed. It's great to know that when I finally get throught part 1, there'll be no let down, as part 2 will be waiting!

A Terrible Towel. Just in time for the playoffs, as the Steelers clinched their postseason spot last week. I used to have one of these, but managed to leave it behind when I moved out here to Seattle. It's nice to have one again!!

A dozen(!) Lindt Swiss Bittersweet dark chocolate bars. This is probably my favorite chocolate bar, just scrumptious!!! Oh, I had opened one almost immediately, which is why there are only 11 in this picture.

Joe Jackson - "Another World"

Joe Jackson and band on SNL in 1982 doing of one of his best tunes, "Another World". Love the percussion on this track and the energy in Joe's performance:

Joan Armatrading - "Down To Zero"

Here is a nice video of some classic Joan from 1979. Man, love me some Joan Armatrading! This is just one of a laundry list of her great songs....

"Sweet Jane" by Two Nice Girls

I dig this version of "Sweet Jane" by the late 80's-early 90's Austin group Two Nice Girls. Love the way they interpolate the great Joan Armatrading's "Love and Affection." I wish this version would have gotten the airplay that the Cowboy Junkies version did:

Recent Photos

Well, here are some recent photos I've liked and haven't used on the bloggy yet:

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Silvie in the rain at the Furthur show in August.

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One of the bridges at Kubota Garden.

A post at another bridge at Kubota.

I love this shot Silvie got of Sammy. He looks like he's meditating.

Another meditating animal? I snapped this pic on my lunchbreak.

I started to clean out my closet and I found TWELVE pairs of jeans I haven't been wearing. All are either too small for me now or worn to the point that I should just get rid of them.

I picked up this Silk Hazelnut creamer on a whim at the store and now I think it's the Nectar of the Friggin' Gods. I drink it straight from the carton. (When I set the carton on a window ledge to get a pic, Little G jumped right up as if she wanted to be in the picture - I thought that was great, too. And then I remembered that her original name at the shelter was Silk!)

A Seattle fire boat in Lake Union. I snapped this in the park while walking to my car after work.

Railroad Earth at The Showbox

Silvie and I caught the band Railroad Earth at The Showbox on Saturday, September 25. These guys have been together for a decade, but I just heard of them a couple of months ago. I saw their picture on Jambase and decided to You Tube them. I was hooked after the first tune. I played a few more and decided within that half-hour or so that I loved these guys. That day, I ordered tickets to this show and preordered their upcoming ablum (on vinyl) from their website. I would describe them as a bluegrass jamband. They mix traditional tunes with well-crafted originals. At their shows you'll hear reels, foot-stomping bluegrass and Dead-like improvisation that stretches some of their tunes out past the 10-minute mark. Sil and I spent the first set just two feet from the stage but with all the dancing and crowding it got a bit too intense and over-heated for me. We moved to the back of the small room for the second set where we could breathe some relatively fresh air and not fear the elbows of the more exuberant twirlers. It was a fantastic show. Highlights for me were many: "Like a Buddha", Tom Waits' "Cold Water", "The Forecast", the Waterboys' "Fisherman's Blues" and my new favorite RRE tune "Seven Story Mountain".

Here is the setlist:

Set 1:

Long Walk Home

Like a Buddha

Walk Beside Me

Cold Water

The Forecast

Lone Croft Farewell

Cuckoo's Medley

Set 2:

Saddle of the Sun

Seven Story Mountain

RV

Colorado

Black Elk Speaks >

1759

Fisherman's Blues

Happy Song

Jupiter and the 119

Encores:

Bird in a House

Little Rabbit

Furthur at Marymoor Park

Silvie and I went to see the band Furthur at Marymoor Park on Saturday, 9/18. Furthur is Bob Weir and Phil Lesh from the Grateful Dead, along with Jeff Chimenti on keyboards, Joe Russo on drums, Sunshine Becker and Jeff Pehrson on backing vocals, and, crucially, John Kadlecik on vocals and guitar. Kadlecik is the key addition to the latest post-Jerry version of the Dead. He was at the helm of Dark Star Orchestra, the leading GD tribute band, and offers a half-decent approximation of Jerry's guitar style. Vocally, he's in the ballpark as well. I had listened to a little of the Furthur live offerings on GD Radio and other sites, and felt that John (as well as the others) were really doing the old GD chestnuts justice, so I decided to put aside my 15-year old "No Jerry? No Way!" attitude and plunked down the dough for the tickets.

It was a coolish day, and it rained steadily throughout the entire show, easing up only briefly during the setbreak. This situation, typically, did little to dampen the spirits of those in attendance. I expected a mix of old and young, crunchy and yuppie, and that's what we got. The crowd was into it, and the band was very good, indeed. Just as soon as I heard the opening notes of "Half-Step" as we entered the venue, I realized just how much I had missed this music in a live setting. It was a really fine show, and I had more fun seeing Furthur than I ever had at any Phish show. Phil and Bobby are getting up there, but both are still showing up and laying it down, and the rest of the band really cooks. It basically amounts to a cover band with two original members, but it's a truly effective celebration of what I consider to be some of the best music ever. I hope these guys come around again. Here is the setlist:

Set 1

Mississippi 1/2 Step

Stagger Lee

Pride of Cucamonga

Promised Land

Sittin' on Top Of The World

Peaceful Valley

Till Morning Comes

Sugaree

Set 2

Dear Mr. Fantasy

Cassidy

So Many Roads

High on a Mountain

The Wheel

Fire on the Mountain

Death Don't Have No Mercy

I Know You Rider

Going Down The Road Feelin' Bad

And We Bid You Goodnight

Encore: One More Saturday Night

Bumbershoot 2010

Sil and I went to Bumbershoot on Saturday, the main draw being Bob Dylan headlining the mainstage at 9:00. In order to not run out of fuel before then, we decided to get there around 3:00. We ate some soba noodles and checked out the Flatstock concert poster exhibit. Dave's Killer Bread had a booth outside of Flatstock, and I grabbed a couple samples of Sin Dawg while Silvie bought a few loaves to take home. She also got a cool DKB tote and kids' activity book (!) and we saw Dave himself inside Flatstock.

Just beyond the DKB booth there was a stage where some guys called the Budos Band were funkin' it up. They were great, probably the best act I saw that day (although we only really caught two others). We headed to another stage to watch Edward Sharpe & the Magnetic Zeros, but the tight lawn space was completely full with more people streaming in, so we decided to head for the stadium where Neko Case was already playing. We had seen Neko the year before, when she was opening for Lucinda Williams. She was just fine, nothing too grand.

Bob came on pretty much on time and played 14 songs, mixing oldies with newer tunes, hitting the Highway 61 album particularly hard (he played 5 of the album's 9 songs, including a slightly truncated Desolation Row). It had been about 16 years since I'd seen Dylan last, and it was nice to see that mostly he's still operating under the same M.O. He has a great back-up band to make up for his increasingly rusted-chainsaw vocals and he is still tweaking his old tunes, changing their melodies ever-so-slightly to breathe some new life into them. I though that the arrangements of the two Blood on the Tracks tunes (Tangled and Simple Twist) were particularly sweet. I remember at the Dylan shows I saw in the 90s how you would have to sort of lean forward and cock your head in concentration during the intros to pick out the tunes, and often you would have to wait for the lyrics before you got them. I remember hearing a moving re-imagining of "Pretty Peggy-O" which I'd dearly love to hear once again. Well, Bob is still Bob, although these days he's really talking more than actually singing. I was content to head out early before the encore (the inevitable "Like A Rolling Stone") and I don't think Bob's kind of show belongs in the headlining role in a stadium (although this was reportedly the first time the mainstage had ever been sold out for Bumbershoot). But it was nice to see him again, after all these years, and it was nice to have Silvie there too (who had fun keeping the setlist as I fed her the titles, once I'd recognized the songs). Here was the setlist:

Rainy Day Women #12 and 35
Don't Think Twice, It's Alright
Just Like Tom Thumb's Blues
Just Like A Woman
Rollin' and Tumblin'
Desolation Row
Cold Irons Bound
Tangled Up In Blue
Highway 61 Revisited
Simple Twist Of Fate
Thunder On The Mountain
Ballad Of A Thin Man
Jolene
e: Like a Rolling Stone

DKB in the house

Budos Band

During the Budos Band set I noticed funny man Doug Benson checking out the show. Dude seemed really high.

Memorial stadium filling up during the Neko Case set

Bob, working the crowd in his mariachi suit