Mike's Tavern

So, Reading PA is not the most up to date city in the US. It's a fairly depressed area, and Mike's Tavern sits in what could easily be a rowhome. If it weren't for the GPS in my phone, I'd be lost still. But Mike's Tavern, while a local dive bar, is very serious about their beer, their alcohol and their music. They have good single malt scotch and they have absinthe. They have four beers on tap that you haven't heard of, but which the bartendress will be happy to describe to you in terms of hoppiness and alcohol content. And they have open mic nights and good musicians in. At 7pm the after-work crowd is just finishing up. By 10pm the place is full of weekend couples out for drinks and companionship. Michael Ronstadt was slated to play from 8pm on, and invited me to join him, to premiere some of our songs. In his first set, we did "O Zebra" and "Little Jack Horner." "Little Jack Horner" was so good that the folks in charge asked it the song was on a CD. In the second set we did "Cassandra Blues" and "Falling Angels." I didn't realize we were going to do "Cassandra" and had to scribble the lyrics on a few pieces of paper and read them off, so the song didn't go off as well. "Falling Angels" is a frightfully difficult song and I botched the melody and Michael botched the timing and the whole thing fell flat. Sigh. We will have to review the song before our next outing. But I've seen great musicians get up at empty venues and give it their all -- Michael certainly does. So it was an educational and foundational experience. Looking forward to the next time. We'll nail "Falling Angels" yet. And we'll finish "Irish Queens" one of these days.

Baby You Can Drive My Karma

So, there was some sort of weird karmic cloud in Philadelphia last night. I got a freakishly good parking space (all the way east on Chestnut, right on Front), and simultaneously got a cancellation text from an old friend who was supposed to join me. Then, while I was at the bar at the Tin Angel, up walks my friend and co-writer AlyCat (@thealycat on Twitter), local bass player and general musical badass – haven’t talked to her in a couple of years as I’ve been in hibernation.

Between seeing Aly, her amiable and fashion-conscious social worker friend, and meeting an animated and engaging independent film producer at the bar, who was there with a friend who runs a charitable series of concerts in Venice, CA (Grassroots Acoustica) -- it was an unexpectedly social evening.

Plus the music was great.

Maia Sharp is just one of the best songwriters around. The lyrics often layer two meanings in one line, or juxtapose two thoughts in one phrase; every song has at least one turn of phrase that makes me thrilled and jealous. She has a gift for melody and her voice is wonderful. Plus she can play the bejesus out of her instruments. (She even pulled out a clarinet last night).

It helped that she was backed up by Linda Taylor (from Who’s Line is That Anyway) on bass, acoustic and everything else. They didn’t need anyone else on stage with them. We stood in the back and whooped and hollered. (The most popular song of the night was probably “Whole Flat World” from her last album, “Echo.”)

But even before Maia stepped on, we were treated to Dante Bucci, a Philadelphia fixture. I hadn’t seen him before. He’s a friend of Aly’s. He plays the “handpan” or “hang drum.” I have never seen this instrument before, but it is capable of an amazing range of sounds. Everyone just stopped what they were doing and tried to figure out if he was hitting anything with his feet.

Look for yourself. Guy has some serious game with this thing:

The Microphone Awaits

Well, here we go. Saturday night, I’ll be premiering two new songs at Thrive Station’s home concert series. This week Michael Ronstadt will be showcased, presenting his solo work and some collaborations. We’ll be singing (for the first time in public) “Little Jack Horner” and “Falling Angels.” (Both lyrics have been tweaked a bit since they were posted here, I’ll have to put the final versions up soon).

I remember getting on a stage when I was around 10 years old, so that’s when I think I started acting. So I’ve been a performer for a long time, but always in a theatrical context. I have sung in Summer Stock (one year in my youth I played Jesus in GODSPELL and Littlechap in STOP THE WORLD I WANT TO GET OFF), and done cabarets, but it’s always been about the story and the performance and the energy and the narrative, and I’ve gotten by with hitting most of the notes.

This is the first time I’ll be getting up in a venue as a songwriter and musician and singer, with the performance experience playing the supporting role. As Michael and I have been developing our song project, I’ve wound up as lead vox.

The concert series is held at the home and studio of Rick Denzien and Debra Lee, with whom I’ve written a few songs. I met Michael at another concert, watching him improvise on the cello.

“Little Jack Horner” is a lyric I’ve had for years – it’s a “she done left me” song incorporating as many nursery rhyme phrases as I could fit. “Falling Angels” was inspired by the notion that your guardian angel was probably sick of looking after you and wanted to go out and party, and maybe not come back; it would explain a lot about the state of the world. Michael’s music for “Falling Angels” is particularly wonderful.

Anyone who wants attend from afar, there’s a Pay-per-view option.

A Tale of Two Venues

It was the best of venues. It was the worst of venues. At least on two different nights.

I went out to back-to-back gigs, both times to see friends perform, and the two experiences couldn’t have been more different.

Friday’s gig was certainly not the performers’ fault. Michael G. Ronstadt was excellent as always, backing up singer Casey Reid Alvarez, and then doing a set with one of his regular partners David Trotta. Also performing was Dani Mari, a singer/songwriter who apparently runs an Open Mic at Triumph Brewing Company in Old City.

The venue was Connie’s Ric Rac, a deliciously raffish bar/space in the Italian Market. Walls covered with the work of local artists (most of it erotic or just obscene), rickety tables and comfy sofas, family bartenders and a makeshift stage with decent acoustics. Just a spit from 9th and Passyunk, where Pat’s and Geno’s have their cheesesteak standoff.

But Friday night was the final night of the playoffs, with the Phillies trying to make it to the next stage. Ever been in South Philly when there was a crucial playoff game in the balance? Madness.

There was almost no audience to speak of. And the game was being projected on a side awall with the sound off (while the musicians were playing). So the musicians were literally playing second fiddle. I thought about being indignant on their behalf but a) what kind of a bar in South Philly doesn’t show a playoff game, and b) if the game weren’t on there would have been no audience at all. So be it.

The musicians had the opportunity to experiment and riff a bit. I was there for the music, but admit to keeping an occasional eye on the score. Ronstadt and Trotta finished a song at almost the same second the Phils lost, and there was a real hesitation to the applause – nobody wanted to sound like they were applauding the tragic end of the season.

The next night was Burlap and Bean to see Seth Glier and Ryan Hommel and that was as smooth as a gig as it could have been. B&B has turned into a serious venue, especially on Saturday nights. They’ve added a permanent stage and mounted speakers, and it’s a real ‘listening room’ (no ball games, no conversation, just hearing the music). Seth and Ryan were in magnificent form and played for more than an hour, covering Seth’s past, present and future work.

The opener was a soulful Aussie gal named Mia Dyson – she has a huge throaty Americana voice (like Lucinda Williams) and is obviously moving forward with what promises to be a nice career. Keep an eye out for her on her East Coast tour.

B & B is a great venue to hear singer/songwriters when they come through town. I’d go back to Connie’s Ric Rac too – Michael tells me that on most nights it’s a much better venue. As long as you avoid playoff nights.a

Spring Awakening

Hey, where have I been? Nowhere, mon frere. Just hibernating, trying to get the juices flowing.

Well, Spring is here and there are green shoots. Songs to pitch and collaborators to pitch them with.

For now, a very busy week here in Philadelphia, with four out-of-town friends descending to perform.

On Sunday, April 18, Jen Foster is back at the Tin Angel at 8pm.

(In the afternoon, you could catch Manchester (UK) folk singer Zoe Mulford at the Swarthmore Fun Fare in Swarthmore, PA, at 3:40pm.)

On Wednesday April 21, you could see Seth Glier perform with Maia Sharp at 8:30pm. That is, is you weren't over at World Cafe Live seeing ambeR Rubarth open for Jason Reeves. I have no idea what I'm doing that night.

On Saturday, April 24, you could head up to Phoenixville to see Zoe Mulford at Steel City Coffeehouse.

Plenty going on in Philly......see you there?

Twice in One Week

I don’t get out as much as I’d like. The vagaries of life, responsibilities and the growing exigencies of sloth all keep me from seeing the acts I’d like and going to the gigs I’d like whenever I’d like.

So it was a rare delight to see the same performer twice in one week. On July 17, I was up on the Lower East Side to see Seth Glier, both to enjoy his performance and to hang out. He was playing at Rockwood Music Hall, also a favorite destination.

It’s easy to see where Rockwood gets its name. The walls are roughhewn stone, mainly brick and concrete, leftover from what looks like earlier construction. There are interior brick windows in which massive amounts of candle wax have melted. The ceiling is made up of what looks like original beams, great long pieces of wood with a great deal of character. Walls and ceiling. Rock. Wood.

(That would be a great explanation, but actually the venue is run by Ken Rockwood, a performer in his own right as half of Professor and Maryann. The rock and the wood are coincidental Probably.)

But later on the bill was a young lady named ambeR rubarth (not a misprint). I listened to some of her songs and was quite taken, so I came back after Seth’s set, and we watched her together.

The small nuggets of bio you can glean from any cursory reading about her tell you that she was working with a sculptress when she realized she really wanted to be a musician. And she learned the guitar and applied herself with a single-minded purpose. She has been traveling and playing and learning all about finding her way in the music business.

And she lights up the stage. She is enormously appealing, with the kind of smile you find you are always looking for. A good voice, charming songs, both whimsical and quirky, and a good sense of herself on stage. One song in particular, “You Will Love This Song” is a lovely piece of circular self-referentialism about a break-up and songwriting about a break-up, and songwriting as well.

We spoke briefly afterwards and she told me she was playing in Philly the next Friday (which was, conincidentally, my birthday) as half of a duo called The Paper Raincoat (with Alex Wong, of Vienna Teng). This cycle of songs is based on a plot that they aren’t telling you, something about life in Brooklyn. You can enjoy them as songs but there is a stylistic and emotional through-line to them,. The melodies are much more driven, focused, and pop-laden. Alex is the centrifugal force, and ambeR is the lilting engine. Along with their jobbed in drummer, they kept their set engaged and engaging.

Both ambeR and The Paper Raincoat are about to release new CDs. Mark your calendars.

The Guitar Whisperer

I am very late in reporting in on a wonderful music showcase I saw a few weeks ago at the Tin Angel. I’d like to give a full rundown of each act, but I’m afraid I have to give short shrift to most of them.

I can only mention in passing Karen and Amy Jones, a sister-folksinger act with opera-trained voices, whom I’ve seen a few times (and rumor has it, are gradually percolating a song with me). And I have to leave you with scant impressions of the local Americana artist Lee Morgan, with whom I spent a few hours on my birthday last year as he performed at Lickety Split. Lee’s harmonica work and soulful vocals are worth experiencing, even for those who don’t usually take to the “Americana” sound.

I’ll briefly mention Kursten Bouton, a soulful singer songwriter who straddles that difficult chasm between bright and moody, and has a new CD you should preview at her MySpace.

And I’d like to spend more time looking into David W, a music promoter who put the evening of ‘emerging artists” together. David has been on the Philly music scene for many years; he’s visually impaired but his ears are preternaturally alert. I had noticed all the acts above before, and had mentally noted that they had something special going on, but David is the one who not only noticed, but found a way to bring them all together and cross-pollinate their audience.

No, the person who not only delighted but floored me was Christie Lenée, who was the only act I hadn’t seen before.

She was a Guitar Whisperer. She knew things about the instrument deep in her bones, deep in her soul. She made it sing, she made it dance and she made it sit up and beg. Most guitarists have a few favorite positions to hold it – adjusting it slightly when there’s a difficult reach. But Christie played it in several ways, crouching, sitting, holding it on her lap.

Philly is a great, great music town. It doesn’t take much to realize that, from the long list of music venues, from NJ to the western suburbs, to just stopping in and hearing what’s going on. You see a lot of talent --- the baseline is pretty high. And you learn to expect and demand a level of excellence

But during one of Christie’s guitar solos (one of two extended ones in her set) incredulity began to set in. jaw slowly, so slowly dropping, until I frantically had to text a friend (the first time I have ever texted mid-act, to say Holy #%^ could this girl play.

Christie, while performing on her own, has just taken up the lead guitar position in my friend AlyCat’s band, and watching them together – Aly on the bass, Christie on the guitar, with their blended voices – is a treat. Search them out when they’re playing (and listen for the song “Officially” which I co-wrote with Aly).

Truly. She loves that guitar, and it loves her back.

Dear Lower East Side....

I will be in NYC this weekend, and will certainly be around the Lower East Side Friday and Saturday nights.

I will definitely be seeing Seth Glier and Rachael Sage at Rockwood Music Hall on Friday (7-9pm). Rachael is this year's Grand Prize winner in the Great American Song Contest, so should be worth seeing.

On Saturday, I will be going for the late-night madness of The Reynaldo The Ensemble at The Living Room (11pm).

Other than that, I'm open to suggestions....

Young Queen Coles

There’s much to say about Nashville, of course, and much of it has been said many times. This was my second visit, but only my first to really explore the music scene/business.

I have been told repeatedly and often that the Nashville scene rewards long-toiling residents, and is mostly closed to outsiders, carpetbaggers and their ilk. That’s probably true. It is very much a handshake, workshop, community town. And that’s not a knock, it’s perfectly understandable. You work with the folks who are around you all the time, and Nashville is so overpopulated with incredible musicians and great writers, that working remotely with an out-of-towner is an alien prospect.

Doesn’t stop a guy from trying, though.

I had a very good sit-down with Ralph Murphy of ASCAP, a courtly and eloquent gentleman with years of insight into the business, who gave me hard truths in the nicest possible way; and another good sitdown with a songwriter/self-publisher who gave me both en- and dis- couragement, and some good general advice.

I finally met my friend and co-writer, Eduard Glumov of Kazakhstan, and we took in Writers’ Night at the famed Bluebird Café. One great writer/singer after another. I enjoyed the enthusiasm of a guy named Maury Davis, and both of us were taken by a singer/writer named Julie Forester. Julie is a demo singer, and commits to her songs in a major way, approaching them as an actress as much as a vocalist. She thought her way through each ‘beat’ of the song, as a Yale Drama student might. Both Eduard and I wanted to talk to her about co-writing.

The next night, I caught up with Julie at a solo gig she was doing, at a bar that was a lot harder to find than it looked like on the map. I wanted to show up (because Nashville is a “showing up” town), and chat a bit more, before moving off to Writers’ Night The Blue Bar (a great disappointment, as when I got there, I found out they weren’t doing Writers’ Night that evening). She kept imploring the crowd to hang around for the other act, a lady named Coles Whalen, as she was “fierce.”

I hadn’t intended to stay, but “fierce” only begins to describe Coles Whalen. She sang with an intensity and commitment, with exemplary musicianship. Her songs were all closely observed mini-acts of sex, contrition and absolution. The performance and the musicianship were always fierce, the lyrics all good and in some cases exemplary. You should watch her video performance of “Wrecking Ball” and listen to “So it is” which is a lyric I wish I had written. That I wish I *could* write.

More Nashville later on, in particular a wonderful visit I had with Jen Foster, but she deserves more than a desultory paragraph….

Bitchin' Babes

I had an absurdly late night, last night. Only because I had to be up at a reasonable hour in the morning.

I went over to Tritone for their "night of funk," first to meet Deirdre Flint for a couple of beers. It was too loud to talk so we "texted" each other by scribbling notes on my notebook (songwriters always have paper and pen). We had a great visit, talking about songwriting, before she went home (at a reasonable hour, as she was headed west to rehearse for the Four Bitchin' Babes tour).

If you don't know Deirdre's work, you're in for a treat. She writes about childhood, junior high school (especially) and dating with satiric glee and a touch of wistfulness. The Junior High School songs (about being a cheerleader, about the stud at the roller rink, about reading Nancy Drew books, etc.) are particularly funny, as is her perennial favorite "The Boob Fairy" (no, you'll have to go download it now, won't you?)

But my main purpose for being out was to see, support and otherwise hook up with, Aly Cat. Aly is a bitchin' babe in her own right, and does things with a bass that are illegal in several states. She takes the stage surrounded by four excellent musicians (all male, 2 guitars, drums plus a percussion/trumpeter). They have a wonderful woven-together sound, and Aly not only kills on the bass, she has a strong clear voice as well. She was the final band of the night and it wasn't until her set that a few people got up and started to dance. Those in Philly should keep an eye out for her.

However she didn't get on stage until 12:30am....and by that time I wasn't about to show up to see her and then leave. But it was too late for extended conversation afterwards.

The Captain's Daughter

A new song, or at least a new song clip, has been posted on my website.   It is a clip of "The Captain's Daughter," a very naughty sea shanty.

As I've noted before, I respond well to specific assignments and challenges, and count as one of my talents the ability to write in different voices.   So when a Renaissance Faire act(e) asked if I would create a speciality lyric for them, I was eager to give it a try.

"The Interpreters" are two women -- one of them Italian, the other one blonde -- who interpret the more incomprehensible speeches of the other.   It is a tavern act, and is very, very, *VERY* heavy on the sexual innuendo.   Renn Faires are as much about the sex and ale as they are about the costumes and crafts.   So throwing all my politically correct thoughts out the window, I wrote a traditional-sounding sea shanty about a captain's daughter that takes her responsibilities to keep the crew happy *very* seriously.    I even included a terribly archaic reference to the orient and a chinese ship, that led to a modern pun I hadn't heard before.

The ladies are currently performing the song at the Maryland Renaissance Faire, until October.  The CD is available there, and will eventually be sold on CDBaby.   

Dance Gypsy, Sing Gypsy

So the New Pornographers were in Philly last night and rocked the Electric Factory.  There's not a lot to say, specifically -- they were in fine form, took the stage and did a relentless set for close to an hour.  The balance wasn't great, and it was almost impossible to hear the lyrics, which is a pet peeve of mine.   But it was a hot show.

Unfortuately, the opening act was overlong, and did not inspire.  Andrew Bird does a sort of alt-gypsy music.  He plays the electric violin (strumming it like a uke, doing Laurie Anderson-like tricks, playing gypsy riffs) as well as the electric guitar.  He whistles both piercingly and impressively.   He plays strange, haunting songs, in bygone styles, turned modern.    He certainly had some fans in the house.  I can't say that I "get" his music, though.

My date for the evening was my wife, who was not up to staying for the bitter end.   I warned her in advance about Andrew Bird, so she was prepared to sit through his set for the NPs.   He went on for a good hour and ten minutes, and she thought all his work sounded the same.

He was enamored of the new trend of looping himself live and playing over the loop.  This can be a cool technique (my wife calls it "cheating"), but he overuses it, like someone with a new gadget.     He likes to stretch out vocal lines, to the point of indulgence.

I think worst of all was the double-headed victrola set piece, that sat in front of the NPs drum set.   It of course called to mind the "vintage" sound of his music (I told my wife that his songs sound like they should be coming out of a victrola).  But he has a switch on a pedal that made the two victrola heads rotate -- which he had happen several times during his set to diminishing returns, as if there were many returns to be had to begin with.  It started off lame and ended up silly.

There was another set-piece victrola, the mouth facing the audience, that didn't do anything other than sit atop a monstrous trapezoidal pedestal that cluttered the stage.   We applauded when the roadies cleared it.

A half-hour, or 45-minute set even, would have been quite enough.   When all the clutter --aural and physical -- was off the stage, the NPs had two extra people and a lot more room to move.   We had to leave during the closing number (and missed the encore) but at least we got to hear them sing "Sing Me Spanish Techno"

It's not often that I'm that disappointed in a performers' set or work.   If a performer is not quite all that, usually the set is mercifully short and I don't begrudge someone their chance.  But this time the perfomer was unengaging, indulgent and went on longer than the main act.  Pity.

Punk Rock Girl

I am about 30 years too late to be starting to venture into the darker points in the demimonde.

I took myself out to Tritone on Friday night. I had passed the place many times, as it's right across the street from Bob and Barbara's Lounge. Bob and Barbara's is the kind of dive where, even though Philly is smoke-free, you can still smell the ground-in smoke of years past. It has what is probably the largest collection of Pabst Blue Ribbon memorabilia on the Eastern Seaboard -- the walls are covered top to bottom. The specialty of the house is a shot of Jim Beam and a can of Pabst. (Insert appropriate quote from Blue Velvet here).

Bob and Barbara's is known for Friday and Saturday night jazz, so it makes a cool hangout. And now that The Happy Rooster has changed hands, I am looking for new hangouts.

But I hadn't been to Tritone and it was obviously a hopping place. A funk/jazz bass player I had met at Philly Songwriters was playing there last Wednesday, but my wife's schedule kept me from attending. So on Friday I went on a whim.

The group onstage was KeN, a punk band. The lead singer was female, a fierce gal with glasses. I then realized that most of the band was female with the incongruous exception of the middle-aged male drummer. They rocked out, and I realized I could barely make out the words, but that wasn't really the point. The noise and energy and anger was the driving force -- I could try to write a punk lyric but there wouldn't be much point. You can't hear the words while they're singing and if you had the CD you wouldn't be worried about the lyrics either.

It's like a blues band -- the lyrics aren't the key component. When I hear blues, I hear the repeated chorus and that's about it. Other than that I'm just going with the music, not looking for a story.

Slowly discovering the various corners of Philly music....

The Lower East Side

The first thing I should mention is that a "double cappucino" at Starbucks does not mean a larger serving. It means a cappucino with a shot of espresso added in. So while I intended to crank myself up for a long evening of music, I hadn't intended to zap myself quite that much.

I had an overnight in NYC recently, after seeing an entertainment lawyer to go over the basics of the business. There is an apartment I sometimes have access to on weekends, which makes city trips a little more affordable.

I had a chance to visit with heretofore online friend, jazz pianist Kerry Politzer. Kerry is a highly accomplished jazz artist (I highly recommend her Labyrinth jazz CD for all of your parties). Her latest CD, in a singer/songwriter style, is available from eMusic, along with her earlier work.

At Rockwood Music Hall, my venue of choice, I got to see Johnny Marnell, a hot young singer, and his band. His stuff was very tight, and when he announced "The F**k Song" a cheer went up among his fans. I got to say hello to him afterwards, and made sure I said hi to Ken Rockwood, the manager. Rockwood is a very small space, and they do over 8 acts a night, every night. The room fills up, empties, and fills up again every hour. And there's no cover (though you should drop something in the bucket for the musicians).

The lawyer suggested I go over to The Living Room, a larger venue, with a lounge/bar in front and a big showroom in the back behind the curtain. I saw Larune and Susan Hurtuk, who are friends and fellow performers. Larune is the stage name of Kamara Thomas, who performed a cycle of songs called "Postcards From Bulgaria" -- which on the first listen is an exploration of suicide and death (cheery subjects) but in an Americana idiom. I bought the CD and have been enjoying repeated listenings. I'm not sure if it's a work in progress or a fully realized vision yet.

I went back to Rockwood to see David Martel from Montreal. The band was quite surreal. There was the obligatory big bass player, and drummer to the side. But Martel had an almost musical theatre mien, and kept doing odd little comic takes. His backup singer, Natasha, was introverted, and stood with her hands folded, her shoulders hunched in on herself -- though she sounded wonderful. In addition, the band featured a female cellist (!) and accordion player (!!). It was a fascinating hour.