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Review: I haven't earned that Metallica T-Shirt yet

When I was 12 years old, my Rock N Roll identity was formed in part by the T-Shirts my classmates wore from tours. Of course we hadn't actually seen the shows - they were hand-me-downs or gifts or replicas, but everybody had them. It was a way to share your band with others and it cemented your musical reputation in many ways. My favorite shirts were always the Metallica ones. You didn't mess with a Metallica fan, because they were the tough 12 year olds. Bon Jovi, Motley Crue, Def Leppard, Poison... their fans were serious too, but those people didn't question authority like those in the Metallica shirts. They definitely didn't rip off the sleeves of the T-Shirt. You were harder, more aggressive, not one to be messed with in your Metallica shirt. The longevity of those other rock band shirts were as minuscule as the era too. Find me a 25 year old Bon Jovi shirt and I'll question its authenticity. I wasn't doing such at Sports Authority Field for Metallica on Wednesday night. That whole rule of "don't wear the headliners shirt?" Yeah... that's crap at at a Metallica show. You pull out that Master of Puppets cut off because it leaves no doubt to your fandom, even if it doesn't fit you like it once did. Those well-worn shirts from multiple tours aged and scaffolded the crowd. Did you know the cuts from Kill Em All? Or were you most excited to hear "Enter Sandman?" True fans respected you regardless, but the unspoken hierarchy of coolness certainly was felt, especially during the 40 minute stay on the concourse during a lightning delay. (Insert your own "Ride the Lightning" joke here... all the tough guys angry at the delay certainly were.) It was on that concourse, during that delay that I made the decision to buy my first Metallica T-shirt. I loved the new album Hardwired to Self-Destruct. Metallica clearly loved it to, making it an integral part of the early part of their set. A Hall-of-Fame band playing new music early and often, loud and proud? Sign me up, I thought. But when the show started back up, I was glad I hadn't braved the ridiculously long lines for my own tee. As the night wore onto a near-midnight finale of fireworks and pyro, I came to terms with the fact Metallica is not only way cool, they're also not my band. I don't know the lyrics, the videos, the scene like I should. I had to cheat on Setlist.fm to even know that the encore was "Fight Fire with Fire" because my ears just couldn't distinguish it from other songs they'd played. I thought I knew Metallica as a casual fan. I know now I was wrong. This stadium tour Is a kick-ass time: Kirk Hammett proved over and over how melodic metal guitar can be, the pyro during "Moth into Flame" was unique and beautiful, I felt like a soldier during the epic "One," watching James Hetfield leapfrog from microphone stand to microphone stand across the enormous stage reminded me of Frogger and was every bit as awesome, and a day later and I still feel the pounding Lars Ulrich gave me from his drum kit. I appreciated it all and loved some of it. But sometimes, you just have to tip your hat to those who've come before. I know my place and I didn't earn that Metallica T-Shirt just yet. It's clothing for the die-hard, for the weathered, for the guy who can complete Hetfield's sentence before he finishes it. That Metallica T-Shirt isn't a symbol of fandom or an image to uphold; it's a lifestyle, a community, and a battle wound - especially for that one guy out of 52,000 who was wearing a St. Anger shirt. I'm just not there yet. Just ask the lady (one of the few) sitting in front of me in section 115 who told me so when I named my favorite Metallica song. Sad But True.

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Took a Chance on a Rapper concert

Be encouraged. Be humble. Thanks be to God. Was I really at a sold out Hip Hop show? Kendrick Lamar might be ruling Spotify with “Humble.” right now, but last night’s Chance the Rapper concert – the second of two nights at Red Rocks – brought a new flavor to my perception of the state of modern music.

While I had little in common with the majority of the crowd (this was my first-ever experience where beer lines and bathroom lines were short), rest assured that our admiration for Chance was shared. Here is a guy who has donated money to education, who is articulate, and who handles the crazy current events of the Trump era with dignity and composure. I can get behind that.

Let’s just say Wednesday night was a far cry from Yo MTV Raps, and I felt safe in a way parents of 70s children must have felt when their kids made them attend a Bread concert.

Chance the Rapper’s newest material is positive, inspirational, and his setlist didn’t stray from that vibe. Coloring Book, his latest mix-tape was featured predominantly, as he took breaks to give musical shout-outs to Kanye, D.R.A.M. and payed homage to his breakout “album” Acid Rap. It was a nice blend of new-school and old-school (if one can be old school in his early 20s).

The atmosphere of Red Rocks fit nicely into the show, but Chance brought spectacle with him outside of the rocks. Small flames, strobe lighting and a video board were nice touches – certainly an upgrade to his show since his Fillmore appearance less than a year ago. The production might have been bigger, but Chance’s charisma, composure, and ability to work the stage remained intact.

And how refreshing to hear the Lord’s name – not used in vain, but as praise in a secular setting. 9000 people singing “When the praises go up.” It was like being at Church, but more interactive. There was no need for Chance to Bible thump, the message was loud and clear and his congregation participated freely.

If this is the future of Hip Hop, sign me up.

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Kanye's cancelled, so rant I must

Tonight was supposed to be my first Kanye West concert. I overpaid. I was excited. My Twitter account was on #Kanye for a week. And then it was cancelled. He ranted. He checked out. He cancelled. And he checked into a hospital. I won’t belittle mental health problems, so get well Kanye. But that’s not going to stop me from giving you my rant, in place of tonight’s show: Kanye: you haven’t played in Denver in 8 years, and even though you schedules us every tour – with mountains, with floating stages – we get cancelled. We don’t care about the old Kanye, the new Kanye, or the Reality TV Kanye. Just give us a show, Kanye. While we’re on you, Kanye, let’s talk Life of Pablo. Can I get a PHYSCIAL edition of the CD, bro? I’m looking at a wall of over 1800 CDs as I rant. Seven of those have “Kanye West” on them. Can I complete my collection? Why you gotta be the first artist to stream only when all these other guys keep pressing CDs for people like me? And streaming on Tidal? Give me a break. You talk about how streaming wars are ruining the art, but you’re an artist who makes money off of Tidal streams as part owner. That’s hypocrisy, bro. That’s like Kim coming out against internet porn after her sex tape dropped. You’re better than that, bro. Sell your stake in Tidal. Ain’t no beef between you and Jay Z or Drake if there’s no streaming war. So end it. You have the power. I mentioned The Throne. I know you’re worried about getting your “head shot” by Jay Z’s people. I don’t think you have anything to worry about. Jay loves you man. He’s only been supportive his entire life. Stop the paranoia. You’re on the same team. We need “N----- in Prague.” I like focus Kanye. You ain’t focused. Too much fashion. Too much Twitter. You starring in a movie soon? Let’s get back to the songs. People will come around. Let’s get a Cudi tour up in here, maybe an album. You and Cudi are special. It’s about time you make that happen. Nevermind this Jay Z stuff. He can go home to Beyonce. You go home to Cudi. We’re happy with you. You get another shot that way. Finally, I’m still Kanye 2020. But as a government teacher, I got some news for you bro. You’re never going to get there not voting. Even in this stupid election. 60 percent of the people in the country voted. You can’t win if that many people are not down with you, all because you didn’t vote. They’ll vote for people who did. I bring it back right now to you: focus, bro. The music. The production. The tour. The music videos. Show me more naked Taylor Swift and I’ll show you album sales, bro. You’ll be out of debt before you know it. No more begging Zuckerburg. No more Twitter rants. Just “Jesus Walks” into a “Golddigger,” listening to “Otis,” while searching for “Diamonds from Sierra Leone,” catching the “Waves,” while “On Sight.” Do that for us, you “Black Skinhead.” Your fans make you Kanye. We buy your shoes. We buy your concert tickets, even though you cancel EVERY SINGLE TOUR. We buy your clothes. We buy your music. Some of us even bought Tidal. Get focused and get back to basics. You'll be amazed what that does for a guy's sanity. The end. (Mic drop.)

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Recent Release Review:  Hey Sting, lighten up

Sting’s performance at the American Music Awards on Monday night was a reassuring sign for post-middle-aged men everywhere: maybe we can turn back the clocks of time and reclaim our youth.  Sting’s new album, 57th & 9th attempts to take those steps back musically as well.  In Rolling Stone’s review, it was proclaimed a “no lute zone.” Guitars were said to return.  This was supposed to be a “return to form” for Sting.    

So why doesn’t 57th & 9th resonate like it should?  Sting obviously knows a thing about rock music – the dude was the most important person in The Police.  However, it seems after 11-straight mopey records (you must include his “winter album” If On A Winter’s Night), sadness, emptiness, and despair just can’t escape his heavy hand.  This album, for its attempts at being a throwback to “De Do Do Do, De Da Da Da” and “Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic,” is just one gigantic bummer, song after song.

“I Can’t Stop Thinking About You” is the depressing start.  Just look at these lyrics:

White page, an empty field of snow My room is 25 below This cold man chasing ghosts A road lies underneath the buried posts Dogs search the under forest We scour the empty streets The fact remains until we find you Our lives are incomplete

It only goes downhill from there.  Song two, “50,000” is a tribute to deceased rockers who left the earth early in the last couple of years.  In case you couldn’t insinuate it in the lyrics, Sting reminds us: “Still believing that old lie, the one that your own face betrays/Rock Stars don't ever die, they only fade away.”

Ready to pull a Kanye yet?  Don’t, because Sting has given up on mankind by track three, “One Fine Day.”  

Dear leaders, please do something quick, Time is up, the planet’s sick. But hey, we'll all be grateful, One fine day?

Don’t worry.  There’s more death.  More sadness. More disappointment.  But no disappointment bigger than Sting fans who appreciated his detours and forays into adult-contemporary music.  Yes, it’s expected of a man Sting’s age (he is 65) to sing about growing old, feeling weary.  But Neil Young, Tom Waits, Jackson Browne… these guys aren’t trying to sonically hold onto their past.  Paul Simon made one of the best albums of the year, but he wasn’t trying to sound like “You Could Call Me Al” all over again.  

Will you listen to 57th & 9th repeatedly?  Perhaps.  Parts are extremely catchy and the sound will have you hearkening for the old days.  But when you settle down and listen to the lyrics, you’ll be wishing the album sounded a little more like Ten Summoner’s Tales, The Soul Cages, or even 2013’s The Last Ship.  

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Music Review:  Springsteen’s story ends, but it’s far from concluded

Reading the autobiography of your heroes often leaves one feeling empty.  All good books are supposed to provide a sense of closure, yet within the contexts of an autobiography, few do.  Bruce Springsteen’s memoirs, Born to Run, most certainly falls into this category, following recent efforts by Neil Young and Bob Dylan.

Springsteen deals with a lot of topics in his book – this is not the autobiography of Motley Crue, after all.  So yes, there are references to sex, drugs, and rock n’ roll.  But more importantly, there are candid discussions about mental health, celebrity, family, father-son relationships, and being “Born to Run.”  The Boss does find closure within those themes. He battles depression, but is winning. He fought to protect his privacy at the apex of his career and has found contentment as a citizen back in his home state.  He forgives his father, loves his wife and kids, and embraces youth as the E Street Band moves through its fourth decade of pleasing their fans.  

While he finds an end to those heavy ideas, most readers pick up Born to Run for E Street stories and what life as The Boss must mean. In this regards, the best chapter in the book is a short anecdote about rehearsing “Tumbling Dice” with the Rolling Stones.  It’s as close to closure Springsteen comes to his career as a singer-songwriter, playing with legends he admired as a kid.  In his reflection, he shares the excitement of being a fan of Keith Richards and Mick Jagger, much the same way we would be reacting to our inclusion in a jam session between him and Little Steven.  

There are also heartfelt tributes to deceased E Streeters Clarence Clemons and Danny Federici.  To a man (and woman), Springsteen praises his compadres in music, all the while honestly writing to his fans that they are his hired guns and that their relationship is as contractually obligated as it is genuine. Perhaps this is why the E Street Band remains to this day such a successful touring outfit; it seems everybody knows the answer to “Who’s the Boss?”

Ultimately, that story continues to this day.  Springsteen just finished his The River tour that expanded from a short run of dates to over a year on the road with multiple U.S. legs.  The Boss is lining up another album to be released shortly.  The future is anything but written in his blue-collar rock n’ roll life.  Born to Run won’t have the ending you’re most likely craving.  That’s a good thing because chapters in Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band’s story remain to be written.  

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Start here, as you celebrate him. #RIPLeonRussell #NowPlaying Retrospective by Leon Russell

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My Favorite Album is Your Least Favorite: Neil Young's 'Mirror Ball'

In honor of Neil Young's 71st birthday, I return to 1995 when a more electric Young (still as eclectic as ever) teamed up with Pearl Jam to make the first Classic Grunge album. 

Classic Grunge - the combination of Classic Rock and Alternative Rock was never really achieved outside of this record. Other genres - country, blues, R&B, pop, rap - found ways to cross gene pools and develop interesting sounds that molded radio formats together. But Mirror Ball stands as a lone wolf (Paul McCartney's one-off with the living members of Nirvana on the Sound City soundtrack hardly counts) when it comes to a classic rocker collaborating with up-and-comers of the new generation in the Alternative world. 

Pearl Jam's name was left off the label of the album cover when their record company refused to allow it,but this should count as a part of their discography nonetheless. Mike McCready's guitar work is fierce as he duels with his idol in Young. Jeff Ament and Stone Gossard add equal excitement to the tracks that sound like a hodgepodge of "Like a Hurricane" and "Rearviewmirror." Eddie Vedder even contributes backing vocals and lyrics to "Peace and Love." 

The elder Young (who probably wasn't even thinking this album would be relevant at age 71) writes impassioned songs about his 60s contemporaries, the Hippie Dream, Mother Earth, and political issues of the Clinton years. He's at his best here on songs "I'm the Ocean" and "Throw Your Hatred Down," epic sprawling songs that feature no easy chorus to sing along to. 

The group toured Mirror Ball in Europe, but Americans were the true beneficiaries. This collaboration refocused Pearl Jam for the rest of the decade, giving us their two finest albums of musicianship - Vitalogy and No Code - which, despite not selling the copies Ten and Vs. did, cemented them as a Rock N Roll Hall of Fame type act. 

And for Young? Let's just say Uncle Neil moved on to the next thing of a long list of next things. Yet he forged a friendship and musical partnership with Pearl Jam that continues to this day at Bridge School concerts. 

Take your Harvest, your After the Gold Rush and your Ragged Glory. My favorite detour of Young's career is Mirror Ball. Go ahead and give it another spin to celebrate his birthday.

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My Favorite Album is Your Least Favorite: Bon Jovi's 'These Days'

It's officially the day after Jon Bon Jovi and his backing band (they used to be called Bon Jovi before they became a collection of session musicians) released their new album This House Is Not For Sale. So on this day, after missing lead guitarist Richie Sambora, I returned to the most Rich(ie) album in Bon Jovi's catalog: These Days.

This review fits into the "My Favorite Albums are Everybody's Least Favorite" category. It struggled to go platinum in America back in 1995 and found Bon Jovi playing amphitheaters instead of arenas. In fact, some would say this is the album that killed Phase 2 Jovi, only to be recreated with Crush in 2000 - the glossy pop version of the world's favorite hair metal band. 

Sambora shines on These Days. It's been said Jon was the second best singer in the band and this album's best cuts illustrate the point. Richie's not just singing harmony here; he's providing a smoky blues atmosphere with his vocal contributions. You want to hear Bon Jovi as a Jersey Shore bar band? Check out "Hearts Breaking Even" and "This Ain't A Love Song." 

Sambora's guitar was always the backbone, but on These Days, his 6-String takes center stage with some of the most finely-tuned riffs in Bon Jovi's career. Listen to the blues, particularly on the second half of the album, and you'll think you're listening to a Sambora solo album. It makes everybody better. Tico Torres drums as a compliment to the sound, not a banger blowing out your eardrums. David Bryan's piano playing adds melody and warmth to cold, lonely material. And Jon lays down vocal tracks minus his smug, me-against-the-world attitude that has marked the 21st century recordings. 

This record is fantastic. It's the album non-Jovi fans appreciate most. It should have been the one to lead the career Renaissance that came later with Britney Spears' songwriter. Looking back 21 years later, it's hard not to think Jon and Richie would still be writing songs together had we all appreciated the These Days sound a bit more, regardless of how the path taken turned out.

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Nicks enchants crowd with whimsical performance

Stevie Nicks wrapped up her Thursday night show at the Pepsi Center with her hit song "Leather and Lace." Even though there were bigger and louder jams played over the course of the nearly two-hour show, the contrast of materials was befitting to the contrast of music Nicks had made in 40-plus years as a singer songwriter. First up: the leather. Moments of Thursday's show were gritty rock anthems. To close the main set, Nicks and her band rocked out to "Gold Dust Woman" and an extended "Edge of Seventeen." There was also the Heartbreaker spirit of "Stop Draggin' My Heart Around" and newer-released old song "Starlight." (Nicks' last album, 24 Karat Gold shares the name of the tour and is an album of demos that never made her studio albums.) The rugged rock-n-roll sensation gave way to the lace at the more touching parts of the night. "Bella Donna" was so gorgeous, you could have closed your eyes and thought Nicks was a 20-something singer looking for a big break. "Enchanted" was overtly whimsical and "New Orleans" was a sentimental tribute to the city. Stevie Nicks in lace has always been the best version. And as she danced in different shawls and scarves, she was back in a time machine, spinning her way back into the early 1980s. Nicks left the crowd wanting more. She just has so many songs that it was impossible to meet all the demands before she waved goodbye just short of 11 p.m. It was no matter - fans left The Can feeling the spirits Nicks had been discussing throughout the evening. And those spirits were very, very pleased indeed with the performance.

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Joanne is a monster of a record

I have a confession to make: I’m going gaga for Gaga right now. Lady Gaga’s newest LP, Joanne, is in continuous rotation in my car, on my Spotify, and in my heart.  Does this make me a Middle-Aged Monster?  

Joanne is not a pop album, per se, even if it has a few poppy numbers that are clearly intended to remind Lady Gaga’s fans that this is the same Fame Monster who brought us “Born This Way” and “Poker Face.”  Lady Gaga is a smart woman and knows she can’t completely leave her pop hooks for an entire album, but when she does so it comes across as more Stevie Nicks than Miley Cyrus.  Just listen to the verse of “Diamond Heart,” for proof.  By the time the chorus comes around, it’s all Gaga again.  But if “Diamond Heart” is not at least a part tribute to early-80s Nicks, I just don’t have an ear for music.  

There are other sounds on the album that may be unique to Lady Gaga, but aren’t so much to Modern Rock radio.  Believe it or not, as a non-fan, I had avoided all of the press for this release. So I was pretty proud of myself upon second listen when I said “Come to Mama” sounded like a song Father John Misty would write, only to find out he did!  

After three plays, I had yet to realize that Beck was a co-writer and contributor to “Dancin’ In Circles.” But once you know, you won’t be able to listen to it without thinking it sounds like a B-Side to a Midnite Vultures single.  While I’m no fan of divas, particularly Forence Welch, even I have to admit “Hey Girl” should be in heavy rotation on radio stations that made Lilith Fair and Paula Cole a thing.  

Speaking of Lilith Fair, the title track, “Million Reasons,” and “Angel Down” are down-right beautiful, heartfelt, and honest.  I can only imagine the hush of an arena to hear Lady Gaga perform any one of these songs.  And imagine I will continue to do, since I have no desire to ever hear anything off of ARTPOP played live.  

Earlier this year, Lady Gaga performed a tribute to David Bowie at the Grammy Awards that left listeners either disgusted or with tears of joy.  After listening to Joanne, listeners will be convinced that her performance was heart-felt. Bowie was known for complete 180s and this album has Lady Gaga shooting for Top 40 radio on her own terms – not what makes up Clear Channel playlists.  It’s a statement, a triumph and a monster of a record. 

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Legend leaves Telluride fans speechless

How does one sum up the beauty – both in sound and image – of a Neil Young concert at Town Park in Telluride?  You take a few days to let it all soak in – and then you don’t sum it up at all.  

Neil Young and Promise of the Real (his most recent backing band who, as you may have heard, features Willie Nelson’s sons) debuted new music, played old favorites and made sure the audience, regardless of age or proximity to the stage, remained enthralled throughout.  

A quick recap of the spiritual moments Saturday night:

Young sang “In the yellow haze of the sun” during a solo rendition of “After the Gold Rush” amidst the glowing Aspen trees that shone around the stage as the sun set.

“Sugar Mountain,” a staple at Bridge School Benefits but missing from regular Young shows for over a decade was played in the ever-present shadows of the San Juans.

Young played his entire acoustic set, as usual, with Hank Williams’ guitar.  There had been speculation that special guests would come be a part of the performances in Telluride.  While they stayed away, you could feel the ghost of Williams in songs like “Harvest Moon,” “Out on the Weekend,” and “Human Highway.”

Mid-70s deep cuts “Words,” “Walk On,” and “Winterlong” were almost played in succession – the only break being a new song called by internet folk “Texas Rangers.”

When Young pulled out the Holy Grail – Old Black, his 50s-era Les Paul – spirits awoke to the thrill of “Down by the River,” “Cortez the Killer,” and the ultimate relic of Neil Young storytelling, “Powderfinger.”

The encore song, “Roll Another Number,” reminding so many in the audience that, like Promise of the Real themselves, a road trip out of Telluride awaited us all.

The sound was impeccable all night; aggressive guitars filled the crisp fall evening throughout Telluride.  Sightlines were rarely obscured on the large field, easily big enough for all who attended, regardless of whether they sat in lawn chairs or crammed together near the stage.  Technically, the show went off without a hitch.

Young’s songwriting is clearly taking a new direction.  No Monsanto Years songs were played, but the lyrics are as politically charged as ever, focusing on reservation life, energy struggles, and current events.  Rebel Content, as the tour is named, remains the artist’s focus.  

Despite the five new songs that were mixed throughout the set, Young’s timeless tributes to mankind, Mother Earth, and community resonated with the setting.  Telluride’s Town Park may have been the perfect locale for an artist whose most recent work featured recordings of the animal kingdom spliced into live tracks.  

On Saturday, there was no need to hear the bees buzzing, the crows cawing, or the pigs squealing.  We were treated to something much greater – a hushing breeze at a venue that felt like the top of the world, where a living-legend passionately bridged art, pop culture, environment and justice into our collective well-being.  Words can’t possibly describe such an unforgettable experience.    

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Catfish and the Bottlemen ‘open up’ sound at Mumford gig

As you sat on the lawn at Fiddler’s Green Amphitheater on Thursday night waiting for the start of Catfish and the Bottlemen, you couldn’t help but feel like one of the misfit toys in the Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer Christmas special.  The Mumford and Sons fans were in fine form - wearing their berets, growing their beards out long, donned in their denim and flannel, all the while partaking in some of the Colorado weed everybody seems to be talking about these days.

The post-punk sounds of Catfish and the Bottlemen, at first appearance, did not move the crowd to even bob its head.  There were beers to drink, work gossip to catch up on and cheers to create. (Thanks to the cute couple behind me who kept yelling “Catfish” and “Bottlemen” between songs before admitting to their neighbor, “We’ve never heard of them.  They just look like they could use some support.”)

Something magical happened for those of us who are Catfish believers, however.  This was the big show European audiences have enjoyed for multiple years.  While we starve for the original sound, firey performances and tongue-in-cheek lyrics of Ryan McCann and company, Catfish and the Bottlemen play around the UK to sold-out arenas and as major undercards at festivals like Glastonbury.  

Since they had last played Denver – a fast paced, sweayt show at the Larimier Lounge in February of 2015 – it was clear they have developed their arena-rock kicks.  McCann controlled the stage, strutting around, microphone in hand before takes on the guitar.  Lead guitarist Johnny Bond ripped through guitar solo after beautiful guitar solo, making it little wonder why U2’s The Edge tweeted out his support of the band after their sophomore album The Ride was released earlier this year.  

The Bottlemen’s set was short and sweet; after all it was Mumford’s night to lull their fans to sleep with comfortable songs and few risks.  Any doubt the openers would tone things down for the folk-rock crowd who abandoned their very own band when it went electric was thrown out the window when Catfish ripped through “Homesick” and “Kathleen” to open the show ahead of The Ride’s “Soundcheck.”  

Truth be known: Catfish’s “big show” was much more of an auditory experience than their small show at the Larimier Lounge.  Even though there’s a distinct charm in “being there when,” Catfish and the Bottlemen sounded better at Fiddler’s Green. The guitar playing was more distinct, the drums and bass –just as thunderous as before – was more pronounced and focused.  

The atmosphere, though, was still that of the an opening act nobody really paid to see.  Most of the seats were empty when Catfish and the Bottlemen took the stage and the GA Pit crew, waiting for banjos and soaring choruses, never really bought into the hard-rock flavor of the openers.  

No matter.  By the time Catfish and the Bottlemen played an extended “Tyrants” to close their set, dozens of people stood on the lawn to give their approval.  Catfish and the Bottlemen may have not picked up many new fans at the mismatch that was this opening-act gig at Fiddler’s Green for Mumford and Sons, but they showed the Denver audience what the big deal about them across the pond is all about.

I’ll be anxiously awaiting that next headline show at a venue like the Bluebird in the meantime, proud to say “I saw them when,” while appreciating the major act Catfish and the Bottlemen have become.

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Love & Theft & 9/11

After spending nearly 14 hours glued to a TV on September 11, 2001, I made my way to Hastings (Finest Records was already closed that night) to pick up Bob Dylan’s Love & Theft, his follow-up to the comeback album, Time Out of Mind.  I recall being one of two people in the store that night – the other was renting a video, probably trying to do the same thing I was trying to do: escape.

My escape was Dylan and his album that mixed all the sounds of Americana in just under an hour.  Love & Theft was full of bluegrass, blues, honkytonk, folk and the styles of early rock n roll.  Every song seemed a story – some that were the traditional Dylan meanderings while others leaned toward his earlier folky days – shorter and to the point. Sometimes the lyrics were heartbreaking; other times, you laughed at the genius of it all.

That interpretation, however, all came later.  After all, it was 9:30 p.m. on 9/11, nearly 14 hours after “the world had changed.” The CD I played in my car initially, and in the stereo at my house soon-after was not written and recorded to provide solace to grieving Americans.  It was not intended to strike a chord with social studies teachers who had to explain decades of history within minutes of having their own world shaken.  It wasn’t Dylan’s fault that his best album of this century shared the date of release with one of the greatest American tragedies of his lifetime.

Yet here I was, listening to it, gravitating to certain lines, themes, and notes that celebrated all that was right with America up until the album’s release.  Then there were those that made Dylan seem like a futurist.  I’m still struck by the song “Lonesome Day Blues” where Dylan begins with the lyrics, “Well, today has been a sad and lonesome day/Yeah, today has been a sad and lonesome day/I'm just sitting here thinking with my mind a million miles away.” 15 years later, I’m smart enough to know that wasn’t a song about 9/11.  But on that evening, it sure felt like it.

Then there was “High Water – For Charlie Patton” that celebrates the blues of America.  But not on that night.  That night, it felt like a Depression-era spiritual rekindled for the tragedy of New York, except the High Water was the dust and debris, reminding us of the tough days ahead.  Tough days, some historians would argue, that continue to this day.  

One of the greatest gifts of good songwriting is the ability of it to transcend times and places. Dylan’s Love & Theft will always be interpreted by a a post-9/11 audience.  Fun songs like “Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum” and “Sugar Baby,” both of which bookend the album, reminded me of that today.  I celebrate those songs as some of the last songs of the “old” USA.  

For great songwriters – Dylan, Springsteen, and Young – themes would get darker, more conscientious of the new world that had come to be with future albums.  The Boss wrote an entire opus to 9/11 for his next album; Young wrote “Let’s Roll” celebrating the United Flight that crashed in Pennsylvania. Dylan himself released the album Modern Times, a record I still view as full of contradictions.  

Love & Theft is a celebration of 20th century American music and somehow seemed like the thing to listen to in the months that followed the tragedy, as we took our spirit back. Even when he wasn’t outright socially commentating, he was able to find the heart of American history, culture, and the people who gave him the stories he told.  This gem deserves another listen, whether you’re a Dylan fan or not.

And for me, it will always be my 9/11 go-to.    

[d-falt-sounds]

Sentimental fans celebrate DMB’s tour finale

Rock N’ Roll history has a paper trail as long as the attempted glow-stick line on the lawn at the Gorge Amphitheater on Sunday of bands that go on hiatus and don’t return.  So Dave Matthews Band fans, who have taken the pilgrimage to DMB Mecca to celebrate over 50 shows now, were certainly hanging on every note as the final songs of the most recent three-night stand rolled out.  

“It’ll be Ants,” a fan shouted.  “It will be “Last Stop” another called back.  “Pig,” still another suggested.  

It seemed even Matthews, the setlist writer himself, didn’t know how he wanted to end this touring season, his 25th with the band.  All those late 90s jams were there at the end of a set that seemed to never end.

At around 11 p.m., the standard time for DMB to walk off stage around the country, there was no sign of stopping.  By the time “Ants Marching” closed out the main set and “Stay (Wasting Time)” wrapped up the encore, fans were exhausted.  Yet they avoided heading back to the campground while the band pleaded for them to stick around for a photo to celebrate the evening by teasing a second encore, that surely would have passed the midnight marker.  

Those last 45 minutes of music, punctuated by Stefan Lessard’s bass and a horn section that included special guest wind wood player Carlos Malta, celebrated the relationship the band and its fans have shared on every summer tour:  Themes of love found and lost, doubts about the world and man’s place in it, and living today as if it’s your last.  Critics have hammered DMB in the past for such sentimentality, but violinist Boyd Tinsley just kept hugging people anyway.  

DMB LLC has marched on, sticking true to its past while evolving with new members and electric sounds. Musical hugs and community bonding don’t happen with a lot of 21st century artists, which left some melancholy in the campgrounds during what has been dubbed “Labor Dave Weekend.”

Sunday night was the last hug for a while, at least as a full group.  Before the 2016 summer, the band warned fans 2017 would feature no tour. Tinsley will stay busy with up and coming band Crystal Garden, sax player Jeff Coffin just recently released a new album, and Matthews always has his hand in charities and benefit concerts (his next appearances will come at Farm Aid and Neil Young’s Bridge Benefit concerts respectively).  

Will the side projects become bigger than DMB LLC?  Not likely. The experience is still too perfect and financially viable for all involved to part ways permanently.  But people change during breaks.  Will that same energy return?  Will the same band members return?  Will the love of the adoring fans hold true with no new album or tour?  

Which brings us right back to that worrisome hiatus.  Even though Dave Matthews Band played new music on this tour, including unreleased material at all three nights of the Gorge run, there’s still a sense that “this could be it.”  

No sign was greater than when a caravan of cars made their way out of the amphitheater parking lot behind band members’ buses.  Amid honking horns and passionate waves from fans, each bus took a different direction on I-90, a visual representation of disjointed bands of the past.  It must have tugged at the heartstrings of fans who have traveled with the band, started families with the band, and are already hoping to get their fix in 2018.  

Sentimental?  Absolutely.  On Sunday night, such tenderness and nostalgic feel made the fans want to Stay, stay, stay for a while more.    

[d-falt-sounds]

A Tale of Two Coldplays

Fans came into Monday night's show at the Pepsi Center anticipating two Coldplays: The Coldplay of our youth, pounding out piano ballads with deprecation and the Coldplay of the millennials, full of Europop beats and anthemic choruses. The crowd was treated to both, and few, it seemed, bridged the divide. Old-timers shown their camera phones through songs like "In My Place," "Don't Panic," and Til Kingdom Come" (all clumped together to start a marvelous extended encore) while younger Coldplay fans jumped and pounded fists to electronic drum beats and pulsating rhythms off seven cuts from A Head Full of Dreams, the band's newest LP. What resulted was a bi-polar night. The band, which used to close with the X&Y staple "Fix You," was now using that song as filler between tunes that required a synced bracelet that lit up the crowd as if 15,000 arms could compete with confetti canons. At times, "Up&Up" for example, Chris Martin and company seemed timeless. At other times, the band looked apathetic to promoting music that was rarely relevant and certainly tired ("Paradise"). Evolution can be a scary thing. For some, Coldplay is a shadow of the group that headlined Red Rocks in a rain storm 13 years ago, where Martin apologized for being "a ballad band." For others, Coldplay is a vibrant, Super-Bowl headlining ensemble mixing genres and styles that keep them relevant to modern radio, streaming services and sell-out crowds around the world. Monday night showed Denver both Coldplays. Multiple types of fans found cause to celebrate, regardless of whether they walked out of the Pepsi Center wishing for a few more favorite songs.