i saw the Boredoms at Philly's Starlight Ballroom last night. It was the most intense show I've been to all year
I actually went to the show with very little knowledge of the Boredoms. I knew they were Japanese. I knew they'd been around since at least the early 90s. I knew they made experimental music and that they were well-respected by many left-field musicians and indie music fans. I also knew they'd staged a huge event in the shadow of the Brooklyn Bridge on July 7th last year (7/7/7) with a total of 77 drummers known as "Boa Drums."
But before last night I'd only heard a few minutes of their music.
A friend in Portland had played the Boredoms through his laptop speakers at a moderate volume while we were hanging out earlier this year. I remember it being spacey and droney. It was music you could probably fall inside, but music that could also serve as a background (as it was serving in that Oregon living room.) We were able to hold a conversation while it was going on. What I heard must have been their most recent record, "Seadrum/House of Sun" which mood-wise allmusic.com characterizes as "trippy, hypnotic...detached, spiritual, soothing, reflective, ethereal, circular, calm, [and] peaceful."
This was not the mood at the Starlight Ballroom last night.
One couldn't be bored in a traditional sense during Boredom's set. The music overwhelmed the senses to such an extent that the feeling of boredom wasn't possible. But a possible reaction to the music was analogous to being bored: standing in place, paralyzed, mouth half-open, jut at the edge of drooling.
The set last night was unrelenting. The band played for nearly an hour and a half with no break. I expected a set full of peaks and valleys, maybe one with percussive freak-outs but also one with a lot of lushy, pillowy buzzy drones. But what I got was far from this.
I don't know exactly where my expectation came from. Part of it was surely based on what I'd heard on tinny laptop speakers in Portland, part of it was probably based on my most recent live experience with ANOTHER experimental Japanese experimental band: Acid Mothers Temple, and part of my expectations were probably just based on what I wanted to hear.
On another night, in another state of mind the Boredoms' set might have sounded beautiful to me. Sometimes the right music comes to you at the right time. And sometimes it doesn't. I was (and at the time of writing, still am) feeling a bit down. Going to the show, my mind was full of thoughts of failure, social anxiety that comes from being in a space with hundreds of other people and my coexistent contradictory loneliness, sexual frustration, creative blockage,anxiety and frustration that my income tax paperwork still wasn't done with just over a week to go. I could go on. But that'll give you the flavor of what was looping in my head walking into the Starlight.
I really wanted narcotic music, something I could listen to lying on the floor tucked into a sleeping bag. Something that was weird for sure, but something dreamy. Perhaps Flying Saucer Attack's Further--- a weird, droney album with some darkness and mystery for sure, but one that gives me an overall soft and peaceful feeling.
If you're not familiar with the music on that album, I think the beautiful cover photo captures the music's essence.
I have that cover shot as one of my profile pictures on my page on a certain online social networking site. I captioned it "I want to live inside this picture." And I kind of wanted to live inside that night time drone/dream last night too. But I got a nightmare instead. And drums...lots of drums.
Given the 77 drummers/"Boa Drums" event from last summer, I shouldn't have been surprised by the 3 full drum kits being played together on stage last night, but it still caught me off guard and pummeled me to a ringing pulp.
The drums started before Boredoms even took the stage. The two openers (Soft Circles, and Black Pus) were solo acts centered around drum kits. Both acts came from the same spastically percussive parent duo, Lightning Bolt, and both Soft Circles and Black Pus did sets that experimented in the same beat-heavy vein.
I couldn't see exactly what equipment the openers used, since I stayed towards the back in a booth chair to the side of the floor, but both acts seemed to augment their live drumming with percussive and tonal loops and effects-laden vocals. The PA was up so loud that the music was a physical experience. The low tones and bass drum and tom hits vibrated my bones and the seat below me. I couldn't see the performers clearly but I could see lights near the front and above me that lit up in time with the music. I think they were a (new) permanent part of the venue. I think these lights were beat-activated, operating in the same way as those "dancing robotic flowers" did that were popular in the late 80s. I found the repetition of these lights hypnotic and soothing, taking a bit of the edge off the evening's harsh music.
At times the music of the openers created a physically uncomfortable atmosphere. The bass drum kicks felt like a gut punch. And the beats went from a "tribal" drum circle feel, to disco breaks and bad "4 on the floor" techno. I like a far amount of techno too, but I gravitate towards (and dance to) more minimal varieties. I like techno filled with spaces, peaks and valleys, tension and release. The occasional techno-flavored beats of Soft Circles and Black Pus had no spaces. There was just the unrelenting "uh-uh-uh-uh."
Starting with the openers and all night long, there was tension, and it was unrelenting. There was never any release. I went into the evening feeling tense, even before the music started. Ideally, I wanted that cathartic release that the best live music events can bring. I never got it.
The music made me wish I'd brought my earplugs. It also made me wish I could go outside for a moment for some fresh air and quiet. Then maybe after a moment away- like a side break on a tumultuous vinyl album - I could come back and better appreciate the music with fresh ears. But unlike ever other show I'd been to at the Starlight there was no re-entry at this one. I wondered if this new "no-reentry" policy was a result of the shootings that had taken place outside the Starlight late last year, at an event unrelated to the R5 promoted concerts I attended. The thought of the venue as a site for a violent crime made me uncomfortable. And I since couldn't go outside. I could only sit there and take in the discomforting music.
The only drone and respite from the drums that I got during the evening was between the groups. Between acts, the PA played a most-vocal CD that sounded ceremonial and Indian or Far-Eastern in origin.
Boredoms took the stage around 10:30 and played continuously until midnight with only a few minutes break before the encore. The set started spaciously enough. The dreadlocked leader of the 5-piece ensemble kept knocking two wired glowing orbs together. They seemed to create some sort of a field akin to a theremin and when he banged them together, there was a violent electric sizzle that sounded like dueling light sabers making contact. I didn't quite know what sort of circuitry was really at work behind the showmanship so this was a suitably magical, other-worldly opening. It seemed like a invocation. In between sizzling contacts of these "electric orbs" the crowd cheered wildly. And this was really the last time one could clearly hear the cheering for the rest of the set. Soon enough, the three full drum kits on stage kicked in and let up very little over the next hour.
My senses got overwhelmed around this point. The VU meter in my head hit red at this point and stayed there. Behind the dreadlocked leader there was a "guitar sculpture"--- 7 electric guitars stuck together vertically. But they were never played like traditional guitars. This too was a percussion instrument. The strings were hit with drum sticks, making this "wall-of-guitars" an electrified version of chimes. There was one "non-percussion" member of the ensemble at the very back of the stage. In between retuning the strings of the 7 guitars, the guy in the back created tones on some sort of electronic set up. I couldn't see it at all. Occasionally there was a noticeable squelch or bassy growl, but the percussion up front was always in domination.
The Boredoms' drummers didn't create noise in the common sense of the word. There was little random clatter. The drummers played polyrhythmically, but certainly as a unit. They shifted, stopped, and started precisely together. There was obviously composition and practice involved. The drummers all wore headphones. I couldn't tell if they were substitutes for stage monitors or if they played a "click track" to keep the drummers together. Or maybe the headphones served both purposes. Their kits were set up in a semi-circular facing Dreadlocks.
The fact that no one in the band really faced or acknowledged the crowd during the performance added to the tense, discomforting, monolithic feeling. I felt distant from the band and pretty much everyone else in attendance, even though were all in relative close proximity. It was all drums, all night long without even a rhetorically "hey how ya doing out there?" to lighten the mood. The mood was somber and ceremonial. There was only a terse "thank you" before the encore.
And except for the brief respite between main set and encore, the band was so loud I couldn't think straight. I've been to loud, experimental performance many times before. But usually each performer's set will run less than a half hour. The sheer volume of the Boredoms' performance (both sound level and temporal quantity) made all the difference. I didn't feel particularly connected to the band and yet their pervasive drumming permeated my mind. All I could think about was "wow, the band is really loud!" And while not particularly pleasant, the hijacking of my mind through sound was an interesting event. It was remarkable enough to inspire this lengthy description of said hijacking that you've been reading. Many more pleasant shows have warranted very little or no written descriptions whatsoever from me (umm...tonight I saw Beach House at the Barbary Bar). The fact that I've gone on for over a thousand words about this ugly experience says something.
I could've left the show at any time (and not come back) but I stayed until moments before the end. There was something spell-like to the performance. I couldn't leave. The drums had me pinned inside the door. Also, I kept thinking "any moment now this has to resolve itself. There has to be a release after all the tension." But there never really was, except debatably during the encore when the drummers played a lighter disco-flavored beat. It was a little less dense than what had come previously and was more traditionally danceable. But even this "disco" beat was loud as all hell. And by the time of the encore, my ears hurt. The physical impact of the loud drums made me a bit nauseous. I already had my jacket on, ready to bolt. I hoped there wasn't going to be a second encore. I hovered by the exit and actually walked out with a couple minutes still to go in the final piece.
I also stayed until nearly the end because, perhaps masochistically, I wanted to get my $16 worth even it was apparently $16 worth of ringing ears. I'll often go to a show knowing it'll be a crap shoot whether I'll like it or not. And even if I don't like it, I still stay because I paid money. The ticket makes it seem like fate that I should stay. And also I often believe and hope that the unlikable music could shift at any point to something I might actually enjoy.
And often at these unenjoyable shows there are people dancing, singing along, shouting in jubilation. I start thinking something is wrong with me for not enjoying the music and I start thinking that maybe if I stay long enough I'll catch the fever of enthusiasm that people all around me are sweating through.
I'm not complaining about the Boredoms' performance. In hindsight, I'm glad I went. Even now, as the specifics of the music are evaporating from my mind, the memory of its intensity remains. I can still practically feel the performance. The feeling it gave me is something I've rarely (if ever) felt before. It put me in a unique state of mind. It was intense in a neutral sort of way. I'm glad I saw the performance in the same way I'm glad I saw Schindler's List and Jodorowsky's Holy Mountain. Those movies aren't fun in any traditional sense. But they're both powerful and worth seeing in their own ways.
The Boredom's last night wasn't a great show. Great isn't the right word. It was a POWERFUL show. My reaction to this power was strong and yet neutral. The performance was neither good, nor bad. It was simply overwhelmingly intense.
Here's a clip from a 2006 live set that illustrates some of the elements of last night's performance. The drumming is a lot more palatable when played at the moderate and listener-controlled volume of computer or headphone speakers:
It's 4:18AM and I have to work in less than three hours. There are probably a few typos still left (that I'll clean up soon), but I wanted to get this online ASAP because today Maiden tickets for the summer at Madison Square Garden go on sale. And I wanted to give you all that extra push to do yourself a favor and see Iron Maiden this summer! --------------------------------------------------------------
The text came Thursday afternoon: "My date for the SOLD OUT Iron Maiden show tomorrow had to cancel. Do you want to go?"
Hell yes! I had to work here in Philly that day til 5 and again the next morning at 8AM. But there was nothing that was gonna stop me from hoping on a train to New Jersey right after work, meeting with E, driving to the Meadowlands right across the river from New York, rocking the fuck out, and then getting the first train at 6AM Saturday morning to get back to Philadelphia in time for work. This was do or die...and I knew they were gonna open with "Aces High"!
I'd wanted to go to this show from the first moment i heard about it. But without a car, getting to the Meadowlands is difficult at best. None of my Philly friends had cars or the money to spare to go to the show. And at least originally, E's date was supposed to be a romantic one (does it get much hotter than taking someone to a Maiden show? I think not!) So I would've been the third wheel, if I'd tried to go with her and her date.
But fortunately, for me at least, the date fell prey to unfortunate circumstances so a ticket and a ride suddenly appeared and I jumped at the chance to see the world's greatest metal band.
This Meadowlands show was at the venue formerly known as the Brendan Byrne Arena. It has since gone through a number of corporate names which I don't want to utter. Maiden had played the Meadowlands many times before. And this particularly show was actually one of only 2 US dates on this leg. On this "Somewhere Back in Time" tour, the band was hopping the globe in a custom 757 ("the Ed Force One") with singer Bruce Dickinson in the pilot's seat, the band's named painted on the sides, and their "mascot" Eddie painted on the tail. Seriously, when he's not being a rock star Bruce pilots charter jets. The itinerary went San Juan, one night to East Rutherford New Jersey two days later. . From the warmly exotic to the cold industrial garden state wastes.
Up until show time, no other East Coast dates had been announced. They'd be back in the US in June playing the shed-n-lawn circuit. I figured they'd probably include Philly on this unannounced itinerary, but I couldn't be sure. But I WAS sure I needed to see Maiden. And seeing Maiden in a dirty old venue where they'd been playing since the 1st half of the 80s was more appealing than seeing them in a 90s-era shed-n-lawn that was interchangeable with 50 other venues in the country. And of course I'd ALSO go see them in the shed-n-lawn if given the opportunity in the summer months.
When we arrived in the Meadowlands parking lot, we saw exactly what you'd expect: a lot of men from early 20s to middle age huddled around their cars, drinking beer and blasting Maiden from their stereos. And of course about 70 percent of everyone in the lot and inside the venue was wearing a Maiden t-shirt.
Getting to the arena was quite a trek. From the lot we were funneled on foot into a corrugated metal tunnel that was as wide as a two lane road. I don't know what it took us over. A highway? A new stadium under construction? In hindsight, this quarter mile tunnel was odd. But I was too focused on the light at the end of the tunnel to think too much about it. (The light being Maiden, of course.)
The show was opened by a set by Lauren Harris, this singer daughter of Maiden bassist/founder Steve Harris. I think she only got the slot by pure nepotism.
She ran around the stage for 30 minutes barefoot wearing black latex pants that looked painted on. Her set was upbeat power-pop. A bit of hard rock, but no real metal. She might have been pretty, I couldn't tell from our middle-distance seats. So being up front, there might have been some....um...visual stimulation for the hetero males against the rails. But I missed out on all that. All I could see was the exaggerated movements of her string-men. They all seemed very high on imaginary rock star status. Though she did fall off-key more than once, her set wasn't painful. But I'm still glad it was brief.
Before Maiden came out, a New York DJ for a rock station came out to plug his show and get the crowd warmed up. His microphone was up painfully loud. I prayed it wouldn't be up that loud for Bruce's patented "Air Raid Siren" vocals. We'd all have bleeding eardrums if it was.
This DJ started a Maiden chant that got pretty loud, but then some non-descript rock music was turned back up on the PA, killing the momentum. I really wanted to be a part of 5 minutes of "Maiden! {clap clap] Maiden! [clap clap]" leading up to the band's entrance. But some forgettable CD made this impossible.
In the interim, I went out into the hall and laid down $35 for the only official concert t-shirt I've ever bought at any show. It was steep. It kinda hurt. But the graphics were great- the front is the cover of my favorite Maiden LP, "Somewhere in Time" with the 2008 dates on the back and a very vividly colored Ccyborg Eddie. I knew I'd kick myself if I didn't get one. So I instead got to kick myself for spending so much money. Sometimes you can't win.
Around 9, the house lights dimmed. The PA started playing UFO's "Doctor, Doctor" a 70s hard rock song that was very influential on Maiden. It's served as the "get ready" music for every tour I've seen.
From my seat, Janick's side (stage left) even with the end of the stage I could see some of backstage. I could see the band in the wings as the song played. Janick jumped up and down, dancing, loosing up. He probably ties with Bruce for putting on the most athletic show during a Maiden set. And since 1999 with 3 guitars in the band, Janick has been freed up to be even more athletic, twirling his guitar around and using it as more of a prop than an instrument. Dave Murray and Adrian Smith are there so Maiden can still hold down the patented dual lead guitar attack. And the near constant below it all is founder Steve Harris' galloping bass.
After the UFO song, the two video screens to the sides of the stagelit up with footage of screaming fans against the rail and footage from the aforementioned Ed Force One. The band all seemed to be having a great time in the video clips. I'm sure they come away from every tour with a chunk of change, but I still get the feeling that they honestly have a blast doing it.
The footage then turned black and white, showing British WWII newsreel footage. Just as at the beginning of the "Live After Death" album Winston Churchill's voice came on, giving us all the pep talk for Britons to hunker down and support the effort against the Nazi's. "We shall defend our island, whatever the cost may be." And just as Winston said "We shall never surrender!" the first note of "Aces High" hit.
With a blast of light and the show was ON!
"There goes the siren that warns of the air raid!" screamed me and 16,000 other rabid fans along with Bruce. For about the next two hours solid it was all fists in the air and singing along. At the end of "Aces," Bruce did a high jump at the end of the stage that was worthy of a Youth of Today show! He showed that despite being middled-aged, he's in great shape.
This was the "Somewhere Back in Time" tour. As the name suggests, this was a retro tour. The setlist focused on mid 80s classics. In the past, Maiden has always played a lot of material off whatever new album they were supporting. This bias towards new material peaked with their previous tour. When I saw them in 2006, they opened the show by playing their entire 70-minute "A Matter of Life and Death" album from start until finish.
I love that album and thought it was a great show. But there were a lot of fans who shouted "play some old stuff!" and seemed to wish it could be eternally 1985, 86, 87, 88. And honestly, I'd have loved to see Maiden back then too. And this 2008 tour was the next best thing. With one exception every song played at the Meadowlands saw its original release on a 1980s album. And the stage set was mostly made up of element of the "World Slavery-Powerslave- 84-85" tour that spawned the Live After Death double LP.
The setlist was designed to make the entire crowd hoarse the next day. There were no clunkers. It was all-pleasing. And Bruce didn't miss any opportunities to encourage the crowd between (and during) songs. As with nearly every Maiden tour I've seen, there was a raised platform in a U shape behind the band with its wings jutting out on both sides of the stage. With a wireless mic, Bruce went all over the platform, acting as the ultimate cheerleader, pointing to different sections and raising his arms to get them all riled up.
Despite being the front man, Bruce had the worse fashion in the band. His look on this tour is kind of post-apocalyptic, ll patched together. As he has for the last few tours, he wore horrible black pants that looked like they were made from a hundred trash bags woven together. The many flaps of his leggings hung like the feathers of an oil spill seagull. The only time I liked was he was wearing, was when he donned a redcoat uniform and grabbed a Union Jack for "the Trooper"
Bruce was also the only one in the band not wearing an Iron Maiden t-shirt and the only one in the band with short hair. Despite the trends within the ranks of the elder statesmen of metal, everyone else in Maiden has kept his mane.
Janick was the only one in the band with white sneakers and he also was wearing the tightest pants, not counting the spandex shorts of Nicko the drummer. With the exception of Bruce, everyone in the band looked "conservatively metal"--- simple black--- t shirts and jeans. No cod pieces, spikes, or make-up.
Adrian Smith on guitar seemed to have lost a little weight since the last tour looking a bit more like his thin 80s version. While Maiden has never been a bunch of lookers, in my book Adrian still maintains the title of "most handsome Maiden." And Nicko is still dead last in the running.
Adrian also had a peace symbol sticker on one of his guitars. Despite its incongruity within a metal band that has a repertoire made up mostly of songs about war and battles, I thought it was a great statement. Below all the belligerent graphics, runs a lyrical theme of the futility of war. And as Bruce said on the "A Real Live One" album "just to make a mental note...war is bullshit. The people who make people go to war are usually politicians and the people that get killed are usually ordinary people." But Maiden has never been a very political band. They just aspire to be a fun band that taps into the testosterone and aggressive impulses of men. But in the end, they don't mean anyone any harm.
Maiden taps into something inside me. And I stayed riled up for the whole show. I didn't think once about sitting down or using the restroom. I knew almost every word uttered from the stage and I sang/screamed along about 70% of the time. And fortunately, I had a seat on an aisle, so I had an extra little bit of rock-out room. A few times I did almost rock out TOO hard and tripped back against the concrete step behind me.
The sound from our seats was a bit echoey. But that's to be expected at a 16,000 seat sports arena made of concrete and steel.
With our seats to the side of the stage near the front corner we got a bit of sound from the PA stacks facing forward and the ones to the side of the stage. The high volume bouncing off the floor, the ceiling, and the metalhead bodies made for a bit of an aural mess at times. Occasionally elements of the music seemed to fall out of time with one another. Listening back to the sound on amateur videos of the evening that are posted on youtube, it seems this occasional lack-of-togetherness was the fault of our seat positions and the uncomplimentary acoustics of the venue. The videos proved the band to be totally together at every moment captured.
The bad acoustics are kind of part of the fun, though. The continual awareness of the cavernous expanse of the venue reminded me that this was a huge show. And a huge show feels like an EVENT, a ceremony, something important. It's a whole different feel from seeing a band in a small, intimate venue that holds only a few hundred and has better acoustics.
I'd love to see Maiden in a tiny club, where I could hear and see every element clearly, but it takes 16,000 fans singing along to the "woah-oh-oh- woah-oh-oh-oh-ohhh-oh-oh-oh-woah-oh..." part of "Heaven Can Wait." to make it seem like an EVENT. I take pride in my idiosyncrasies and individualism but I love being a part of a huge unison mass from time to time. And Maiden provides a great opportunity for it.
A Maiden show is always light-hearted. Bruce also exhibits a self-deprecating humor between songs. This time around he kept doing a forgetful old man routine that got a little old after a while: "What? You're still here? Oh...where are we again?" etc. I was glad though that near the show's beginning he called the name "Izod Center" silly and simply called it "the Meadowlands" for the rest of the set.
A few times, the screens on the side of the stage caught Bruce looking out of it. He spent a lot of the show in a gray t-shirt that was soaked through with sweat. A few times he seemed out of breath. But running the length of an arena stage while singing and being nearly 50 is no easy feat. With the less than perfect acoustical conditions, it's difficult to say whether Bruce is fully living up to the hype that his voice is "as good now as it was in the mid 80s." At the Meadowlands, there seemed to be a few times when Bruce screamed words that he used to annunciate clearly at high pitches. But over all I'd say it's safe to say that Bruce has at least 80% of the range and power he had in 1985. And it didn't sound like the band had to drop pitches down to accommodate voice changes (unlike another British band that recently got together in another arena to play a bunch of old songs...)
If Maiden did the "classics" setlist format MY way, there wouldn't be any of the classic yet overplayed songs that were scattered throughout the Meadowlands show: "Trooper," "Run to the Hills" "Iron Maiden" "Number of the Beast" and "Hallowed Be Thy Name." They're all great songs but I've heard them at every other Maiden show I've been to. But nothing is ideal, and I sound like an ungrateful bastard saying oh "couldn't the best metal band in the world have played something OTHER than the 'Trooper.'" They may be over-played but can you ever go wrong with any of those songs? No.
And of course, this wasn't everyone's 5th Maiden show. If you're seeing Maiden for the first time (as I'm sure a lot of people at the Meadowlands were) you probably really want to hear all those songs that the veteran hardcore fans deem "overplayed."
And there were plenty of rarities to balance out the set: the "Aces High" opener, "Wasted Years," the epic "Rime of the Ancient Mariner" (complete with dry ice and firework-explosions above the stage in time with the beats and "Moonchild" in the encore. And during the oft-played "Iron Maiden" theme song, a robotic cyborg "Eddie" came on stage straight from the Somewhere in Time album cover to battle Janick
Janick responded to the "threat" by switching to a wireless guitar that apparently was designed to take a beating. He thrust it continually at the robotic monster Eddie as part of a brief and deliciously cheesy melee.
Despite the sinister nature of most of their graphics, a Maiden show is really uplifting fun for everyone involved. Maiden is a surprisingly catchy sounding band. A lot of people unfamiliar with the band don't know that. I think the band gets judged a lot by their many dark and violent designs (courtesy of artist Derek Riggs) for record covers, posters, and t-shirts. Until the age of 14, all I knew of the band was their graphics and the song "No Prayer For the Dying" that I had on a 1991 Epic Records promo compilation that I got from sending in cereal box tops.
I was both afraid and intrigued by the image of Maiden for my entire youth even though I'd barely heard them. I was surprised when I bought my first Maiden album, out of curiosity, that they were so melodic. I expected guttural, indecipherable vocals, breakneck velocity, and bone-crushing heaviness. But I was even happier with what I actually got from the band. (And soon enough I was able to find other avenues to satisfy my semi-articulated desire for truly evil-sounding music.)
Iron Maiden have a lot of songs that you can hear the first time and be singing along by the final chorus. A lot of their songs have an anthemic quality to them. Their 90s and 00s material is a bit darker and more introverted but at the Meadowlands they only did the 80s, with the exception of 1992's "Fear of the Dark"--- the most recent song that it seems ALL Maiden fans can agree is a classic. It's also very anthemic and conducive to singing along both in words and "oh"'s.
I could run through a song by song analysis of the set, but that would probably be too tedious. It is worth noting that with 3 guitars in the band now, the subtle off-stage keyboard parts that have crept into the repertoire since 1986 were often played at the Meadowlands on a 6 string by one of the guitarists. I couldn't tell for sure if "Heaven Can..." and "Fear..." stillused keyboards, but the prominent keyboard opening of the "Moonchild" encore was definitely done by a guitar.
Perhaps after 25 years Maiden could again live up to the promise they made on the inner sleeve of their Piece of Mind LP: "no synthesizers or ulterior motives."
For the fifth time since 1999 Maiden provided me with a loud night that was the perfect balance of heavy-yet-catchy songs, musical skill, clever lyrics, theatrics, explosions, and athletic "put your hands in the air!" showmanship.
Here's the set list. And posted below it are clips of every single song from the show (about 2 hours if you watch it all!) Since it's all covert amateur footage, the clarity isn't optimum, but the shaky, grainy, crowd-noise-filled clips capture the excitement of the night.
They're coming back again in June.
tickets for Madison Square Garden 6/15 go on sale today (3/22) and tickets for Camden 6/17 go on sale 3/29
Get excited.
Up the Irons!
set list from the Meadowlands 3/14/2008:
1. Churchill's Speech / Aces High (from 'Powerslave' – 1984) 2. 2 Minutes to Midnight (from 'Powerslave' – 1984) 3. Revelations (from 'Piece Of Mind' – 1983) 4. The Trooper (from 'Piece Of Mind' – 1983) 5. Wasted Years (from 'Somewhere In Time' – 1986) 6. The Number of the Beast (from 'Number Of The Beast' – 1982) 7. Run to the Hills (from 'Number Of The Beast' – 1982) 8. Rime of the Ancient Mariner (from 'Powerslave' – 1984) 9. Powerslave (from 'Powerslave' – 1984) 10. Heaven Can Wait (from 'Somewhere In Time' – 1986) 11. Can I Play With Madness? (from 'Seventh Son Of A Seventh Son' –1988) 12. Fear of the Dark (from 'Fear Of The Dark' – 1992) 13. Iron Maiden (from 'Iron Maiden' – 1980)
Encore: 14. Moonchild (from 'Seventh Son Of A Seventh Son' – 1988) 15. The Clairvoyant (from 'Seventh Son Of A Seventh Son' – 1988) 16. Hallowed Be Thy Name (from 'Number Of The Beast' – 1982)
I'm very psyched about seeing the Philadelphia Orchestra performing Gustav Holst's "the Planets" tonight at the Kimmel Center. It was written in the early 19 'teens (first performed 1918)
Contact me if you're interested in coming along. The performance is at 8pm. You'll need to meet me at the kimmel box off by 5pm to get $10 rush tickets (one per person allowed.)
Here are my two favorite sections of the 7-part piece
Mars, the Bringer of War
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6NeQ1h6lzLI after the Japanese intro, the music starts at 0:53 This is one of the most tense, angry pieces of orchestral music out there. I love the insistent rhythmic phrases first tapped out by the low strings (it begins with the triplet) and the apocalyptically doomy end with time almost standing still as the tempo slows to a crawl and the orchestra crushes the listener
In contrast to the cathartic anger of "Mars" Jupiter is one of the most joyous orchestral pieces I've heard (as the subtitle implies.) My favorite part is the very "stately" slow waltz that starts at 1:43 with the melody played by the lower brass and then soon speeding up as the melody becomes lighter and more staccato, literally flying away into the high register. That part around 1:43 (and the reprise of it near the end) is one of the few pieces of music that often makes me cry. Happy tears. Flooded with emotion tears.
And this section of "Jupiter" is the source for one of my favorite "over taken" by the music stories. It was reported that during the 9/28/1918 premier of the work "the effect upon the small audience was intense---and in the halls, during the playing of 'Jupiter,' char-women were said to have set aside their scrubbing to dance with each other." The image of these working class downtrodden cleaning women in Cheltenham, England throwing down their mops and saying "fuck it, let's dance!" is so beautiful. I think of it every time I hear this section and I think it's what prompts the waterworks.
I think that music is the most powerful spiritual force in the human world. And this is an example of its power, at least to my non-denominational ears.
And at 6:47 in "Jupiter" the tambourine technique is great. I'd actually never seen a close up of how the sound was achieved until I saw this clip.
I enjoyed the Japanese characters and slight out-of-sync nature of the video/soundtrack combo. It gave the clips an otherworldly exoticism.
The other 5 sections are great too, but I'd be lying if I didn't say they don't quite live up to the intense rhythmic and melodic power of "Mars" and Jupiter."
For months now I've been working on an epic Led Zeppelin blog piece. And this isn't it, quite yet.The piece in-the-works is epic, but still fragmentary. But this here hints at what's to come.
I've been a big Zep fan since age 11. Through the years Led Zep has come and gone from the forefront of my most-listen-to bands, but they've always been somewhere in my regular mix.
Well, Zep, and especially live bootleg Zep, has been in the forefront again since last summer. The rumors, confirmation, and playing of a great Led Zeppelin reunion show in December rekindled the all-consuming passion for Zep in my life. LZ are again a current event, of sorts, and it's been fun following the play-by-play as the reunion show happened (and now rumors of a Fall reunion tour are happening.)
I've also download about 50 full Zep shows via torrent shares in the past six months. There's no more paying $25-a-disc for poorly-labelled "Italian import" CDs of dubious sound quality. They're now all free, maintained by super-fans and equally accessible to anyone with a hard drive and a decent high speed connection.
And even some unreleased video footage has been floating around, such as this
Yes, the sound quality is awful from a technical standpoint and the band is fuzzy and distant.
but this is IT, a homemade fragment of the pinnacle of Zeppelin's popularity: the United States Tour Summer of 1977: 44 dates of sold out shows in arenas and stadiums holding anywhere from 15-76,000 with the shows stretching for 3- 3 1/2 hours every night!
And going by the amount of "United States Tour 1977" shirts on the backs of college dudes last summer, a quarter of early 20-something Americans were at one of these shows from April-July 1977. But of course they're all about 20 years too young to have really been at any of the shows. And I'd be willing to bet that very few of them have actually heard a Zep '77 show, since nothing from the tour has ever been officially released, with the exception of one song as a submenu background on the Led Zeppelin "DVD."
Of course even most of the hardcore Zeppelin fans of today (including yours truly, the typist) were too young to be at any of these shows 1977 filled with:
Double neck guitars
white satin bellbottomed suits worn shirtless, embroidered with dragons and poppies.
Drugs, and groupies
bare chests and sock-lumped trousers
Firecrackers and fan riots.
25 minute drum solos
John Paul Jones playing a 3-necked acoustic 26-stringed monstrosity: mandolin, 6 and 12 string guitar all together.
I wish I could've been there ,though. And with headphone-plugged ears and the laptop in full-screen mode i can at least pretend. The hot fuzziness of this amateur Birmingham film gives me that "I'm there!" feeling in a way that the sharp clarity of the officially released material cannot. What it loses in clarity, it gains in raw excitement.
The cavernous boom gives an idea of the magnitude of the venue. And the roar gives an idea of the magnitude of the crowd.
To be exact what we're looking at here is Birmingham May 18th 1977 at the Jefferson Memorial Coliseum.
To be exact this was Led Zeppelin's final US tour. Within a couple months, the death of Robert Plant's young son would grind the tour to a halt and put a cloud over the band's sunny, cocky nature. This cloud would remain overhead until the band's end.
And that end was to come about 3 and a half years after this fan-made film was shot. And in that time heroin and alcohol would work their dark, isolating magic on half the band (the White Stripes-esque half.) And It was just a day before my 1st birthday, Sept 25, 1980 that the band would hit their vomitous rhythmless end.
But that's all darkness.
Though, as Jimmy Page said back in the early 70s, the mission of the band was to create both "light and shade."
And this echoey, jittery film is the manifestation of that lightness. It's 8mm of pure joy, with Jimmy glowing in in his white costume, flying around the stage on twinkling toes, and seeming thin enough to be blown away by a moderate wind. And the huge collective excitement of the evening is channeled through Jimmy Page's continually-moving feet .
"The Song Remains the Same" is in the first fragment of this Birmingham clip. The song opened every single Zep concert in '77. And to my ears it's a perfect opener. It could be the soundtrack for a chase scene or for the Indy 500. It showcases speed and intensity. The band comes out of the gate charging with it. There was no easing the crowd into the show. From the first moments the band is going right for the teenage throat. And they're drawing blood too.
And if you pick threw all the noise and boom and jump cuts, you can hear they're all playing very well, here in Alabama.
For the whole time, Jimmy Page gives no quarter. All the while this motherf*cker has restless leg syndrome. I love how Jimmy's flared trousers accentuate this dramatic footwork. And I think cocaine trumped heroin for the white wizard on this night.
He falls to his knees at the end of a drum roll 0:33-0:37 He marches to the stage front to take a bow 1:05-1:11 He kicks imaginary soccer balls off of stage right 2:02-2:07 He spins around in a full circle between slow bluesy phrases 3:22-3:25 His hand goes up to cast a spell to increase the band's speed and intensity 4:01-4:07 He makes a crotch-forward lunge 4:23-4:26 He makes a dramatic turn in time with a cymbal accent 5:32 He goose steps, raises his hand to cast more spells and dances like a maniac, a maniac for sure. 6:12-7:20 (The previous month in Chicago on April 10 he wore jack boots and a Nazi SS officer's cap on stage, so militaristic moves were not unprecedented for this tour) He drops to his knees to praise the Lord (of this self-professed band of Over-Lords) 8:28 He duck-walks and dances with Robert Plant 9:22-9:30
Meanwhile, as his toes are twinkling, he's shadowed by the OTHER string man in white who mostly hides in the darkness behind Jimmy's right shoulder. Naturally, Bonham can't really go anywhere and is stuck near the back of the frame. And Plant mostly just stands looking pretty: bare-chested, tight-trousered, and perfect-haired.
note: the clip is credited on the tube to "the Nobs" to avoid getting pulled for copyright reasons. For those not in the know, the band played one show in 1970 under the alias "the Nobs" to avoid legal action against them by the heiress of Graf von Zeppelin while playing near her home turf in Denmark.
caveat: this is more of a personal essay than it is a critical review of a two and a half hour performance. My words often veer into territories of bias and heavy charge. And in the end the piece that follows is probably at least as much about me as it is about Neil Young and his band and his music. But at least in my mind it all connects very strongly with the night of Dec 9th 2007.
Also, some typos and grammatical errors are still probably mixed in
Part I: the Build Up
It's been a long time since i've been as excited about a show as I was about Neil Young playing the Tower Theatre. Any friend who's had any contact with me in the last month can probably tell you that I've asked them at least 3 times "Did I tell you I'm going to see Neil fucking Young on December 9th?" Each time I'd say this I'd have a huge grin on my face.
In the past couple years I've really deepen my Neil Young fandom. 2 years ago I was just someone who had a handful of his albums and always enjoyed listening to him whenever he came on the radio. But then I read two books on him nearly back-to-back: Sam Inglis' Harvest book from the 33 1/3 series of short books focusing on particular albums. And after enjoying that I dove into Jimmy Mc Donough's exhaustive and dense Shakey biography. Through Shakey especially Neil came across as a tireless, self-deprocating, eccentric, moody, and at heart good-natured genius whose personality seemed quite similar to mine (minus the propensity towards cocaine and alcohol abuse in the mid to late 70s) Within a year I owned the majority of his albums in either CD, shared file, or used vinyl format. I found myself greatly enjoying his questionable early to mid 80s genre-hopping period and also enjoying various bootlegs of concerts and outtakes. And I became familiar with the line-ups of his various bands ad his his ongoing love/hate relationship being the sometime Y in CSN &Y.
I told myself, next time he plays in the area i have to go. So when the Chrome Dreams II album and acoustic + electric tour were announced I got quite excited. But since he was playing theatres that held a couple thousand as opposed to the arenas he could easily fill, I knew this was gonna be an expensive ticket. As dates went on sale, i realized it was even more expensive than I had anticipated. I was preparing myself to bite the bullet and pay $80 to get floor seats near the front. But it became clear this wasn't an option. Floor seats were $160 face value, Lower balcony were $99 and the nosebleeds were $64. It was immediately clear it was gonna be nosebleed or nothing. I could afford the $160 for floor. But it would hurt, a lot, and I'd feel dirty. As it was, $64 for the "cheap" (heavy emphasis on the quotes) was more than I'd ever paid for a single evening's concert. But I knew I had to get in the door. It was just a question of home much I'd grumble before I gave the MAN my money. I might feel dirty for spending so much money on a concert, but I knew I'd regret it if I didn't go. And when it comes to legendary artists who are 60+ who've lived less than gentle lives, the threefold question always arises: how much longer will they a)be alive b) be performing live and c) be any good at performing live. There probably would be other opportunities to see Mr Young after this tour, but realistically, this could be the last time (cue the Stones riff, just for the heck of it!) Maybe. I don't know.
Now $64 face value rarely means just $64 when it comes to rock tickets. There's a sadistic little thing that's so accurately called a "convenience fee." $10+ added on just because you couldn't make it to box office in the one 4 hour window it was open. And then there's shipping charges, because god help you if you choose free shipping and the plain envelope with the 40-something odd cent stamp on it doesn't arrive. Ticketmaster assumes no responsibility (eg Sigur Ros in Portland, 2003) If you've gone to any concert in a venue bigger than a bar in the last decade, you know all this, but it's still a pain. I've made it through all sorts of obstacles to get tickets in person, to avoid the service charges. Once I rode my bike 45 minutes in the rain to go to the regional Clear Channel box office only to be told I still had to pay $3.50 in "convenience fees" because it was apparently so easy to haul my ass out to some god forsaken suburb named Bala Cynwyd to then have the privilege of laying down $40 (cash only of course [in small, unmarked bills?]) for a concert . Well at least it wasn't the $15 i'd have had to pay if i went for the convenience of buying it online. I considered myself lucky, but come on, this is rock n roll not getting a quart of milk from the local 7-Eleven! Convenience Fee my ass! The "Charging you a few bucks more just because we can and really what are your other options anyway?" fee is more like it.
For Neil at the Tower, I did have a surcharge-free option, and that was showing up on a saturday morning and waiting for the box office to open at 10AM. But I work most Saturdays and was already on the schedule when the on-sale date was announced. So with a very solemn face, I informed my boss that a "family issue" had come up and that I couldn't be at work at my normal 8am arrival time, but could definitely be there by 11. "Family Issue" was ambiguous enough to not require too many explanatory lies and the studied gravity that I used when informing my boss of this nebulous "issue" discouraged further questions as to the details of said issue. It could be a death, it could be a sickness, it could be my sister's addition to demerol, it could be my girlfriend's unwanted pregnancy. It was rude to ask. So I didn't have to elaborate. I got the morning off and my lie remained white. Still, things were getting dirty. I'd not only lied, but also conceded to paying more than I'd ever paid for a concert before to have the privelage of watching Neil shoveling whatever he felt like shoveling into my ear. The focus of the tour hadn't been announced. He could be playing 4 hours of Boys II Men covers for all I knew. But I was willing to bet that a rare small venue tour would call for pulling out some rare chestnuts from the sprawling back catalog of Neil Young/Crazy Horse/Santa Monica Flyers/Stray Gators/International Harvesters/ (though hopefully NOT from the slim catalog of the Shocking Pinks) Now if tickets go on sale at 10am, one can't just waltz up to the box office at 10am expecting to get choice seats or even any seats at all for a date as hot as Neil Young. A certain amount of camping out would be necessary. So I got to the box office at 8am with some coffee and a good book. Already 2 people were ahead of me, seated in folding lawn chairs, but not bad I thought. Still I knew I wasn't gonna get "good" seats. I was obsessive enough to sit on the sidewalk for two hours but not enough to pay the $160 for floor tickets. Two hours with my ass hurting would get me nosebleed seats IF I was lucky. There was also the internet to reckon with and the quick-fingered/ hyper-refresh fans and scalpers all across the country just waiting for the stroke of 10. There would be no special allotment for the box-office said the lady working to keep the growing line of "Rusties" in order. In a sad irony, we the dedicated who were up at the break of dawn to get tickets for this rare and special event might just get shut out by the guy under the covers still in his boxers and stubble who knew how to sculpt linux to auto-buy him a pair at 10:000000000001AM. Grrrrrrrrrrr. Obviously I got tickets, though, since this is just a long (too long) intro to a report of my experience attending the show. They were indeed nosebleeds about 11 rows from the very top of the venue, just below the old projector booth from the theater's days as a 1920s movie palace. But I was happy just to get inside the door. I'd previously been to the Tower a number of times to see Trey Anastasio, and Phil Lesh and Friends and I'd yet to see a bad show there. I felt that bands rose to the occasion, making elegant music to fit the red-cushioned gilt-edged decor of a venue from another era. The Tower was certainly not a shed or a makeshift cavern with an hockey rink hiding beneath retractable panels. And David Bowie had recorded his classic TSOP-influenced David Live album at the Tower. The venue had a reputation. In a way, last row at the Tower was better than front row at the Spectrum.
I hyped the Neil Young show way up in my mind. As I said at the beginning, from the purchase of tickets until the day of the show I had to mention that I was seeing Neil "fucking" Young to everyone I knew whether they gave a rat's ass or not about that cranky balding ex-Canadian. The time, money and effort involved in getting the tickets made the event huge for me. I've seen hundreds (probably thousands) of concerts of varying size and quality over the last 14 years. I have a tendency towards giddiness and gushing. But of course I can't get excited over every single concert I attend. It takes a lot of energy gushing giddily. I need to pace myself so i can do the OTHER stuff in my life (eat, sleep, work when necessary...) And as I've gotten older and have seen legends of many different sub-genres, I've become a bit cynical. It seems to take more to impress. Going to concerts has become a natural regularly scheduled event in my life. It's something I need to do frequency to stay healthy. Sometimes the necessary act of going to see live music borders on the mundane. Concerts become like brushing my teeth or eating my 5 daily servings of fruit and vegetables. But the Neil Young show felt special from the moment I heard about it via the internet. I was gonna see a verified rock legend in a revered venue at the height of my interest in that artist. So during the build-up to the fateful night of December 9th 2007, I bought the new Neil Young album Chrome Dreams II and like most Neil albums since the early 90s it had some great moments but was a bit uneven. Nothing was outright bad, but there were a fair amount of forgettable moments, or at least moments that took months of repeated listening to become memorable. But what really got me excited was following the setlists and reviews of the tour which went on for about a month before it hit Philly (ok technically Upper Darby, as the Tower at 69th is just beyond the city's western border.) On the tour Neil was playing unreleased mid 70s gems and deep cuts that had rarely been played live during my lifetime. The 1st set was going to be solo acoustic. Most of the songs comprising it were ones that appeared on the widely circulate "1976 Joel Bernstein tape" recorded in November of that bicentennial year. And the songs he was playing from the new album were among my favorites from that set. The basic sets remained the same during the month preceding the Philadelphia show. Usually there were one or two variations or surprises per night. Only days after it happened I also found online a bootleg of the 11/8 minneapolis show. The performance quality was great, adding to the anticipation (and the practical guarantee) of a great show!
Part II: inside the venue and the opener
So the rainy night of December 9th finally comes. I take a bus to the venue. From two blocks away at the bus terminal, I can already see the rea neon "Tower" sign on the tower that has stood on top of the lobby portion of theatre since it opened in 1927. I smile as I see the "tonight-Neil Young-sold out" sign on the rounded marquee. Entrance security is pretty much non-existent. There are nominal checks of handbags but that's about it. There's no pat-down. My Finnish army surplus coat is full of semi-hidden pockets so I'm able to smuggle in the most G-rated of all contraband--- a couple Clif bars to keep me from having to pay $5 for a pretzel when i inevitably get hungry during the show. I also have with me my Nalgene bottle to be filled with fine Philly tap water once inside because I believe firmly in hydration within the hot confines of rock shows. And damned if I'm paying $4 for god's gift from the sky packaged in disposable plastic. And in a less personal way I'm glad that security at the door is light. That increases the chances that a fan has been able to smuggle a recording rig inside to document this event. In the lobby the talk is of the quality of the venue. Middled aged folks in faded Ragged Glory shirts are asking each other "have you ever seen Neil play here?" and the response is always "I don't think he's EVER played here since i've been seeing him!" And while a little online research after the fact proved that statement wrong (he also played the Tower 3/22,23, 24/1992 and 4/24/1999,) the chatters were right that Neil at the Tower is certainly a rare event and this is actually the first time he 's playing at the Tower with a band, since the previous shows were all solo acoustic. Online research also revealed that floor tickets for the 1992 run were $25 while for Dec 9th they are $159. grrrrrrr. Well at lot has changed in the last 15 years. And someone's got the concert-lover by the balls (either Neil or Clear Channel, or Neil in cahoots with Clear Channel.) Oh well. I was at the show! The money had already been spent. And despite the evil grinning guy in a perfectly crisp suit in a board room, in the end I was gonna remember the music and the EVENT, not the nosebleeding $64... ...Well unless the show sucked. But I was pretty sure that wasn't gonna happen.
When I got to my seat, Pegi Young was already on stage. She's Neil's wife and back-up singer and opening act for this tour. Reviews weren't very positive for her sets. But the sound and sight lines were great. Her music had the alt-country feel you'll hear a lot these days on WXPN in Philly and/or on Radio Paradise online (the two default music sources in my house's kitchen.) She was backed by a 3 piece band: bass, pedal steel, and guitar while she herself strummed an acoustic. Pegi's voice was warm and I could tell she was excited by her speaking tone and between-song banter. But she frequently fell off key. Not extremely off key but enough so that it definitely soured her tight melody-centered, quiet pieces. But her sour vocals were balanced by the presence of Rick Rosas and Ben Keith, respectively playing bass and pedal steel guitar. They were also in Neil's band and had been in various NY configurations for many years. Ben Keith was the pedal steel player on Harvest was back in 1971. I enjoyed Mr. Keith's pedal steel especially. I've never heard one played live with such clarity and not buried beneath layers of percussive rock instrumentation. Pegi introduced a guest as an "electric sitar" player. I missed the name. The instrument he held looked more like an electric guitar, though it did have a resonant chromatic sound that I associate with sitars. I thought maybe Neil would come out for a duet, but he never did.
The change over between sets seemed short. There was a veritable army of stagehands moving stuff around. There seemed to be a different hand for each individual prop and piece of equipment that needed to be moved. I wondered if this was Neil's personal choice or just some sort of union quirk. The stage was mapped out in a graph. From my high up perspective, between dabbing the blood coming from my nose, I could see thin white perpendicular lines covering the stage. The set was a random collection of lights in the shapes of letters and numbers, a tall wooden Indian, an industrial-sized fan and a man in a red jacket and a boater hat painting on a large canvas near the rear of the stage. This red-jacketed man on the stage right side painted before the acoustic set and during the electric set. For the first set of Neil, the painter left the stage, and a canvas filled with a Monty Pythonesque cartoon mouth sat on his canvas. Also at the edge of the stage (left) there was a board that for Pegi's set had a big "P" on it and was replaced by a big "N" for Neil's set as if the fans might get confused between the two. The over-all effect of the stage set made me think of a Chili/TGI Fridays/Bennigans restaurant. Random kitschy stuff in random places. But unlike at those places, there were no onion rings or Caesar salads at the Tower. And while it was random, the set wasn't too distracting Before Neil came out, a stagehand requested that cellphones be turned off and that no pictures be taken during the acoustic set. The stagehand announced that the setlist had already been decided and that it would be "intense" and asked that people refrain from shouting out requests, as Neil wouldn't be honoring them and wanted quiet so he could better concentrate. Signs out in the lobby also announced that no food or beverages would not be sold during the acoustic set or even allowed inside the hall. Neil was taking extreme measures to ensure a space that was free of distractions for both himself and for the audience. In an Oct 28th New York times article about the upcoming tour, Neil said he"“ want[ed] to control the environment” of the venues. In the same article he was also quoted as saying of the venues that he personally selected:
“They have to be auditoriums. The audio part is very important. I prefer that they be old. I prefer that they be in cities. I prefer that the outside elements are totally blocked out. There’s no sunshine coming in through a window; I don’t want any of that. I don’t want to have anything to do with the real world while you’re in there. It’s not where we’re going.”
In the same article, Writer Jon Pareles also noted that "[Neil] had further stipulations. The stage lighting will be incandescent — no arc lights or halogens — and not automated or computerized. A spotlight will be operated by hand; changing the color of a light will involve replacing a gel."
This article and my experience at the Tower show reinforced what McDonough stressed in Shakey, that Neil Young is a control-freak. And in this case, it was a good thing, mostly. I had the gut feeling that Neil came up with his exact non-negotiable demands for the tour and then went to his financial people and asked "OK what will this cost us?" My gut was Neil was bent on doing the tour exactly how he wanted it, come hell or high water. Having complete control over the performance environment certainly has its cost and I think it trickled down to the fans to pay the cost. And again, the high cost of tickets is my one consistent grumble about the show.
The high ticket price seemed to skew the audience towards the middle-aged well-dressed types. There were a few ponytails on the guys (including me) but there wasn't too much of the working class flanneled house-paint-stained jeans, hard-drinking rowdy set that are echoed throughout Neil Young's lyrics. I always figured these people created the backbone of Neil's fanbase, but I guess they were priced out of this show. It's disappointing to think that a musician who seems to be of the "Ordinary People" (to invoke a song on the Chrome Dreams II album) is made inaccessible to these same people. But a lack of rowdiness certainly enhanced the aural power of the acoustic set.
Part III: the acoustic set
Neil came out dressed in white and sat down in the middle of a tight circle of guitars. The guitars made me think of circled conestoga wagons. Their wooden warmth was there to protect Neil during a performance of him at his most exposed. He opened the set with the same song he had for every other show on the tour: "From Hank to Hendrix." And despite knowing it was coming and knowing what the solo arrangement would sound like because of my incessant listening to the 11/8 Minneapolis bootleg of the last month, i was still amazed by the song. There was the warm blast of the realization "here I am with Neil!" This feeling stayed with me and kept me smiling for the whole set. Yes my nose was bleeding, but it felt like Neil was singing right to me. The silence of the crowd was amazing. It was as quiet as at an orchestral performance. I knew all all the words to all the songs. My urge was to sing along, but I didn't dare break the hush. So I just sat tapping my foot silently with my chin resting on my arm, mouthing along silently to every line. The original Harvest Moon version of "Hank to Hendrix" is great to begin with. The countrified accompaniment is subtle. But stripped naked, it grabbed me by the throat. Neil's voice cracked/quavered/strained from time to time and throughout the show, but it only increased the power, honesty, and intimacy. Neil moved constantly, channeling through his body even during the quiet seated acoustic numbers. And the opener's lyrics of a marriage in middle age going into peril and then saving itself were beautiful especially with his wife of nearly 30 years, Pegi, on stage with him for most of the show. Later on, he introduced her as his "sou mate." I'm not a sappy guy, but there was an audible "awww" from me when he said that.
Harvest Moon was the first Neil Young album I bought, on cassette, soon after it came out. This was 1992. I already knew vaguely of Neil from classic rock radio. I knew of his CSN association and solo stuff in heavy FM rock rotation. But the real stripped-down, countrified Neil was new to me. I first heard "Harvest Moon," the song, via the MTV video, yes back when MTV frequently played music. I was drawn in immediately. I was in 8th grade. I'd just started going to school-sponsored gym dances. And my interest in the opposite sex was increasing. I thought this is the perfect slow dance song. I don't think it was ever played at one of those "save room for the Holy Spirit" dances and my vision/dream/hope of slow-dancing to "Harvest Moon" alone with a girlfriend in a kitchen has yet to come to fruition even 15 years later...... sigh. Well it was fitting that a song from Harvest Moon started the show since it was my real introduction to Neil. I remember standing in the school yard in my Carhartt jacket listening to the tape on my Walkman thinking "a boy of my age in Central Jersey shouldn't be so into this." I was digging a country album and that made me feel rebellious and different. And I got high on that rebellion while my classmates were into Nirvana and Pearl Jam. Later I'd realize the affinity between the grunge and Neil, but at that point Neil was summarized for me by Harvest Moon which was somewhat atypical among his catalog up until that point (if there is actually something that can characterize the NY sound amidst all the experimentation and genre-hopping.) So wrapped into that warm blast of happiness that hit me at the beginning of the show was memories of me as shaggy-headed Catholic schoolboy. And you can practically heat a house with the warmth that nostalgia brings to me Since there was pin-drop silence during the songs of the solo set, the crowd exploded between the songs. Once the song ended from the hush came a great release. A "wow" expressed in 2000 pairs of hands.
"Ambulance Blues" came 2nd. It's a long sad song that rattles off a melancholy litany of images worthy of Dylan's "Visions of Johanna." I saw no teleprompter or cheat-sheet (though again my nose was gushing red) but Neil nailed every line with accuracy and emotion. The friend I went with sat next to me sobbing joyously, quietly throughout the song; bowled over by hearing live for the first time a song that meant so much to her, connected to events and people and places in her life that I'd probably never really know about. But her reaction made me glad I'd asked her to come with me because I now knew the performance was affecting her as powerfully as it was affecting me. Music is the most spiritual thing in my life because my intense interest and reaction to it defies all reason. Music is the thing that is always there for me and never lets me down. This acoustic set with its hushed intensity seemed downright sacramental. For his last Philly-area show, Neil performed at the big shed-and-lawn Tweeter Center. A song such as "Ambulance Blues" wouldn't work in a venue like that. The sound would have inevitably been muffled and muddy. At 9 minutes long, things would've grown tedious. With Neil at 61, the world-weariness of "Ambulance Blues" is even more striking. He'd catapulted to fame and seen an awful lot by 24, but in the nearly 40 years since, he's seen even more. And since Neil always sang like a grizzled old man, even when he was a young fresh-faced man now that he is (nearly) an old man he can still hit all the notes with the same feeling. There's none of the extreme octave drops like at the hallowed Led Zeppelin reunion (that'd take place across the pond the next night. Neil's range and tone have stayed pretty solid. If i closed my eyes I could think I was at one of his 1976 acoustic shows. Next was "Sad Movies," another unsurprisingly sad song that has never been released and prior to this tour had only been performed a handful of times in Europe in 1976. In hindsight, the song with its vivid description of old movie theatres was perfect for performance at the Tower, a former movie palace from the days before even Neil was born. Then Neil sat down at a grand piano that was painted day glo yellow with bright blotches of red or orange. Before he sat down for each piano song, he walked around the piano looking down at it as if he were accessing the quality of used car at the dealer's lot or strategizing how to do battle against a formidable opponent. Maybe this was how he focused. Maybe it was just a nervous tick. When he finally sat down, he gave us "A Man Needs a Maid." In its Harvest London Symphony Orchestra-backed version, it sounds overblown, but just voice and piano made it poignant. Also Neil only played piano. He played the between verse interludes on the piano itself and not on the thin-sounding organ-toned keyboard that he used earlier on the tour. And it sounded better with only the piano and no artificial sustain. The atmosphere of loneliness created by the narrator increased because there were now little pockets of silence between the notes . Throughout the acoustic set, silence was very important to the music. There wasn't the alcohol-fuelled buzz of a rock show. The space between notes was vividly apparent, accentuating the notes that were played. You could hear yourself breathing during some of the songs. I've never experienced that before at a "rock" show. At once point during the set, I got hungry and decided to munch on one of the Clif Bars I'd smuggled in. It was only with the utmost care that I could open the wrapper without causing a disturbance. And of course, thank goodness, there was none of that most typical of annoyances at shows: someone climbing over you every 5 minutes either going to get beers or bring them back 4 at a time, dripping over everything. Everyone was seated and at rapt attention. I don't anyone even thought about smoking a bowl despite the hippie-ish roots of the music and Neil's own well-documented love of the "home grown." After some more accessing/strategizing next to the piano, Neil sat down again and played the 2nd ever live performance of the mid-70s outtake, "Mexico." Another leg-stretch/assessment/tactical analysis and then back down on the stool for another unreleased 70s song, "No One Seems to Know." As Neil sang of weakness, his voice choked up slightly as the sound reverberated through the hall. Then back to guitar for the title track of Harvest, a rarely performed cut from his best-selling album. Then back to a piano, but a different piano. There was also an upright on the other side of stage. And he approached it in the same way that he did the grand. He played "Journey Through the Past," adding some trills that gave the piece a slight saloon/music hall tinge. He stayed at the upright and played "After the Gold Rush." A song that (unfortunately) is still very relevant with environmental destruction continuing. He acknowledged this by singing "look at mother nature on the run in the 21st century" which got a cheer from the crowd. Of course "and I felt like getting high" got a big cheer as well, although as I already noted, marijuana was conspicuously absent during the show. Neil played the horn part on harmonica. I love that part because French horn is the only instrument with which I have any proficiency. When I listen to the original album version, i can imagine myself seated next to Neil, playing along. The mood lightened a bit with the most joyous song of the set, "Mellow My Mind" with a bit of falsetto and Neil playing a guitar/banjo hybrid. After the song Neil said "this is a real good place, isn't it." And of course the whole crowd cheered in agreement. He then went into his longest piece of onstage banter. He talked about his love for theaters and the "struggle" to play at places of this size while being apparently forced to play sheds and arenas. He didn't really explain why it's a struggle. Superficially, it seems he could play any venue of any size any time he wanted. And he did play a low-key stand at 350-capacity bar near Santa Cruz back in 1996. But I'm sure there's a lot of behind-the-scenes politics that pushes artists to play in larger venues than they're comfortable with. I just wished he'd explain why tickets were $150+ dollars for many seats. But of course, he didn't. The mood stayed light with another mid-70s unreleased gem, "Love Art Blues," a jaunty tune that inspired a a brief pocket of handclapping somewhere down on the floor. But even with the happier songs, silence seemed to be the best atmosphere. "Love Art Blues" hit home with my own conflicting urges of going off alone and being creative and finding romantic love and spending time entwined with someone else. Neil then noted that election time was drawing closer. And since he'd already released his very pointed Living With War album, I expected him to make some sort of polarizing political statement. But he didn't. His views on the current administration and the Mideast situation are already clear. So he just launched into yet another unreleased mid 70s song, "Campaigner." The opening chords tricked me into thinking this was "Pocahontas," a song that I really wanted to hear. My heart jumped and I ready myself to hear "Aurora Borealis, the icy skies at night" but then the tune shifted and I realized, with slight disappointment what was actually being played. The set ended with the most rhythmic, aggressive, and loosest song so far, "Cowgirl in the Sand." It was still solo acoustic, but it prepped us up for the fuzzy pounding we'd get in the next set. Neil let the music sway him. His arms and guitar moved back and forth. And the guitar neck knocked into another guitar in the circle that surround him at center stage. But he took it in stride, joked that the guitar "just wanted to jam" and he continued with the song, giving the falling guitar a symbolic strum. Neil and the crowd shared a smile and a laugh. Despite the aggression of the song, the crowd remained hushed, but still did the "echoing response" lines very quietly. Beautifully and tunefully the whole balcony sang "hello ruby in the dust" after Neil, becoming one big hugely quiet Crazy Horse Choir! Then the house lights came up and slowly my pulse returned to normal. I turned to my friend and said "I got my $64 worth. I could go home happy now." And I really meant it. When a good is set is still echoing in my ears I often feel like making statements such as "best set ever." I certainly felt it after that first Neil Young set and have yet to change my mind in the days that have followed. Through the magic of the internet, I've already downloaded a crystal-clear bootleg from the show. Often once I hear a recording of a performance the reality of imperfections clouds my "best set ever" fantasy. But after 4 times through, the audio document only confirms what I felt. I'm gushing. And I have been gushing since the set break. I said to my friend I didn't think they could top that intensity in the electric set and she agreed. She responded that perhaps Neil should have done the electric set first and ended with the acoustic. Anyway, at setbreak I was glowing. Anything left to be played would icing on the cake!
Part IV: the electric set
Again, the army of black-clad stage hands came out to rearrange the set for the band. And there were cameramen too. A typed legalese notice posted in and around the venue stated that the show was being filmed for a possible DVD release. Apparently Jonathan Demme, the man behind both Silence of the Lambs and Neil's last concert film, Heart of Gold was directing. At least from the upper tier, the camera crew was unobtrusive and didn't distract from the real action on stage.
The setbreak seemed relatively short. Catching me off guard, the band charged into "the Loner" and I jumped to my feet. There was now fuzz and drums and bass. The sound was still crisp, though. Well as crisp as the "grungy" Neil is supposed to be in its ideal form. I started to just let the music move me, bopping and such. But I realized that only a handful of people were standing. Everyone else was STILL SITTING DOWN. When music is as raw and visceral as electric Neil, willfully taking it sitting down just doesn't seem to compute. But the "sitters" definitely far outnumbered the "standers" as far as the eye could see. Neil himself was standing and rocking out with white wisps of thinning hair flying, but apparently that wasn't permission enough. I think I wasn't the only one caught off guard by the arrival of "the Loner." The standers didn't get to their feet quick enough to inspire others to join in. So the tyranny of the majority ruled. Within a couple minutes, the middle-aged paunchy guy SEATED behind me said "I can't see!" So I moved to the wide aisle between the upper and lower balcony, joining another rocker. But the inevitable happened: the usher came to us as asked us to return to our seats. Oh well. But despite the weirdness I felt sitting down for a set fueled by the Crazy Horsed beats of Ralph Molina I still really enjoyed it. I had a different perspective. Sitting made the set seem more like a performance than the participatory celebration of many other rock shows. It definitely felt different, but not necessarily bad. And I still rocked out hard in my seat. I was on the aisle so I could stretch my legs out, stomping the beats using my thighs as drum pads.
The raw high energy continued with "Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere." The backing vocals were great. Pegi the Wife and Anthony Crawford sang while standing on a platform towards the back of stage right. And Ralph Molina was high in the mix, nearly dueting with Neil. The first new tune of the evening came next, "Dirty Old Man," sounding like classic raw Neil. This was a song about working class people. This was a song for drunken fist in the air dancing. And yet there was only a small handful on their feet. A middle-aged woman in my row clapped out the 2s and 4s during this and many other songs of this set. It annoyed me slightly. It seemed like a poor excuse for rockin' out. Her clapping made me think of politicians' wives clapping along to the beat of their partners' campaign songs trying vainly to appear energetic and cool. Another new song from "Chrome Dreams II" followed: "Spirit Road." Neil's voice was passionate and angry. During the instrumental breaks in this and other songs, Keith, Rosas, and Neil huddled together a bit right of center stage playing to each other with Neil adopting his trademark wide-legged stance. A pair of 1969/1970 Crazy Horse live staples (unreleased until very recently) followed. "Bad Fog of Loneliness" took the energy down a notch for he first time in the set with a country shuffle beat and Ben Keith sitting down to play pedal steel.
Throughout the set, Eric Anderson, the painter in red with the boater hat, painted large canvases that had song titles on them. Just before each song the painter put a canvas with a corresponding title on an easel at the left corner of the stage. While he was never introduced or acknowledged by Neil, I later found out that he's painted all the canvases live as the band plays. They're developed as the tour has progressed. At the end of the tour, the paintings will be put up in a charity auction to benefit the Bridge School. Visually, the painter in red balanced out Neil in white very well. The live painting combined with the continued seated hush of the crowd gave the event a "high art" atmosphere. After "Bad fog", Neil introduced Ben Keith saying that they'd been playing together since they met during the Harvest sessions in 1970. While Neil biographies state that they did meet during the Harvest sessions, these didn't happen until early 1971. A small error that more concerns the rabid stat-chomping fans than the object of their obsession. But while know neither Ben or Neil and wasn't even alive in '70, i'd bet five dollars that they didn't meet until 1971. "Winter Long" followed with more pedal steel,and Pegi and Anthony providing gentle backing vocals and Anthony also banging sleigh bells near the song's end, fitting the Christmas season. Neil strapped on an acoustic guitar and harmonica again for his radical melancholy reworking of Don Gibson's old upbeat country hit "Oh Lonesome Me." The verses featured gentle backing vocals again that were angelic and wordless. An older guy in my section with baggy jeans hitched way up high, really wanted to sing along loudly for this quietest number of the set. He was shouted down very quickly and left the hall grumbling. Neil stuck with the acoustic and played another new song, "the Believer." It's an optimistic uplifting number with a strong backbeat. /it had a good call and response between Ralph and Neil. (At least I think it was Ralph singing "I believe in you," though it actually might have been Anthony Crawford.) Pegi also played vibes at the back of the stage for this song, though they were the one inaudible instrument of the night. The electric set ended with he evening's fourth and final new song, "No Hidden Path." Neil played "Old Black," the black guitar he seems to favor for his noisiest numbers. At 19 minutes, it was by far the longest song of the evening, with Neil interspersing the words with fuzzy guitar explorations, playing with Rick and Ben in a tight circle, occasionally stepping to the mike to sing a few lines. The soloing/jam had good moments, but seemed a bit circular and unfocused as if Neil and the boys were playing the same five minute loop over and over without any real climaxes or progressions. After about the 10th minute of "No Hidden Path" a few people near me started leaving the hall with coats in hand. I guess they weren't planning on returning. I got the feeling that a lot of the folks in attendance were much more enthusiastic about the acoustic Neil. The reverb, new songs and rambling instrumental passages of te second half perhaps scared them off. Towards the end of "No Hidden" path, Neil seemed to throw a few curveballs at the band. Molina on the drums seemed to fall off rhythm from time to time. Or was it that Neil refused to follow Ralph's rhythm. Anyway, the sole representative of Crazy Horse definitely had some moments of ragged glory during this song. Neil then finished off the song with some falsetto vocals and the set was over. Part V: the encore
Since it was the first encore for every show that preceded it on the tour, I knew "Cinnamon Girl" was next once the band was back on stage. And the classic rock radio staple didn't disappoint. Hardcore "rusties' and the people dragged to the show by their wives/husbands/girlfriends/boyfriends all sang along. A few more people stood up during the song too. This was the peak of rockin' out. And the song's one-note guitar solo still sounds joyous and amazing. The band lingered after the applause died down. Neil made some indistinct noise on his guitar. Then a keyboard on ropes was literally lowered from the ceiling, Neil hit some sort of distortion pedal and I knew my hope for the second encore would come true. And sure enough, he busted out the riff for "Like a Hurricane." This was a rough and raw version. Neil dropped a whole verse early on and then repeated a few lines over and over again. I wasn't sure if this was for effect or because he couldn't remember the next line for a moment. Well he never repeated lines in any of the other live versions I've heard (1976-1983 and 11/8/07 from earlier on the tour.) After about 6 minutes, I thought the song was ending. Molina was making a racket, pounding his whole drum kit and Neil was just shredding and making droning noise. But surprising me, Neil started playing the main riff again alone at about half the regular tempo, but still full of hellacious reverb and distortion. He started singing the opening lines again, repeating "dancing on the light" a few times like a skipping record. Then the whole band complete with back up vocals kicked in at regular tempo for the chorus, but Neil soon veered off again instrumentally after repeating "somewhere safer where the feeling stays" a few times. It seemed the whole band was looking at him, trying to follow Neil where ever the spirit took him. He and band got back together with the verse melody and he sang a few more lines before the song collapsed into a lingering noise, finally ending the the 2 and a half hour show. After all the twists and turns and stop/starts of the previous 9 minutes, I was only sure the song was over when I saw Neil start to take his guitar off, with a obsequious roadie literally running out to grab it before the strap was even fully off. I wonder if Neil's policy for the roadie is "I'll doc your pay if you're not at my side by the time the guitar is off." Even from the back of the house, I detected a sense of nervousness from the way the roadie moved. This apparent nervousness said a lot to me about Neil's merciless control-freak tendencies, ironically just after hearing a song the seemed always at the edge of spinning out of control.
I must admit that I wrote most of the above observations on "Like a Hurricane" after listening very closely to a clear-sounding bootleg of the evening. I also listened to the Minneapolis 11/8 version of "Hurricane" and the two are definitely very different. In Minneapolis, it seemed more focused and was about 2 minutes shorter. The lyrics were sung basically the same as the studio version and there were none of the unexpected instrumental digressions that split open the Tower version. I think "Hurricane" is a song that Neil likes to leave open for different interpretations depending how the spirit moves him. But regardless of how he gets through it and regardless of whether the climaxes come at the expected moments, every version I've heard sounds emotionally intense and heavy as hell. And perhaps the 12/9 version being the heaviest and most hellacious. Not bad for a father in his 60s playing a song her origininally recorded 32 years previous. It would be interesting to compare all the different versions from this tour and hear how they vary. In the moment, the full on ragged glory of the December 9th version seemed sloppy, probably because I couldn't just sing along to it because I wasn't really sure what Neil was doing up on stage. And I don't think that Neil even knew what he was doing up there on stage. He seemed to be letting passion and primal energy overwhelm perfection and careful thought. He was playing in tongues that only made sense to him and whatever spiritual power exists. But at the same time that "Hurricane" seemed sloppy at first, it was exciting not knowing what was coming next as the song unfolded and writhed. The excitement was similar to the feeling I get during the between song connecting jams at Phil Lesh or Phish shows. I had no idea what was gonna happen next. But in the moment there was slight disappointment because I WANTED to know what was coming next. I wanted the peaks of the song to come in the same way I had memorized in my head; the way I was expecting. But Neil defied a lot of expectations at the Tower and in hindsight getting something amazing that I didn't know I wanted was more satisfying than just hearing an exact live manifestation of the beloved notes in my head.
Overall, the material Neil chose for his first set was stronger lyrically and melodically and I was probably a bit bitter that conditions prevented me from standing up during the second set, while I was quite comfortable and in fact preferred being seated for the acoustic set. With all the spaces between notes during the acoustic set and the set's stripped down nature, the solo portion was more powerful for me. The electric set was anticlimactic but only slightly and still highly enjoyable and worthy of gushing. And I also sort of enjoyed just sitting down and letting the electric set wash over me, without being able to stand up and dance. To get metaphoric, it was like being at the beach and letting an ocean wave hit me full force knocking me off balance. It's a very different experience than trying to move with a wave, bobbing up and down in its peaks an valleys. But it's perhaps an equally exhilarating experience.
Part VI: After the show
I went home with that warm feeling of floating a few inches above reality that I get from the best live music events. I was glad to have my friend with me during the trip home to confirm that we'd just witnessed an amazing event. I stayed up later than I should have since I had to work the next morning for the first time in two weeks after a vacation, and my internal clock was still probably 3 hours off . But I had to at least start writing about my experience at the Tower. I had scrawled many notes in the dim light during the show, but of course I couldn't write it all down then and there. Neil Young's music had been such an important part of my life, especially in the last year that I knew it'd take me a while to write down all my feelings and observations tied into the night of December 9th. And I collapsed in exhaustion that before I was even near finished with this "review with digressions". In fact 4 days later and I'm just finally finishing it.
There's also a very pleasant coda for the evening too. The next morning at work I had to stop at the Four Seasons Hotel on the Parkway to check in with the concierge to see if any guest needed a shuttle ride to the starting of the guided tours of the city that I lead. The Four Seasons is the default temporary residence for all sports teams, and top name performers staying in town. Parked outside the hotel there was an absurdly beautiful tour bus. It was rounded and silver, looking like a converted 1950s Greyhound. It had a blueish rounded stained-glass window on the side and for skylights at its top there were the upper parts of the windows, windshields and roofs of 2 50s era cars seamlessly welded on. Neil Young is a well-known collector and restorer of vintage cars I went inside the Four Seasons and walked up to the concierge. He's a handsome man about my age who looks like an indie rock hipster hiding in a well-pressed grey suit. I said, "hey is that Neil Young's tour bus outside?" He raises an eyebrow. I pause for a moment and then respond, "I know you're probably not allowed to tell me if he's even staying here, but I'm a big fan and I just saw him play last night." The concierge then gives me a big smile and wink and says "I think it's Neil Young's bus outside." That made my day. I gave the bus another look when I went back outside. I'm not one ogle opulent motor vehicles, but Neil's bus really struck me. Later in the day during one of the tours, we passed by the Four Seasons and that Chrome Dream is still parked outside. I point it out and tell the guests on board that it's Neil's tour bus and that i just saw him play last night at the Tower. I was hoping one of the tourists would say, "I was there too! What a great show." No one did. No one even as much as pointed a camera at the bus. But it still felt great being able to mention Neil on my tour and seeing his bus again, providing a little shining evidence that something amazing did in fact happen the previous night
12-09-07, Tower Theatre, Upper Darby, Pennsylvania w/ Rick Rosas, Ben Keith, Ralph Molina, Anthony Crawford & Pegi Young 1. From Hank To Hendrix 2. Ambulance Blues 3. Sad Movies 4. A Man Needs A Maid 5. Mexico 6. No One Seems To Know 7. Harvest 8. Journey Through The Past 9. After The Gold Rush 10. Mellow My Mind 11. Love Art Blues 12. Campaigner 13. Cowgirl In The Sand --- 14. The Loner 15. Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere 16. Dirty Old Man 17. Spirit Road 18. Bad Fog Of Loneliness 19. Winterlong 20. Oh, Lonesome Me 21. The Believer 22. No Hidden Path --- 23. Cinnamon Girl 24. Like A Hurricane
and for the uninitiated, here's a shakey(!) long-distance audience video of Neil doing "Ambulance Blues" from earlier on the tour: 11/29/07 at Massey Hall in Toronto just to give an idea of what I just gushed about. The picture is pitiful and virtually non-existent but the sound is clear, giving an example of how hushed the crowds were on this tour.
