A friend reminded me of this song today.  Not that it was ever out of my mind, but it was suddenly called to attention.

I was ironically just thinking of him minutes before, and suddenly, he posted it on my little corner of everyones favorite social media site.  It’s strange how things like that work.   On one occasion, I was listening to this song walking through West Chelsea, I turn a corner, and who is walking down the block?  None other than Mr Byrne himself, wearing all white.  I took it as a sign.

There’s something frighteningly beautiful about this song.  Someone wakes up at dawn to battle the day, they’re ready to flee the city, leave it all behind, or maybe just go out and spend a day in the park.  Who knows, it could go so many places.  The chords are just so haunting!

Byrne is truly a master of capturing these indescribable feelings.  Is it a celebration?  Should you be scared out of your mind?  Probably both, mixed with a little nostalgia.  Someone once wrote “David Bryne thinks thoughts deeper than you will ever think.”  And somehow I don’t doubt that for a second.

I started on an instrumental recording of this song, using melodica instead of strings, and its pretty much the greatest thing ever.  One day it will see the light of day.

One particularly interesting point was how we basically wait for the backlash after any media coverage of an article like this.  That just furthers the point that the guage of what sucks and what does not has never been more obvious.  This article was written by a douchebag indie rock trust fund collective, and instantly they were called out on it.  The world is a safer place, please return to normal activities.

The moral….Make sure something is completely fantastic before putting it out to the public.

In other news, I moved yesterday, and am just beginning to dig myself out of boxes.  There will be a beautiful mini studio set up in the new place, perhaps some resulting tracks will be posted.

I’ve once again fallen victim to the Craigslist eBay monster, so in addition to moving boxes, shipping boxes are now involved.  Did you know it costs fucking $60 to ship a guitar?  All relevant search results told me around $30 would do it.  Lesson learned.

In gear news, I want to get my hands on that Zvex J Mascius pedal.  Someone get Zach on the phone.

Abner and Harper Willis have parents who have paid over $100,000 for them to be musicians.  Lessons, gear, rent, publicity, studio time, all of it.  And poor Abner and Harper, have had to turn down day jobs where they could make minimum wage, in order to struggle to be rock stars.  (please never use that term)   They have played such prestigious venues as The Mercury Lounge and Highline Ballroom, they’ve gotten “some press” and all of that. Also, let me grab a tissue, because all the money they make at shows goes to pay for their drummer.  And cabs!  The dreaded cabs they must take to carry their gear!  WHERE IS FEMA ON THIS SHIT?

Now that there is literally smoke coming out of my ears, let me discuss this a bit.

Dearest Abner and Harper,

My name is Steven Weiss, I’m 28 and live in New York.  No one aside from my employers contribute to my finances.  I have a full time job, student loans, and play in a band too!  I also rent a space in Brooklyn!  I also have played venues such as these!  I’ve even played some bigger ones!  Also some smaller ones!  We’re pretty much twinsies!  Since there are 2 of you, were triplitsies!  I have a very simple response.  Fuck you both.  You’re making a mockery of anyone who tries to make an honest go of being a musician without the luxuries you have both been afforded.

Where do you get the giant inflated monster balls to write something like this?  Of course it’s hard to be a musician.  No one is going to pay you to play your own music.  That’s not why you do it.  You want to get paid, write commercial music or jingles (nothing wrong with either of those, its a legit skill and job)  but no one will pay your salary to be in an indie band.

Here’s the thing.  In that little video you posted, you can clearly see that no one is in the audience at the Highline Ballroom, and that line you show outside the Mercury Lounge is for the dance club next door.  That line is always there, and its never for the Mercury Lounge.  Hiring a publicist to do email blasts does not get you fans.  It doesn’t get music blogs to like you.  In fact, it might have the exact opposite effect.  You think people can’t identify a faceless email blast?

We live in a time where anyone playing music is extremely lucky.  Its more in our own hands than any time in history.  We don’t need record labels.  We barely need recording studios.  A&R men are irrelevant.  We don’t need traditional distribution.  But because of this, there is a higher standard than ever before.  Anything can be put out there, but anything that is shitty can just as well be forgotten.  Wonder why you’re not famous?

The fact that you whined about having to turn down low paying day jobs literally makes me want to fight you.  I am not a violent person, but you have awoken such a primal rage in my soul, that I fear I may never be able to turn it off.  I work 40 hours a week.  I rent a monthly practice space which I have a few days a week after work, then take a train to rehearse with a band on weekends.  When I have a show far from my house and I cannot borrow some type of car, I take the train.  I take cabs, but that is a luxury.  Have you ever taken a subway with a 20″ bass drum, snare drum, and cymbal bag?  Your shoulders are not so forgiving the next day.

Economically, being a musician in a city is nearly impossible.  It costs tons of money to have a practice space, maintain your gear, get to shows, pay rent, all of that.  But you fucking buy used gear.  You share a shit rehearsal space off the JMZ or G with 3 other bands.  You use shitty house gear. You beg your friends to come to shows.  You live in a place with roommates.  You record your album in that rehearsal space on whatever gear you have.  Stop fucking complaining. You want to go to a studio?  Get a job at a studio.  That’s what I did.

Having your family pay for your struggle, takes the struggle out of the equation. It negates it.  It takes away your right to complain.  And as a New York Jew, I’ve EARNED my right to complain, and I take full advantage of that.  You sirs, have not.

I Took Two Pictures. This Is One.

Friday night, as part of the New York Guitar Festival, Nels Cline and Thurston Moore played as a duo at Rockwood Music Hall.  They called it “Pillow Wand”  maybe because it feels like being hit with a magical pillow.  These possibly the two most widely known Avante Garde leaning guitar players, who have crossed over into the mainstream world.  Cline as a part of Wilco, and Moore founding Sonic Youth.  Needless to say, lots of people were in that tiny room.

This was my first time at Stage Two of Rockwood Music Hall, a lovely addition.  It seems to be reserved for more well known acts, were as on Stage One, there’s always the chance that dude with a weird Jew Fro will go on right before your friend’s band and play the entire Plastic Ono Band album front to back.  Its a cozy space, the sound was great, and despite it being packed, it was not that hard to obtain a beverage.

Oh right, it was packed.  It was definitely over fire department capacity.  People would walk down the entrance stairs, see that there was nowhere to go, and literally just set up camp on the stairs.  That can’t be safe.

Now, before we get to the problem of people preserving their memories on compact flash cards, lets talk about the music.  They played a continuous set of sound….not really just noise, but not melodic compositions.  It was basically a fucking giant explosion.  Tons of effects pedals, lots of volume, several Jazzmasters.  They played like they meant it.  I would compare it to some type of experimental painting.  You see some weird shit thrown on a canvas and you think “I could totally do that.”  Well maybe in the case of some phony artist who just wants the image, you could.  But look at one of those giant Jackson Pollock canvases, and there is no way you could.  That’s what these guys were like.

Every sound seemed like they meant it.  There was no phoning it in.  It’s a wonder their guitars didn’t just fall in pieces to the floor.  They put these instruments through incredible abuse.  Cline plays the strings with a little kitchen whisk, Moore sticking a drumstick under the strings on the neck and thrashes back and forth.  They hit the tremelo so hard, it would be no surprise if the bridges just popped off. Yet somehow, they did not.  But that was the good part, lets get to the other thing.

There seems to be a rule with professional photographers.  They respect those around them.  And when they don’t, its brief.  A guy asks you if he can switch spots for a minute to get some shots, then moves along.  Its a mild inconvenience, but you live through it.  When I was about 11, we went to see Slash at the now defunct NY Club Tramps.  His manager came out beforehand and told all of the photographers, “YOU GET ONE SONG!  THEN YOU’RE OUT OF HERE!”  lo and behold, he came back out after that song, yelling “THAT’S IT!  GET ‘EM OUT!”  fucking professionals.

Somewhere between 1994 and now, things have changed.  I don’t dispute that the iPhone camera is awesome.  I love it.  I use it all the time.  It makes life better.  You can remember any moment, because you always have it with you.  And the pics look pretty good!  But think for a fucking minute.  How many pictures do you need?  Can’t you actually live in the moment and enjoy the amazing things happening in front of you?  You really need to look in a 3″ LCD monitor to experience what’s in front of you?  Fuck you.

The light from all the iPhones and cameras rivaled the stage lighting, which was minimal.  Its 2 dudes with guitars.  The lighting doesn’t change.  They aren’t even switching guitars.  How different is it going to be?  That’s not even the issue, I guess if you want to get all artistic, that’s fine.  But don’t do it in a tiny club.  The amount of dudes with fucking giant DSLR’s with huge telephoto lenses on them was just ridiculous.

We got pushed in front of several times, and the photographers just planted themselves.  Also, those cameras are kind of loud if its not a big rock and roll moment.  If the music gets quiet…..CLICK CLICK CLICK….really?  I’ve heard a bootleg of Neil Young at the Bottom Line, where he asks a photographer not to shoot during the songs, because people can hear it.  Jeff Tweedy would call out anyone with a camera and tell them to get rid of it on Wilco’s last tour.  Just last month at Carnegie Hall, Ryan Adams stopped the show and went on a hilarious rant….to paraphrase  “oh my god, you HAVE to have gotten that shot by now.  You need to keep taking them?  What is your camera from like 1975 and you need to change flashbulbs or something?  Want ME to take it for you?? Just put it away”  They have a point.

At one point, the asshole with the Hubble Telescope in front of me changed cards…because you need to fill up more than one giant flash card during a 45 minute set.  Then he was fucking reviewing and deleting photos!  Are you fucking kidding me? This place is the size of a shoebox and you’re standing in front of everyone just doing that?  And those people with the iPhones who just leave them held up the whole time!  Are your poorly lit out of focus shots going to be that great?!

OK, I need to calm down.  I’ve decided next time this happens, I’m going to get right in front of every lens I see, and just give the F.O.B Peace Sign.  Or yell “CLICK CLICK CLICK!” or just point my phone directly in front of their camera, turn the flash on, and just go for it.  We need to do something about this, kids.  Who’s with me?

Let me rewind. I had never seen a single episode prior to last week. We just finished season two on Netflix, and I think I have to call it quits. In the season finale, I found myself futzing with my phone, just so I would have an excuse to look away from the screen.

I knew a friend of a friend, lets say acquaintance, who told everyone he had cancer and acted traumatized. It later turned out he was making false statements. Yeah, special place in hell. Watching Walter White (w-w-w) makes me even more offended by that person. But I feel nearly the exact anger when someone on Breaking Bad does something stupid. I’m literally yelling at Jesse. I just can’t take it.

Am I just running away from serious things and taking shelter in Seinfeld reruns or episodes of Planet Earth and Antiques Roadshow? Yes, I probably am. But sometimes you don’t want to confront the darkside, you just want to know how much someones charming heirloom side table is worth. Am I Right?

Well, its a new year, should we talk about some reflections or thoughts? Here’s a concept to wrap your head around. There comes a time we all must accept that people we don’t like are very talented. I think if you wanted to put your finger on what it feels like to be an adult, that’s probably it. I think it’s quite a discovery. It can make us work harder and think differently though, so there is an upside. Someone get me some grant money. Let’s get Marc Maron involved, it’s pretty much all he talks about.

There are lots of shows coming up in the new year, Nels Cline and Thurston Moore later this month, Andrew Bird way off in April, I’m sure there will be one or two more. The Bad Plus did their annual run at the Vanguard last week, inspiring and confusing all at the same time. So much so, that I felt the need to drink about 13 Old Fashioned-s (what is the correct tense on that?) in celebration. Sometimes, that’s all you can do.

Suddenly, before I knew it, I was catapulted back to my early teens, sitting in my New Jersey living room, watching the VHS (!) rental copy of Baby Snakes from Tower Records.  It was long out of print, they wouldn’t sell it, so I just kept renting it over and over.  My neighbor, who was actually in the film randomly on the stage, showed it to me, and forever changed my musical outlook.

Zappa is a musician and figure who doesn’t get much notoriety these days.  This interview reminded me of that.  On the surface to the casual listener, he made really weird, sometimes funny music.  Obviously, the first song I latched onto was called “Titties and Beer”  about a motorcycle rider fighting the devil over his girlfriend.  Yep.  But go slightly beyond the silly lyrics, and all of his music was incredibly complex.  The man was unstoppably prolific.  In his lifetime he released over 70 albums.  Composed music for orchestras, early synthesizers, rock bands, jazz groups, made films, was an early pioneer of clay-mation, and who knows what else.
Oh yeah, he also testified before congress and led the fight against censorship in music.

After bringing my first guitar teacher some Zappa recordings I wanted to learn, it soon became evident there was a lot more going on than lyrics about strange characters.  If you watch Baby Snakes, finally reissued on DVD a few years back, look at the band.  Terry Bozzio is on drums, and looks about 14.  He’s playing some ridiculous stuff, somehow not sounding as annoying as any wanking fill-fueled fusion asshole drummer that came after him.  You get the sense that he’s just trying to do what Zappa envisioned, and there’s no one else on the planet who could do that.  Adrian Belew of King Crimson is on guitar, dressed as a flight attendant for most of the evening.  Nearly everyone in the band has a modular synthesizer.  There is a full orchestral percussion setup.  The vocal arrangements could make your head explode.  And on top of that, it ends with Zappa shredding the face off of all in attendance on several guitar solos.  Who the fuck was this guy?

Luckily, he did write a book before he passed.  The Real Frank Zappa book is 100% required reading.  I haven’t thought about it in years, I’m now going to go back and re-read it.  If for nothing else, the political connotations.  I rarely if ever will get political on this here blog, but I’ve gotta throw out a few things.  Zappa makes the point in the above interview of defending freedoms.  There’s this whole Occupy Wall St movement happening, and say what you will about their methods, but their message is important.  Pretty much no people of note have stood up and outwardly supported the movement.  Sure, some musicians have played short sets, but I mean, come on.  No one comes out in the media and supports it.  We’re stuck with these shitty 24hr news as entertainment outlets. Has anyone of note written a scathing article taking down the financial criminals? Its not like there’s no outlet for it. Like it or not, celebrities have power in our lovely land, why not do something with it. Eh?

When Tipper Gore (wife of the inventor of the internet) decided to form the PMRC (parents music resource center) in order to get those “Parental Advisory” stickers on albums at the time….Zappa stood right the fuck up.  No one could quiet him down.  He led the fight, flaming sword full of unplayable arrangements waving.

Would Bieber do this?  Would ANYONE? Radiohead couldn’t articulate it this clearly.  But Zappa marched right up to the hill and spoke in his own words.  He read the first amendment out loud to the committee trying to censor him, then he said “That’s for reference!” Just watch the video.  How did his balls fit through the door!

I just wish we could see what Zappa would be doing today.  Sure, people say that about any musician long gone…Hendrix, Joplin, Cobain, whatever, but all of them would have likely fallen from greatness, sold out, made much worse music, and tarnished their reputations to some degree.  What would Zappa have done with the internet?  Pro Tools?  Youtube?  His output would have made Ryan Adams look like Axl Rose.  Can you imagine Zappa’s blog?  Would you see his music in a Wall Mart commercial?

These are just some things to think about.  Go back and listen to “We’re Only In It For The Money”  then listen to “Sheik Yerbouti”  then watch these videos once more. What we’re really missing is someone who just does not give a shit about what anyone else thinks, answers to no one but themselves, and says whatever they believe it. It’s surprising, because we basically all have our own broadcast networks, the major labels are dead, MTV and Radio are irrelevant, and you can sell your own products without distribution.

Anyhoo, that enough ranting for now. Happy Chanukah!

I’ve written on these here pages about Jones and the Dap Kings before, so I won’t go into an extended description of what they’re about.  You probably know, and to quote the one and only Binky Grip-Tight of the Dap Kings  “If you don’t know, you got to ask somebody!”

They held their Daptone 10th Anniversary Shows over 4 nights, 2 at the Music Hall of Williamsburg, and 2 at the Bowery Ballroom.  First off, you have never seen that many people on the Bowery stage.  9 musicians in the band, 2 backup singers on a riser, and Jones out front.  Not exactly spacious.

The crowd at a Dap Kings show is unlike most indie bands crowds.  Decidedly less drunken obnoxious people, but the ones who are there, obviously gravitate right towards me.  Here’s a little tip.  If you’re a drunken white girl, it’s probably not the best idea to try to do those soul-vocal trill things from the crowd while Jones is in telling an emotional story about her mother being sick.  Ya know?  Just my opinion.

Something about the band seemed just slightly off last night.  Jones clearly was having monitor problems, kept asking for more reverb and saying she couldn’t hear.  While the dap kings stage presence is always stoic, it seemed a little more stoic than usual.  Having said that, (that’s a Larry David reference) Sharon Jones feeling a little off, is like most musicians on the best day of their lives, so we’ll give her a pass.

She still gives 100%, there is no doubting that.  The crowd at the Bowery responded to every move.  In one surprising moment, they brought out Eric Kalb to sit in on drums.  Kalb, an early childhood drumming hero, was part of Deep Banana Blackout, and was probably the first drummer I ever saw play in that ghost note shuffle style in person.  It permanently changed me as a musician.  I’ve heard he’s been playing with Charlie Hunter recently, as for the rest of Deep Banana, we don’t really know where they’ve gone…somewhere into the jam band ether.  We wish them the best.

Homer Steinweiss, the regular Dap Kings Drummer, (who also seems to have a Food Blog) apparently is a lefty,  something also discovered last night. The kit was set up semi backwards, playing the kick with his left foot, but still playing the hi hat with his right hand.  Whatever, he’s allowed to do what he wants.

My favorite Dap Kings show still remains the Starland Ballroom, in the Middle Of Nowhere, South Jersey, during a snow storm.  It’s always the unexpected ones that get you.  Yes, the Bowery was a great show, they played with precision most bands can only dream of.  But when the bar is set so incredibly high, you have to be held to that standard.  I’ll give them a pass this time, you’ve earned it Sharon Jones.

The week came to an end with Brian Blade, Bill Frisell, and Jenny Scheinman at The Village Vanguard.  Well, it was Thursday, but who’s counting.  The Vanguard is a NY institution, that looks nearly exactly as it did in its heyday.  Every legend of jazz has played there, and the more spiritual among us like to imagine that there is a little spirit of those left behind.

It was a fitting week to visit, as Paul Motian had just passed away, the Vanguard was his home for the last few years, and Frisell was a member of his long running trio with Joe Lovano (who else would have the balls to have a trio with sax, drums, and guitar??)

One of my favorite shows of all time was the Brian Blade Fellowship at this venue a few years back.  I couldn’t see a thing (which happens if you sit anywhere except the very front) but it made no difference.  Everyone in the venue was straining their necks to see what Blade was up to behind the vast array of musicians on that tiny stage.  This evening was a little easier, there were only 2 other up there.

The set was less experimental than you would imagine.  Frisell had his pedal board, some looping devices, probably a magic pedal that allows him to play a Statocaster at the Village Vanguard and not look ridiculous doing so…and probably not a Boss Metal Zone.  Scheinman was leading the band, playing most of the melody, but in truth, you can’t have Brian Blade on a stage and expect him not to be the focus.

It’s not even through showmanship or excessive display of chops.  Blade could probably play just a ride cymbal with a broomstick and most of us would have been captivated.  The man has something most do not.  It goes beyond time.  Its not speed, or some Dave Weckl-esque shit, he’s just operating on a level different from the rest of us.  I commented to my friend that this is what Elvin Jones must have sounded like at the Vanguard.  You can see everything he’s doing – he’s using the same tools available to anyone else.  But he’s just extracting something different from them.  He’s from New Orleans, let’s call it Voodoo.

This week it will continue, at a much more relaxed pace, with Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings, also Peter Lugers steak, and while that is not music, it is certainly worth noting.

Well, this makes two posts about the same band fairly close together, but you know what?  I don’t even care.  You want a wide variety of editorial content centered around pop culture and bands who dress like homeless crackheads set loose in a party store, then go watch Morning Joe.  OK?  Glad we’re past that.

After the Dawes show at Webster Hall, two very small shows were announced at Maxwell’s, one of the 3 greatest venues in the New York metropolitan area.  If you have never been, Maxwell’s is a hidden gem in Hoboken, NJ, a mile square city of dudes in white baseball hats who work in finance.  It became famous in the 90’s, hosting bands like Nirvana, Sonic Youth, Yo La Tengo, and approximately 2 billion others.  Hoboken had a vibrant music scene at the time, yes, I know it’s surprising if you look at it now.

Maxwell’s has a feel like no other.  It is not filled with pretentious people, the food is actually good, and the drinks are not expensive.  On this particular evening, I trekked the 12 blocks north in the pouring rain from the PATH, and Joe Strummer’s “Coma Girl” was on the juke box.  I took this as a good omen. I had an extra ticket, and the doorman found me a person looking for one.  That’s not going to happen in Manhattan.

The feel of the show was a bit ragtag, in a good way.  The band seemed relaxed, maybe they had enjoyed a few beverages, not over rehearsed, again, all in a good way.  It was like seeing your friends band play a local bar.  But not like that friend’s band who takes themselves too seriously and just wants to rip 15 minute solos over “While My Guitar Gently Weeps.”  More like those guys you think “I feel kind of lucky to be seeing this”

One thing I seemed to have missed at the recent Webster Hall show is what great technical musicians these guys are.  There were quite a few guitar solos by Taylor Goldsmith, but none were gratuitous, all supporting the melody, not just mindless shredding.  Great interplay between all of the musicians, lots of listening going on.  Also great bass lines.  Almost reggae sounding – not in the bouncy Bob Marley way, but in the “the bass feels like a giant blanket engulfing me with happiness” way.

Also, I’ll bet that bass player listens to a lot of Lee Sklar, the famed LA studio musician, most known for his work with Jackson Browne.  Browne has been hanging around with Dawes recently, they played a song at Occupy Wall St together.  I mean, that relationship is probably good for all involved.  Browne gets an excellent young group of musicians, Dawes learns from one of the master American songwriters, we all get to hear the results, and I’m sure the environment and foreign economies benefit as well somehow.

I’d love to see what the future holds for a band like this.  They put on a great live show, and their first album was fantastic (I haven’t fully explored their latest release.)  Maybe a collaboration album with Browne?  A random cover?  I feel like a live EP would be a great idea, just record it at any of these shows, the entire crowd singing “When My Time Comes”  you can’t feel left out.  Thats just my two cents, I’ll send you an invoice for the consultation fee.

On the way home, I wasnt going to walk the 11 blocks in the rain once again, so I hailed a Hoboken Cab ($5 flat rate anywhere in the city!)  Annnnd….this was the interior:

You really can’t ask for more than flashing Christmas lights inside your cab on a rainy Wednesday night.

I consider myself a man of science.  Not an active practitioner of science, but certainly an enthusiast.  (this basically means when Planet Earth or NOVA is on, you know where I’ll be.)  But some things defy common knowledge.  I was thinking of my old friend Eric yesterday, a bass player in a former band, and all around unique character.  We hadn’t spoken in nearly 2 years, he’s not on Facebook, I figured he dropped off the map.

That evening, I’m walking home from purchasing a synth in the most sketchy craigslist transaction of all time (and thats saying a lot) it’s pouring rain, and my phone rings.  Its Eric.  How do these things happen?  These weird little experiences happen to all of us, lets get someone to fund some research on this shit.  Anyway, he asks “Want to see Ryan Adams tonight? I have a free extra”  To that there is only one response  “Is he performing as his Rap and/or Metal alterego?”  If the answer to that question is “No” then the followup response is “Yes, of course”

This is the only pic from the night you get, I'm not loading up the post with shit like this

I tried to get tickets to this event initially, it sold out very quickly, and was very expensive.  Its strange how things like that work out sometimes.  I have had 3 live experiences with Ryan Adams in my life.  First, he played a Bob Dylan tribute at Lincoln Center, and lit the venue ablaze with a cover of “Isis.”  Next, I met him in a Deli, told him I enjoyed the “Isis” cover, to which he was very nice and responsive.  Finally, I saw The Cardinals at Town Hall.  Adams came out in giant leather moon boots, with a little ponytail on top of his head, and played a very long set of what sounded like Grateful Dead covers, lots of solos…we had to take a break.

This tour seemed a little different, Adams was performing solo acoustic, he had taken time off from music for the last year, he had cleaned himself up, it’s worth a shot.  I haven’t heard much of his new album, a friend commented “it almost seems too easy for him, like he just wakes up and writes 45 fairly decent songs”  You definitely get that vibe.  None of his songs are hideous, but only a few are truly great.  I won’t go into a full on “Heartbreaker vs the 297 albums that came after” analysis, but you know what I’m getting at.

Adams came out, picked up his red white and blue guitar, and went into “Oh My Sweet Carolina”  Things were pretty much all good from there out.  While I was up in the nosebleeds, Carnegie hall is a beautiful sounding venue, made for music like this.  You could hear every quiet note, the natural sound of the room enhancing everything.

The show was not without its signature Ryan Adams banter, calling out various photographers “thanks for bringing your camera from 1981, do you have to change the flashbulb after each shot?” Commenting on the snakes in the balcony (one dude kept shushing everyone who clapped at parts of a song) and creating several on the spot songs – One woman yelled “That was beautiful!” he responded “did you say Howard Is Beautiful?”  a full song about Howard being beautiful followed.  Apparently Howard gets all the Apple products first, and controls inter-dimensional force fields.

The highlight of the show was unexpected.  We heard all the hits, “Winding Wheel”  “Come Pick Me Up” all that, but I was blown away by “New York, New York”  Played on piano rather than guitar, and slowed down a whole bunch, it just got to the heart of the song.  It bypassed the sax solo and conga parts that made it the pop song it was, and stood up completely on its own.  You got the feeling that when Adams is at the top of his songwriting game, he taps into some magical shit.  How many others could hold the attention of a venue like that completely on their own?  It’s almost as if you could see these mythical women he writes about, a cartoon version of all his famous exes combined, 14 feet talk, swinging one of those spikey ball chains from fantasy thriller movies.

We did get a cover of RATT’s “Round and Round” and a closing number thanking everyone, including C&C Music Factory, a running joke throughout the evening.  So until he puts out 16 albums in a row about space travel, or decides to write a series of novels about a sea captain trapped in a worm hole with Tom Brokaw, I’m confident in saying, he can still perform a serious show.