12.11.13

An Evening With Joe Bonamassa - Landmark Theater, Richmond VA - 10.09.13

On Saturday night, Joe Bonamassa brought his trademark brand of blues-rock to the restored Landmark Theater in the heart of downtown Richmond, VA. The show was sold out, and the crowd seemed thrilled to be visited by talent as vast as Joe's.

The show started out with an almost country-sounding rendition of ACDC's classic 'Highway to Hell' blasting through the PA system as the house lights darkened, beckoning the waiting fans to scuttle to their seats and wait for what would come next. In the darkness, Joe made his way to a stool in the center of a rug bearing his initials, and sat under a spotlight and strumming away on an acoustic guitar with the speed and talent that has brought him recognition from fellow guitar greats B.B. King and Eric Clapton. After the fast-paced intro, the other four members of his acoustic ensemble joined him for 8 other songs. Joe doesn't just awe with his playing however, he also sings along with each track, and is very well backed by an assortment of "worldly instruments," as he called them, expertly played by his 4 companions, the aforementioned Sherinian, Lenny Castro on percussion, Irishman Gerry O'Connor on banjo & fiddle, and Mats Wester from Sweden on the exotic nyckelharpa and other rare instruments.

Joe's wit and quirky personality shone throughout the set, as he teased about being honored to open for Joe Bonamassa, as well as jokingly scolding the crowd for clapping when he mentioned his keyboardist Derek Sherinian working with him on Black Country Communion ("None of you bought that album! It sold 17 copies.") and again when they all cheered for his mention of joy to play in Richmond ("Only 35 of you came to my last show here!"). The crowd cheered on, hoping to undo their previous wrongdoings, and ensuring Joe would remember Richmond on yet another stop - and perhaps get another chance to play his song named after the city, which earned the biggest applause of the night.

After a brief intermission, the set returned plugged in, for 9 more songs and an encore of 2 more, fully electric. It was truly An Evening with Joe Bonamassa, as the delighted crowd got to experience the full spectrum of his talent and catalog. As amazing as Joe is acoustic opening for himself, he fully comes alive electric, and he can make his Les Paul guitar sing with passion. Joe was backed up during the acoustic set by Tal Bergman on drums, Carmine Rojas on bass, and again Derek Sherinian on keyboards and Lenny Castro on percussion.

While the blues rock of Joe Bonamassa is not usually my style, I (and many others in Richmond) left a convert, amazed by the sounds of Joe's guitar crying out in his arms. I look forward to my next opportunity to spend an evening with Joe Bonamassa.

5.9.13

I Am A Masochistic Music Fan, And You May Be Too...

    Have you ever been hurt by a band? Answer truthfully. Were you ever insulted upon meeting your favorite artist? Scorned after a post-gig love affair? On less personal notes, offended by a band's continual skipping of your town/region/country on tours? Disgusted by their new mashup of musical genre (*coughbonjovicough*)? Anyone who has passionate affection for more than one musical artist can probably answer "yes" to at least one of those questions, if not more.

    Now here's the hook... How often do you go back for more abuse?

    I have seen the whole charade enough to know when my friends and myself are loving the pain. Sadly it has been all too often where I've had no choice but to sit back and watch friends turn into groupies, be dismissed the next day and shooed away, never again seen in the same light by their idols. Yet those girls are the ones who continue with their undying love and fail to realize their love wasn't returned during that bathroom encounter. Ick. On the other end of the spectrum, I have male friends who continually build up the same excitement every time their "one true love" band announces a new album, only to be disappointed when it's the same crap rehashed since the 90s, with a new duo done with an artist they loathe, and their town is yet again left off the tour. Does it matter to them that they are so irrelevant to the famous guys they've modeled their lives after, and that this scenario will play out until they're balding old men?

    No. Masochistic band fans love the pain. It hurts so good, after all.

    In a way one could see music fans as some of the most optimistic and hopeful souls on earth. We may listen to the most depressing lyrics, dress all in black, and lock ourselves away with just our tunes for days on end (or perhaps that was just me at 16) but every time we are let down we get back up again, with more strength than we ever show in real life. We handle the artificial disappointments doled out by our loves with dignity, easily recover, and are quick to forgive and forget.

    I often wonder if it isn't an addiction, chasing that first high we got from our bands; yet just as the heroin addict can never repeat that feeling, nor can we. The first 5 times I heard Rebellion (Lies) by Arcade Fire, I had chills and goosebumps. When I saw them from the midst of O2 Arena in London, that feeling had long since passed, and I merely stood there in a sense of panic wondering what they'd done to my song to keep it from giving me that feeling. Ever since, I've loved at least a half dozen songs on each Arcade Fire album, but none have raised my arm hairs. I keep buying their CDs though, and in the back of my mind cannot kill that hope they will write something else that stirs me so deeply. The same goes for gigs - my first proper Franz Ferdinand gig literally changed my life. While that sounds incredibly corny, it was chasing that feeling again which turned me into a highfalutin, world traveling woman of the world who worked 4 disgustingly degrading jobs to pay my way across the Atlantic and back not once, but thrice. Those gigs were amazing, and a series of events pertaining to their aftermath led me to the very bed I lie in as I type this; however the rush I got at that first gig in Providence never came back. I had lost my sense of awe at their live shows, and my inhibitions went up and up the more I ran into the guys in the band. I no longer wanted to be a fan having a good time, because those people annoyed me - and I didn't want to annoy them. Going to gigs, sometime around gig 15 of 29, became a right effort. I know that effort will be massively multiplied come seeing them again in October, but that hasn't stopped me from buying tickets to 2 gigs so far. My inner masochist is looking forward to that pain.

    It isn't just the live gigs. I do it with the albums, too, and I know I'm not alone. My friend and I have been debating all week, ever since the new Franz album came out, whether or not we like it. At first, we didn't - hell I even hated the mere IDEA of it. But now, it's growing on me. Am I liking it because it's them? Did I ever *not* like it, or was I just resistant to the change? Have I forgiven them for skipping my entire half the country five times in a row, doling out drama galore to do with this album, and taking 4 years to produce something that probably should be better for that time frame? I'm not one to forgive and forget, so that can't be it. I think the masochist in me is coming out. When it no longer hurts to like them, the masochistic band fan must find a way to drag that knife. As my friend and I debated this album online, another friend of hers chimed in, "Why wouldn't you like it? You love Franz." Neither of us really had a good answer, but we tried. That's the thing, after all. We're all just too big of masochists to enjoy the good parts, and when loving our loves stops hurting, we have to find a way to get our fix.

How about you? Do you like your music with a side of heartache, or are you more subdued than that? Do you know the warning signs of band masochism in case you or your friends need an intervention?

11.3.13

Django Django - 9:30 Club, Washington D.C. - 09.03.13

The moment I first heard Django Django, I knew they were going to fill a special place in my heart - replacing Franz Ferdinand during an extended hiatus. It wasn't until I saw this gig that I found out how right my first instincts were.

No offense to the venue's many fanboys and girls, but the 9:30 Club has never been my favorite venue for a gig. It is a long up-and-back drive for me (6-8 hours RT), expensive and sometimes difficult to park at, not in the greatest part of town, and always full of... I think they're called hipsters now? I don't keep up with cultural trends, merely what I like, so I assume that's what everyone there in wingtip shoes and spending more time tweeting than watching the band was.

Anyways, to the point, it was a late show so we finally got there after the opening act ended (I had my rock loving old lady, i.e. mother, in tow) and amazingly found decent spots in the balcony. Once Django Django came on I realized why it had been so empty: everyone wanted to dance, and boy it was music to dance to. The whole gig, the old line of Franz Ferdinand's kept going through my head ("we just wanted to make music for girls to dance to") as I swayed along a little in the cramped upper deck.

The three Scottish and one Irish bandmates had boundless energy, and the songs on their debut self-titled album I had listened to on repeat came to life. At first, I had thought them hard to take serious in matching suits and hairstyles, but they were every bit as professional and talented as I had hoped. They played their album, and finally when they ran out of songs, apologized for not having more and said they were so happy they had been received so well that they would be back when they had written more songs.

Though the lads in the band aren't Hansen brothers cute, they have UK charm, and I was surprised to see how few women were at the concert. The ones I did see there were either in gaggles drinking together, or hanging in boredom off the arm of guys who wanted to dance. In retrospective, I believe Django Django was the most male-centric crowd I have ever been in.

After the gig, my companion and I alone got to chat briefly with half of the band, and I learned of an interesting connection between them and Franz, besides the fact that they are both Scottish. Out on the streets of D.C. the guys blended into the hipster boys and I almost would've missed them myself, had it not been for the tip of a kind 9:30 employee. The two of four that we met were quite exemplary of good band "customer service" as I like to call it, and I was glad they could spare some of their time. What a great show, I can't wait to see Django Django again.