Brits: 1, Yanks: 0

I’m all for hometown pride, which is why, short of a complete douchebag-esque meltdown on Anthony Raneri’s part, I will always listen to Bayside.  I may be born and bred in New York, and struggled a bit to adopt Philadelphia as my new home, but I am proud to say I live in the same town as the Menzingers, the Wonder Years, The Dead Milkmen, & The Loved Ones, just to name a few. 

I finally stopped ignoring all of the Midwest and Pacific Coast, and in doing so, found bands that I would have completely overlooked in the past.  Case & point:  This Wild Life.  If they had never followed me on Twitter, I probably wouldn’t know who they were.  I used to find most of my new bands by actually listening to the openers when attending shows, and snatching up flyers from the local venues I frequented.  To be honest, it was a decent amount of work, and I still experience it from time to time (ie:  Frank Turner opening for Social Distortion almost 3 years ago).

But, I have to say, the Brits are really stepping up their game.  The first band that has really caught my attention is a far cry from Manhattan or even the continenal US.  They're called Lightfire, and are based out of the West Midlands, UK.  I'm not going to pretend I know, geographically, where that is.  As I am sure they have no idea how to locate Philadelphia on a map either...    It's only February (of course I didn't publish this until May...  the statement still stands), but this is the first band that's really knocked my socks off in 2013. They can be followed on Twitter @lightfireuk .

Give them a listen. You won't be disappointed.
http://open.spotify.com/album/2lpr6fYneIM3GouhsikOh2

Ben Howard- Union Transfer, Philadelphia 9/21/12

I’m not a professional writer, and I don’t pretend to be one. As such, I try not to write anything negative about my musical experiences, which accounts for the giant hole in 2012’s timeline.  For example, out of an entire Folk Music Festival, City & Colour was the only experience I thoroughly enjoyed.  I don’t know much about Dallas Green except that I really like a few of his songs and that, when he played live in Newport, I was utterly exhausted and completely relieved to hear a singer that wasn’t whining about politics or global warming.

Keeping that in mind, I think I could write all day about the Ben Howard show I experienced this weekend.  Having only heard a few seconds of a live Ben Howard recording I caught on BBC Radio weeks ago, I purchased tickets and crossed my fingers.  It was a Friday night at my favorite venue in Philadelphia, so, how bad could it be? 

Gill Landry, of Old Crow Medicine Show, opened the evening.  From what I could tell, he is not the lead singer of OCMS, but just the bass of his speaking voice made your chest vibrate.  Of course, the boyfriend was in heaven, he loves folk-y music, and my sneaking suspicion is that the driving force for him to first listen to OCMS was that the name of the band includes a reference to his “favorite $6-a-bottle bourbon.”  I was surprised too.  Apparently there are multiple options for 6-dollar bourbon available in your neighborhood liquor store.  Regardless, I thoroughly enjoyed him.

I could have done without the artificial smoke filling the staging area before Ben Howard took his place on stage.  Once he started playing, I understood the fake smoke.  The percussion filled the room before Ben’s voice broke through…  And what a voice!  None of his studio albums prepare you for the raw talent Ben Howard exhibited on Union Transfer’s stage that night.  Let’s just combine the percussion experience of Frightened Rabbit and a voice that may have actually blown Ray LaMontagne out of the water. 

The crowd was hushed during every song, and, from what I could tell, just as blown away as I was.  Based on the incredibly messy notes I took during the show, this is the portion of the set list I can decipher: 

Depth Over Distance

Only Love

Old Pine

Esmeralda

It’s Everything

Black Flies

Keep Your Head Up

Fear

Apparently the set list was slightly modified shortly before the start of the show due to a broken amplifier.  All in all, great show, really, really great show.  Sometimes brevity is your best option, instead of dissecting and harping on every detail of a show…

As of the end of September, this ranks as my favorite show of 2012.  I sincerely doubt anyone will even come close to rivaling the live performance of Ben Howard.

The Terrible, No-Good, Very Bad Day

The Menzingers-  June 29, 2012; The Barbary/Gunner’s Run, Philadelphia

The Menzingers are basically the adopted sons of Philadelphia.  Originally from Scranton, PA, they have found a niche in the punk scene of Southeastern Pennsylvania.  I love them.  They’re different.  I don’t listen to them as I would most bands.  I have never sat down to figure out where their influences came from.  I just enjoy what they produce. 

No matter how much I love the Menzingers, this night was doomed from its inception. 

On June 29^th, the temperature in Philly was approximately three bazillion degrees.  The poorly-planned outfit I had packed to change into at work before heading to the show was quite seriously the worst idea ever.  It was just jeans, Chucks and a black three-quarters t-shirt.  I should have just packed a down winter coat, because I was immediately regretting the choice upon walking out of the office.  The thought of climbing into my car to sit in Philly traffic while perched a black leather seat made me whimper a bit, but the Menzingers were waiting!

This was not working out well thus far, but I wanted to check these guys off my list.  I was already irritated with myself for putting off the Wonder Years.  I couldn’t let the Menzingers down too! 

I spent the equivalent of three minutes in the second floor bar of the Barbary, attempting to drink enough to make the stifling heat more bearable.  Not a chance.  That’s when I realized I could hear the Menzingers already playing downstairs.  It was only 7:30!  Oh, well.  They were amazing… for the five songs we heard.  We hid in a nook by the merch tables to avoid body heat when it was announced that the Menzingers would be doing an acoustic set at Gunner’s Run after the show.  That was all we needed to hear.  We were out the door before the announcement was even complete to secure a good seat and grab food like old people flocking the early bird special. 

Mistake number two of the night was assuming that the acoustic set would be relaxing.  A group of approximately 25 people, instead of finding a good vantage point in the rather nice restaurant, crowded around the corner set up for live music, completely blocking the view for the rest of the establishment. 

Gunner’s Run has great food, by the way.  And if you check in on Foursquare, you get a free Pabst pounder.  Unfortunately, if you know me at all, I refuse to drink Pabst.  I’m convinced it has a secret ingredient that will automatically turn me into a brainwashed hipster who no longer has any drive to contribute the Gross National Product. 

Did I mention that I was already miserable?

There were two women who were considered the Menzinger’s surprise guests.  I didn’t know who they were, and, quite honestly, was perturbed by their music.  I pretended to be listening until my companion shot a pleading look my way. 

Essentially giving up, we got back in the car and were home just in time for an absolutely torrential thunderstorm that lasted for HOURS.  I guess the night could have been worse.

All in all, the major positives at the end of the night were 1. We thoroughly enjoyed Gunner’s Run’s food and atmosphere and 2. I will be attempting to see the Menzingers again when I am no longer suffering from heat stroke. 

I Miss Mix Tapes

I miss the whole concept of mix tapes and CD’s.  Future generations will never understand the sheer joy that is evoked by someone special handing you a mix tape.  This person took the time to create a playlist, usually on paper, and then painstakingly recorded each song from beginning to end, strategically pausing the recording to pop in another CD or to *gasp* record a song off the radio. 

If this gift-giver was particularly fond of you, they would find an empty cassette case, which, in mix tape heyday was virtually impossible. Let me explain: Upon opening a new tape in your car or home, you would remove the insert that contained the lyrics and throw the clear, plastic case with reckless abandon into the backseat or on the floor of your bedroom, where, inevitably, it would disappear or be crushed within seconds. 

Locating a functioning cassette case was a feat in and of itself.  If you received a mix tape with an UNCRACKED case?  You better marry that person, because they clearly traveled to the ends of the earth.  One would think the prize was the tape or the case…  I always valued the personalized insert the most. 

When I was in junior high school, CD’s were the main choice for music, but the cost to purchase a burner was still prohibitively expensive.  So, to properly portray your feelings for another, you didn’t really have a choice.  We thought we were evolved now that we did not have to tape songs off the radio.  If you're from my age group, you remember listening to your local radio station, and vaulting over furniture to hit record when the song you love started.  You would be forced to hover over the tape player until the song was over, and hope the DJ wouldn't start talking over the track before the end. 

Now that we had CD's, we would have uninterupted recording, and control over when the songs started.  This, my friends, was a labor-intensive process. 

As a 10^th grader, a favorite friend of mine gave me an unforgettable mix tape that included, prepare to swoon…   Tom Petty’s “Wildflowers” and Dennis Leary’s “Asshole.”  I was fifteen and flattered.  He drew flowers next to Tom Petty’s song listing and “HA!” in a cartoon dialogue bubble next to Dennis Leary's.  Shortly thereafter, he asked me to his prom.

I have no idea whatever happened to that mix tape, but I do know I listened to it tirelessly until I bought a car that didn't have a tape deck a few years later...   And I think of Matt awkwardly standing at my front door in his tuxedo, hands shaking and shoving a corsage box at me every time I hear Tom Petty's "Wildflowers."  You don’t experience that kind of lasting memory from a fleeting playlist. 

These days, we have the technology to compile playlists on our phones.  Wait, wha???   Comparatively, I would say it took HOURS to make a mix tape, while these days, it takes all of...  oh...  three minutes to hop on Spotify, throw together a playlist and text it. 

Don't get me wrong.  I love Spotify with every fiber of my being, but part of me misses the effort of the mix tape.  *sigh*

On a more positive note, this is the first time I can honestly say I am proud of a playlist I put together for my boyfriend of almost 4 years.  Yes, I call him Wubby, a name used to refer to security blanket, because I don’t like sleeping without him.  I’m fully aware that I’m a cheeseball. 

 Wubby's Songs

Folk Payback

I'm not usually a huge fan of folky music, but my boyfriend is fanatical about it.  Considering how many rock shows I drag him to on a regular basis, I decided to spring for tickets to the two-day Newport Folk Festival in Rhode Island. 

In preparation for the 48 hour folk extravaganza, I figured I should do some investigating.   Other than my stints as a passenger in the boyfriend's car, I'm never exposed to folk.  I like City & Colour and Ray LaMontagne (saw him at the Tower Theater for the boyfriend's birthday a few years back), but that's the extent of my folk experience...  And probably some garbage that I listened to during my teen angst years.

Two words: Ben Howard.  He sucked me in from the first song I heard: "Old Pine."  I suggest you check him out.

Every Kingdom

Ben will not be at the Folk Fest, but I'm definitely looking out for a visit to the US to check him out live.

When Flowers Bloom In Fairmount

Shane Henderson- 6/13/12 North Star Bar, Philadelphia, PA

Valencia and Promise of Redemption have a resonating influence on the majority of the playlists/CD’s I’ve compiled over the past five years.  The one consistent factor in their music is the heart-breaking, passionate, sometimes angry, but always brilliant work of Shane Henderson.

Shane’s music is a rare breed.  It evolves and grows with the listener through changes in their own lives.  The lyrics of a song heard (and sung along with) hundreds times will suddenly and unexpectedly hit the listener with the emotional equivalent of a dump truck.  As an example, a friend of mine experienced a short, yet painful battle with skin cancer last year.  As if predetermined, “Still Need You Around” started playing on her drive home from the initial diagnosis, and she had to pull over to calm down.  She’s fine now, but that song will never lose its relevance to her or her boyfriend.  

As of June 2012 I had never made it to a show, always taking for granted that I would “catch Valencia/Promise of Redemption/Shane Henderson next time around.”  My reasoning was that he, like many of the bands I consider staples in my music collection, is local.  Since moving to Philly, I have been in a perpetual state of awe at how many bands are so accessible here. 

Case & point: upon entering the North Star, I firmly planted myself leaning against the “all ages soda and water bar” in the back of the venue to listen to the openers.  Within a few seconds, a male in his mid-twenties approached me and my boyfriend with free download cards for a new Promise of Redemption song.  Hooray!  Unknowing, I looked into the eyes hidden under the burgundy Phillies cap to see the familiar face of Shane Henderson.  Considering his sheepish grin and how low he was sporting the brim of his hat, I was apprehensive about blurting out “Shane Henderson!  So nice to meet you!” and thrusting my hand out for a shake, so obviously, I let him walk away, probably still doubting as to whether or not it was him.  As is my solution for most quandaries: To the bar!   

I am always apprehensive about meeting the artists I listen to, as I have been sorely disappointed in the experience once or twice, and no longer enjoyed their music the way I had before the encounter.  My concern with Shane was that he has such a powerhouse of a voice, and writes lyrics that can disarm the listener with their honesty… but I assumed he had to embody a bad caricature of a movie-based lead singer who doesn’t have time for his fans.  I couldn’t have been more off.

Inside the bar (my much beloved 21+ area), my boyfriend and I discussed how excited we both were to see Mr. Henderson’s performance.  Other than him and Ryan Adams, we do not agree on music-- at all.   Unbeknownst to me, my boyfriend flagged down the man we were discussing to pose for a picture with me, where I immediately forgot how to shake hands… and how to form an articulate sentence.  He was very sweet as he was clearly in the midst of getting ready to take the stage but still had time for us.

Settled into the show area, I was amazed.  One would think the studio versions of his voice couldn’t be sustained in a live show.  Surprisingly, they can.  There’s a raw, exposed element to Shane’s voice, as if he’s belting out his lyrics for the first time, and experiencing the catalyst for their creation all over again. 

The combination of the venue, the personality of the music and the laid back presence on stage made the show feel like an intimate gathering.  Trevor and Shane addressed the crowd without condescension, repeatedly thanking everyone for coming.

At one point during their set, Shane introduced his friend, Bean, visiting from Buffalo, who had picked up a guitar and seamlessly joined the first part of the show, reinforcing the small gathering vibe in the room. 

In a matter of what seemed like fifteen minutes, they covered a vast array of Valencia, Promise of Redemption and even Death Cab For Cutie.

I Will Follow You Into the Dark

Remember the First Day

Away We Go

When Flowers Bloom

Trace Those Steps

Dancing With a  Ghost

Safe to Say

Can We Get Away

Pieces

Losing Sleep

The Good Life

From the Second I Wake Up

How Fast

Better Be Prepared

The Space Between

I’m paraphrasing, of course, but, Shane paused to remind the crowd that any artist who gets on stage and acts like they’re better than their fans isn’t worth their time or attention. 

North Star Bar was impressive, Mr. Henderson.  Just do us a favor, and don’t disappear.  The music industry needs more artists like you.     

Are Shows Just for Teenagers?

No.

There comes a time in everyone’s lives where they think have to decide whether or not they want to “grow up.”  At the risk of sounding like Peter Pan, I say that growing up is no reason to trade in your Punk Card.   

There are 22 year olds who have surrendered their Spotify or iPod, wiping out Social Distortion, The Gaslight Anthem or even Britney Spears (if that’s your thing) for Elmo, the Doodle...bugs... or whatever the hell children listen to these days.  I've run into 40+ year olds at shows, having the time of their lives.  All I can say to them is,   I want to be like you when I grow up. 

Just because you’ve decided to get married or reproduce does not mean that your life is over.  Now that you're no longer 15 and attending a show while Mom waits in the minivan, a miraculous thing has happened.  You’re invisible to teenagers.  

 Yes, they may be a little loud and sometimes incredibly annoying, but, guess what?  They won't even know you're there…  And you, my friend, are allowed to have a beer to tone down the “tween” chatter if necessary.
 

The positives to being a 25+ show-attendee:

1.   Traveling with a gaggle of pre-determined friends is no longer a prerequisite , meaning you can arrive and leave whenever you please.

2.   You have access to the 21+ area of the venue:

a.   Which is never as crowded

b.   Occasionally leads to sitting down next to the band members you actually paid to see

c.   No screaming teenagers within arms length of where you’re standing

d.  Typically far enough away from the amps to avoid tinnitus

e.   Alcohol

3.      11:00pm on a weekday no longer feels like 4:00am on a school night...  Even if it does, the only person you need to answer to the next morning is yourself.

4.       Do you really want to stand around the water cooler the next morning contributing to the babbling about last night’s Amazing Race?  I sure as hell don’t.

So, I say, shake off the cobwebs, hit up BandsInTown and check out a show.  You know you want to…