Strathmore. (Ashamedly, my first time. It's beautiful...like being inside a cello. But I have to ask, could you not spend the buck-two-ninety-eight for purple gels for those exit signs onstage? Obnoxious.)
Two hours of amazingly intimate Americana from our generation's enfant terrible, interspersed with self-disparaging comedy. (whispered to the sound guy at the top of the show "are you sure this is my guitar? it sounds too good to be my guitar. let's take it out back after the show and run over it.") He dipped heavily into his first album (which I have committed to memory) and hit most of my "pleasepleasepleaseplayit" list; I sat in that funny state where I wanted to laugh or cry or kiss someone or scream or dance at the sound of the opening chords of a beloved tune. (This one. And this. Oh, and this, too)
I had purchased the new album, and after listening to it on my little road trip I still couldn't really get behind it...but after hearing the songs live, being in the same room with him (and in excellent seats, thanks to SingleGirl), they make more sense.
They are heartbreaking everyman vignettes; loving, deeply flawed, sometimes painfully awkward, trying to make good honest choices.
I totally get it. Moreso now than at maybe any point in my life. Consequences. Risk. Things to cherish. Things to lose.
Deep stuff. Deeper than an adorable Peter Pan in a Dio t-shirt should be able to pull off. But the contradiction is indeed part of his charm.
On a lighter note, the whole consequences thing? Going to bed after midnight and then getting up to work a full day? Well, I'd be lying if I said it was easy, for sure. But today was strangely productive...probably because I was too sleepy to do anything but act - no weighing, waiting, hemming or hawing.
- Fortune. Good luck, rather than $.
- The luxury of heavy eyelids and deep sleep.