SHARING THE SHOWS
So this would be a solo show. The hope was to head down with Brometheus and Brodysseus (Drew and Mark), and to meet with Ellen, but Mark and Drew ended up tickets for the Friday night show, and I’m just not in a position to take a Friday off to head down to a show at this time, and Ellen had a work emergency. All good.
On Friday morning, my car greeted me by turning on the battery charge light. Nooooo!, I thought. Not on a show weekend! The show I saw two weeks ago with Maggie and Nicole was not enough! After risking a breakdown to go to my teaching job (the things I do for the kids), I came out, and the battery had turned off. I was confused, so I had a test done at Auto Zone. “Bad Battery,” the meter read. I had made an appointment with the dealership to get it checked out, but nothing till Monday. So I forked out some bucks on a rental. And I was in love. That black 2019 RAV4 just looked badass, and I felt so driving it. My 2007 Camry has an old-school CD player in it, but the newer cars have the USB port where you can plug your phone into, so on the ride down to Durham, I was able to jam to some shows on Relisten, a hugely awesome app. Phish (7/19/17), the Grateful Dead (3/24/93), and Widespread Panic (3/17/19) provided a nice soundtrack to the Norman Rockwell/Johnny Cash vibe that permeated the backroads of rural Southern Virginia (side note: “Rocky Top,” “Stuck Inside of Mobile with the Memphis Blues Again,” and “Tennessee Jed” were part of it). Is Tennessee in my future? Hmmmmm… I arrived at the AirBnB, a quaint bungalow owned by a nice young lady named Rachel (a native New Yorker and transplanted Southerner, just like me) a little after 3:00 and promptly took a nap before the show. From there, I did the 37-minute walk to the Blue Note Grille, where the Bros had gotten dinner as posted on Facebook. I decided I would follow in their footsteps for the pre-show ritual (couldn’t find that bull with the hanging testicles, though). Upon being greeted, the host smiled and said, “Just one?” I politely said, “Yes, one.” The food was great! I had this appetizer called the Nosh, which consisted of deviled eggs, celery with pimento cheese, crackers, and bread-and-butter pickles. The entrée: ¼ rack of ribs, mac and cheese, and hush puppies. Great food, great service, but I wrote what I consider to be a helpful suggestion on the back of the check: Train your hosts not to say, “JUST one,” especially since I was not the only solo diner in the place. One is enough! Despite my Google Maps hiccupping, I found Cocoa Cinnamon, a hipstervibeish coffee house, where I had a nice Americana and did some reading; this book nerd takes his backpack with his books with him wherever he goes. Sadly, the backpack had to be checked in at DPAC, but the staff was very friendly about it (more so than those Cheeseheads at the Riverside). I made my way up to my seat, where my neighbors and I starting throwing out requests (“Little Lilly,” Walk on Guilded Splinters,” “Heroes,” “For What It’s Worth”). I also took in the venue, a very intimate space, and the wood paneling is a nice touch. Right before the boys went on, the speakers blasted “Shakedown Street,” and the crowd began to boogie. Such teasers! The set started with “Ophelia,” “The Shape I’m In,” “Pigeons,” and “Gradle,” right before my first skingasm of the night occurred with “All Time Low.” “Use Me” was next, and Skingasm Numero Dos occurred with “Glory.” Everyone around me was just bopping to it, while I was moving around so much I think folks thought I was either tripping or having a seizure. The vibe calmed with “Nobody’s Loss,” and closed down with “Space Wrangler.” During my walked the show, I met some folks, Paul, Doug, and some dude wearing a shirt with a combination of the Mets logo and the Steely face. Being a Met fan from New York, I had to do the fist-bump thing (series win over Washington this weekend!). While I was in the bathroom over setbreak, the announcement over the loudspeaker blared, “Two minutes until the second set begins.” Despite the fact that “two minutes” means “ten to fifteen,” I walked rapidly to my seat. Set Two began with “Fishwater,” right before my neighbor’s “Guilded Splinters” wish was fulfilled. “Jam” took place afterwards; this tune has also been done by the Dead, Phish, and so many other groups. It’s popular for sure, just like the band Special Guest. Skingasm #3 occurred with “Bear’s Gone Fishin’”, a tune I first experienced live in Raleigh on 4/30/16. At that point, it became my favorite one to see performed live. The skingasm extended with “Tie Your Shoes.” I was bummed when I heard a “Red Hot Mama” tease (hoping for #4), but they went into “Walkin’ (For Your Love)”. Good enough. “Gimme” took us into another realm, and “Jack” is a chill tune, a touching song about the little guy (just my interpretation of the lyrics). “Chainsaw City” (#5) and “Climb to Safety” (#6). Every note hit me on #6. Side note: after the show, a dude was telling me his son was giving him a hard time because he thought “Climb to Safety” was about his girlfriend. I see it as more of a spiritual thing, but to each his/her own. A mini-drum jam preceded “Fishwater,” which made for a nice rap. The band teased Dropkick Murphy’s “I’m Shipping Up to Boston” (plans for next spring?), but they ended up going into “Good People” and a rockin’ Tom Petty tribute with “You Wreck Me.” Lucky Number Seven! Because the show wasn’t enough, I listened to 3/17/19 on my headphones on my way back to the Airbnb. The next day, I was able to stream Friday night’s show and live vicariously through the Bros. Shows are great for ideas: 1) A freewrite for my Honors Composition class, where they’re studying perceptions of singlehood and relationships. I devise the following scenario: John has tickets for these concerts he’s been dying to go to. He was looking forward to taking his girlfriend, but she’s fallen into a depression and can’t go. Instead, she’s decided to fly to see her family. Should John offer to go with her or just see the concerts with his bro? 2) More material for my screenplay, including a scene where Travis, the character who laughs at his own jokes, loses control over his laughter, while Randy, a dreadlocked kid with delusions of being a ladies’ man, tries to “mack it” with two cheerleaders at his high school but can’t hide his embarrassment. 3) My Honors Composition class is writing an essay where they have to use the hyperlink, and they’re coming in for required individual conferences for feedback this week. If they’re having trouble with using hyperlinks, they won’t see the blog, but I’ll show them this as a Word document. I don’t broadcast this side of my personality at work, but I play music in my office and have turned a couple of students onto the likes of the Dead and String Cheese Incident. Friday, April 5 at noon is a big event. Tickets for the Red Rocks show go on sale, because the two Panic shows I went to his month weren’t enough. Wish me luck!
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So, I’ve had this running joke for the past year. Students panic around certain times of the semester: during late registration (the first week of the semester, when students who forgot to register do so or they change their mind about the courses for which they registered), during midterms, during the last week they can withdraw from courses, the last week in which they can register for courses the following semester, and finals week. I joke that there’s Widespread Panic around campus…ahhahahhahah…ahhahahhahahah.
Anyway, I missed this week’s widespread panic on campus (course withdrawal week) due to going to Cs, but I was pumped to see the actual band play. I flew into DC from Pittsburgh at 2:30 and met up with Nicole at her place, where we talked music, philosophy, life, and we played with her two Star Wars-themed kittens, Boba and Lando. They were so cute! Maggie arrived at around 4:30 due to that goshdarn traffic on I-95; Nicole introduced me to the I-95 Song (or the “Asshole” song). Traffic on 95 continued to suck going up to MGM National Harbor, the hotel where the show took place, but we finally got there, with a couple of hours to spare. We hit the Shake Shack in the hotel, the post-show spot Drew, Mark, and I picked when we saw Panic at this venue last year. I got chicken bites with cheese dip, fries with cheese (“Come on, arteries, don’t fail me now”), and a Cookies and Cream shake. I had gone to a custom-burger with my friend Karen in Pittsburgh the night prior, and I couldn’t finish the Smores shake I had ordered, so I felt the need to redeem myself. Side note: I played Panic for Karen the night before, and she had described as “music you study to because it was mellow.” I wanted to hug right there (and I think I did). So, after dinner, we took selfies in this little garden-like structure, and the Cheesy String Trio was born. I had told the tale of the picture I posted on Facebook of a can of tuna fish (Phish), string cheese (String Cheese Incident), and lettuce (Lettuce) over NYE 2017-2018; the plan was to see those three bands for the four nights up to New Year’s Eve. So, we added to it. Nicole mentioned that it seemed like more of a snack, and I don’t remember the order it went in, but this is what I gleaned from my notepad:
Anywho, we tried to get into the theater at about 10 to 8, but we were told we had to get a wristband. When we tried to get wristbands, we were told we had to get our hand stamped. The guy with the hand stamp stamped our tickets instead, and he and the lady with the wristbands had a brief disagreement over whether he was to stamp our hand or the ticket. So, this was the sequence: 1) get a stamp; 2) get a wristband; 3) move through the line; 4) get our tickets scanned; 5) remove all objects from pockets; and 6) get into the show. This was the most complicated procedure to get into a show I had ever been a part of. But we got in at about 8:10, just before the band went on. We found a spot toward the back. The band opened with “The Take Out” and went into “Porch Song.” After that came “Can’t Get High,” which always gives me that “skingasm.” “Holden Oversoul” was pretty boppy, followed by a rocking “Old Neighborhood,” during which I started on some high-stepping. “Airplane” is another of my favs, which I had never seen performed live until that moment. During the jam, I heard an “Angels on High” tease, a tune I loved. “Rebirtha” had me spinning in a circle, and “Sleeping Man” had me combining the high-steps and the spinning. It was safe to say I had worked off those carbs from Shake Shack. They closed with “Ain’t Life Grand,” during which John Bell (JB) brought out that mandolin. Set 2 began in a pretty mellow fashion with “Proving Ground,” stepped up the intensity with “Impossible,” and then slowed back down to “Proving Ground” and stayed with that tempo in “Picking Up The Pieces.” “Diner” was next, which Nicole had tagged me in earlier that day. She dug it because it came from a show Panic did in Alpharetta, her “old neighborhood.” I was especially happy to see them play it at her first show, one in which Maggie and I popped her “Widespread Cherry”. Hahahahhahahah…hahahhahhhahhaha (10 minutes later) hahahahhahahah…ahhahahhahahahah (picks self up from floor, wipes tear from eye). That one was all Maggie. J I was stoked to see “Junior,” one of my favorites. During that song, the vibe went down due to a shoving match nearby (At a Panic show? Really?) and a drunk young woman being carried out by her friends (pretty typical at these shows, but still no fun to see). At some point during the second set, Nicole and Maggie sat down in the hallway to rest. During the “Drums and Bass” jam, equivalent to the Dead’s “Drums/Space,” I went to get water and I saw Maggie and Nicole chilling in the hallway, resting their feet. I figured I’d take a little breather during this jam. As we talked, we pondered leaving early. Maggie was tired out, Nicole was zapped, neither thought they could make it through the show. Another night, I might have powered through, but it was an exhausting week for this introvert, and I figured I’m planning to see the boys again in Durham, NC, in two weeks, so we ended up bouncing. Upon looking at what I missed, “Cease Fire” (a tune I’m so-so about), “I’m Not Alone” (meh), “North” (a tune I do dig, but I’ll live), and “And It Stoned Me” (meh), I figured it’s all good. After some confusion on finding a gas station and restroom off the highway, I crashed out once we hit Fredericksburg (as a passenger, of course), and we ended up getting back to Newport News at about 3. My head hit that pillow like a ton of bricks. I was up at around 10:30, and fortunately, writing this blog is helping me get back to life. C-ya in Durham, boys! Me in my academic conference attire, Widespread Panic's 11/1/03 show at NYC's Madison Square Garden blasting through my ears.
This is not a concert (as I'm sure you can infer through the title), but this conference is a show in itself, like Woodstock/Curveball for writing teachers. “I don’t go to enough concerts.” This time last year, this had become my mating call on Facebook, due to all the concerts I was going to. A little background: when I moved to Virginia, I had been out of the “jam band scene” for a number of years due to the desire to “grow up,” a la every Judd Apatow movie ever made. Then, one night, I met Plumber Dave, who happened to wearing an Allman Brothers T-shirt. I complimented him on it, which led to chatting about the days I used to see the Allmans at Manhattan’s Beacon Theatre. He invited me to see Skydog, an Allmans tribute, at Hoss’s Deli, just a few minutes down the road from my residence. I was reluctant, but the moment I went back, I saw a light. My body just kept moving to the beats; it was as if I had lost all control over my muscles. That night, I saw another side of Dave, and I met the White Brothers, Mark and Gary, for the first time. A few months later, I’d do a Dark Star Orchestra show with Mark at Long Island’s Paramount Theater. For the uninitiated, Dark Star Orchestra is a band that reenacts Grateful Dead shows in their entirety, note-for-note. Again, my body moved to the beats without any prompting from my brain. Over the next few years, I would go to see local bands such as Skydog, Blind and Dirty (Grateful Dead cover, with other classic rock tunes thrown in), and Last Fair Deal (pure Dead). I’d hit bigger shows with my crew in Virginia: Dark Star Orchestra, Widespread Panic, String Cheese Incident, Phish. I’d travel with Drew, whom I met through Mark, to see Phish in New York City. I met other cool people (Johnny Mac, Fred, Kelly, Pamela, Keith, Ashley, Wes, Chelsea) at shows in New York and elsewhere. I lost a couple of girlfriends over going to those shows, but the feeling I get from the music is way better than, well, THOSE particular relationships. On May 18, 2018, I had finished a semester-long stint as Interim Department Chairperson at my institution (hey, the music wasn’t interfering with the job, so how’s THAT for adulting, society?). I was ready to celebrate, and as a nice show of serendipity, Maggie invited me to boogie to Blind & Dirty at at a local bar called the Cowboy Sports Grill. That’s what friends do. Anyway, I was wearing a T-shirt from The Muse Writers Center, where I had taken a screenwriting class. The shirt said “Write Where You Are” and I got the brainstorm to just write about the show. That evening, not only did my body move, but my brain took in everything around me. I was forced to listen closely to the music, like when Blind and Dirty teased AC/DC’s “TNT.” Ordinarily, I might have missed it, but writing was, like Anne Lamott said, forcing me to pay attention. I observed the different styles of dancing, a tall guy blowing bubbles, a dude with a Hawaiian shirt I kept bumping to, and when I put on my “writers hat,” my perception of the crazy drunks at the shows switched from annoying to entertaining (a la the lovely lady I enjoyed messing with at during the Roosterfoot show). Over the past ten months, I make it a point that whenever I go to a show, I’m going to write about it. It’s a routine now. I’ve had fantasies about my blogs appearing in a major magazine like Spin or Relix. While that may be down the road, my audience is limited at this point to the people on my Facebook, particularly those I tag on Facebook with respect to the shows I attend. But, as Jon reminded me at the conference, like scholar Peter Elbow says, “Audience is important, even if it is the self.” I’ve told myself that nobody really reads my blog; I’m just doing it for fun. Since I started writing that blog, I’ve gotten into the habit of writing SOMETHING every day: short fiction, my screenplay about the four kids going to Big Cypress, some nonfiction, a book I’ve recently started developing. I’ve also become more disciplined with my academic research. I’ve been texting with Christina, my accountability partner, about the writing we do every day. It’s gotten me to bond with Randolph, a colleague in my department, and a prolific fiction writer. So, it’s had that benefit. But I may not have been completely accurate in that assessment. By accident, I came across my friend Pamela’s blog about a show she attended. This appeared on a blog called 52 Shows A Year, produced by Aaron. I learned he was looking for guest contributors. So, I blogged about the Marcus King show I attended, and sure enough, he put it up. Additionally, Morgan read the blog I wrote about the JGB show we attended last week at the Norva. She commented on my “amazing storytelling skills,” which boosted my ego. As much as I hate to admit it, I like validation. That night, I worked on my book-in-progress for a half hour and my screenplay for another half hour. “Two C30s,” Christina and I would call them, given that our names start with C. Craig 30, Christina 30, abbreviated, get it? Hahhahahah…. As I sit here writing, I’m listening to an acoustic set from the Grateful’s Dead October 18, 1980 show at New Orleans’s Saenger Performing Arts Center, wearing beige khaki pants, brown shoes, and a white button-down shirt covered by a wool sweater, attending a workshop at the Conference on College Composition and Communication, the big annual conference for scholars and practitioners of writing studies. Editing is being conducted at Pizza Parma, a pizzeria near the Convention Center that is hosting the conference. Nancy Sommers and Chris Anson, two well-known figures in the field of Rhetoric and Writing Studies, are facilitating a workshop in which participants are working toward writing literacy narratives. My students write literacy narratives, and I’m always happy to engage in anything that even remotely involves writing. The majority of the time is spent writing, and since I’m writing about music, it’s only fitting that I have some going through my ears. As I observe the room, I realize I’m the only one wearing headphones as I write, but these people (other than Jon, Roberta, Dr. Sommers, and Dr. Anson, now that I’ve let them into this identity construction) have no clue about my “other” life. They have no clue that in preparation for the Widespread Panic show I’m going to in DC on Saturday, I’ve been streaming their shows on my phone all week as I walk from my AirBnB to the concert venue. And they don’t know that as much as I’m enjoying the 4Cs, I’m even MORE excited about Panic! At the end of the workshop, Dr. Sommers asked us to reflect on what we learned about ourselves with respect to our writing. I’ve been told my writing style is very vibrant. I do know that I play fast and loose with words and phrases, I’m a sucker for pop culture references (Judd Apatow, “TnT”) The final exercise had to do with reflecting on our writing practices I learned that I play fast and loose, I love pop culture references, and I want to spend more time editing and proofreading with this blog. I don’t take it as seriously as I do other genres, but it might still be good practice. The secret to excellence is to always keep striving to do better. I tell my students this, so I want to follow suit. One of the perks of being an educator is Spring Break. Granted, I did spend a good chunk of it grading student assignments, planning lessons, working on my research, and responding to e-mails from students and administrators, but I also did a few things I don’t normally do. Like a matinee showing of Green Book on a Wednesday. And the exploration of restaurants I don’t normally go to, like Viking Burger and Chihuahua’s. And tonight, a midweek show, a rarity during the school year.
Gary, Maggie, and I spent about 45 minutes battling through the rush hour traffic on I-64 and its back roads in Hampton. This included about 10 minutes stopped at a railroad crossing 0.2 miles from our meeting spot in Norfolk while the freight train ambled its way through. We met with Mark, Rusty, and Rusty’s friend MJ (who I would send my blog and as a result, be my friend) at Cogan’s Pizza in Ghent, a hip section of Norfolk. I was psyched to learn they had slices for a dollar. Coming from New York, I’m a pizza snob, and the slices were a far cry from LaGondola’s (Ramsey, NJ) Tarantella’s (Nyack, NY) or Roma’s (Delancey Street, Lower East Side, NYC), but they were edible just the same. The calamari and mozzarella sticks our table shared added to the culinary experience. We arrived at 7:30, the show start time. Apparently, they took down the sign on the door that said, “No underage drinking or illegal drug use,” thus implying that if you’re of age, you can use illegal drugs. I asked the dude selling merch if there was an opening guest. He said, “No, just an Evening with Melvin Seals & JGB” (doesn’t that sound like there should be a doily-adorned table with tea and crumpets toward the back?). Anyway, I said to a nearby Gary, “No Special Guest playing.” “They’re quite busy,” Gary replied. Of course, I could come to the conclusion that Melvin Seals & JGB are the special guests, so I yelled, “Special Guest!” a couple of times, much to the entertainment of Mark and Maggie. Maggie even yelled it toward the end of the night. Suffice to say, I was blown away by the show. Melvin Seals is an incredible keyboard player. Songs I recognized included “They Love Each Other,” “Don’t’ Let Go” (which I had actually heard performed by String Cheese Incident before hearing JGB play it), “Bird Song” (accompanied by one of the female backup singers playing a flute), “Brown-Eyed Woman,” “Knocking on Heaven’s Door” (with a reggae beat), and Maggie’s favorite, “St. Stephen,” which I was hoping would be followed by a transition to “The Eleven,” a la late 60s Dead, but you can’t have everything. They closed with Marvin Gaye’s “How Sweet It Is (To Be Loved By You).” Other covers included what I saw as a tease to Cat Stevens’s “Peace Train” and a nice jam on Van Morrison’s “Moondance.” Conversations that occurred: Maggie taking a picture with our friend Morgan, posting it to Facebook, and asking me if she should write “Deadheads Unite” or “Deadheads United.” Much like I do with my students when they have a writing question, I asked her what message she was trying to convey. She replied, “we’re united as Deadheads.” It would be “Deadheads United,” I said. “When you say ‘Unite’ in that context, you’re giving a command.” Writing nerds unite! Morgan hung with us during the set. She essentially all but held a poster of Donna the Buffalo’s upcoming show in Virginia Beach in trying to convince me to go. It’s a hard decision between that and Skydog, a rockin’ Allman Brothers tribute, playing a two-minute walk from my house, particularly on a day I’m heading back from a conference in Washington, DC. But she sent some video links to my Facebook, and I was sold. Like I tell my students, sometimes the evidence can just speak for itself when you make an argument. I ran into Chelsea (whom it took me a second to recognize with glasses), Ashley (who had been wrapped in an invisibility cloak the last couple of shows we were at), Keith (who recently informed Facebook of a possible Dead & Company show at the Mothership), and James (lead singer of Blind & Dirty, one of the groups that got me back into the sense). After the show, we stopped by a 7-11 to get me some caffeine for the drive home. Maggie saw a Baja jacket, asked us if she thought it would look good on her, and in my mind, there was no better match between woman and jacket. The rainbows made her wonder if it gave a Gay Pride message. Gary and I thought, “Well, I wasn’t thinking that, but if it helps…” Maggie’s assessment of the show, “Best this year!” I concur, but next week, it may be topped by Widespread Motherfucking Panic, a Special Guest for the ages. Stay tuned… |
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