SHARING THE SHOWS
Today, I decided to just wake up and head to Port Chester so I could beat the Memorial Day traffic across the Tappan Zee. Having lived and worked in White Plains, I have many not-so-fond memories of sitting in gridlock across that bridge during rush hours and holiday weekends visiting Mom and Dad.
I made it to the station, where I was greeted by a dude asking, “Habla espanol?” “Asi asi,” I replied. He presented me with some electronic device I couldn’t quite make out. “No gracias,” I said. Kelly had recommended a bakery on Main Street where she had gotten a cinnamon donut (she said it was a bread place). After some amateur detective work (i.e., Google search), I deduced it was a place called The Kneaded Bread. I had hoped to go the night prior, but it was closed. I went in, and was informed they only sold donuts on the weekends (I guess Memorial Day doesn’t count). Still, I enjoyed a chocolate croissant and large decaf coffee while I wrote the blog for Sunday’s show. From there, I hopped the train into Manhattan, where I walked around, found Nathan’s on a cart (as I heard heavenly music on my personal soundtrack), indulged in a cheese dog and cheese fries (I had to! This blog is devoted to String CHEESE Incident…hahahhahahahahah), and decided to catch a movie using a gift card my colleague gave me when I got promoted. I really want to see Booksmart, a female version of Superbad, but the only times would have made me super late for the show (it started 50 minutes late, so did it really matter?). Anyway, I ended up going to see Brightburn, which seems to have been an anti-superhero movie. It was okay, nothing to write home about. Dinner was an everything bagel with lox and scallion cream cheese eaten on the train going back to Port Chester. I tried to nap on the train, but that couldn’t happen. When I got into the venue and bought my bottled water from the stand, I heard the dude in front of me telling the bartender, “I’m shot.” That about summed it up for me. I love shows, but three in a row definitely takes a lot out of me. But I was determined to rally. I ran into Shmaya preshow and talked with him for a bit. The floor was sparsely populated in comparison to the nights prior (“never miss a Monday show,” Hollingsworth said). The band began with one of my favs, “You’ve Got the World,” at which point I felt a tap on the shoulder. I turned around, and there was Fred, always a positive presence. “Sweet Spot” was next (“You’re what’s going on”). They then went into an Allman Brothers-style jam, at which point Fred informed me of the two-year anniversary of Gregg Allman’s passing. Somewhere in there, I thought I heard “Mountain Jam,” but upon further research, I learned it was "Hot 'Fanta." “Beautiful,” another fav, came on, and I saw a young lady sporting an American flag around her back. I complimented her, and she informed me she got it for $3 at Wal-Mart. A small price for patriotism, particularly on Memorial Day. “Outside and Inside” was next (Fred informed me that Trey & Mike from Phish played this with SCI recently), with Scott Sharrard on electric guitar, followed by the Allmans's “Hot ‘Lanta” closer. At setbreak, I chatted with Aaron (the man behind 52 Shows a Year) and his friend Meg. I didn’t know most of the tunes at second set, but Fred informed me that one of them was a Keller Williams song (I’m quite impressed at Fred’s musical knowledge, as his tidbits have had me conducting research, which I love). The second set opened with an acoustic, unplugged version of the Grateful Dead’s “Dark Hollow.” The crowd had bunched around Hollingsworth (if I’m wrong on who actually played this, please correct me via comments or e-mail), so I couldn’t see it, but the singalong give me a nice skingasm. Fred called the opening notes of the Police’s “Walking on the Moon,” and I’m pretty sure I heard a “Other One” tease in “Colliding” (my biggest skingasm of the run). As the second set progressed, I kept seeing space open up closer to the stage, and eventually, I gravitated right toward the front, which I rarely do. Something about this New York vibe (and maybe the energetic presence of Fred, Aaron, Meg, and Shmaya). I had never heard “Shakin’ the Tree” before, but it nearly brought tears to my eyes. I said some pretty sentimental goodbyes to Fred and some others as I left. The last moments of a run are always hard because it signifies a transition from “show world” back to “real world.” I’m lucky in that I have the summer “off”(in theory), so I can take a day to transition before I go back to work on the multiple projects I have going on this summer. I get anxious about them (my book deal’s brought me to some new places), but during the show, I meditated, and essentially, the spirits told me, “You’ll get it done. You always do.” These shows are great for getting those types of answers. And I’ve got a bunch more happening this summer. Yep, this is going to be a summer of writing, music, friends, and some travel. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
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Night 2: because one was not enough. After a workout, a few errands for my poor injured Mom (Children, don’t text and walk on uneven surfaces at the same time!), and some down time watching the new season of Netflix’s She’s Gotta Have It, I headed over to Port Chester. Once I parked there, my new friend Jules texted me asking to pick her up. I had found a primo spot at the train station, but I’m all about solid friends, so I picked her up in New Rochelle. I got to meet her Mom, Lucy, and the dogs she’s been boarding.
Jules’s an awesome navigator; she guided me back to the station without skipping a beat. She needed to get a ticket, so I dropped her across from the venue, right near the vendors selling jewelry and “glass.” Port Chester has a heavy Hispanic population, and on my walk the night prior, I noticed a number of Latin American restaurants: Peruvian, Brazilian, El Salvadorian. I was feeling Peruvian, so I went to a restaurant called Panka (Jules, part Peruvian, corrected my pronunciation). She was able to secure a reduced-price ticket immediately, so she joined me as I dined on a Tamale Peruano and Quarter Chicken with mixed vegetables and white rice. We had some deep conversation over dinner. The crowd looked less packed than the night prior. Jules rocked the glitter (I ended up with some of my arms); she gave a bunch out (“Can you sparkle me?” was a common request). Sparkle is big at SCI shows, as are costumes. A number of young ladies adorned fairy costumes, and one dude was sporting a Robin Hood-style hat. I felt so mainstream with my Phish T-shirt and two bracelets on each hand. There were more jams with varying tempos and songs I hadn’t heard before (here’s the setlist), but some highlights for me included “Can’t Wait Another Day” (Skingasm #1), Old & In The Way’s “Midnight Moonlight,” “Valley of the Jig” (the dude next to asked me “Is this ‘Valley of the Jig’” and I was about 95% sure it was). “Sirens” rocked (Skingasm #2), and “Restless Wind” as the first-set closer (Skingasm #3). I ran into Phil during that jam, who lightheartedly remarked, “They just need a little bit more practice.” “Rosie” was a highlight during the second set, “Song in My Head” brought out “Skingasm #4,” and “Burning Down the House” brought down the house, figuratively speaking. During the encore, Jules said, “It sounds like a harmonica but it’s not.” I had to find a way to include that here, so there it is! We ran into our friend Keaton on the way out. On the way back to Suffern, I had one of three cupcakes Julie hooked me up with. They had a candy covering that sported the Grateful Dead Dancing Bear image. It was like a Brett Mydland keyboard solo in my mouth. I could have eaten all three on the ride over, but I’m sure I would’ve hated myself the following morning. So I put the remaining two in a Tupperware container, possibly for after tonight’s show. All I can say is Jules is an artist for sure. This is a free advertisement for Jules's pastries (contact me for photos). So my school year officially ended (in theory) last Friday, the 17th, and I timed my semiannual trip to New York to coincide with the three SCI shows that were to take place at the Cap. In 32 years of living in the New York metropolitan area, I had never been to the Cap. I had made up for lost times over NYE 2017-18 by seeing two shows there with Ashley and Keaton. I wasn’t missing the opportunity to relive the experience.
I decided to make a day of strolling down memory lane. I lived in White Plains from 2007-2009, while I was an Academic Support Center Assistant at Berkeley College, my first ever job in higher education. My first stop after passing the newly constructed Tappan Zee Bridge was at Coffee Labs Roasters, Inc. in Tarrytown. Their main attraction is a giant coffee grinder where a little kid or a stoner could watch the beans churn for hours. I was able to find a nice spot to get some work on my upcoming book done (highlight: I signed a contract to publish a book called How to be a Happy Bachelor last Friday and am devoting a substantial chunk of the summer to getting words on paper). Sixty minutes spent on that, plus fifteen minutes on the screenplay that I had hit a wall on but was determined to start on again; I had attended a screenwriting workshop at Pete’s Candy Store. It is not literally a candy store, but a hipster bar based in hipsterish Williamsburg, Brooklyn, NY, and the instructor said “ten minutes a day and you’ll have your screenplay”. I did fifteen, so ha! My next stop: Barker Avenue in White Plains, the first apartment I had ever rented without a roommate. I was able to procure free parking right across the street, and I saw a new building on the corner of Barker & Church. I used to be able to see my building right across from my office at Berkeley. As I passed Berkeley, I saw a collage of pictures on my front window, many of students I had worked with. I only remembered one, a young lady named Mei, who tutored math in the center I staffed. I walked toward what used to be Atlanta Bakery Café, a spot I frequent to sip coffee and write. I was bummed to see a Buffalo Wild Wings had taken their spot (I love their wings and burgers, but still!). Feelings of elation then took over I saw the Barnes & Noble I also used to patronize was still there, so I read a chapter of Sinclair Lewis’s Main Street (I try to read one classic a year) and started writing this blog (no time like the present). I went to this brick-oven pizzeria next door to B&N and carboloaded on a onion and green pepper pizza and a pair of garlic knots before heading over to Port Chester. Side Note: I think it’s hilarious that town was named after my son/cat Chester, which Kelly delightfully pointed out on Facebook. J I was lucky enough to snag a free parking spot at the Metro-North station. After chilling in my car listening to some tunes, I headed in. There was a band finishing up whom I’ll always know as Special Guest. While I was missing my show crew from Virginia, going to a show solo is cool for me; I’ve found it frees me up to talk to folks I’d never meet. My “Weather Report” T-shirt, which lists a series of Grateful Dead-themed whether song (“Looks Like Rain,” “Cold Rain and Snow,” “Sunshine Daydream”) got a lot of compliments and inspired a lot of conversation. I ran into Fred (“’Preciate Ya!”), Shmaya, Julie (SCI, 12/29/17, same spot), and met some new folks, including a couple from Maryland named Kelly and Phil, Jay from somewhere in Connecticut, Bradley (an aspiring nutritionist from Rochester), and Jenny (a lady who flew in from Florida specifically for the shows). I was on the floor (GA), and the crowd packed in pretty quickly. These New York fans can be aggressive about space, so I had to dance a couple of people out of them (“just dance ‘em out” was the advice I got in my spring show years). They did a whole jam before lead singer Kyle Hollingsworth announced plans for a new album and a song to be played off it, called “Gone Crooked.” I’m just going to post the setlist here because I don’t know most of the songs they played. One song I did know, however, “Let’s Go Outside,” a tune I can sing to, closed the first set. The second set was pretty gnarly. I talked to a couple from Brooklyn, along with their visiting a friend from Los Angeles (first time on the East Coast), and I relayed the story of how a student of mine came into my office while I was playing some Grateful Dead. He asked who they were, I responded, and he asked, “Is that the band with the one-armed drummer?” They cracked up. I was grooving pretty hard, but there must have been a stomach bug going around, because I felt it, and I had no Rolaids. Dancing is also a workout, and I was sweating profusely despite having consumed what felt like a gallon of bottled water. My energy had also depleted to zero. After thinking long and hard, I decided to “tap out” and leave. I don’t do that often, but the first set alone was worth the price of admission, and I still had two nights more to go, so I needed to recharge. I will say, though, that I’m glad I stated for their rendition of The Beatles’s “She Came In Through the Bathroom Window.” The drive home was peaceful, as was me crashing on my pillow. On May 18, 2018, I had finished my fourth year at Hampton University, as well as a semester-long stint as Interim Chairperson of my Department. Maggie had asked me to accompany her to see Blind and Dirty, a Grateful Dead cover band at the Cowboy Sports Grill in Yorktown, Virginia. I wasn’t wearing any of my music-oriented clothing, but I was wearing a shirt from Norfolk’s Muse Writing Center, where I had taken a screenwriting class the fall prior. The back read “Write Where You Are.” And from there, I decided I was going to blog about every show. And today has been a full year since that day.
I can’t quite recount every single memory from every show (thirty-six over the past year, which averages three shows a month), but as I scrolled through all of the postings, I decided to note some highlights (to those who I went to shows with, please don’t be offended if you don’t see your name on this list). These were the ones that REALLY stood out).
But it isn’t just the shows. It’s the memories, the jokes, the dialogue I’ve created with awesome friends. And it also got me writing consistently. It’s led to a few writing-related things:
We never know where our paths will lead us. I never thought that the simple joke of “I don’t go to enough concerts” would lead to the development of friendships, the writing that’s emanated, and the opportunities to entertain and even help others with it. This has been a great year of shows, friendships, and writing, and I look forward to another year with y’all. So a special thank you to all of my “special guests” on this blog (if you’ve been photographed or mentioned on this blog, you’re a special guest) : Maggie, Dave, Dean, Pat, Alan, Shova, Colin, Liz, Jeremy, that drunk couple next to Jeremy and me at the Steve Miller/Peter Frampton show, Mom, Amy, Chelsea, Ashley, Melissa, Mark, Jesse, Gary, Johnny, Ms. Fialkoff, Billy, Drew, Sherrie, Crystal, Sheila, Shawn, Jared, Kelly, Fred, Shawn, Nicole, Rusty, Nancy Sommers, Chris Anson, Pamela, Rusty, and MJ. And special mention to Christina, my writing partner, who always had a funny comment on blogs. You've all been a part of my life in some way, and I look forward to many more great shows and excellent times. This morning, I woke up to a Facebook posting from Gary. This posting, taken from the Hampton Daily Press, read “Newport News Concert Venue Boathouse Live Closes.” It was from the Hampton Daily Press, so I knew it wasn’t a hoax. During my run around City Center, I saw the signs on the window and the door, which read:
The Landlord has taken possession of these Premises and any entry by unauthorized persons is unlawful. Persons unlawfully entering the Premises will be considered Trespassers and will be prosecuted. It was only a year and a half, but that venue held fond memories for me. One such memory was that it was literally a two-minute walk from my City Center apartment. If I felt I need alone time during the setbreak (the plight of the introvert), I could simply walk back to my apartment and chill with my cat/son Chester for 20 minutes before heading back to the venue. But the best ones were with my show family. My first time at the Boathouse was a few weeks after it opened, on January 6, 2018. Mark, Beth, Trip, Johnny Mac, Kim, and I rocked out to Last Fair Deal, a local Grateful Dead tribute. This was less than a week after I had done two Phish shows and two String Cheese Incident tours in New York over the four nights leading up to New Year’s Eve 2017-18. Those four simply weren’t enough. Two months later, the fine folks at Dead and Company provided a videocast of their show at Orlando’s Amway Center on February 27, 2018. Maggie and I went, and I remember going crazy when they opened with her favorite, “St. Stephen.” I remember going home at setbreak to doze, coming back for the second set, Maggie leaving, and me staying until the end. Some nice young man treated everybody to their pizza, which was quite good (and I’m from New York, so that’s saying something). And then I got up to go to work the next morning. On April 20 of that year, Sonya and I split a plate of meatballs as an appetizer, and I enjoyed a half-pound burger. We worked off our food by dancing to Skydog, an Allman Brothers tribute with Dean, Dave, and Martin. Nine months passed. During that time, nobody was playing whom I was really interested in seeing. And then, on January 5, 2019, Eyes of the Nile, an Iron Maiden tribute, played. I couldn’t get anybody else to go, but I’m comfortable enough in my skin where I can go to a show solo. So I walked over in the cold to see them play a bunch of classics. They played a bunch of their classics. This crowd was markedly different from the Dead/Allmans tribe I had seen at previous shows. These metalheads were actually pretty mellow, and not a lot of body movement went on. Just a bunch of headbanging. But I had seen Phish at the Garden a week prior, so a change of pace was welcome. A month later, on February 1, the Marcus King Band came to town. Pre-show, Maggie, Drew, Gary, and I chowed down on some sushi at Hayashi, and the Special Guest joke was born. I had purchased my ticket a couple of months earlier, and it read “Marcus King Band with Special Guest.” So the dialogue ensued. “I’ve heard great things about Special Guest,” Gary said. “Yeah,” I replied. “I hear they play instruments.” “Yeah, and they have vocals too,” Drew said. Ever since then, it’s been a running joke in our circle. “Special Guest is opening for such-and-such group,” is a common line. Gary will invite me to a show on Facebook and add the signature line “Special Guest!” when the band has a Special Guest. The show itself was packed to the gills; I could barely move. Apparently, the band got the memo, because they’re playing at the Norva, a much larger venue, in July. A good move. Three weeks later, Roosterfoot took the stage. Dave, who had been to Colorado the previous summer to see Widespread Panic, guided me on some cool local attractions to see. That was also the night I talked to an inebriated mother, out for a night away from her kids. She yelled, “I have two teenagers! Having kids changes you like nothing else! And I have it easy, my friend here has five!” I was feeling a little cheeky, so I said, “Yeah, I feel you. I have a son at home.” My son is a cat named Chester, so I wasn’t lying. And I was trying to get Maggie, a fellow Childfree by Choicer, to join me in the joke. On April 4, North Mississippi Allstars came to town. It was a work night, but habnabit, I was seeing them. And with a cold. I don’t let a little thing like a cold keep me from boogieing down. Gary and Dean kept trying to get me to go out the following Tuesday to see the Allman Betts Band, but one weekday per six months of battling through the post-show blues is about all I can stomach these days. It didn’t stop Gary from posting, “I know where you live. You will be abducted and taken to Allman Betts whether you like it or not.” I’m grateful to have such good friends. The finale was Skydog, on April 20. I had just taken a four-hour bus ride from Washington, DC that day, and I had seen two concerts over the previous three nights (and presented an academic paper at the National Popular Culture Association Conference), so I was pretty beat. But, I wasn’t missing this show. The whole crowd came. Shannon, Maggie, Lee, Dean, Dave, Beth, Rusty. They brought out a new guitarist, Willie Williams, who will definitely go far with them. By the end, though, I was “danced out,” and I recall hitting my pillow at 1 a.m. As I write, the sadness is present in me. Owner Sean Pepe wasn’t making enough money and didn’t have much experience running a live music venue, according to the article. Both are valid reasons, and I give him props for trying. And even though it only lasted a year and a half, I definitely wouldn’t consider it a failure. Mr. Pepe, your venue gave me some good memories, and for that, I’ll be forever grateful. You made City Center rock, and for that, I salute you. Thunderstruck: America's AC/DC - The Vanguard Brewpub & Distillery - Hampton, VA - May 10, 20195/11/2019 So after a week grading final assignments, inputting final grades into my school’s system, and dealing with complaints of “How’d I fail the course?” and “can’t you just raise my grade to an A,” a little live music with Drew/Brometheus was just what the doctor ordered.
A nice thing about a carb-heavy meal before a show is that I know I’m gonna dance off the carbs. We went to a Cajun place called Mr. Boil, which is literally a five-minute walk from where I live. I felt adventurous, so I got this combination of mussels, shrimp, corn, potatoes, and sausage. It came in a plastic bag, and I wore gloves to break open the shrimp. I don’t typically eat food that requires disassembly (my Mom always told me I was a “lazy eater”), but a step out of the comfort zone is always nice. It was a fun eat, and the portion was large enough that I could take it home for dinner the following night. The parking lot for the Vanguard was full, so we parked across the street at the bus station (the opening riffs and lyrics for ZZ Top’s “Waiting for the Bus” has been an inside joke with Brometheus). We paid for our show and hung out on the porch, basking in the cool spring air. We met a cool guy named Caleb, who had just moved from Vermont. We shot the shit about the security stations at different venues and out own stations in life. The opening band (“Special Guest! Special Guest! Special Guest!”) was a local group called Seven Ten Oil, who has opened up for the likes of Puddle of Mudd, Jackyl, and even Kiss. They had a pure metal sound that reminded me of Seven Mary Three (“Cumbersome”), a callback to my high school years in the mid-90s. Drew informed me after their set that they played a song called “Send Me An Angel,” which is from an 80s movie called Rad, which features future inmate Lori Loughlin and some 80s heartthrob doing stunts on BMX bikes at a high school dance. The band also encored with a song with the apparent title “Fuck You” which featured the lead singer flipping the audience the bird and the audience responding in kind. And then Thunderstruck struck us with a “Thunderstruck” opener, in which it appeared as if their equipment had been struck by thunder (how’s that for a tongue twister?). This happened twice; I’m pretty sure it was part of the act. But, at any rate, a fitting opener. They followed it with “Shoot to Thrill,” and at that point, I noticed a large number of females had gone to the merch table and bought those devil’s horns that lit up. “Back in Black” was next. After this song, the lead singer told the guys to go behind a woman in the audience and ask her “what do you do for money.” From there, the band launched into “What Do You Do For Money, Honey?” AC/DC has been criticized in a lot of feminist circles for lyrics that objectify women, and this song (along with the singer’s suggestion) is evident of that. I know plenty of feminists who would have had a problem with this, and I don’t necessarily disagree with that contention. As a feminist, I get it. As a rock fan, though… The band harkened back to the 70s with “Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap,” “TNT,” and “Bad Boy Boogie.” The lead guitar player, dressed in the Angusesque schoolboy uniform, stripped during the later part, much to the delight of the ladies in the audience. “Highway to Hell” was next. I have vivid memories of first watching this video on MTV’s Beavis and Butthead (“huh-huh! This video rules”) in 1993. I fell in love, and with some of my paper route money, I bought that album. From there, Iron Maiden followed, then Metallica, Megadeth, Slayer, and then somewhere in college, Phish took over, followed by the Grateful Dead, Strangefolk, Widespread Panic, etc. The singer took a couple of minutes to salute the military folks in the audience (a good assumption to make about Hampton Roads) before launching into “Have a Drink On Me.” He had the audience yell “Melbourne” repeatedly before having a friend of his, an Australian, replace him on stage. They then played “Shot Down in Flames.” When I was going through my metal guitar phase in 2007, I bought a songbook filled with AC/DC tunes, and this was the only tune I actually learned before I went back into my fiction writing phase. It was an easy one to learn; most AC/DC tunes consist of major chords, but as Brometheus (a talented musician) puts it, AC/DC’s all about the energy. And energy they had. They put it into “Sin City,” “High Voltage” and “Let There Be Rock.” They then went into “Whole Lotta Rosie.” My most vivid memory of that song was when I saw them hit Madison Square Garden and Giants Stadium (now MetLife Stadium) during their Black Ice tour, and a giant blow-up doll of a female sporting a red bra and panties inflated on stage. “For Those About to Rock” (“Fire the cannons!” a drunk dude yelled) and “High Voltage” closed the show. Side notes: Foster’s is the Coors Light of Australian beer. Drew told me that, and he learned it from the Conan O’Brien bit when he learned Australian slang. And they don’t say “shrimp on the Barbie,” they say “prawns.” And Australians refer to AC/DC as “Acadaca” because “they were born here, we can call them whatever we want.” Some drunk dude commented on my Iron Maiden shirt before going on about how he was a state wrestling champion back in the 1980s in California, and he used to psych up to Maiden, Judas Priest, and Motley Crue. I did that thing where I smiled at him and nodded my head while I did a “Bad Boy Boogie” away from him. All in all, a great night. It would tide me over while I wait for two weeks to see three nights of String Cheese Incident. This concert thing – well, I can never go to enough of them. |
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