SHARING THE SHOWS
Jethro Tull - Wolf Trap National Park for the Performing Arts - Vienna, VA - August 24, 20238/25/2023 I was beginning to feel like the only person in the Washington, DC area who’d never been to Wolf Trap. Pete, Kasi, and Stephanie lauded it as a venue. Maggie and I had discussed seeing Tedeschi Trucks there earlier this summer, but scheduling conflicts got in the way, so we settled on Jethro Tull. I had seen them at Jones Beach in 2008, and the sound of Ian Anderson’s flute had the whole crowd in a trance. I’d see them again. Maggie had come up from Newport News for the show, and of course, my couch would be her home for a couple of days. After the widespread panic (haha) that characterized this typically hectic first week of classes, I was ready for some live music. My love of DC for its public transportation options continues to increase. To get to Wolf Trap, Maggie and I would ride the Silver Line out to McLean, VA and catch a shuttle bus (only $3) to the venue. Granted, parking is free, but it is limited, and commuter traffic in this area sucks. So why not save oneself the hassle? There is a Wegman’s near the shuttle, which is a perfect place for dinner. I craved something from the Burger Bar, but as we passed the Asian section, both of our eyes gravitated toward the sushi. I got my favorite, the Philadelphia Roll, along with the Spicy King Salmon Roll. Wegman’s sushi proved to be a bad idea, as it upset both of our stomachs (but hey, points for presentation, right?). That being said, the show itself was a remarkable experience. On the train ride, we spoke with a lovely woman named Valerie, a professor of Spanish from North Carolina. A married woman, she came up solo for this show, which I always encourage people to do. IMHO, it’s a mark of true badassery. The venue itself is a work of bucolic beauty. At this point, I’ll let the pictures do the talking: We found a spot on a small grassy knoll toward the top of the lawn (the bottom part filled quite rapidly). Before the set began, Ian Anderson requested that we not take pictures or videos. Since I was top up, I could have taken some, but I do believe in karma. So I have no pictures of the band to offer. But I do have a setlist.
My introduction to Jethro Tull came when I copied a CD of Original Masters, their greatest hits compilation, onto a cassette, which I played repeatedly in my rusty 1982 Toyota Corolla as I drove to and from school, work, and hanging out with friends during my senior year of high school. From there, I did rip a few CDs onto my laptop, but for the most part, I wouldn’t be able to identify most of their songs by title. I did get “Aqualung,” “Sweet Dreams,” and “Locomotive Breath.” Ian (Valerie, a lifelong Tull fan, refers to him by first name, so I’ll do the same) did help us out by identifying most of the titles for us, particularly when they came off their new album. One highlight: before “Hunt by Numbers,” he mentioned he loved “pussycats” as opposed to dogs. I’m a cat person, and under my breath, I mumbled, “Hellwoooooo Chester.” I associate all cats and cute animals with my cat/son Chester. Jethro Tull is definitely not a band one dances to, but during the second set, Maggie and I stood on the blacktop. I found myself grooving to “The Zealot Gene” and “Dark Ages.” There’s just something about that flute. Maggie and I actually had a Siskel and Ebert-like disagreement on the act. We both loved the Nordic influence of his flute; Maggie doesn’t really dig Anderson’s voice. While I acknowledge it’s not what it used to be, I still love the sophisticated aura of his Scottish accent. And he does make me want to pick up a flute. The shuttle ride back was quiet, and we chatted some more on the Metro ride home. Once back, I hit that bed with a thud. A show is a great way to cap the first week of classes. It’s also a necessary tool to manage the stress of the semester, even with tenure. So there will be quite a few more coming over the next nine months.
0 Comments
Pete had been telling me about Rays of Violet, a Grateful Dead tribute based out of Frederick, Maryland. I’m generally not motivated to go that far north to see music when I have so much of it at my fingertips here in the nation’s capital. But they were playing close enough that I was willing to take that Metro ride to Shady Grove, at the tail end of the Red Line, where Pete would pick me up.
Montgomery Village is described on Wikipedia as a “planned suburban community.” And the lush scenery gives just that vibe, complete with a person-made like. After Pete and I frantically navigated our way to a parking spot, we walked down a beautiful path toward the G.W. Bowie Music Pavilion. It sounds grand, but it was a tiny, hilly grove with a small stage. But it was enough to house the band, who was starting with “Cold Rain and Snow” as Pete and I arrived. We walked with Kathy on the way in, and ran into Pete’s friend Steve (whom I met at Jazz is Dead) and their friend George. All I can say is Pete was on point with his assessment of the band. One of my criteria for judging a band is their song selection. Many limit themselves to the obvious tunes: “Casey Jones,” “Uncle John’s Band,” “Shakedown Street,” “Touch of Grey.” Rays of Violet got into deeper cuts like “It Hurts Me Too,” “Cumberland Blues,” “He’s Gone,” (Johnny Mac’s fav), “Dancing in the Streets” (that jam was the highlight for me), and an “Around and Around” encore. Some cool random people at the show: the dude who brings his harmonica to the shows and plays out with the band from the audience, a guy named Elmo, George sharing his popcorn. I took a couple of band stickers and gave a tip, along with a note that said, “Come to DC!” Maybe someday; they’d do well at the Pearl Street Warehouse. And I hope they do. That 90-minute set was a tease. As I sat on the Metro going home, I stared out the window (we get a nice view of the highways and houses from Shady Grove to a little north of the Grosvenor-Strathmore stop). I enjoyed the serenity of this peaceful ride and thought, I’m so happy to live here. Hopefully many more years to come. So much for tampering down on the shows. Five days after that three-day Phish extravaganza, I’m at the Hamilton, getting psyched for Jazz is Dead. When I told my friend Steph about it, she said “Jazz is not dead!” And it’s not. It’s much very much alive, and this group puts a nice Grateful Dead spin on it. We’re currently in the “Days Between,” which lasts from August 1 (Jerry’s birthday) to August 9 (the day Jerry died). I’m thinking at least one Dead-related show during that time period will now be an annual tradition, as they have so many in the DMV. Last year, I did a twofer: Born Cross-Eyed on the 1st, Englishtown Project with Pete on the 7th. This year, I’d cut in half with just the one. Pete gets the photo credit for the ad below, placed above the urinal when he went for Keller Williams, but sadly, removed just for me. I got to the Hamilton at about 7:50, and I swear I saw the back of Pete’s head at a table near the dance floor. Then I heard Pete yelling at name from my right, saying “You walked by me!” Is my vision getting all screwy in my middle age?
I met his friends Steve, Mike, and Andrea; Andrea and I talked Dead and Company and the New York City landscape surrounding Citi Field. I had paid for the upper-level bar, so I was shuffling my spot around for much of the first set. And it was odd seeing Deadheads seated for a show, but that is the norm for jazz. I was a bit bummed out about the dance floor being closed, but as I was reminded, Deadheads can make a dance floor out of anything. They opened with “Halfstep” and went into “Eyes of the World.” The drummer went heavy on the cymbals, as is a feature of jazz, and there was some heavy bass that reminded me of a bass line from a song called “Life is a Traffic Jam,” which played over the closing credits of the film Gridlock’d, a very little-known flick but one of my favs. There was a tease of “Shakedown Street” that ultimately led to “China Doll.” That song led to an interesting exchange between Pete and I. He remembers hearing it live before its official release on From the Mars Hotel in 1974; he thought it would be on Wake of the Flood. I heard it on 1981’s acoustic album Reckoning, which I bought during a spree one summer day in 1999. I was just getting into the Grateful Dead (four years after Jerry’s death), and on a lunch break from my job selling suitcases in the Palisades Mall, I went to FYE and bought Reckoning, Shakedown Street, Skull and Roses, Live/Dead, and Go to Heaven. I’m sure they destroyed the heads on my CD player after a few hundred spins. It got me thinking about how his generation and mine went about discovering this beautiful music. No right or wrong ways, of course, but it’s funny to think about. I (and most everyone else) had been seated up through the end of “China Doll,” and I could see one of the waitresses giving me the side-eye as I sat on one of the steps below the table (not having paid for that section, I felt like I was at the children’s table in the restaurant). But that changed when “Franklin’s Tower” came on. One person started dancing, so I made my way toward the walkway near the area closest to the front, and did the same. A few others followed, and we filled in their instrumental set with the words “Roll away the dew.” During setbreak, I learned Steve had catered at a venue called Singer’s in Spring Valley, New York, just a five-minute drive from where I grew up (and where two of my cousins got married, one of which ended in disaster). I also met a dude named Brett, who was taking photographs of the show and is Steve Kimock’s housepainter. The second set consisted of more dancing. “China Cat” opened, followed by “Cumberland Blues” (I sang “A lot of poor men make a five-dollar bill, keep him happy all the time, some other fella’s makin’ nothin’ at all, and you can hear him cryyyyyyyy…”) The band then shuffled nicely between “Uncle John’s Band” and “Terrapin Station.” They closed with a song from the Mahavishnu Project neither Pete nor I could identify. But sometimes, a mystery can keep one on their toes. The band ended at 11; once again, I dig shows that end early. We ran into Pete’s friend Pam, a pot attorney who’s also friendly with Lisa, whom I met at the Last Rewind. She was in Williamsburg; I mentioned I used to live in Newport News, to which she responded, “I’m sorry.” Yeah, me too, but it was a step I had to take to get to DC. On the Metro home, I talked to a pair of friends named Marcy and Larry (whom I mistakenly assumed were a couple; check your assumptions, Craig). I could tell when they hugged before exiting at separate stops. But we chatted casually about bands we’d seen at the Hamilton. I was too hyped up to sleep, so I watched the season finale of The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel, and afterwards, wrote up this post. Tomorrow’s a busy day with me checking in my friend, Tommy, who’s staying with me for the Beyonce show at FedEx Field. From there, I head up to Baltimore to see my Mets take on the Orioles with The 7 Line Army, totally different scene from tonight. But, as my therapist says, self-complexity is a good thing. Good night, everybody! |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. Archives
April 2024
Categories |