One down, One to go
Last night was great. Four wonderful bands, all unique and memorable in their own way.
Three-fourths of DeYarmond Edison returned to the DBB as newly formed Megafaun, now consisting of mostly harmonies. They paralyzed the crowd and defined what improvisational-jazz-rock-creative juices flowing out from every orifice-music really is .
The Old Ceremony, even though they didn't play "Morning Glories", reaffirmed my notion that Django Haskins is a long lost son of Frank Sinatra and that swanky rock assembled with keys, vibraphone, violin, and cello is hot- along with being oh so danceable.
The Prayers and Tears of Arthur Digby Sellers [due to the lengthy name reader may need to take another breath in order to finish sentence] brought to life songs that are so rich and perplexing it makes me wonder if the house on Buchanan, where the collective resides, isn't built on top of an Indian burial ground- allowing for the spirits of the wise to embody these artists.
And then closing out the night, The Mountain Goats delivered a solid set of songs that was everything that I had hoped for and more. John Darnielle fed the crowd tidbits of personal history between songs and picked up the electric guitar more than twice, something he commented as not doing that often. And from the way his energy was steaming last night, I would like to put a lock on his acoustic guitar case just to see what would happen to their next album.
Tonight should be just as good. This time though, when I walk backstage to thank all the musicians for donating their time, I will keep a good eye on that oddly placed step, because last night went something like this-
Walking up to Peter Hughes and Jon Wurster backstage, not heavily intoxicated by alcohol but overcome with excitement, I reach out my hand to introduce myself, "Hi, I'm..." - eating a face full of guitar case.
Yeah, I tripped. I gathered myself quite well though; brushed off my new white jeans, commented on how I was probably an idiot for wearing high heels but that I couldn't resist, blamed it all on the concrete step, and thanked them once more.
It's lunch time at the Rockford, I've got a pimento cheese sandwich with my name on it. I need fuel for the second night of the Concert Event of the Year.