A.j. Crandall

So, it’s been about a month since I returned from the yearly wild weekend that is Bonnaroo. Including travel and getting re-acclimated with the real world, that’s five fun filled days, which, as much as I try not to admit it, takes a toll on these old bones. Couple that with preparing for, and pulling off a Fourth Of July barbecue and fireworks extravaganza two weeks later all the while being heavily ‘medicated’ to the point of getting epidural injections in my spine and, well, you could say that I’ve been worn down pretty thin.

So I guess I was a little surprised to find my notes and photo card from when I saw moe. at the Crystal Ballroom way back on June 3rd. What a show it was, too. Another front row excursion on the famous floating dance floor of the Crystal. Surrounded by the self professed ‘moe.rons’, I was treated to a first class moe. show, with a great first set and an epic second set ending with the wonderfully underrated Waiting For The Punchline.

Seeing my notes about the show, however, got me to thinking: I had the rare opportunity of seeing this ingenious quintet three times within a couple of weeks. Not only that, but in three extremely different venues and from three very different perspectives. As I said, I was in the front row in the cozy confines of the Crystal Ballroom (Capacity; 1,000). At the Sonic stage at Bonnaroo they played about an hour’s worth of acoustic material, with my vantage point being the rear bumper of a green golf cart while the volunteers took their break in the front seats, enjoying the show. And then, two days later, at one in the morning, at This Tent at Bonnaroo, where I caught the tail end of an unworldly four and a half hour set (with a special guest intermissionist) that ended when the sun rose. Saturday morning.

READ ON for the rest of AJ’s take on catching moe. in June…

It’s early Sunday afternoon and already steamy and sticky in Manchester, Tennessee. We head purposefully to Which Stage to get close to see Mike Farris and the Roseland Rhythm Revue. We got a late start, which sucked, because there was no way to get as close as we wanted. I was a bit shocked. After all, it was Sunday, half past noon. Most of Bonnaroo hadn’t stopped the Saturday party but four or five hours ago (thank you MGMT and moe.) In between me and the front row were several thousand fellow Bonnaroonians, excited to celebrate Sunday morning services with Mike Farris.

Farris and his band ran through a high energy, emotional run of songs that had the audience shouting hallelujahs and amens while shading their eyes from the still rising Tennessee sun. Mike Farris, beneath a smart hat and shades, sang and played with the passion of a believer. Sure, it was religious, which, as a twelve year veteran of the internal struggle between good and evil that is Catholic School I have come to regard with great suspicion. But this music moved me. This music took hold, got inside my head. No, I didn’t drop to the ground, speak in tongues or develop stigmata. I didn’t find God, get reborn or suddenly find religion. I was simply moved by the soul and passion in the performance. Dynamically, the band pushed the limits from blues to rock, soul and gospel and back again. And all the while, there’s Farris, all sweat and swagger, belting out both old and new with fire and power, holding the early Sunday crowd in the palm of his hand.

Seeing the energy and movement expended onstage, it was hard to believe that, just forty minutes ago, I had been engaged in a quiet conversation at a picnic table near Radio Bonnaroo with this same person. He, his wife and dog, and I traded stories about our respective Bonnaroo experiences so far. Reserved, holding the bearing of simple Southern grace, Mike was articulate, open and charming as we chatted. There was no hint of the bundle of energy and passion that I saw on stage.

AJ Crandall: So you are from here in Tennessee?

Mike Farris: I’m actually really close. My home town is about ten or fifteen minutes from here. My mom lives less than a mile, as the crow flies, from where we are sitting. I might be the only true local that’s ever played here.

AJ : So, who have you seen so far this weekend that you’ve been impressed by?

Mike Farris: David Byrne. Oh, and the Steel Drivers, I saw them yesterday and they were just amazing. They’ve got one of the best singers, in the world, in that guy, Chris Stapleton. We’ve got our little boy with us, so we took him to see, you know, a lot of the classics. Like Mr. David Byrne, Mr. Elvis Costello. We took him over to see Bruce (Springsteen) last night. I thought Bruce did a really great job, connecting with the people.

READ ON for more of AJ’s chat with Mike Farris…

Both A.J. Crandall and Jennifer Kirk will be reporting live from Manchester on Bonnaroo 2009 for Hidden Track and Glide Magazine. We’ve asked each of them to write a preview of what the weekend will hold for them. Today we’ll share A.J.’s look at Bonnaroos past (2007, 2008) and future…

I’ve got some packing to do. I just looked it up. Southwest airlines lets you take two bags free. Last month’s trip to NY, on two airlines that’ll go nameless for now, I got hit at the counter for $15 for my one bag. Another $30 for an aisle seat. I was planning on scaling way back on camping goods I took from home, but now that I have all that extra room with a second bag, I’ll take rain gear etc.

Should be a great weekend. It’s a soundtrack for me and my brother to catch up on a year in the lives. It’s a weekend in early summer containing more live music than most people will see all year, or two. It’s the vibe. It’s the Coffey County sherrifs who roll their eyes and wave you through to the next checkpoint. It’s the country fried steak at the Waffle House, with grits, of course, on Monday morning. It’s why I still do this shit at age 53.

Well, it’s been a year already. And a year before that. And a year before that. And a year before that. This year marks the fifth June in a row that I have ventured east from the relatively safe confines of the Great Pacific Northwest to become a citizen of Tennessee’s third largest city (for a weekend), Bonnaroo.

READ ON for more of AJ’s Bonnaroo 2009 preview piece…

At first I didn’t think I was at the right place. I mean, I had pulled up in front of the brick faced loading docks across the street from a local microbrewery. The store front in front of me had an a-frame sign, hand painted on the sidewalk. My fender was within inches of it. It read “Texas Hold-em. Totally licensed and legal”. There were metal, portable stairs on wheels locked in place against the bricks, allowing access to each of the loading docks. There was a chain link fence separating the docks, effectively locking in the seven port-a-johns that were placed off to one side, the fence surrounding them, I’m sure, for security reasons. Also inside the chain link were about five or six old couches. That must be the designated smoking/peeing section.

Up the metal stairs and inside the first door I found a mineral and gem show, free samples of vegan, coconut ice cream and the assorted families normally associated with mineral shows and free samples of vegan, coconut ice cream. There were nylon patterns stretched wall to wall, floor to ceiling in red and black that hid the industrial warehouse trappings against the red brick walls. There was free water refillable from the five gallon jug of ice water the staff drove themselves crazy replenishing (a hearty Thank You to the girl with the line up the back of her stockings). There was the loud, throb of dance music beats coming from the other side of one of the nylon covered brick walls, loud enough so that the tie dyed and barefoot children of the gem and mineral-ists wore ear plugs, the infants, headphones.

What there wasn’t was anyone at the door asking for tickets or money. Tonight’s show was put on gratis by the benevolent folks over at Lightworker Nonprofit Productions. LWNP is the brain child of Portlander Jake Weaver. Their mission is simple: “Lightworker Nonprofit Productions exists to provide communities across the country, exposure to multiple levels of artistic expression at no financial cost. Our goal is to keep ticket prices FREE to ensure that people of all income levels can attend our events”. Weaver adds, “By producing concerts and related events, with many different types of art being displayed at once, people can experience this expression, become more enriched, and bring that energy back into their community.” READ ON for more from A.J. about EOTO & Ozric’s show…

Okay, so there’s this band, Soulive, from upstate New York. (Why is New York the only state with an official “Upstate” section? This state is huge, diverse, beautiful and historic, but most of that is “upstate”, isn’t it?)

Anyway, Soulive, a band I had heard of but never actually heard. They appeared at Bonnaroo in 04 and 06, but you know how festival schedules are. Just like good television, they seem to program all the good stuff at the same time. I missed the Roo in 2004. In 2006 they appeared in This Tent after Mike Doughty’s Band. Problem was, I caught the first few songs of Be Your Own Pet in That Tent which led to an acoustic set by Rusted Root on the Sonic Stage and, boom, next thing you know Soulive is in the helicopter being ferried to the fancy Nashville hotel and I’ve missed the opportunity. Not that I’m complaining, you understand. I’m just saying.

So I go over to the Doug Fir lounge to finally check these guys out, and boy am I glad I did. Especially in the warm, cozy environs of the Doug. A basement space with real Douglas fir logs and a real retro feel was the perfect place for the set that Soulive put on Sunday night.

The opening act was billed as The Nigel Hall Band and announced from the stage (by Soulive drummer Alan Evans) the same way. Hall came out solo at first, sat behind the keyboard and half whispered to the crowd, “Lend me your souls for a while, I promise I’ll get them right back to you”.

READ ON for more of A.J.’s review of Soulive in Portland…

“These guys are a fun band”, Dee said as the openers – The Truth & Salvage Co. – took the stage. “You’ll probably like them”. Dee and Ron had come to town from their rural environs north of Nanaimo, British Columbia. They were following the Jackie Greene Pacific Northwest swing of his current tour.

Getting their fix, as Ron put it, of live music for the year. Sort of like Hoss and Little Joe hooking up the buckboard and heading into town for supplies. Dee and Ron drove seven hours (not counting ‘ferry time’) to get to the previous night’s show in Seattle. Another three hours and change south on I-5 (not counting an hour or so lost in the one way maze that downtown Portland can become at rush hour) to get to Thursday night’s gig at the Aladdin Theater.

Stan and Sheila, our neighbors to the right, agreed. “Really fun,” they chimed almost in unison. “Really, really fun,” Sheila added. They had journeyed from Eugene the night before to catch the Seattle show and, without getting lost, made it back south to Stumptown in time to get to the front row tonight, roughly ten hours in the car so far.

These guys were making me feel guilty for living ten minutes away and waiting for the tour to come to me. No, I take that back. Only I can make myself feel guilty. They were making me feel nostalgic for the old day’s road tripping to Seattle to see the Stones, Bowie, The Who and later on, Green River, Nirvana, Alice In Chains et al as grunge grew up three hours north.

READ ON for more about AJ’s experience at the Jackie Greene show…

In the spring of 1992, I entered a radio contest on KGON here in Portland. The deal was, Spinal Tap was coming to town. Now, Spinal tap tours are scarcer than The Who Farewell tours, but this contest had a twist.

Anyone who has seen the 1984 mockumentary, This Is Spinal Tap would be familiar with the concept of the disappearing drummer. From tragic gardening accidents to excessive explosives, the throne behind the skins seemed cursed. So the concept put forth by the morning drive time team of Dave & Tom was to have an emergency percussion unit standing by in case the Tap’s touring drummer at the time (a back from the dead Mick Shrimpton in this case) didn’t survive the evening’s pyrotechnics.

Contestants who got through on the phone lines were pitted against each other in a drum-off each morning, the winner getting a pair of drum sticks as well as tickets to the show. The grand prize winner, chosen by another final drum-off the Friday before the show, would be feted to dinner, a limousine ride to the show, backstage, the whole enchilada. I had a trick up my sleeve for the final. Two thin screwdrivers for drum sticks and two ceramic coffee mugs for cymbals. A little razzle-dazzle into the phone on the desk and I held the title of Emergency Percussion Unit for Spinal Tap.

READ ON to find out how A.J. did and his thoughts on a recent show…

What trip to a jazz festival would be complete without seeing a band that actually has the word jazz in their name? Not being familiar with most of the players on the Sunday schedule, I probably allowed that fact alone to make my decision. The Jacob Fred Jazz Odyssey sounded a bit edgier than Matt Kirk Jazz with special guest, Margie Boule.

I have read Ms. Boule’s occasional column in the local paper and have seen her on television. She seemed nice. But, and this is totally without ever hearing her sing a note, mind you, just a quick impression etched in my head that I have to let out, I believe that the most improvisation one would witness at that performance would be Ms. Boule scatting a bit at the end of Embraceable You. And, no, I’m not dissing on Margie Boule as a person and she’s probably a perfectly capable singer and those in attendance that evening, I am sure, had the time of their lives. Nor do I know a single thing about Matt Kirk. Not one bit. Nada. But I ain’t no hater.

I’m just saying that I was looking for more of what jazz is supposed to be. The smoky bar, one drink too many or too few kind of riffing and experimenting with the sounds, with a steady beat and rhythm to spare. Hardly any words in the songs I was looking for. More like improvisations on a theme, with the soloists rotating at some random order that was dictated by the music itself. Real jazz, pure and simple.

I got what I was looking for at the Goodfoot Lounge on the last night of the Portland Jazz Festival in the form of Seattle’s Das Vibenbass and The Jacob Fred Jazz Odyssey.

READ ON for more of AJ’s review of JFJO in Portland…