How to save newspapers

SOML

President Obama is about to deliver his first speech to Congress, an appearance they’re not calling a State of the Union address -- or SOTU, as headline writers sometimes abbreviate it -- but that will feel like one. Last month, here in Washington state, Gov. Christine Gregoire gave the first State of the State (SOTS) of her second term, and a week ago today Seattle Mayor Greg Nickels offered his own State of the City (SOTC) address.

It’s that time of year. So, in the spirit of the season I’m pausing a minute for a personal assessment: the SOML, or State of My Life. Ahem. Lapel pin adjusted. Ready the teleprompters!

Although the SOTUs themselves can drone on, presidential speechwriters often include one line that cuts to the chase. Something like: Tonight, the state of the union is ... sound, challenged, hopeful, whatever the case may be.

Tonight, the state of my life is ... a mix of chaos and stasis. Staos?

In some senses very little has changed, or changes. Approaching two and a half years now since I left work to deal with my health, I remain unemployed, on medical disability, seeing doctors, popping pills, checking months off my chemo calendar. At the same time life feels like it’s changing crazily. The Seattle P-I, where I used to work and Michelle still does, is likely to close in a few weeks. But we have no official word about whether an online version of the paper will survive as rumored or, if so, whether Michelle will grab one of the few musical-chair jobs left to be had.

It’s impossible to say with any certainty what we’ll be doing three months from now or even where we’ll be living. We’re both looking for work here in Seattle, where I have family and prefer to stay, but we agree that this is no time to insist on a specific job in a specific city. As cool as the Excellent Element is, neither of us wants to live in it. So we’re looking elsewhere as well. Turbulence creates downdrafts, and I wouldn’t be surprised if M&M winds up relocating, maybe back to Los Angeles, as early as this summer.

All that’s enough to give a guy a case of the chaotics.

Partly to brace for the financial hit, and in recognition that the various federal bailouts will bail out every sector except that of dopes like us who bought a house we could afford on a loan we were qualified to receive, Michelle and I have reassessed our household budget and made significant cuts in our lifestyle. Again stupidly responsible, no doubt. To be clear, I don’t mean to whine, as we’ve merely ratcheted down to moderately conservative from comfortably affluent. I mean, we are the rock’n’rollers who spent two Pie in the Sky months on the road last year, just a couple of months after spending two weeks in Paris and Rome. We’ve had it pretty good. Ew, did you drop your caviar in my champagne? But we have made adjustments. We’re not taking any trips this year that weren’t already planned, like the April pilgrimage to New Orleans for Freda’s 70th birthday. We’re limiting ourselves to one movie outing a month. We cut back to basic cable. We’ve stopped dining out. We’re making each gin bottle last twice as long (ouch). And I’ve stopped playing poker, on the theory that you should never bet what you can’t afford to lose. That one really hurts.

In support of the new budget plan we’ve combined finances more fully than ever before. That’s a net financial gain for me but a change that makes me cringe. I’ve been financially independent now for more than 30 years and hate to surrender the feeling. Ving Rhames tells Bruce Willis in “Pulp Fiction,” “That’s pride fuckin’ with ya,” and I know that’s true. Still.

I could go on. There are indignities on the job-search front, worries on the family front, frustrations on the medical front.

A friend asked the other day about my health, and I described how at this point the effects of brain cancer feel less physical and more psychological and emotional. I struggle sometimes to think of myself as the same capable, confident person who 17 months ago spazzed out of one familiar life and into this new weird one.

Even so, as I’m sure the president is saying right about now (we’re Tivo’ing the non-SOTU), out of hardship comes opportunity. Hope and recovery are ahead. Trite as these pat lines are, I believe there is truth in them, for the individual as well as the nation.

Personally, I have much to give me strength and hope. Despite some growing pains of adolescence Gina and Franny are awesome, inspiring kids and actually fun to be around. Lovergirl Michelle and I remain totally solid, in spite of the understandable stress we both face.

I don’t know where we’ll be this time next year -- or next month for that matter. But we’ll be here. M&M abides, and the SOML is, staotic though it may be, still pretty good.

OK. Off to watch the speech. Good night, and God bless America! Please comment on Obama’s address here.

Photo credit: Top photo via whitehouse.gov on Creative Commons license.

Same as it ever was

So what did you get for your last birthday? A new tie? Maybe a nice dinner out? A piece of chocolate cake? I've got a girlfriend better than that, and nothing is better than this: David Byrne at Benaroya Hall.

As you know, Michelle took me to Byrne's Seattle concert on Wednesday night, my birthday, and it was one of the all-time great presents.

Michelle is such a huge fan of Byrne -- and especially of his groundbreaking 1970s and '80s band Talking Heads -- that she was afraid I'd consider the tickets a gift for herself. Like if I took her to a Bob Dylan show for her birthday (which I might have done, come to think of it). But no, I always loved the Talking Heads too, and except for the famous 1984 movie "Stop Making Sense" I'd never seen Byrne in concert.

Wednesday's show was everything I hoped. He brilliantly mixed classic Talking Heads stuff with music from last year's album "Everything That Happens Will Happen Today." (That's a terrific record, by the way, one of my favorites of the year. I was surprised to find just now that I didn't include on my Best of 2008 list, but now I remember I put the list together before I heard it; a friend, responding to my list, turned me on to "Everything That Happens.")

At 56 now, Byrne has barely changed from his classic "Stop Making Sense" look and sound, except for his now-white hair. Still whip-thin, constantly in motion, fluid and jangly, he looks like he could still rock a really big suit. I thought about wearing my own big suit to the show, but somewhere along the line it turned into a really small suit.

The Talking Heads may be no more, but the instrumentation, staging and showmanship Wednesday night were all vintage. Byrne played electric or acoustic guitar most of the night, backed by bass, keyboards, two drummers, three backup vocalists and three remarkable dancers. All 11 wore white (slim white pants and shirts for the men; short white dresses for the women), and they executed precise, intricate and energetic moves throughout the two-hour show. Every second seemed choreographed, and beautifully. His collaborations with Twyla Tharp weren't for nothing.

You may ask yourself, is this my rock venue? Benaroya Hall, normally home of the Seattle Symphony, turned out to be a wonderful host for a new-wave concert. The place is beautiful, and it held its great sound from the standing O that openend the show through the four encores including the scorcher "Burning Down the House."

Byrne's voice was supple and rich as it ever was. The concert goes in my Pantheon for sure. Thank you, baby, for an awesome birthday.

Last year we went to Paris. Gosh, what'll we do when I turn 50?

Here's a taste of Byrne back in the day, "Girlfriend is Better," from "Stop Making Sense."

Albums of the year

After our discussions here earlier about desert-island movies and music, I've spent the past couple of weeks thinking about my favorite albums of 2008. I even bought a few hit records I hadn't listened to before, just to make sure I wasn't missing anything.

For the most part, no.

So, here's my list, a mix of new releases by some old favorites and a few by younger acts. As always my taste tilts toward singer-songwriters and thrashing or psychedelic rockers, with just a taste here of jazz, blues and country.

What are your favorite 2008 albums?

Bob Dylan. “Tell Tale Signs: The Bootleg Series Vol. 8.” This collection makes two great points: that Dylan’s later period, covering the albums “Oh Mercy” to “Modern Times,” includes some exceptional songwriting, and that both the songs and the singer are wonderfully versatile. Just listen to the two alternate-take versions of “Mississippi” included here, as well as the original on “Love and Theft,” to hear how much Dylan can get out of one song (and vice versa). A treat of a peek into a master’s creative process.

Calexico. “Carried to Dust.” Like a top-down, windows-open road trip across the desert. With the group’s trademark mariachi-style horns and alt-rocky guitars the sound can turn dark and moody, as on “Man Made Lake,” or like something from a Tarantino soundtrack, as on “Writer’s Minor Holiday.” Whatever the destination I’m happy to be along for the ride.

Willie Nelson and Wynton Marsalis. “Two Men With the Blues.” To me this is what a collaborative or duet album should be: two outstanding artists from different genres bringing sensibilities that change and enhance each other’s music. (Last year’s Robert Plant/Alison Krauss release is another good example.) I love how Willie’s laid-back voice floats above the locked-in New Orleans sound of Marsalis’ band.

Lucinda Williams. “Little Honey.” After reading some mixed reviews I’m almost surprised by how much I like this album. I was afraid that her marriage and reported happiness would take the grit out of Lucinda’s songwriting. Instead it’s just more material, and there’s plenty of dark, bluesy alt-country goodness here too. Great mix of sounds and moods, although it all feels like one piece.

Radiohead. “In Rainbows.” Maybe the best band working right now. Aside from the music, which I love for its pulsing, dreamy intelligence, props to this record for widening the distribution possibilities, or at least popularizing the idea that different models can work.


Lou Reed. “Berlin: Live at St. Ann’s Warehouse.” Lou Reed still puts the rock in art rock. I’ve been a fan since the “Transformer” days, but if anything I think Reed is getting better as he gets older. Still biting and intelligent, but he seems less self-consciously arty or shocking here and more about the music, which is muscular and clear. I love the urgency on “Caroline Says” and the way the song’s two parts bracket “How Do You Think It Feels” and “Oh Jim.” My favorite concert album of the year.

Stephen Malkmus & The Jicks. “Real Emotional Trash.” Cool Hendrixy psychedelic sound and dynamic, inviting vocals. It’s pop with an edge and some wit and intelligence.



The Raconteurs. “Consolers of the Lonely.” Driving, high-energy, chops-tastic rock, as classic as a Led Zeppelin guitar riff and as fresh and unpredictable as Jack White’s askew point of view. The sound is great, the writing diverse and engaging. Also, they played a great set at this year’s New Orleans Jazzfest.


The Pretenders. “Break Up the Concrete.” Cool as ever, Chrissie Hynde brings her signature combination of feistiness, brains and sexiness to a new group of musicians who deliver a powerful, vintage Pretenders sound. From the fun romp of “Boots of Chinese Plastic” to the mournfulness of “One Thing Never Changed,” this is an album worth waiting for.

Jackson Browne. “Time the Conqueror.” In a sense, the wisdom of the title track is belied by the album as a whole. Jackson Browne conquers time, not the other way around, with a sound that feels as fresh and relevant today as it did in his easygoing ‘70s-troubadour heyday. Thoughtful, political, engaging, easy-to-listen-to music, and Browne’s voice has never sounded better.

Desert Island Discs

Between Jason's cool Movies A-Z challenge and a question in a job application I was looking at, I've found myself thinking about my favorite music. A long time ago Rolling Stone used to have a regular feature, Desert Island Discs, that invited readers to submit a list of the five albums they couldn't live without -- the essential recordings they would take along if they knew they'd be on a desert island for the rest of their lives.

This job app I've been thinking about asked for a list of 10 favorite albums from the past year. I found that a bit intimidating. I listen to a lot of music and even buy quite a bit of music, but a lot of my purchases are back-catalog releases or new recordings by old favorites. Much of the cool music the kids are listening to now doesn't really do it for me.

So, as a warm-up exercise for myself I decided to list my 10 favorite albums of all time, not just this year. That extra freedom, if anything, made the challenge tougher, and it sure didn't make my taste seem any less fuddy-duddy.

For my DID list, as with Jason's movie challenge, I wanted a little bit of variety but didn't attempt to collect the "greatest" or "most important" or "most influential" recordings. These are just the albums I most enjoy and keep coming back to.

(Click on album cover for a link to the iTunes store.)


Bob Dylan. “Time Out of Mind.” I’m a huge Dylan fan and could enthusiastically pick any number of his records from the past five decades. This 1997 release feels perfect to me, from the angry heartbreak of “Love Sick” to the enchanting storytelling of the long closing track, “Highlands.”



Mavis Staples. “We’ll Never Turn Back.” The real deal. Nobody conjures the soul of soul music or the Stax legacy for me like Mavis Staples, and her honesty, emotion and political righteousness come through on every cut of this powerful 2007 album.



Various Artists. “I’m Not There.” The soundtrack from the 2007 film “I’m Not There” is a terrific compilation that not only shows many Dylan favorites in a new light, but also turned me on to several artists whose music I didn’t know well previously, including Stephen Malkmus and Calexico.



Art Tatum. “The Tatum Group Masterpieces, Vol. 8.” One of the great overlooked jazz discs, originally released in 1956. Tatum’s superb jangly piano melds beautifully with Ben Webster’s fluffy tenor sax.




Buddy Guy. “Bring ‘Em In.” Guy is a national treasure who has famously inspired blues contemporaries and rockers for decades. (Check out the reverence on the faces of the Rolling Stones when he makes a guest appearance in the concert film “Shine a Light.”) Of Guy’s many tremendous albums, I love this 2005 release for its fiery, melodic guitar work and its both pained and funny vocals, especially on “Now You’re Gone,” “Somebody’s Sleeping in My Bed” and “Cheaper to Keep Her.”

Dizzy Gillespie, Sonny Rollins, Sonny Stitt. “Sonny Side Up.” Another brilliant and, I think, under-appreciated jazz album, from 1957, combining the similar but distinct tenor sax styles of the two Sonnys with Diz’s beautiful bebop trumpet. “After Hours” is one of the all-time great jazz recordings.


Elvis Costello and The Attractions. “Blood & Chocolate.” Of the many fine Elvis albums this one, from 1986, is my favorite. It feels like a compilation of classics to me – “Uncomplicated,” “I Hope You’re Happy Now,” “Blue Chair.” And even in this great set, “I Want You,” full of pain and longing, stands out. That may be my favorite Costello song.


Frank Sinatra. “Songs for Swingin’ Lovers.” When I was a kid and scoffed at Sinatra my parents assured me I would come to love him someday. I hate it when they’re right. I dig many of Frank’s great records – I used to sing my own kids to sleep with “In the Wee Small Hours of the Morning” – but his second album for Capitol, released in 1955, is just pure, swingin’ fun.


Prince. “Sign O’ The Times.” If nobody swings like Sinatra, nobody grooves like Prince. Or nobody this side of James Brown anyway. I’ve been a Prince fan since “1999” – the album, not the year – and own most of his stuff, but this 1990 recording is the one I keep coming back to for the kicking mix of hot dance tracks and slow-love ballads.


Patti Smith. “Horses.” This album had a profound effect on me, rocking my small-town high school world when it came out in 1975 – not to mention helping birth the punk movement. It never gets old. Patti’s 30-year “Horses” anniversary show at the Crocodile Café in Seattle was the best concert I ever attended.


What do you think of this list, and what are your own favorites? Please post your DIDs in the comments. It could make for a great discussion thread.

The one explains the other

[Dear readers, This is a re-post of an item that appeared here Saturday. I took it down at the request of an editor, mentioned below, who didn't want to tip off her competition before their deadlines, today. -- Mark]

I've now done the top two things I never thought I would in my life: get a lobotomy*, and pay $200 to see Jessica Simpson.

Longtime M&M readers already know about the brain surgery, but the Jessica Simpson episode may come as a surprise. I know it did to me.

To back up briefly, it's been two years now since I last worked for a living. The break was good for my health, but what with the eventual boredom and lack of purpose -- not to mention the expiring health insurance and the threatened end to my disability payments -- I've been casting about lately for some paying work. My timing's a bit off. As we know, it's a tough time in the ol' news business. A couple of nearby newspaper gigs that I thought would have been a natural fit didn't generate so much as a return phone call.

But I've nevertheless managed to snag some offers. For work, that is, just not for pay. Of the four recent opportunities that have come my way, one would have paid $200 a week for full-time employment. The other three would have paid nothing but the joy of seeing my name in pixels. I tried to be polite as I declined the generous terms of those proposals. (Sorry to the regular M&M readers on the other end of those conversations if I didn't come across that way.)

So, when my email inbox dinged the other day with an inquiry from an old colleague in Los Angeles I was ready to consider most anything.

"Hey Mister," said my friend Martha, "you know anyone who would be interested in doing a little reporting for me in Snoqualmie Casino, Snoqualmie, Washington? Jessica Simpson is performing."

That rang a bell. The Snoqualmie is the new, long-awaited tribal casino located 30 miles east of Seattle, just a smidge closer than my standby the Muckleshoot, and its grand opening was Thursday night. Simpson was headlining the venue's inaugural concert on Friday night. I'm not much of a Jessica fan, I told Martha, but I'm a total casino whore and planned on checking out the place anyway, so bring on the details.

Martha and I worked together at the LA Times, but she has since moved on to Us Weekly magazine, where she is West Coast news editor. As a celebrity-focused mag, she said, Us Weekly was not much concerned with the casino or even the performance and instead interested primarily in the latest Jessica "news": Was her boyfriend Tony Romo, the Dallas Cowboys quarterback, traveling with her and was there any talk of marriage? Stuff like that.

No, it wasn't blogging about the election, or becoming a local media critic, or covering the environment or technology, or reviewing books or writing snarky, misanthropic essays for a startup publication. But it was a paying gig -- at many times the rate of my best previous offer -- and it included mileage to the casino. Deal me in.

And so I found myself offering up my credit card for a ticket to the big show (on the promise that Us would reimburse). I've attended a lot of concerts and seen a lot of big acts in a lot of top-tier venues, but I can't remember paying anything near the $175 they were charging for Jessica's casino show (plus a $23 Ticketmaster surcharge). But pay I did, withstanding a lot of strange looks from box-office workers, ushers and fellow audience members as a single ticket holder, a middle-aged man, sitting alone, to watch this pop-music screamer turned reality-show star turned tabloid fodder turned, now, country-music screamer.

Honestly I didn't know even that much about Jessica Simpson before a long day online reading about her, listening to her music and watching videos in preparation for my assignment. What a story! Always something new! The Nick romance, marriage and divorce. The brief John romance. The dad/manager influence. The sister angle. The new Tony romance. The paparazzi clashes. The best friend/hairstylist who got whacked in the face last week protecting Jess from photographers. And this is only one celebrity. You can see why entire magazines spring up to cover this stuff.

It seemed the only consistencies in Jessica's career were her bouncy blond locks and her ability to keep her name in the press. Plus she can rock a low-cut shirt.

Anyway, Jessica didn't disappoint. She scream/sang, she talked about her love life, she spilled provocatively out of her black sequined top. She even ditzed out, in character, forgetting the words to one of her own biggest hits. [I took the above illegal concert pic with my iPhone; for a professional's view see the P-I's fine concert photo gallery.]

I wrote it all down and emailed it off, with passages like this: "Tony does not have to prove anything," Jessica said. "He's amazing."

My editor Martha responded right away: "Hey Mark, you are a natural!"

So that's one thing. I mentioned the lobotomy*, right?

[* Editor's note: Michelle informs me that technically I did not get a lobotomy but a partial resection of the right frontal lobe. Close enough if you ask me, but whatever. For precision's sake, please read this as "brainectomy."]

Laurie Anderson and the state of things

It was a treat last night to see Laurie Anderson at the Moore Theatre in Seattle, performing all new material from her upcoming album "Homeland." (Thanks to Michelle for scoring us the tickets.) As always, Anderson was topical, political, philosophical, provocative, challenging and almost intimidatingly artistic and intelligent. When was the last time you were at a concert where Kierkegaard was not only a topic but the setup for a joke?

I find it best not to think too hard on any one aspect of her music but to let it all wash over me and then sift what I'm left with. At one point last night, in one of her spoken/sung essays, Anderson sighed, "Ah, the state of things," and that struck me as a pretty good distillation of her "Homeland" themes.

In that respect her central message hasn't changed much from the breakthrough success of "O Superman" and "Big Science" more than 25 years ago: a slightly sad, homesick review of present-day popular culture and politics, infused with unexpected moments of humor and hopefulness. Last night there were dreamy musical meditations opposing the Iraq war, torture, economic disparity and more -- all delivered with just enough imprecision of detail that they're likely to sound relevant in another 25 years -- along with funny observations about the ubiquity of TV/computer screens and advertising ("Underwear Gods") and our reliance on talking heads ("Only an expert can deal with a problem," unusually catchy).

The content certainly wouldn't be for everybody. I don't think Anderson will need to worry about John McCain illegally sampling her music for campaign ads. We saw several people get up and walk out, and I've read that the same happened in Europe where Anderson was playing near a military base and some in the audience objected to the Iraq message.

Also, with the exception of "Only an Expert" these aren't songs you're likely to walk out of the theater humming to yourself.

If you don't know her music Anderson can be hard to describe. She came to prominence in the late 1970s and early 1980s as a performance artist, although that term, which I've never liked, feels like it shorts both her art and her performance. She doesn't sing her songs so much as speaks them melodically, using an incredibly expressive and elastic voice, sometimes supported by electronic tricks including looping, doubling, echoes, reverb or digital alteration. She performed last night behind a small keyboard or digital console of some kind, with a laptop (a MacBook Pro, I think) to her left, and accompanied by a woman playing cello and three men on violin, bass and keyboards. Anderson herself, who is known for inventing electronic instruments, occasionally played what looked to be a miniature electric violin or ukulele, and she pulled out a microphone contraption that turned her head into a booming percussive instrument. Trippy.

The stage was minimalist groovy, with a dozen naked bulbs hanging from above almost to the floor, perfectly matching the tone and brightness of a sea of candles surrounding the musicians. A large, lit backdrop bathed the stage in mood-setting colors.

Musically, with the strings and the psychedelic wash, the pulsing rhythms and vaguely techno feel, the overall effect was something like David Byrne meets the Moody Blues or Kronos Quartet by way of the Eurythmics. Philip Glass would dig it.

I know Michelle and I did.

Before the show we ran into P-I art critic Regina Hacket in the lobby. I was happy to see she quickly posted a review on her blog, by about 1:30 this morning. (Note to P-I: Why not pull that out and promote it from the home page?)

For more Laurie Anderson background, here is her official site and Wikipedia entry. Also, check out the video of her signature piece, "O Superman":

A natural politician

Bruce could out-debate any of these clowns. Out-speech 'em too. Not to mention singing.

This is from a rally yesterday in Philadelphia.

Music deal o' the week

It's been a while since I've posted any music reviews, and it's too bad because I've bought a lot of great music over the past months (and a couple of clunkers) that I should be noting.

But this one is so good, and the deal is so good and so short-lived, that I want to pass it along right now. It's "Two Men with the Blues," the unlikely combination of Wynton Marsalis, the great jazz trumpeter, and Willie Nelson, the great country crooner, troubadour and bitchin' pothead. Recorded live at Lincoln Center, part of Marsalis' regular jazz orchestra series there, the album is a wonderful mix of old-style New Orleans jazz and blues and Nelson's effortless lilt floating above.

I'm amazed at how well their styles blend. It has fast become one of my favorite records.

Now here's the great part. In an effort to nudge into iTunes' giant lead in the music store business, Amazon has started a really cool feature: Every Friday, it offers five albums for sale, via download, for $5. It's a great deal, I've downloaded several cool old records this way, but the thing is, each week's sale only lasts until Monday.

So go now, and check this one out. You can play short samples of the songs before you buy.

Four gliomas for sure. You can thank me later.

This week in politics

I’d barely formulated opinions about all the big Democrats’ speeches from Denver this week – my take: Clintons effective; Obamas disappointing – when I heard someone on the car radio Friday morning saying something that didn’t quite make sense. She was praising and thanking Hillary Clinton, and then speculating about how cool it would be this fall if “we” could break through those 18 million glass-ceiling cracks. Huh?

Who was this anyway? By the time I figured out that “we” meant she, it was clear too that the speaker was Sarah Palin, John McCain’s surprise pick as his Republican running mate. Brilliant, I thought! Or maybe stupid! I keep changing my mind.

For most of the week, my reactions to all the political news have been pundit-free. Which has been great. Michelle and I Tivo’d and watched the big speeches together after she got home from work, fast-forwarding through the glib insincerity of Brian Williams, the Botoxed filler of Andrea Mitchell and the inane spatting of Chris Matthews and Keith Olbermann. CNN and PBS were slightly less annoying. We didn’t even try pathetic Fox or the over-matched ABC and CBS.

The big revelation for me, though, came on Wednesday. Somehow the Tivo had stopped recording Tuesday night before Hillary’s speech was over, so I went online to watch the conclusion. I found it thanks to a link to Huffington Post from Michelle’s Google Reader. That and Kaye’s excellent posts on the Nitenote, I thought, were just about all I needed to take in the news and color of the convention and form my own opinions.

M&M, HuffPo and Nitenote: Call it NNN, the Nitenote News Network.

I loved Kaye’s reports on being interviewed on the street by high school students – “Stay smart,” she advised them – and on Bill Clinton’s speech – “That’s right, Mr. President, go on” – but my favorite was her gut-wrenching yet funny admission of mistaking Willie Brown on the street for Jim Clyburn.

Argh, NNN’s very own MBP.

I can’t say I agree with Kaye’s high opinion of Barack Obama’s Thursday night speech, though. She was so smitten she couldn’t get out much more than a headline, “Wowbama!” I know a lot of people agree with that assessment. Even the conservative commentator Pat Buchanan called it the greatest convention speech he’d ever heard. I don’t think so.

What did you think? I’d love to see speech reviews or overall convention impressions here from the M&M faithful.

If you missed the speeches somehow, here they are.

Obama accepts nomination:



Bill Clinton:



Hillary Clinton:



Michelle Obama:



Joe Biden:





(Top photo credit: Flickr user rklau under Creative Commons Attribution license)

Very superstitious

If this superstition doesn't exist it ought to: When you're a big music star playing a giant open-air venue like the New Orleans Jazz & Heritage Festival, don't turn over the mic to let your daughter sing. Also, avoid long drum solos. And if you're somehow not with it enough to avoid Pitfalls A and B, at least have the sense not to make both mistakes consecutively. Very bad luck.

That's what Stevie Wonder did yesterday during a disappointing set at a rainy JazzFest, with the effect that by the time he got to one of his big 1970s hits, "Superstition," most of the energy had leaked out of the show. To only slightly rewrite that lyric: If you don't believe in things that you ought to understand, you suffer.

Midway through Wonder's set one guy standing next to us decided he'd had enough. "This is putting me to sleep," he said. "I've gotta go find something else," and he took off in search of another stage.

It was too bad, too, because the concert started off promisingly enough, I thought. Wonder began by introducing his beautiful daughter Aisha Morris, who is one of three backup singers with his band (she was the baby splashing in the bath in the 1976 hit "Isn't She Lovely"), and made a short, not overly ingratiating speech about the devastation of Hurricane Katrina, the recent loss of his mother and the state of the world. He then launched into a very good rendition of "Love's In Need of Love Today," followed I think by "Higher Ground," and everything seemed cool. The band sounded great, the sound mix was good, Stevie's singing was strong and true and there were none of the long, wiggly-voiced departures that he can fall victim to.


Somewhere along the way, though, he went off course. It might have been the way overlong, tedious version of the hit "Ribbon in the Sky," with lame requests for audience participation complete with separate sing-along parts for men and women. Ugh. He wiggle-voiced around that tune for about 20 minutes, and then let Aisha sing a song by herself -- double-ugh -- and then launched into another long song I didn't know that featured a five- or six-minute drum solo. Ugh, ugh, ugh.

I was a big Stevie fan as a kid and I'm still a big appreciator -- I own and still listen to four of his classic 1970s albums -- but I had trouble hanging in there. He kept saying, "Are you ready to go home," an invitation for the crowd to shout "no" and for him to keep playing, but I kept saying, "yeah, sure."

Michelle, characteristically, got even more directly to the point. "He better play some fucking hits or I'm outie," she said.

We were standing pretty far back in the huge crowd, in what must have been the unofficial "smoking" section; all around us the pungent smell of reefer was in the air. A 40s-ish guy behind us took a deep breath: "I'm getting fucked up just standing here and I'm not even smoking."

The weed, the rain and the waning music made for a strange Woodstocky scene back in our section: a bunch of little girls, maybe 9 to 12 years old, took turns running, sliding and falling down in the mud; a trio of stoned, skanky, college-age chicks, one with a giant gut exposed by her bikini, danced in the mud too, but somehow managed not to fall down. One by one, small groups of rain-soaked beer drinkers packed up their tarps and coolers and flagpoles (to help friends find them) and trudged off to competing venues before Stevie finished.

As the rain came in intermittent sheets, the music improved. He did play a medley of hits and the crowd got back into it, although I thought it was a little sad that the biggest response was for "Signed, Sealed, Delivered I'm Yours," recorded in 1970 just barely when he had stopped being "Little Stevie Wonder" and before the big artistic breakthrough of the "Talking Book," "Innervisions" and "Fulfilligness' First Finale" albums.

After my favorite performance of the set, "Boogie on Reggae Woman," Wonder brought up New Orleans legend and JazzFest regular Irma Thomas to perform with him. That should have been a high point but it fell short too. Irma wasn't in very good voice, and Stevie had to keep prompting her with the lyrics to his songs, including some big hits. She might have been the only person in the audience who didn't know the words.

Elsewise, though, it was a nice JazzFest day, despite the rain. The food is always delicious -- crawfish Monica, yum; trout Baquet, excellent -- and we ran into our friend and M&M regular, Sandy (yet another of the old Driftwood college paper crowd, pictured with Michelle and Freda at the top of this post). He had allowed us to park at his house, just blocks from the festival grounds, sat with us during a good Richard Thompson set, and invited us over to his place for a dinner of homemade gumbo, which I think we surprised him by accepting. Tasty.

A couple final thoughts on JazzFest: They've jacked the prices so high -- $50 per ticket -- that it's no longer the great bargain or all-inclusive party that it used to be. More like an upscale party for yuppies like us. And compared with the 2006 JazzFest that we attended, the first one after Katrina, the place didn't have the same inspiring mix of resolve and hometown spirit. Everyone seems tired of recovering from the storm.

Prices, weather and disappointments notwithstanding, Michelle and I plan on going back tomorrow to catch a tribute to Mahalia Jackson in the Gospel Tent, the Raconteurs at Gentilly Stage, a few minutes of Rebirth Brass Band at Congo Square and Preservation Hall Jazz Band at Economy Hall Tent, and the Neville Brothers, to close out the festival, at the Acura Stage.

With a nod to LaurieSue, who mocked M&M's easy grading scale and then promptly declared four "nurse caps" for a new kung-fu movie: Stevie Wonder's set, 2 gliomas; Friday JazzFest overall, 3 gliomas.

News news, good and bad

Strange day in the news biz yesterday. On what's normally a day of journalistic celebration, announcement of the year's Pulitzer Prizes, the Los Angeles Times formally retracted it's horribly flawed Tupac Shakur story of last month.

As was alleged earlier and then confirmed by the Times' own investigation of its own investigation, the paper was duped by some phony documents -- provided by a known con man, in prison no less. It's a terrible black eye for the paper I love, and I feel bad for the new editor Russ Stanton, a guy I know and like and who I hate to see having such trouble so soon after taking over.

Locally, the Seattle Times announced yesterday that previous budget cuts, a hiring freeze and even property sales wouldn't be enough: The paper is whacking about 200 jobs, including layoffs to come in the newsroom. It had to be a tough day over there at Fairview and John yesterday, and I can't imagine the mood was much better for my friends at the P-I. Is this a preview of what's to come there too?

The coolest Pulitzer announced yesterday was an honorary prize awarded to my hero, Bob Dylan, for his ''profound impact on popular music and American culture, marked by lyrical compositions of extraordinary poetic power.''

Curiously, I didn't see much news coverage singling out Dylan's award. I did like this quote, in an AP story, by David Lang, the classical composer who won the Pulitzer for music. ''Bob Dylan is the most frequently played artist in my household so the idea that I am honored at the same time as Bob Dylan, that is humbling,'' Lang told the AP.

And, coincidentally it seems, the LAT has this nice piece today about a new compilation CD of music drawn from Dylan's XM radio program.

Jazz Fest 2008

One of our big early stops on the Pie in the Sky Tour of America (II) will be to attend the second weekend of the Jazz Fest in New Orleans. Here's a slide show of our last trip to New Orleans and to the Jazz Fest:



For a slideshow with larger images go here.

In case you're wondering just how jealous you should be of our Jazz Fest pitstop, here's the lineup:

Friday, May 2

Art Neville, Stevie Wonder, John Prine, Michael Franti & Spearhead, Richard Thompson, John Butler Trio, John Hammond, Trombone Shorty & Orleans Ave., Marva Wright & the BMWs, Terence Blanchard & the Louisiana Philharmonic Orchestra, Papa Grows Funk, Sunpie’s Tribute to Clifton Chenier, Zigaboo Modeliste, The Jackson Southernaires, The Lee Boys, Bonerama, The Bad Plus, John Boutté, Soul Rebels, Ingrid Lucia, Coco Robicheaux & Spiritland, Theryl “Houseman” DeClouet, Chubby Carrier & the Bayou Swamp Band, Bluerunners, Wanda Rouzan, Driskill Mountain Boys, Ann Savoy’s Sleepless Knights, New Orleans Jazz Vipers feat. Sophie Lee, Stoney B & Grampa Elliot, Gina Forsyth & the Malvinas, Clive Wilson & the New Orleans Serenaders feat. Butch Thompson, New Wave Brass Band, Tuba Woodshed feat. Matt Perrine and Kirk Joseph, Belton Richard & the Musical Aces, Eve’s Lucky Planet, Larry Garner with Henry Gray, Ritmo Caribeño, New Orleans Jazz Ramblers, Louisiana Repertory Jazz Ensemble, Betty Winn & One A-Chord, Lyle Henderson & Emmanuel, Kid Simmons’ Local International Allstars, Pinettes Brass Band, D.L. Menard & the Louisiana Aces, Legacy – the students of Alvin Batiste, Greater Antioch Gospel Choir, New Orleans Mardi Gras Rhythm Indian Section, Ebenezer BC Radio Choir, Loyola University Jazz Ensemble, Casa Samba, The Smooth Family, Eulenspeigel Puppets of Iowa, Original Big Seven and Original Four SAPCs, McMain High School Gospel Choir, Fi Yi Yi & the Mandingo Warriors, New Orleans School of Circus Arts and ISL, Gospel Inspirations of Boutte, Rosedean Choir of South Africa, Scene Boosters and Old N Nu Fellas SAPCs…


Saturday, May

Marcia Ball, Jimmy Buffett, Diana Krall, Steel Pulse, The Roots, Bobby McFerrin and Chick Corea, Kenny Wayne Shepherd, Bishop Paul S. Morton Sr. & the Greater St. Stephens Mass Choir, Dirty Dozen Brass Band, Henry Butler, Aaron Neville’s Gospel Soul, John Mooney & Bluesiana, the subdudes, New Leviathan Oriental Foxtrot Orchestra, Ruthie Foster, Irvin Mayfield & the New Orleans Jazz Orchestra, Savoy Center of Eunice Saturday Cajun Jam, Charmaine Neville, The Dixie Cups, Nathan & the Zydeco Cha-Chas, James Andrews, Dr. Michael White & the Original Liberty Jazz Band feat. Thais Clark, Lillian Boutté, Geno Delafose & French Rockin’ Boogie, Stephanie Jordan, War Chief Juan & Young Fire, Pine Leaf Boys, Bionik Brown, Treme Brass Band, New Orleans Blues Serenaders, Spencer Bohren, Don Vappie & the Creole Jazz Serenaders, Roddie Romero & the Hub City Allstars, Lil’ Buck Sinegal feat. Rudy Richard, Feufollet, Pinstripe Brass Band, Storyville Stompers Brass Band, Tribute to Max Roach feat. Herlin Riley, Jason Marsalis, and Shannon Powell, Tondrae, Chappy, Danza feat. Evan Christopher and Tom McDermott, Beyond Measure, Lil Nathan & the Zydeco Big Timers, Rumba Buena, Rocks of Harmony, Guitar Lightnin’ Lee, St. Joseph the Worker Mass Choir, Big Chief Ke Ke & Comanche Hunters and White Cloud Hunters Mardi Gras Indians, Leviticus Gospel Singers, Tulane University Jazz Ensemble, Secondline Jammers, New Generation and Undefeated Divas SAPCs, Trouble Nation and Mohawk Hunters Mardi Gras Hunters, Archdiocese of New Orleans Mass Choir, Bester Singers, Donald Lewis, Young Guardians of the Flame, Stephen Foster’s Mid City Workshop Alumni Ensemble, Westbank Steppers, Valley of the Silent Men and Pigeon Town Steppers SAPCs, Golden Blade and Wild Tchoupitoulas Mardi Gras Indians…


Sunday, May 4

The Neville Brothers, Santana, Maze feat. Frankie Beverly, The Raconteurs, Dianne Reeves, Galactic, The Radiators, The Derek Trucks Band, Keb’ Mo’, Rebirth Brass Band, Sonny Landreth, Snooks Eaglin, John P. Kee & the New Life Community Choir, Preservation Hall Jazz Band, Tribute to Mahalia Jackson feat. Irma Thomas, Marva Wright and Rachelle Richard, Vernel Bagneris: Jelly Roll & Me, Amanda Shaw & the Cute Guys, Ivan Neville’s Dumpstaphunk, DJ Captain Charles, Abigail Washburn & the Sparrow Quartet feat. Bela Fleck, Kenny Neal, Sherman Washington & the Zion Harmonizers, Bob French & the Original Tuxedo Jazz Band, Elysian Fieldz, The New Orleans Bingo Show!, Benny Grunch & the Bunch, Goldman Thibodeaux & the Lawtell Playboys, Jonathan Batiste, Rotary Downs, George French, Chris Ardoin & Nu Step, Guitar Slim Jr., Grupo Fantasma, Lost Bayou Ramblers, Ovi-G & the Froggies, The Revealers, Pfister Sisters, Salvador Santana Band, William Smith’s Tribute to Kid Sheik, Eddie Boh Paris aka Chops, SUBR Jazz Ensemble, Chris Clifton, Thelonious Monk Institute of Jazz Ensemble, New Orleans Spiritualettes, Zulu Male Ensemble, The Jazz Jam, Tribute to Tuba Fats, Highsteppers Brass Band, Black Eagles, Hardhead Hunters and Apache Hunters Mardi Gras Indians, Lady Rollers and CTC Steppers SAPCs, Guyland Leday with Family & Friends Zydeco Band, Young Traditional New Orleans Brass Band, Watson Memorial Teaching Ministries, Wild Apaches, Young Magnolias and Black Feathers Mardi Gras Indians, Original Prince of Wales and the Original New Orleans Lady Buckjumpers SAPCs, Tornado Brass Band, Judy Stock, Minister Jai Reed…

If we get there early enough on Thursday, we might be able to stop in for Steve Riley and the Mamou Playboys, and Tower of Power.

These guys are old, but they totally rock

That was Gina's comment this evening after she and I saw "Shine a Light," the amazing new Rolling Stones concert movie by director Martin Scorsese. Aside from being a perfect capsule review of the film, Gina's line, as Michelle noted later, was the dream response from a teenage daughter.

Wow, imagine: My kid thinks it's possible, theoretically anyway, for old guys to be cool!

It's hard to believe the Rolling Stones are in their mid-60s now, that they've been at this for 45 years-plus, and that they still rock so hard. Especially when you consider how much damage they've done to their bodies over the years.

Scorsese's genius technique in this movie, as it was in "The Last Waltz," his 1978 film about The Band's farewell concert, is to get the cameras right up on stage, so you have an experience you couldn't get even from the front row of the audience. With multiple angles and near-constant camera movement, you're right there for every Mick Jagger strut, Keith Richards vamp, Ronnie Woods burning guitar solo and Charlie Watts steady but effective drumbeat. And more -- backup singers, a soulful horn section and, from time to time, Scorsese's jittery instructions to his crew.

Jagger looks great at 62 (his age when this New York concert was filmed two years ago). His deeply lined face and slightly deflated lips are the only hints to his age. Everything else -- his hair, clothes, physique and, especially, his on-stage energy -- looks like classic Mick from 30 or 40 years ago.

At one point the concert footage pauses for a flashback to an early Jagger TV interview. It must have been 1964 or 1965; Mick doesn't look to be much more than a teenager and he says something about the band having been together for two years. How long would they keep playing, he is asked. Actually, he says, he's surprised they've lasted this long. Maybe they've got another year left in them.

The quick cut back to the Beacon Theater show, 40 years later, provides the real answer.

Richards, looking like he just escaped from a nursing home for old pirates, lays down his signature hooks and brilliantly minimalist guitar riffs, and he trades knowing looks and accomplished solo lines with Woods. In another cutaway interview Woods and Richards playfully spar about who's the better guitar player. The truth, Richards says finally, is that neither of them alone is very good, but "put us together and we're better than any 10 other players."

Hyperbole? I don't know. They're pretty damn good. Jack White, of the White Stripes, no slouch guitarist himself, comes on to play one song with the band. He can barely hide his glee. I'm onstage with the Rolling Stones! A bit later the legendary blues guitarist and singer Buddy Guy comes out for a tune ("Champagne and Reefer," one of highlights of the show). This time the admiration is on the other foot. Though older than the Stones, Guy looks younger, plays with every bit as much vigor and, you can tell, is a longtime idol of the band. Mick and Keith especially look thrilled to be in his presence.

The music in the film is rhapsodic if you're a Stones fan, but, as Gina's experience testifies, effective even if you're not. The 1978 album "Some Girls" is heavily represented, and there are plenty of the older big hits: "Jumpin' Jack Flash," "Brown Sugar" and "(I Can't Get No) Satisfaction" among them.

Watching, I was struck by how simple many of the Stones' songs are: a catchy hook and some straightforward, even shallow, lyrics, all laid over basic blues-based chord changes. The magic lies in some spectacular solo work, the warm interplay among the band members and, especially, the power and vitality Jagger brings to the show as singer, dancer and all-around circus master.

These last two elements particularly are at the heart of Scorsese's movie, and its greatest accomplishment. It puts you there in the middle of the band and the show. As one of the tunes goes: "Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Woo!" 4 gliomas.

(Gina and I saw the film in the super-size IMAX format, which makes the on-stage feeling even stronger, but it's also playing in regular theaters.)

Here's the trailer for "Shine a Light," followed by a 1969 performance of "Honky Tonk Woman" for the sake of comparison.

Bruce, the real American idol

The last time I saw Bruce Springsteen was on the last M&M visit to the New Orleans Jazz & Hertiage Festival, in 2006, the first Jazzfest following Hurricane Katrina. That was also Bruce's first concert with his Seeger Sessions Band, the rootsy big band he put together to play the folk-blues-gospel music of his new album at the time. Combined with the fresh horror of Katrina, there was something about the sound of that music, plaintive yet uplifting, filled out with horns to give it a New Orleans feel, that was overwhelming. By the time he got to the encore on that sunny late-April day -- as I remember it, "My City of Ruins," "We Shall Overcome" and a dirge-like "When the Saints Go Marching In" -- the show had become a giant emotional release, another levee breaking. I looked around and literally couldn't see one person who wasn't crying.

Hard to top a concert like that, and so when tickets went on sale for a Springsteen show here I wasn't all that surprised that Michelle passed: No huge fan in the first place, she said she felt like she'd already seen him at his best.

But this Seattle gig figured to be no ordinary show; it was the reunion tour of the E Street Band, the hard-rocking group that helped put Springsteen on the map back in the 1970s. I wanted to go, and I knew that my sister Michele, who would happily renounce country, career and family for an evening with Bruce, would be hovering over her keyboard the minute Ticketmaster opened the lines.

"Screen door slams, I'm there," was her line last night.

So I ended up tagging along with Mich and Manuel last night to KeyArena. On the way into town Mich recounted her many previous Springsteen concerts, including one she attended alone a couple of years ago. Going solo "is my favorite way to go," she said, because you can score a ticket up close to the stage. Manuel and I looked at each other. I guess I wasn't the tag-along after all. We were co-third wheels.

Although the concert was supposed to start at 7:30 Bruce and the band didn't take the stage until about 8:40. But they had the audience enthralled from the start. The second song, "Radio Nowhere," the hit of last year's "Magic" CD, has a chorus that seemed to announce the return of the E Streeters and the theme of the night: "I just want to feel some rhythm."

There was plenty of it, too, rocking through much of "Magic," "The Rising" album and several older hits over the next two and a half hours, with three or four down-tempo tunes just to let everyone catch their breath. Except for once or twice, when Bruce introduced a song with a quasi-political speech, most of the songs segued immediately into the next, without so much as a space between chords. They're a hard-working crew, for sure. No need for the fake sweat that Springsteen has been caught applying in years past.

At 58, Springsteen looked great in a black t-shirt, black suit vest and jeans. It's weird to see the aging of the E Street Band though, and as strange as it is fun to see them back together. I mean, drummer Max Weinberg spends most nights these days supplying rim shots for Conan O'Brien. You can't look at guitarist "Little Steven" Van Zandt without seeing his "Sopranos" character, Silvio. And Clarence "The Big Man" Clemons, is more like "The Old Man"; 66 years old now, he had trouble walking to the center of the stage, didn't have much energy for his signature sax lines and sat in a big chair onstage between abbreviated solos.

A lot of the audience at any Springsteen concert are Bruce fanatics (Mich comes pretty close) who can cite set lists from their favorite shows and quote lyrics from any recording. I'm nowhere near that level of fandom, although I own and enjoy several Springsteen albums.

What struck me last night was how reciprocal the relationship was. The fans love him, sure, but he seemed to feel the same. You could fake that, I suppose, as easily as you could spray on a layer of sweat, but if you're as rich and successful and accomplished as Bruce, why would you bother? He doesn't need to tour, or even to make records, if he doesn't want to. He likes it.

Unlike a lot of great artists -- my favorite, Dylan, comes to mind -- Bruce doesn't reinterpret his music for his own enjoyment or to make his audience listen anew. No, he plays the songs like his fans expect to hear them, with every grunt or sax line or tambourine clang coming in exactly on cue. The joy of attending an E Street Band show is in appreciating the power of Springsteen's voice, or seeing Bruce and Little Steven share a mic on a familiar chorus, or listening to Nils Lofgren tear through a guitar solo, as he did on "Because the Night," or just waiting to see which favorite songs will make the set and which won't.

Last night's song choices were interesting to me too, because while it was clearly a big arena show (the Key holds about 17,000 people), Bruce stayed away from the big, arena anthems of his pandering "Born in the USA" era. But what happened was that darker, more personal songs of longing, like "Lonesome Day" or "Your Own Worst Enemy," grew to fill the space. They became anthems of yearning.

Our seats, hobbled by coming in a group of three, weren't the best. Maybe the worst, in fact -- behind the rear-left corner of the stage, and four rows from the top of the arena -- but big video screens pointed in our direction helped, and in a way it was an interesting view of the show. Too far away, we agreed, for any realistic hope that Bruce would call Michele onto the stage for a dance, Courtney Cox-style from that long-ago music video. But we could see the girls leaning on the stage from the front row who shared her dream. When Bruce danced downstage close enough for them to grab his legs and even stroke his guitar, Mich struggled to stifle a swoon.

From our vantage point too you could see the entire arena pumping or waving their arms in time with the music, singing along with every chorus. Everyone in the place, I thought, wanted to be Bruce or be with him. No wonder he looks like he's having so much fun.

The yearning was palpable, I thought, and maybe that's why Springsteen's concerts work so well.

It may be that we're all longing for a different thing -- love, or the old days, a good party, great friends like Bruce has in his band, a government we could respect, or maybe merely people we'd enjoy working with as much as Bruce seems to -- but there's something in these anthems that feels like it fits whichever strain we have.

When it came time for an encore, Bruce came back onstage and grabbed a sign from the audience calling for "Tenth Avenue Freeze Out," a fave from the "Born to Run" days.

"Sing, sing, sing, sing, sing it again," he sang. And everyone did.

---

Bonus Bruce clips and links

Patrick MacDonald's Seattle Times review
Gene Stout's Seattle P-I review
Backstreets.com review

A few minutes of "My City of Ruins" at the 2006 Jazzfest:




Mich's fantasy:




When the Saints Go Marching In:

Pics from the Bettye show...

Been this way too long to change now!

The first thing that happened at last night's Bettye LaVette concert was that we were seated next to an incredibly obnoxious guy, one table over, talking very loudly into his cell phone while his date sat cooling his heels. After a minute or two of this, Michelle got up and walked off. She returned with the manager, who politely offered to move us to a nicer table, two rows from the stage.

"She can be very persuasive," the manager said to me. Yeah, tell me about it.

Good move, though. Out of earshot of the jerk, we had an excellent up-close view when the (almost all-white) band came on: a fedora-wearing pianist and keyboardist who seemed steeped in New Orleans music; a young virtuosic guitarist who seemed to be going for a Dave Matthews look and a Mark Knopfler sound; a huge guy, who reminded us a little of Hurley on "Lost," playing bass; and a dreadlocked cat on drums who was probably older than he looked. They all rocked. From what I've read they're a new touring group with LaVette, but they were as tight as her shiny black slacks and they seemed to enjoy the gig.

Bettye got a huge hand when she took the stage. At 62 she looks great -- she can't weigh much more than a hundred pounds -- and she was stylish and playful. She looked like fun.

In fact, I thought almost immediately of something I recently read or heard about her. She said in an interview that her grandson and his friends thought she looked "hot" in her publicity photos, and she talked about what a huge kick she got out of that. Watching her moves onstage, I thought maybe the kids' talk had gone to her head. Yeah, we should all be so vibrant at 62, but I thought she was working it pretty hard. It's OK to leave a little to our imagination, grandma.

She can sing though. Her voice in person was as strong and affecting as I find it on her recordings, and she and the band weren't afraid of vamping and ad-libbing -- the concert was much more than a live performance of the CD.

She also seemed loose and self-deprecating with the audience. She said it was wonderful to be back at Dimitriou's Jazz Alley after a long time away and pointed out a bald dude in the front. "Without him and his friends," she said, "we wouldn't have had the seven people we had here last time."

As advertised, LaVette puts a lot of emotion into her performances. Too much, almost. A little cry in your voice can go a long way over two hours; there were times I thought she just about tilted into having some voice in her cry. Still, the apparent closing number, "Heaven" -- the tune I posted yesterday as a YouTube clip -- worked very well, and it led to an encore of "Before the Money Came," which I also quoted in yesterday's post.

That seemed like the perfect close to the show, which we enjoyed with a pair of excellent dinners -- steak for Michelle and salmon for me. But then Bettye sang two more songs; fine, but just beyond the emotional high of the evening.

On the way back to the car we agreed we both liked the concert, but Michelle said it's too bad LaVette felt the need to work everything so hard. We speculated that maybe it's a residual effect of struggling for 40 years to find an audience.

This afternoon, replaying her record and thinking about the show, I thought the tune "I Still Want to Be Your Baby" had a pretty apt line:

"I've been this way too long to change now. You're gonna have to take me as I am."

...

Tonight, we're off to see kd lang at the Moore Theater. I'll admit I'm not as thrilled about this one. I like some of lang's music, but her new album, "Watershed," bores me. You never know though. We'll see; report to come.

Bettye!

Tonight's the beginning of an all-out M&M entertainment sprint before we leave next month for the big road trip: concerts by Bettye LaVette, kd lang, Bruce Springsteen, the opening of the Mariners baseball season and, I think, a whale-watching tour when Michelle's mom Freda visits early next month. And that's not to mention the occasional movie and poker game. We have fun.

Of all we've got going on though, nothing on this side of the Pie in the Sky Tour sounds as good to me as tonight's Bettye LaVette show at Jazz Alley.

Like so many other good things, I "discovered" LaVette thanks to Fresh Air's Terry Gross, who interviewed her in December. Then again, that's kind of like Europeans thinking they discovered America: LaVette's been here all along, totally slaying audiences with her soulful, joyful and heart-wrenching performances. As I learned on the NPR show, LaVette had her first hit in 1962, at the age of 16, and a big Atlantic recording contract and promising career ahead ... except it never really took off. Remarkably, she kept bitterness to a minimum and kept singing, and finally in the last few years has begun getting attention again.

I went right out and bought the CD they were talking about on the radio, "Scene of the Crime," and it immediately became one of my favorites. Now 62 years old, LaVette has a voice that sounds a bit like Tina Turner's, but I think she's got more range, musically and emotionally. She also doesn't fit neatly into a genre like soul or R&B; there are hints of country in some of her stuff, and of old '50s and '60s rock riffs. That's probably one reason she didn't immediately "make it" in the record business.

On "Scene of the Crime," in addition to some original songs, she covers and reinvents tunes by artists as far apart on the spectrum as Elton John and Willie Nelson. On the record as well as on the interview, she seems delighted by her late success. In one song she sings:

"All these years I kept my style. I wouldn't cross over so it took me a while before the money came. ... Some folks didn't see my worth, didn't know where I fit in. Forty years I kept singing before the money started rolling in."

Thanks to my friend Misha Berson's preview of tonight's concert in the Seattle Times, I also found LaVette's last CD, "I've Got My Own Hell to Raise," from 2005. This features excellent covers of songs by female writers, including Lucinda Williams, Joan Armatrading and Sinead O'Connor. It's amazing.

I'm expecting this concert to totally rock. We'll provide a full review later. Meantime, listen to Terry Gross's excellent interview here, if you'd like, and thanks to YouTube you can see a clip of Bettye in concert.