I wasn’t planning to write about this show. In fact, I haven’t felt like writing about a show in a while. There’s something about this time of year that just restricts the creative expanse—echoing a time of self-protection and rest, not a call to the creative. In truth, the inspiration and desire just hasn’t been hitting like it once was.
Until tonight. Until I saw a band I’ve seen (probably) 20+ times take the stage at Union Transfer—Josh Ritter and the Royal City Band. While I’m sure I saw Ritter a few years before what I’m about to recall, the first I have photographic evidence of seeing Mr. Ritter and his Royal City Band was at the State Theatre in State College, PA in 2009. I can’t remember what he played; I can only remember being with a dear friend, who stuck around after the show with me to meet Ritter. Then ensued awkward hugs that brought me near tears, and a signed ticket hoping for me, “may all your dances be slow dances.” Flash forward almost 15 years, Josh Ritter and The Royal City Band took the stage shortly after 8pm (oh how I appreciate an early start). Celebrating the 20th anniversary of Hello Starling, I expected the band to start with “Bright Smile,” but the band bounced around their extensive catalog before kicking off their celebrated album. We sung along to “Kathleen,” felt the feels during “You Don’t Make It Easy Babe,” and bounced around while (ironically) singing “Snow is Gone” (the irony being it had just freshly snowed in Philly that morning). Ritter brings a humble power to his lyrics, always supported by and acknowledging the band around him, which still includes a couple members who have stuck with him for a while—Sam Kassirer and Zack Hickman. You can tell they know each others’ rhythms in their souls, effortlessly transitioning between one ballad to another. At one point Ritter exclaimed “I know nothing about this but I remember it all.” While that sentiment could apply to so many things, it resonated with me and my own creative process. When creating, writing, painting, sculpting, I have no guidepost of what I’m doing. I didn’t outline this post before writing. I don’t know what I’m going to create when I sit down at a pottery wheel. I have no magical, deep expertise that allows me to do these things. But I do them. And a I remember the feeling, the joy of creating for the sake of creating, and I remember it all. Thanks for giving me the reminder I needed, Mr. Ritter. I'm underneath your window now it's long after the birds have gone to roost And I'm not sure if I'm singing for the love of it or for the love of you But I've flown a long way honey hear my confession then I'll go I'd rather be the one who loves than to be loved and never even know Hello brown one hello blue one Last night's feathers exchanged for new ones
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It’s funny, really, that I’ve never spent NYE doing one of my very favorite things. Perhaps it’s my hatred of a late start, or the logistics involved in getting to your own bed post midnight, but the idea of going to a show on NYE never really crossed my mind. A bar? Sure. Cozy night in with friends? Sign me up! But to venture out to a packed venue and count down to midnight with hundreds of others mid set? A concept I hadn’t considered. That is, until the stars aligned and a local favorite, high-energy band announced a NYE show at my local venue—Low Cut Connie at Ardmore Music Hall.
I can’t recall the first time I saw Low Cut Connie, but I do remember being captivated by frontman Adam Weiner as he climbed on top his piano while the crowd vibrated along. He isn’t just a musician—he’s a true performer—and paired with an incredible band, I knew we’d be in for a fun NYE show. And while there was no avoiding a late start (luckily opener Slomo Sapiens kicked the night off on a high note), when Low Cut Connie came on a bit after 10:30, we rocked and rolled all the way through midnight and beyond. The band ran through their discography, new and old, and a few covers, including a personal favorite, Tina Turner’s version of Proud Mary. Weiner’s energy and excitement carried us through the night, and as he jived through the crowd (and eventually on top of the bar), it didn’t feel like we were at a show—we were part of an immersive NYE experience. The countdown to midnight begun 10 seconds til, and we all embraced and screamed Happy New Year when the clock struck 12. Serenaded by Auld Lang Syne, I hugged my friend Elizabeth, hoping this was the exact energy that will carry through 2024. And while I’ve never been someone to make a yearly resolution, or think the changing of a year could lead to an entire life change, I can only hope that kicking off a new year in such a joyful way will lead to more joy throughout the year. Happy 2024, my friends. May you all find your joy. This is basically as early a show can happen, was the sentiment Darlingside shared as they stood on stage. Performing this week’s Free at Noon, WXPN’s weekly free live show, today taking place at Ardmore Music Hall, the crowd certainly didn’t seem to mind the “early” start. In fact, it was a sold out show.
As Don Mitchell, Auyon Mukharji and Harris Paseltiner, original Darlingside members, opened up the set with some three part harmonies, it was hard to not watch Molly Parden, a more recent addition to the tour, stare at them in her own awe. Staying true to Americana folk as Mitchell played the banjo, we all swayed to and fro as the band alternated between cuts from their latest release, Everything is Alive, and some of their older favorites. Over the years, I’ve had the pleasure of seeing countless Free at Noon shows, and I’ll certainly never pick a favorite. But my favorite moment is never my own, but instead the reaction of the band. They’re always so surprised at how many folks come out in the middle of the day, grab a drink, and want to see some live music. And while they’ll occasionally shout out the listeners at home, too, I hope the feeling of surprise in the room never changes. I grew up in a house that was never quiet. The noise wasn’t coming from kids yelling or loud TVs (though I’m sure my parents would’ve said differently at the time)—no, the constant noise was music. I come from a family who loves music. I mean, really, truly, loves music. My father would be drumming along to James Taylor while my mom was dancing to Linda Ronstadt in the kitchen. My brother strumming his guitar playing Ozzy Osborne’s Crazy Train while I listened to Sarah McLachlan on my Walkman, desperately wishing I could go to Lilith Fair (an aside—LADIES, let’s bring it back!) We never told one another to turn it down, pausing our own music to make room for others’, and instead allowed the sounds to blend and merge, creating a new sound all their own. In a way, we were creating our own version of Americana.
Now residing in our own homes, the Anderson Americana may not still carryon, but our shared love for it hasn’t faltered. And on July 2, 2023, my dad, brother, and I did something we’ve never done together—we went to a concert together. The show that finally got us all together? James Taylor and his All-Star band at the Mann in Philadelphia. Yeah, you could say we went from zero to 100. It almost feels silly to try and review the show. After all, it’s James Taylor. To say that the man knows how to put on a show would be an understatement. Yes, he played the hits, and even held up an oversized, handwritten set list to let the audience know what was coming. Yes, he can still play the guitar with an ease that is humbling to a novice player such as myself. And yes, his charisma on stage has the ability to make you forget about the heat and be encapsulated by what’s happening on stage. But last night at the Mann, there was more—there was the draw of family. On stage last night with James and his incredible band was his son, Henry, who has joined the tour on backup vocals. Let’s just say the musical gene clearly runs strong in the Taylor family. As I looked over at my own family, clapping along and just as mesmerized as I was, a warmth rushed over me. Taylor’s music has surrounded me my entire life, from bopping along to Mexico on car rides, to Shower the People backing a video my dad made of my childhood, to hearing The Water is Wide at my mom’s funeral. It’s not just about the music, it’s about the common and shared experience of music and the memories tied to the tracks. It’s listening to a song you’ve heard for as long as you can remember, with the people who have known you for just as long. Yes, I’ve had amazing solo experiences at shows, bouncing around to Maggie Rogers or getting in the feels with Bon Iver, but being with family, whether chosen or blood, just hits different. It feels like love. And I guess being in the presence of a true legend like James Taylor helps, too. Shower the people you love with love Show them the way that you feel Things are gonna be much better If you only will “Did we just join a cult?” my friend yelled into my ear as we raised our arms to the sky. Cued by the band, we swayed back and forth as we listened to the jam. “If this is a cult,” I thought, “I’m in.”
Dustbowl Revival hails from LA, but their musical influences span far beyond the west coast. Described stylistically as an American roots band, you can hear nods to blues, Americana folk, funk, and New Orleans brass in their music. The crowd was eclectic as the music styles, and folks young and old shook their hips as the band performed old favorites like Honey, I Love You and new staples such as Set Me Free. Most bands I’ve seen in the last year or so have mentioned how it’s incredible to be back to live shows, and Dustbowl Revival was no exception. But they took it a step further, voicing how they feel a responsibility to speak up on political and social matters, a thing too many artists won’t do, for fear of losing an audience. Performing The Truth, a deeply personal song to frontman Z. Lupetin, the band shared their outrage at the overturn of Roe v. Wade. Folk music, specifically, gave a voice to generations in the 1960s who were protesting change for equality and justice, and Dustbowl Revival is continuing to act as a sound chamber for those voices today. Towards the end of the evening the band invited opener, Stella Ruze, a local Philly band, to join them onstage. The gang harmonized to The Band’s The Weight and despite a few forgotten lyrics, the audience mouthed along in sync. Lupetin had one ask for us—to tell one person on the west coast and one person on the east coast about them. To share their name. To share their music. Consider this your notice. I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again—WXPN’s Free at Noon Fridays are truly one of my favorite activities in the Philly area. Today, WXPN and host Dan Reed visited Ardmore Music Hall to welcome Rayland Baxter and his band (who are playing the same venue tonight). And oh, what a show.
After introducing the band, Baxter slid into the title track from his latest album, If I Were a Butterfly. Slightly more…transcendental…than his previous work, the band jammed as bright, colorful lights washed the stage. Bodies swayed around me, while I did my own hippie shake, the crowd forgetting their responsibilities they left in the middle of their Friday workday. As Baxter, Barney Cortez, and Todd Bolden played their fingers out on the strings, you could feel the electricity radiating into the crowd. Soaring past the normal 30 minute length of Free at Noon shows, Baxter played a few more tracks off his new record, along with some old favorites. Olivia and Mr. Rodriguez were crowd pleasers, and the live version of Buckwheat blew the album version out of the water. Nearing the end of the set, Baxter asked the crowd who was coming to the show tonight. Myself and others yelled out, while a gentleman at the front said he wanted to come. Hearing this, Baxter asked the man to write down his name and he’d put ‘em on the guest list, as he audibly questioned if tickets were left. Reed wrapped up the extended show, but the band had one last act up their sleeve—Yellow Eyes. We all continued our hippie shakes until the last note was played, before we headed out into the cold, bright November day. There’s nothing I love more than going to a loud rock show. Feeling the bass vibrate in my bones, ticking my head to the drums, and screaming out loud with the other show goers, acting as backup vocals for the band. Now at the age of 35, the mid-week concert isn’t as easy as it once was, but that didn’t stop me from checking out We Were Promised Jetpacks (WWPJ) at Ardmore Music Hall. After bopping along to opener Breakup Shoes, who were surprisingly moving, WWPJ took the stage.
It took a few tracks for the crowd to warm up to the band. And the band to warm up to the crowd. But then, we had a rock show. I watched gen-zers try to start a two-person mosh pit on the side of the stage, so ecstatic from seeing this band they couldn’t contain their bodies. I saw men from older generations play air guitar, pretending they were the ones on stage. And then there was me, swaying along, earplugs and all. WWPJ rolled through their hits, including a personal favorite, “The More I Sleep, the Less I Dream.” The crowd hollered as Adam Thompson started the opening riff for “Quiet Little Voices” and then mouthed along the words, remembering each lyric from its initial release over a decade ago. As the show started to feel like it was reaching its end, Thompson mentioned how there wouldn’t be a separate encore. Side note: this made me like them even more. Why do bands do encores? If the house lights and music stay down, we know the band is coming back. The jig is up. Just let us stay in the groove of the show. But, the band did play one more before sending us out into the balmy Wednesday night air—“It’s Thunder and It’s Lightning.” The perfect track for us to scream our lungs out to before heading home. Right foot followed by a left foot We’ll guide you home before your curfew And into your bed In the before times, before we all carried masks in our pockets, before the phrase “vaxxed and waxed” appeared in dating profiles, and before “have you had it?” was asked as casually as someone asking how your weekend was, I’d occasionally wander over the Walnut St bridge to WXPN on Fridays a bit before noon. Since 2005, WXPN, arguably one of the best public radio stations in the country, has hosted free mini concerts at noon at their headquarters in Philadelphia. Typically the set featured artists who are touring through Philly that night or weekend. I’ve made the stroll across the bridge to see The Bahamas, Hop Along, and The Pixies (!) and countless others.
After almost a year and half of cancelled and postponed shows, Free at Noon kicked off again in October 2021 with Heartless Bastards (side note: while I missed the noon show, I did see them later that night in the same space. If you get a chance to go hear Erika Wennerstrom sing live, GO!) And now, just a few months later, WXPN brought their Free at Noon series to Ardmore Music Hall, featuring Langhorne Slim, who was scheduled to play that same venue to a sold out crowd later that night. To be honest, I didn’t know much of Langhorne Slim’s music before registering for a ticket. But it’s conveniently located, free, and I missed the smell of patchouli surrounding me, so I took my lunch break and headed to the show. At 11:57am, I slid my sunglasses down my nose as I walked into Ardmore Music Hall, shocked at the packed space. All of these people stepped away from their work, their lives, to spend 45 minutes listening to live music. Promptly at noon, Dan Reed, host for WXPN, stepped on stage to start the show. Airing across the local airwaves and accessible to anyone with an internet connection, Dan warmed up the crowd and then welcomed Langhorne Slim to the stage. Langhorne Slim aka Sean Scolnick sauntered onto the stage in a grey suit and a beanie atop his head. It would be a solo set. He started strumming his guitar and after a few notes of singing, I was hooked. And really kicking myself for not buying tickets to the night set. He has an ease about his playing that is mesmerizing, and you can tell he feels every word he sings. Encouraging the crowd to sing along, we hopped and clapped along as we were all ignoring the realities of our workdays. About half way through the set, he took pause to reflect on the past two years, the feelings of isolation, asking the crowd “who is in therapy?” After a few raised hands and yells, the man next to me proudly screamed “that’s not enough of you!” after he pulled his own hand down. Langhorne Slim looked out at the crowd and remarked on the “divine dance floor that we’re all gathered on today.” He mused how it was only noon and some of us were already a little drunk or high. He guessed that some of us may be on lunchtime Tinder dates, and hoped those that did got lucky after. He talked about how I think a lot of us felt during the early pandemic days: alive but not living. Every show I’ve been to since the pandemic began, the artist has dedicated time to connecting. Connecting with the crowd, connecting with their feelings, and connecting with their deep gratitude to be able to perform again in a crowded room. Even if only for 45 minutes, we all experienced a lot more connection than at least I normally have on a Friday at noon. This whole world is full of fear and grief Love, it is the door, and faith's the key Nothing is deserved nor guaranteed I offer myself to Thee This time almost exactly two years ago, I was blasting Begonia through my headphones at work. Her 2019 debut album, Fear, filled my ears with electric energy and personal lyrics. I was getting ready to start a new job, take a trip to Mexico, and then return to see Begonia perform at MilkBoy in Philly. Excitement was in the air.
But this was March 2020, aka when the world was put on pause. Instead of going to a show on Friday, March 15, 2020, I was hunkered down at my apartment trying to figure out how to make a mask while eating too much charcuterie and DIYing cocktails. If anyone had told me it would be over a year until I saw another show, I think I would’ve laughed. And then probably cried. But flash forward to Friday, March 11, 2022. Begonia’s tour was rescheduled, and she was back in Philly. After my ID and vaxx card were checked at the door, I noticed a bar full of people as I climbed the stairs to the stage at MilkBoy. House music was playing through the speakers as fellow concertgoers packed in towards the stage. I ordered a gin and soda and felt the familiar hug of the environment. While this wasn’t my first show since the pandemic began, it was the first time I was in a venue this small, packed to the brim, with folks who love live music as much as I do. By 8:30 the opener, who I won’t name, went on. They crooned and overly vocalized every original and cover song they performed. Hot take: acoustic versions of Drake and Outkast should never be performed. Ever. After 45 minutes they cleared the stage (finally) and patrons headed to the bar to get in another round before the main act. But then she came out. Alexa Dirks aka Begonia walked through the crowd towards the stage, her band mates in tow. Dressed in a matching set with jewels on her face, the crowd gently parted as applause and yells grew in waves. She opened the set with my personal favorite “The Other Side,” showing off her dynamic vocal range and captivating stage presence. You know how sometimes you’re disappointed with how an artist sounds live? This was the opposite. And with my eyes closed I listen in the night Thinking it'd be nice Just to see The other side A bit into the show, a friend joined me. He had never heard of Begonia, but trusted my taste. I think he’d say how glad he was he took the chance on coming out. As the end of the show rolled in, she had performed most of Fear and a few hit singles. We had danced and swayed our bodies to the beats, singing along to some of the bigger hits like “Beats.” Despite her powerful voice and catchy songs, Begonia hasn’t reached mainstream success quite yet in the US. During the show she remarked how she’d be happy if only ten people were at the show, and I’m happy that the 200+ people in the room were a visible symbol of how talented and loved she is. Begonia walked off the stage, again cutting through the crowd that parted as congratulations and praise were shouted her way. As she approached my direction, I couldn’t help but look her square in the eye, saying “that was absolutely incredible.” She paused, sweetly smiled and said thank you, and gently patted my arm as she walked by. The power of connection after two years of varying degrees of isolation…well, there really aren’t any words. Go hug your friends if you can, listen to your favorite artists, and remember that electric feeling that can strike through your bones when the beat hits. Go enjoy the show. Can you describe how to catch a feeling Changing your mind isn't worth the dealing But once you decide you're living at the ceiling You can't get no high You can't get no higher Its' nothing, they explain it's like a diesel train
Better not be there when it rolls over And when that train rolls in, you won't know where it's been You gotta try to see a little further They love each other, Lord you can see it's true Lord you can see it's true, Lord you can see it's true -Grateful Dead 525 days. That’s how long I went without being in a dark music venue, surrounded by the smells of spilled beer, too much cologne, and my heart thumping in time to the bass level. Throughout the pandemic, every single person on this planet has suffered some sort of loss; family members, friends, connection, jobs...the list goes on. In times of great loss, we often seek comfort from the things we love most. For me, that love has always been live music. With the world beginning to open up (and precautions in place to ensure safety to staff and guests), it was time to break my 525 day streak. The show? Everyone’s Dead at Ardmore Music Hall. After stumbling to show both my COVID vaccine card and ID at the door while a man checked my fanny pack, my ticket was scanned and I walked into the venue. Overwhelmed by the amount of actions that happened in under a minute, a woman grabbed my focus with a “welcome back” as I entered the hall. Sliding my sunglasses off my face, mask up, my eyes readjusted to the space. The smell of patchouli wafted through my mask, and I stared out at the sea of tie dye and concert goers of all ages. It was 7:40, and frankly forgetting what time concerts start, I took a walk around before grabbing a beer from the bar. It was impossible to not notice the eyes that peered out above everyone’s masks, full of both excitement and a subtle “does this feel weird to you, too?” kind of vibe. 20 minutes later, the crowd hushed briefly before filling the air with applause as the band came on stage. As I held my beer in my hand with my back pressed up against the bar ledge, my body felt heavy as the band started playing. It was the feeling described in romance novels, when the woman finally realizes she’s madly in love with some man, and her beloved appears in front of her. It was a swelling of the heart triggered but the sudden, all encompassing feeling of being near what you love most. It was the feeling of returning to my love, live music. |
About MeJust a woman living in Philadelphia, PA with her cat, trying to make an ordinary life less ordinary. Archives
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