Clinging to the Woodstock vibe

Getting the elusive Woodstock vibe is easy ... holding on to it, not so much.

Being in Bethel Woods is amazing. And then you walk into the museum gift shop, which is strewn with more commercialism than you can are able to view amidst the packed crowd. And the merchandise you can actually see doesn't say "Woodstock," probably because that's a trademarked name. So the reason the place exists is the reason they can't use the name?

But then you see the line for entrance with thousands of eager (and sweaty) people on it. And an old hippie holds a sign that "Need a free ticket for tonight" ... and he gets one minutes later!

We headed to Woodstock ourselves without tickets for the sold-out show, but with expectations of meeting someone who had two extra lawn seats early in the afternoon. While we could have gotten the tickets the box office released that day at cost, we stayed true to the vibe and waited on our supplier (much delayed by ... traffic, of course!)

Mark's backup plan to our woes was to use the old hippie Paul's sign to get tickets of our own. He even procured the sign to that end. And when our source showed up, we passed the sign on to another, who got a ticket -- no joke -- five seconds later. Paul added "Pay it forward ... it worked for me!" to the bottom of the sign and we left it outside in hopes that it would be used by others as we finally entered the gates.

The modern-day facility neighbors the original Max Yasgur farm that played host to the original Woodstock (I said it! I said it! I'm not paying royalties!!), and we found out that the foundation plans for that plot to remain untouched forever.

The Woodstock vibe was flowing through the people we met who told us stories of being at the original show -- one guy spent two days working his way to the front of the stage until he found himself there for Joe Cocker's set -- and NOT being at the show -- one poor lady went without tickets and was turned away (only to find out a day later, when access was impossible, that it had become a free show). Her friend also had been at Woodstock (*TM) and she had been left by her then-boyfriend (who also planned to be there for the 40th) when they lost track of each other amidst the hundreds of thousands.

Oh, fun note. Mark endured some teasing for wearing his New Jersey Devils shirt to the event. Although I surmised that there wouldn't be any other such apparel in view, Frank Marshall stopped us to appreciate the subject, and to show off his own team spirit at the same time.

We quickly staked out a spot on flat rocks in the shade, but quickly surmised we wouldn't last eight-plus hours on them since they were perilously sloped to the ground. We moved to flat -- and sweltering -- ground at the back center of the lawn and promptly fell asleep amidst the growing lawn full of families and wanna-be hippies who didn't attend the actual Woodstock as tuning continued for an hour or so on the stage.

It was a nice (but did I mention hot!) way to pass the day. And when the show got underway that kind of now-you-feel-it, now-you-don't Woodstock vibe floated in the air. I guess it sort of hurt the premise that all the bands had members no longers with them, whether by nature or other design. But everyone sounded really good, no off-key or out-of-tune embarrassments across the board. Rather than play-by-play the sets, I'll just hand out some props and some dubious honors for the evening.

Most faithful rendition:
15-year-old Conrad Oberg's take on Jimi Hendrix's seminal "Star-Spangled Banner" opened the show.

Least faithful rendition:
Big Brother's "Me and Bobby McGee." Uh, this was a Janis solo song, guys. That means after she left y'all.

Worst awareness of surroundings:
Despite a pretty big contingent of pint-sized fans (all of whom seemed to be able to get down), Country Joe proceeded with a "Gimme an F ... Gimme a U ... Gimme a C ... Gimme a K... what's it spell?!" chant rather early in the afternoon.

Best "fake" band member:
Cathy Richardson's amazing take on Grace Slick for Jefferson Starship nee Airplane (see right).

Worst "fake" band member:
Sophia Ramos of Big Brother. They brought on an Oriental guest vocalist for the first two songs, and while she had a bit of trouble with enunciation, the songs still sounded right. Ramos, fine in the straight-forward moments, really irked when she tried for Janis vocal stretches.

Best appropriation of someone else's idea:
Me! "Gimme a F ... Gimme a U ... Gimme a C ... Gimme an H ... Gimme an S ... what's it spell? FUCHS! FUCHS! FUCHS!" The only person I know of who could have done Janis justice.

Best use of a single riff:
Canned Heat. Canned riff. Hey, it gets people boogeying. But let's be honest. They keep playing the same ol' song with different words in front of them. Even Ten Years After felt obliged to use it once in their set.

Best anachronism:
Leslie West of Mountain called for the lighting technician to follow him electronically as he played the five notes of the "Close Encounters of the Third Kind" theme.

Best storyteller:
West again! Before diving into an energetic "Crossroads," West admitted he would be selling insurance if it wasn't for Eric Clapton. He recalled speaking to his brother about why the late Felix Pappalardi (Mountain's bassist and Cream's producer) couldn't get Mountain to sound like Cream. "Because you suck," brother said. West put the dig aside, until he went to see Cream in concert for himself. "We do suck!" West then proclaimed. It made him bear down and practice even harder.

Best surprise:
West trifecta!! It was rather late in the evening when West asked for the crowd's indulgence, bringing out his fiance Jenni Maurer and getting hitched on the stage ... by none other than the night's closer, Levon Helm. (Oh by the way, this is only biggest surprise if we fail to include my mom telling me via cell phone that day for the first time that when the original Woodstock took place, we were vacationing mere miles away.)

Best performance:
It was way late and the soothing sounds might not be traditional headliner fare, but The Levon Helm Band stood hand and shoulders above a pretty impressive rest of the field. Although Levon (who has battled throat cancer) was on "vocal rest," he centered a striking collection of musicians with his affinity for and talent on the skins.

Found at The Fillmore

It's difficult to get me out and aboot on Fridays after a long week of Minor League baseballing. But the surest way to do it is to present a concert by someone that I've wanted to see for over a decade and never had the chance to.

This week's entry was Fastball. As an aficionado of the perfectly crafted pop song (be it Rick Springfield or Fleetwood Mac or Squeeze), Fastball fires right down the middle with some heat. They're great at depicting the human condition amidst a catchy riff, the name of the pop game.

My last solo outing was to see The Arc Angels, who 1. I had wanted to see for over a decade and 2. were also playing at The Fillmore. It's apparently becoming my catchup ground. I expect to hear an announcement for Pearl Jam's Stone Gossard's side project Brad or the Ben Folds Five reunion any day now.

Fastball was actually the middle act on this night, between Aimee Allen (whose got a nice Gwen Stefani quality to her voice and stage presence) and Sugar Ray (if you don't have anything nice to say... save your scorn for later in the blog).

Actually the real opening act was on the line outside the theater, when a poor woman projectile heaved not once, but twice. Luckily I wasn't one who wound up with residue on my feet, that particular thrill was saved for people on the line ahead of her and I was right behind. However, standing amidst that for 20 or so more minutes after the spew, I was quite ready to go myself. It was close but we avoided a recreation of the total barfarama scene in "Stand by Me."

I made a beeline to the merch table, and they had the perfect shirt for me -- a peace sign with stars behind it. (The two-fingered salute as opposed to the peace symbol.) Snatched one of those and quickly donned it. With the first five or six rows already filled in in the hall, I went upstairs and got a close spot on the railing that I didn't move from for a couple hours.

Aimee Allen was solid, with her bassist (twice her size) getting the crowds' arms waving or clapping whenever it was called for. I couldn't help thinking that if Aimee got the airtime Gwen Stefani did, she'd be slaying the audience. And that was backed up when she covered Sublime's "Santeria" and the crowd went wild.

And then time for the main event ... for me. I got excited just watching Tony Scalzo set up his keyboards and guitar. It was a rush when they all came out on the stage and launched into the title track to "Little White Lies."

Got one of my favorites, "Fire Escape," very early. I love the way the voices of Tony and Miles Zuniga mix and mingle -- just like Doyle Bramhall II and Charlie Sexton a few months before. I'm always blown away by Joey Shuffield's drumming too, he hits the hell out of the skins but with perfect symmetry.

Tony introed another of my faves, "You're an Ocean," by saying it's a great song and I couldn't agree more. Song shoulda been mammoth, I could listen to that puppy 20 times in a row without getting tired of it.



The new material (i.e., "Mono to Stereo") sounded really strong and vital. I fear I'm mixing up which songs I heard and which I didn't because I was listening to the album all day on the iPod. I hope the band wasn't disappointed that they weren't getting the riotous response that many seemed to be saving for Unsweetened Ray, but it really was a thrill for me and I was into every minute.

The crowd went nutso when it came to "Out of My Head" and the band's biggest hit ... to date! ... "The Way," even singing out a verse loud and strong. We got "Always and Never" (unless I'm doing revisionist history again) and they were gone, sob.

Ready to forsake Sugar-free Ray, I got onto a small line queueing up at the Fastball merch table. I got to meet a bunch of diehards -- Barrie from the Village's WRXP, Jill, Susan, Mickey and (because there is always ONE person's name that I forget when I meet a group) a guy I'll refer to as Guy-who-loves-Glenn Tilbrook-almost-as-much-as-Mark.

We teased Guy-who-loves-Glenn for repeatedly doffing his shirt to try on a new one from the merch table. Susan and I joked about which one of us had bought the better shirt (when we both had bought the same one). Railed about Fastball playing before Saccharine Ray. Found out that the tour got set up because Tony used to play with Overly Sweetened Ray frontman Mark McGrath. Decided to limit my remarks about Sour Ray in front of the band.

That was if the band ever came down to the table. They didn't, which created hardship for the hard-working and very tall merch table worker... uh, Joe? (OK, now I'm down two names.) He texted backstage twice to no avail. Barrie decided to look around for the guys, he reminded me of a dedicated doggie that would not quit until he got his bone, and I asked Mickey whether Barrie would actually drag them back if he found success.

That was answered quickly enough when Barrie texted Mickey that the guys were upstairs, so we went up to say hi. I got to say hi to Miles. Holding the new CD I had purchased, I talked about how great I think it is while fretting that he would wonder how I could know about it in any depth since I was holding it in my hand. But I've actually had it for months off iTunes. He was very gracious and talked for a couple minutes before excusing himself.

By that time, Tony had also appeared in the area and I took note of his red sneakers (I was also wearing my laceless red Converses). After Barrie talked with him and Tony and Mickey shook hands, I introduced myself and -- prepare for my worst faux pas since writing on Nick Johnson with a Sharpie -- bumped his glasses as I tried to say something sensical. (In my defense, Sweet-and-very-Low Ray was playing at the time and the only way to be heard was to invade the man's space.)

He didn't even make mention of it, and we bonded over the red sneakers, doing a little simultaneous shuffle in our sneaks. I told him as well that I loved the CD and would wait at the table for autographs. He seemed concerned about people waiting downstairs, but another person intervened before he could work his way to the stairs.

With another show in Jersey next month (embarrassment of riches after a long drought!), I decided to start making the trek home. And after walking out the door, I met the third member of the triumvirate, Joey. Babbled a little about how much I love his drumming, he asked me if I was a drummer, I said "only an air drummer" and he said, "well that's drumming." Again, I dragged out my bon mot about how great the CD is, and again I felt I could almost see in his eyes the disbelief. Told him I would see him next month and was on my way with a spring in my step and a rewrite of one of Artificial Sweetener Ray's tunes.

"I just wanna flyyyyy ... I don't wanna hear your sucky music ... I don't wanna hear lame tunes ... I ... just ... want ... to ... flyyyyyyyyyy."

They say the neon lights are bright...

Seeing Broadway shows always reminds me of the great affinity I have for theater and dance. If I got to choose a path from any in the world (and had the necessary talents), I very well might have chosen the stage (yes, even above guitarist). And I wouldn't even need to be the lead -- although the complete package of musicality and dance would be very appealing -- just a part of a company putting on a show like "Hair." So my unspoken dream would be to dance on Broadway.

Now I've danced on Broadway.

It was just a couple minutes at the end of the June 20 matinee performance of the Tony Award winner for Best Revival. But it's enough.

Had wanted to see the show for a while. Saw "The Tribe," as they are deemed, on Letterman and again on the Tonys broadcast. The energy and spirit was just amazing. It really sucks me in.

Tried to get the lottery seats for the show once -- a couple hours before each show, there's a lottery for 28 seats at $25 apiece, a real bargain considering what even the TKTS prices for shows are. Didn't win, but I knew my sis, Lorrie (aka Pook), was coming into town in a couple weeks and she said she'd like to see it, so I didn't buy the TKTS $91 partial view option (come on! That's a discount?)

We tried in vain -- not the artery but in vain -- to get the lottery tickets again, and even the crowd was a little sparser due to matinee/rains, we still didn't win. Went to TKTS and got a little better of a deal. It was about to get a lot better.

Hair is on stage at the Hirschfeld Theater and pretty quickly after the lights go down, Sasha Allen drags you willingly into the period with a dynamic "Aquarius." I hadn't seen the show before, so I didn't know how different it was from the film version, but they break the fourth wall pretty quickly and it stays broken as The Tribe sings and dances in the audience on almost every number.

The main characters introduce themselves right off the bat and one of the male leads, Will Swenson (Berger), jumped into the crowd and introduced a lady in the front row at his mom. Apparently he does it every show, sometimes picking a teenager and calling her mom. More on Will/Berger later.

You don't really know where to look next when the Tribe is singing and dancing their hearts out, but Gavin Creel proves very magnetic as the other male lead Claude. Caissie Levy has an amazing singing voice and she gets to use it to great effect, particularly in "Easy to Be Hard" and in the seminal "Good Morning Starshine." Pook expects Allen to be a big star with her huge voice and beautiful countenance, and I gotta agree. Kacie Shiek (the first photo in the blog) is deft comedically and musically as pregnant Jeanie.

Our show had most of the cast intact, with only Allison Case as Crissy and three members of the tribe subbed out.

After the first act, Pook had noticed that the seats directly behind us and on the aisle were vacant, so we moved there for the second act. Fortuitous indeed, because one of the first things that happened was that members of the cast (including Swenson) entered from the side and after one of the female Tribe members patted me affectionately on the head, Swenson as Berger (he's the second blog pic) said "Hi, lovely" and kissed the top of my head (or my new Hair bandana). We also snagged an orphaned flower that had been tossed into the audience at the end of the first act and had been left unclaimed.

The second act moved swiftly into the very poignant staging of Claude leaving for the army ... and his sad return. Then the lights came up and the cast was beckoning members of the audience to come on stage. It took me about 30 seconds (and a little push) to go. When I got stage left, I was dancing with a nice older gentleman with a metal cane. He thanked me when the first encore ended. Then everyone joined in for "Let the Sunshine In," with arms rippling across the stage like waves.




















I turned around to applaud the band, and the guitarist tossed me his pick! On the way off, I stopped to congratulate Briana Carlson-Goodman, who had stood in as Crissy. She thanked me profusely and gave me a hug.

We went outside and waited for members of the cast. Ten of them came out, including Swenson, Bryce Ryness (a perfect Woof, in my opinion) and Sheik. When Jeanie came out, I yelled "Hey, she's not pregnant!" and the crowd laughed. Easy laugh.

The songs haven't left my head ... well, when there's room for them amidst my impressions of Charles Grodin's overacting in "King Kong," which kept cracking Pook up, so which of course, I kept doing to excess.

It was a great mental space to be for a few hours, and I'm hoping I get to invade that space ... and, OK, yeah, the stage, again sometime.

We can go our own way

(Note: I don't do blog dedications, but my heart is so heavy for two terrific friends and big music lovers, so this one is for Susan and Pam.)

After all the excitement of Wednesday's Clapton/Winwood show and one unexpected engagement, there were two roads Park could have gone down. The duo were making their way to Philadelphia and Washington, D.C. But we Claptonians decided to go down a different (and very long) path, and it didn't hurt that it was a cheaper path as well.

For months, we had been bemoaning the fact that our fave singer in the word Dana Fuchs, her kickass guitarist Jon Diamond and their rockin' band had been in Europe for months. So, with both the Dana Fuchs Band and Robert Randolph's Family Band on the free bill, we charted a course for Pittsburgh's Three Rivers Arts Music Festival.

That was all fine and good, except for when we hit town, we couldn't find the darn thing! No signage, and the GPS left us off in the middle of traffic. If we had wanted to go to Mellon Arena to rub elbows with Pens fans (and a few brave Wings fans) drooling over their impending Stanley Cup or if we wanted to take in a Pirates game (with a few brave Tigers fans), we would have been in luck.

But finally, we got pointed in the right direction (hey, there was signage AT the event, at least) and were seated in front of the stage (although a little discombobulatedly) with about 10 minutes to spare.

Dana, Jon and company were just what the doctor ordered. It's akin to a massage therapist getting into a knot on your shoulder, minus the residual pain the next day.

I got myself namechecked from the stage when Dana introduced "Drive," one of my favorite songs, and I hooted ... loudly. "Is that Paige? Thank you, girl." It's great to know all the songs in a setlist, it just added to an already substantive comfort level.

It was only a 45 minute-or-so set, but it was capped by Dana's trademark number, "Helter Skelter." Jon later told me that he saw me rockin' out from the stage, I gotta admit I do love to cut loose on that on.



We got on line to say hi to Dana and made some new friends -- particularly Brittany (a younger fan who apparently has a lot better idea of what music to listen to and of what to do on a Friday night than many of her peers) and another Mark (his dad owns the world's largest album collection -- vinyl -- in the world, which sadly recently went up on eBay.)

Saw one of the coolest things while waiting on line. A woman was very deftly working a hula hoop all over herself -- neck, arms, waist -- she was really nimble about it. Jon pointed it out to Dana, who was just amazed and open-mouthed. So there's someone who made her feel like we do when we hear her sing!!

I told them about how great Dana is with her fans, treating us more like friends. She bore that out by looking so happy when I told her about the engagement and had a hug and kiss for both of us. I told her once again that I would be happy to help her out anyway I can on the writing front. And also that she better stay in the USA for a while!! She said that it really was great to be on home turf in front of people who could understand what she was saying.

By the time we were done, Robert Randolph was underway and we sidled into an open spot. In fact, we kept moving up and by the end of the show, we were pretty much in the second or third row of the crowd.

RR and band exemplify a theory that Dana has about her religion (and ours) being the church of music, peace and love. Something to believe in that really make you feel better. And you feel it with every fiber of your body when both of these acts perform.

After our "religious" experience, we started heading toward Atlantic City. We found out the Penguins had won Game 7 via an electronic travel advisory sign: "Congrats Pens, Stanley Cup champs!"

We stopped for the night about an hour out of town and then ran into a parking lot in Philadelphia the next day, when we feared for 1. our sanity and 2. our Fleetwood Mac show -- not necessarily in that order. The GPS was less help than usual, so we pulled out a map and got ourselves up to Trenton and then over to AC.

AC is a special Mac place for us, since Mark had his Lindsey Buckingham epiphany when we were there last year with my sis. The city was almost under a layer of fog, and I sort of felt that way myself. But when the opening notes of "Monday Morning" started, I shook it off.

Stevie was in particularly good voice -- better than in both the shows we previously saw on the tour. There was a great stretched out-line (she's a draaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa-gon) in "Gold Dust Woman" that made me and Jenna (we had met on the eternal Stevie line at Borders a couple months ago ) gasp out loud.

Jenna was battling the forces of evil, namely a man who spilled at least half a glass of wine on her back with limited remorse, but we ended up rocking out pretty well. The three of us played the Mac drinking game (sans alcohol) and pretended to take shots each time a member hit one of the signals -- Lindsey talking about the band's complicated emotional history, Stevie twirling, Mick saying something unintelligible and John not saying anything (basically the whole show).

It was fun and exhausting and I am realllllllllllllllllllllly eager to just settle in on the old (make that new) homefront for a while.

You're old school ... and engaged!

First show of the 2009 Clapton/Winwood Tour and, once again, it was in my backyard. This time at the former Continental Airlines Arena, a place that was my home away from home when my beloved New Jersey Devils played there.

A few things had changed since the previous tour incarnation. Namely, I had met Mark while hanging with some Clapton friends prior to, during and after his Jones Beach show a year ago. We have been to many many concerts since, but we had never sat together for an EC show.

I considered the MSG shows to be in the upper echelon of concerts I've ever seen, and I was expecting a lot this time around. Didn't know if there would be setlist changes (there was some tweakage) or how the addition of backup singers would affect the balance (not too harshly as it turns out, but still unnecessary).

"Had to Cry Today" was a nice opener, but it wasn't until the fifth song ("Presence of the Lord") that everything started to come together. Truth be told, it wasn't a lot like the MSG dates. That had a different vibe, and only "Presence," "Glad/Well Alright," "Pearly Queen" and the first part of "Can't Find My Way Home" (done acoustically instead of electrically this time) seemed to be in that vein. (I jammed out to "Well Alright," and I'm convinced that Steve was looking my way at the time -- as Park found out during its time on stage with Mick Fleetwood -- it's pretty easy to see the audience four rows away ... although he may have been looking at a tall blonde behind me. ;))

A lot of that came from the change in drummers, I feel, from the more retro-sounding Ian Thomas at MSG to the hard-hitting Abe Laboriel Jr. MSG's show-stopper "Voodoo Chile" took on a more palpable drum feel, even "Little Wing" did as well -- and the latter featured the most incendiary solo of the night via Mr. Clapton. (It also provided for a couple humorous moments when I flicked a Bic lighter during the song and two different fans approached me to say I was showing my appreciation "old school," like in the days of yore.)

By contrast, "After Midnight," "Tell the Truth" and the crowd favorite of the night, acoustic "Layla" were serviceable, but not particularly memorable. The Buddy Miles tribute from MSG, "Them Changes" was changed to one for legendary blues guitarist Hubert Sumlin ("Tough Luck Blues") without missing a beat.

Winwood's Traffic numbers "Pearly Queen" and "Dear Mr. Fantasy" came off well, and as EC did in his recent Allman Brothers stint, his style is beautifully suited to those numbers. In turn, Winwood delivered some great vocal chops while trading vocals with Clapton on "Forever Man" and even "Cocaine."

EC seemed almost resigned to do his solo number, "Driftin'," even slouching into his seat after Winwood brought the house down with his solo signature song "Georgia on My Mind." But as usual, Clapton punctuated the acoustic version with notes that resonated strongly throughout the building.

The crowd was appreciative throughout, and for the first time since those MSG shows, there didn't seem to be any conflict between fans who wanted to dance their way through the set and those who wanted to just sit and soak it all in.

The festivities ended surprisingly ... for me at least, when my man proposed following the final notes of "Dear Mr. Fantasy" and the crowd's roar of approval. After I regained consciousness, I was given a Ring Pop (orange, yummy) and the option to choose my own ring. A most engaging end to a wonderful night at the ... OK, I can finally say it ... Izod Center.

Running Angel-ic interference

I soooooo wasn't up for a concert yesterday. Lost my dream house for the second time in a hellacious round of muckety-muck that probably would have gotten someone sued if I wasn't trying to save pennies for whatever home I do wind up purchasing.

But this one was special. I was a fan of the Arc Angels in the early '90s and an ever bigger fan of Doyle Bramhall II since. And it's just a show I never thought I would get the opportunity to experience. There had been fractious discord in the band caused by that most odious of obsessions -- drug addiction. And it never crossed my mind that I would get to see them.

So with that in mind, I sucked it up and went 'arkless to the show. Got there early and met a small handful of diehards directly in front of the stage. They were neatly divvied up into a small posse of Doylies and a sextet of Sextonites. OK, it was five -- but that doesn't sound as cool. I neatly squoze between both of them and got to be at the very front of the stage in the middle of both, with leanings toward the Doyle side.

We stood for a loooooong time, basically because the opening band had backed out and the Angels were still coming out at 9:20. I couldn't believe there was no merch table -- what the what?!? The Sextonites were already bemoaning lack of promotion for the show, 'cause it looked like the band was going to play to an empty hall until 9:25, when the knowing masses piled in.

I have been in Doyle's Yahoo group of fans for a while, and whenever I've posted no one has ever responded to me. But in the collection of Doylies were "The Famous Jane" (great to have a name made famous in one of your favorites' songs) and "the infamous Johnny," both of whom have also been in that group for a while. I promised to try posting again, they promised to answer.

The venue is the world-famous Fillmore. Well, the reconstituted world-famous Fillmore at the also well-known Irving Plaza anyway. At the hall they have a screen that comes three-fourths of the way down the stage and flashes images to the retro '60s and '70s sounds being pumped into the room. I spent much of my two hours before the show trying not to look at it to avoid dizziness. And when the band came down the stairs, we could watch their legs walking around on stage. Nothing pumps up women like seeing strong guitar legs and this band has two sets of them!

When the screen went up, we could see Doyle was wearing an Antone's t-shirt and ... damn it, that long waistcoast that prevents one from seeing our favorite ass-ets. To his and the band's credit, I didn't even really think about that until the fourth song. That's not half-bad. And I didn't think about the house thing until about the fifth or sixth, so it definitely was helping me out.

Charlie looked like a cross between Steve Winwood and Christopher Reeve in his younger days, very striking. In the back, Chris Layton was pounding away on the drums, he looked so small back there. Unfortunately, original band member Tommy Shannon has been ill and his place was taken by someone who kept reminding me of "Wolfman," the guy who replaces TB Player in "That Thing You Do," a talented guy who seems to be outside of the band's inner circle.

There's such great musical chemistry between Charlie and Doyle, it's better than lead singers who just take turns singing their own songs, because they sing different verses in the same song. It's very cohesive and makes it all, well, just feel right.

They opened with "Paradise Cafe," and Jane got her moment with "Famous Jane" a couple songs later. They did one of Doyle's solo efforts, "I'm Leaving," and "Sent by Angels" and "Spanish Moon" were expected treats. The Sextonites and I got a lot of hooting in whenever there was a chance, and my new friend, fellow hippiester Ruth, and I boogied and sang lyrics at each other.

There wasn't much banter with the crowd, but Doyle did preface "Outside Woman Blues" by saying they were about to head over to London to open for his sometime-boss Eric Clapton and that although EC didn't write the song, his band Cream did perform it. He added that the Angels' version would be nothing like that. And it wasn't! It was like their version with the pedal to the metal, very cool and trippy.

Great interaction between the two guitarists, Charlie liked to meander over and whisper to Doyle and there would be smiles ... when DBII could hear what he was saying, anyway. They would trade solos and it just made for a good time. I thought 'ark would really appreciate it, because up at the front railing, the guitar sounds were awesome but the vocals super-muddied. Since 'ark isn't really into lyrics, it would have been perfect for him.

We got great solos in the encore numbers, "She's Alright" and "Too Many Ways to Fall," as Johnny had told me would be the last number of the night. And then the screen came down and they were gone. Ruth's childhood friend Mary snagged TB Player's setlist, of which I captured on my cell phone to go into the collection.

So as always, very glad I went, and I can't wait for my EC friends heading to London to see them, and I really hope the energy that we fed off in the smaller venue will translate to the world-famous Royal Albert Hall (which I still need to get to someday!)

Could we Squeeze by?

How many times have you been watching a musician or group and a questions pops into your head that you'd love to have answered? And you can't, because there's separation of church and state (make that separation between musicians and ears with feet).

Well Friday night was the night for question-and-answer. Just about anything Park had on their minds was brought up with the musicians and then answered. But the first question of the night actually came from the artist. In this case, Glenn Tilbrook. And not really him, but the woman leading him up a crowded staircase after they arrived as the audience was starting to file into the Highline Ballroom.

"Could we squeeze by?" It was almost too precious. I was laughing so hard, I almost couldn't get out of the way to let the fomer-turned-once again sometime lead singer of Squeeze into his own gig. "Hey Glenn," I finally managed. "Hi," he replied affably.

The chain continued with other members of his band. And there's Stephen Large, the slim, affable and energetic keyboardist in Glenn's side band, The Fluffers. Earlier that week, I had been talking with a fellow fan who remarked that it was interesting that Stephen and bassist Lucy Shaw were married and wondered if they had met while playing with Glenn or if they previously knew each other.

I said hi to Stephen too and queried whether I could ask him a quick question. He said sure and I asked about him and Lucy. He said they had known each other before they got into the band. One question asked and ahn-swered (I'm affecting Glenn's Brit accent, hey, if he can call himself Hendrix's son, I can do that.)

So we're at the very front of the Highline stage and the gear is set up for the opening band, The Spring Standards. 'Ark notices a dollar bill taped to the guitarist's pedal and wonders why that is. Stay tuned...

The Spring Standards hit us like a breath of fresh air. To start off with, they're intriguingly set up at the front of the stage, and each of the three members (James, Heather and James) have a piece of the drum kit in addition to their other duties. I wonder if the name James is a precursor to being hired by Glenn ... Alternative band James (BORINGLY!) did the honors at Radio City last year. The two Jameses and Heather proved to be the opposite.

The Jamesi even switched guitars and positions on the stages during the show. Very multi-faceted this crew, whose music ran the gamut of possible influences. As 'Ark aptly put it, they didn't have any filler. Put even more simply, it's the best opening band Park has seen to date.

And we got to tell them so! Another of the burning questions that came up while watching them was how they got into each playing a different piece of the drum kit. As James (of the high hair) told me, it was very organic. They're campfire musicians used to just trying different things. Well, it all worked Friday. And ... wait for it ... the dollar bill was given to James (high hair again) by fluffer drummer Simon Hanson. He taped it to his pedal to remind him that the business isn't just all about money. (He and the other two didn't seem to need to be reminded it, as their infectious enthusiasm carried them along as much as the quality tuneage.)

Other James (dressed like a geography teacher -- his words -- for the New York show) kept that gag running by choosing to doodle a palm tree and a blazing sun on the vinyl he signed for us, admitting that frankly that was all the geography he could draw. All three of them were as gracious as they could be to hear nice words about their music, to make a sale, just to be engaged in conversation.

Even before Glenn and The Fluffers took the stage, the opening act seemed very complementary to Glenn and Co.'s style. With Squeeze taking a break, Glenn's crew has been on a brief 16-stop tour (reminds us of Lindsey Buckingham's own mini-tour, but pretty much there is not much that doesn't remind us of him one way or another right now). And they're rolling on all cylinders too, not surprising for a band that's been together for about six years. Glenn in particular looked in very good health and was a sharp-dressed man (minus the beard) in a black pinstripe suit with Fluffer t-shirt underneath it to boot.

The new songs got a real boost from being played live (as all the best ones do, when performed by quality musicians). During the tour, Glenn had different guests fill in for the Johnny Depp's album vocal. On this night it was Heather's turn to utter "Too Close to the Sun" every time Glenn nodded in her direction as The Fluffers manically interwove notes and chords around her.

Of course Squeeze hits ("Slap and Tickle", "Pulling Mussels from a Shell", "Up the Junction") and by now Glenn standards ("Unbreakable", "Parallel World") fared very well. On one of his solos, he wound up "Too Close to the Park and stepped on our newly acquired LP (no harm, no foul).

"Take Me I'm Yours" seemed to have the show wrapped on a high note, but Glenn brought "The Kids" -- as he put it and we now deem them -- back to the stage for the final encore. His new CD is named "Pandemonium Ensues" and it definitely seemed like that was on his mind. His first order of business was to declare that everyone had to switch instruments.

He played the drums and eventually got a hold of Lucy's bass, and then rang out the first few lines of "Rhiannon" -- we can NOT escape the Mac!!! Heather sang it most capably too. Then it was on to one of 'Ark's favorite songs "Funkytown." And lastly but so not leastly, the band's usual ode to Minnie Riperton's "Lovin' You."

There was a little variation on it this time. As Stephen plinked out the notes, the stage -- so up close and personal as to be surreal -- became a slow-motion view of the remaining musicians just tearing up the joint. They were mock-punching other out (Glenn particularly caused laughter by plunging face first into a wayward cymbal) and just wrecking the stage to the ever-sweet sounds of "Lovin' You." And then he started to sing and the band lined up behind him like chorus girls waving their arms slowly like the Rockettes (see above photo). When it came to "that high note," instead of sweetly going up an octave or four, they held a low piercing scream instead. Check out the video here -- the melee starts at about 2:25 of the way through. I can't even do it justice. Even the YouTube doesn't quite capture it.

Got that setlist too! This one right off of Stephen's keyboards and into my waiting arms.

While waiting to meet Glenn for the first time, The Kids came out and mixed and mingled with attendees. 'Ark went over to get his EP CD signed, and he mentioned that I had met Stevie Nicks earlier in the week and we both enjoyed her version of "Rhiannon." She looked across the room at where he was gesturing, I gave her the thumbs-up and she gave it right back to me. "Great job!" She seemed both happy and maybe a hint of relieved? She told 'Ark she messed it up a little bit, don't worry, even Stevie trips over her lyrics and she's known for "drownding in the sea of love" as well.

'Ark had this idea of telling the musicians that a live album of the proceedings could be called "Pandemonium Ensued." When we told Stephen the idea, he mustered up a little chuckle and not much more enthusiasm. But 'Ark thought it would be better received by Glenn and, boy, was he right. Glenn threw his head of tousled hair back and chuckled heartily. A more appreciative response there could not be.

With the Fluffers' tour in the books, I wanted to ask Glenn about whether he was going to do one of those wondrous acoustic shows again. And since it was the day for asking, I did! In a way not dissimilar from Mick Fleetwood's response during the Meet and Greet, he said he was not not planning one and added he wanted to do all of it. I told him we would be there in any form or fashion.

Getting a Nicks Fix

Time for another mid-week blog. This one is brought to you courtesy of my MiLB colleague Daren, Barnes & Noble and the indefatigable Miss Stevie Nicks. As we look up on the tote board, we see the Pai count is three-fifths of modern-era Fleetwood Mac accounted for autographs, two-fifths in face-to-face meetings.

We take up the action midday Tuesday. I knew Stevie Nicks would be doing her first-ever in-person signing at the Barnes & Noble in Union Square. She released a live CD and DVD on the same day, and already heard that people would be allowed to get only those signed (there went the Rumours cover with Mick and Stevie on it). Also heard that she was a bit squeamish about hundreds of people flashing photos in her face, so cameras were prohibited (but obviously snuck in by others despite her wishes as you can see here).

When I left for work at around 3, the 300-person seating capacity was just about filled. But then we got word that they would reseat those with people who waited in ... and wait for it EC fans ... the queue. Well I didn't really have time to wait in the queue. ;) I had to get to work for a meeting (which said colleague graciously offered to have happen an hour earlier so I could at least make an attempt at the signing).

When I heard about how many people were out there, I almost didn't go, but Daren had made his effort on my behalf so off I raced after the meeting. I got my flier, got on the line out the door. People were still being brought in for standing room only on the fourth floor, they were to pay for two items at the register and that receipt gained them entrance to the Stevie level.

I was standing sort of perpendicular with the store, but a guard moved us parallel to it. When that happened, a man got ahead of me. Now I didn't think much of it at the time, 'cause well we were far away from the action. But he actually wound up being the last person able to purchase. The guard let five of us up to the register -- I was the first on this line. And there we stood for about 90 minutes waiting and hoping that this would happen.

I didn't have much hope, until the clerk -- poor thing forced to stand with us all that time and basically do nothing as we whined and questioned her about previous book signings to figure out our chances -- said that usually the fourth floor doesn't have the chairs in there and holds more for the signings.


Made some nice acquaintances on the line. Caustic Jenna was definitely a highlight. She had just been at the Izod show too, so we were trading comments about that one. Melissa had been to the Madison Square Garden show and the friend she had come with -- low and behold, another Gina! -- actually was stuck back at the door, the guard wouldn't let them both through together. There was a really sweet other woman as well, and I forget her name right now but she and her daughter have been sharing the Stevie love. She later said she would have bowed out at 6:30 if we hadn't kept her so occupied.

The most notable discussions were sordid mom tales (To even out the balance, I countered with my "best mom" story, saying if Mom lived in New York she woulda willingly sat upstairs all day for me) and life with "grey shirt" (a woman who actually had a receipt, but came back downstairs to try to buy another when the clerks were trying to convince her that she had a guaranteed autograph upstairs, and no guarantee if she was behind us).

So 90 minutes later, they let us purchase. And I got the magic receipt and up to the fourth floor I went. There was a looooong way to go. We got put in a couple different areas (one of which rearranged us so people who came after us actually wound up going before us ... sigh), but ultimately we did get seated in the main area. And the people just kept coming. They refilled the rows as soon as people went up for autographs. We got to watch "Grey Shirt" flitting around aimlessly a couple times, we did fear a little for Stevie when she got up there. But that moment seemed to pass without incident.

And then finally, our row got to stand and get in the line to the dais. It really sped up when it came to the big moment. You give your items to an assistant, who moves them over to Stevie. I started talking while she was signing. "How are you holding up?" I said. Her hand cramped a little and she hesitated, but said she was doing all right and just wanted to be able to sign for everyone. I said how much we all appreciated that and she said thanks for saying that. I added that I thought the band was playing fabulously right now. She grasped my hand in hers, made sure to make eye contact and said "Thanks very much, that means a lot to me."


















It was insanely sweet of her to be like that with everyone -- maybe 1,000 people. It made reflect on being a fan of hers ... back to 1982, when her special was on HBO and I cried because we couldn't get home for the start of it. (Don't bust my chops, there was no VCR back then, let alone a DVD!)

Oh, one tiny note, I've always sort of thought she had a remarkable resemblance to Carrie Fisher. That's really brought home in the above picture.

Mystery to Me

Wow, my last blog was "Perception vs. Reality" and that really has become a clarion call in the past few hours. This blog is named after both a Fleetwood Mac album and the questions that have arisen since I saw this particular video.



It makes me wonder if I've seen a ... well, "Mirage." (Yes, Fleetwood Mac album from the early '80s). If I was ... "Hypnotized" (pre-Buckingham Nicks song). I don't know what "I'm So Afraid" (with Buckingham Nicks) of in trying to figure it out. Well then again, I do. "I Don't Want to Know" (also with Buckingham Nicks) if it's something you don't want to know, ya know?

I'm definitely all over the actual video, being the person standing in front of the one who took it. Great shot of my watch! Now she's obviously a whole head taller than me -- that'll come in to play later. But what really got to me was the end, I have a reaction that I would say only occurred after the Lindsey moment. I'm about to break down.

This moment happened before the thank yous, and before late tonight, I would have sworn up and down that I got thanked after them. This video changed my mind.

It also reminded me of another fact. Although 'ark saw the blown kiss, I didn't remember it and that was because I had turned around after the "Thank You" in amazement. I was looking for someone else it could have been for. But no one was at my eyeline and, well, the man's eyes are pretty intense. I know he was talking to me. I froze for a second in a way I've only done twice in my lifetime and that's another reason why I know it was me. I did it when Rick Springfield looked at me and even earlier than that, the first time I met my "Guiding Light" fave Terrell Anthony.

So what about the blown kiss? As you can see on the video, the kiss is a bit off camera but comes into view around the time he points to the person holding the camera. It coulda been a general one, it coulda been for her. Hell, maybe it even is really part mine. But I know it wasn't part of the "thank you" package.

THEN he goes away and then the band thank yous are done. What sort of boggles my mind is that both 'ark and I totally got this wrong. I think it might have been the way he saw the kiss. I wanted to see it, so in my mind's eye, I did. We got a picture in our heads of the thank you happening after the band did theirs. It's related to the girls who were behind us after this photographer left, and not at all interesting so I won't go into further detail. But now as sure I was before that it initially happened that way, that's how sure I am now that it was the reverse.

So strange. It's got me "Mystified."

Perception vs. reality

I had this week all planned out to the letter. Used my powers of deductive reasoning culled from years of Dell logic problem solving to figure out when Eric Clapton would be able to join the Allman Brothers Band during their Beacon run and then played chicken to get an I Love All Access package for Fleetwood Mac at an auction for a third of what the other patrons paid for theirs.

And still, with that knowledge of what could happen, well I couldn't even fathom what it would be like when the weekend came to pass. Except maybe the worst-case scenario.

So we're off to the Beacon on Friday night and the band was in a slow jammy state of mind for the first set, starting off with Oteil's solo take on "Little Martha" to a montage of photos of the still very much-missed Duane Allman, whom this year's run is dedicated to. That segued into "Mountain Jam" and the likes of "Trouble No More," "Midnight Rider" and "Ain't Wastin' Time No More" before wrapping up with "Mountain Jam." It was a very laid-back ambience. Maybe that's for the best since we needed to be well-rested for the second set.

"Melissa" started off the second set, which cranked to an at-that-point evening high with "No One Left to Run With." But the Brothers DO have someone left to run with, someone kind of obvious, yet someone they had not played with in public in the four decades of their existence.

And with a this-man-needs-no-introduction introduction, EC joined the band on stage. They started off with "Key to the Highway," just enabling everyone to settle in. "Stormy Monday" was an unexpected setlist selection and the solos were masterful all the way around. Then came "Dreams," and anyone who knows Eric knows that he can just soak up the ambience in any environment and then deliver a masterful solo in that vein. Absolutely done here.



Then the killer punch to me ... "Why Does Love Got to Be So Sad." In particular, the guitar exchanges between Eric and Derek Trucks -- with EC now not Derek's boss (like on his solo tour), but his peer. It was dazzling the way they mixed and mingled guitar lines -- as potent as Duane did all those years ago on the Derek and the Dominos album that ultimately gave Derek his name. Like Eric and George Harrison on "While My Guitar Gently Weeps."



Speaking of weeping, when that ended, I wasn't nearly ready for the power of "Little Wing," so there was weeping to be sure. And then the BIG surprise "In Memory of Elizabeth Reed." Another ABB song that EC immersed himself in so completely, providing mesmerizing bits within the context of the very prized slice of Allman history. Went along so well with what Derek and Warren Haynes and Gregg Allman and co. were doing.



And the band got to repay the favor on the encore -- "Layla." I was expecting it to sort of soar, with the intertwining lines on "Why Does Love Got to Be So Sad" intimated that it might, but the Allmans have developed their own blissful take on it -- simple but majestic. Derek took off solo for the instrumental segment and didn't really need to relinquish the reins.



After the show, Park and visiting Doc Proc tried to make sense of what we just watched. The most obvious comparison was to the "Blind Faith" reunion with Steve Winwood last year. It's a little bit apples and oranges, but when you get down to the crux of it for me, Derek and the Dominos was my fave era in EC history. So if you're going to perform material at that high level, well it's like being in the original Fillmore East when that music was at its peak.



And for that reason, I would say that is the strongest performance that I've ever seen.

So the issue becomes, you have a show the next day. It's a show that you've seen once and that doesn't really alter in the way guitar solos tend to completely change the mood of a Clapton show.

But there were enticements expected to spice up the proceedings, notably the pre-show meet and greet with band founder Mick Fleetwood. The show was taking place at the ... snort ... Izod Center, which I prefer to call the former Continental Airlines Arena. Now all but obliterated by the hideousness which is to become Xanadu -- high def. remains a XanaDON'T! -- I hadn't been there for a couple of years, after spending at least a couple days a week there in the Devils' final season at the arena.




















We got treated like royalty from the moment we got there. Free drinks, ability to purchase merchandise at a table in the room and very attentive service. Then we were off to the stage! Standing on the stage looking out, the arena looked very small. I set down my stuff just to the right of Lindsey Buckingham's pedals. 'ark was apoplectic. See?

Mick came out, started talking and signing for everyone. 'Ark's "condition" manifested itself at my expense as he winkingly claimed that I was a nouveau Mac fan culled from Buckingham and Nicks' arrival. Everyone -- including Mick -- laughed. I doth protested. Everyone -- including Mick -- laughed. Since my question involved Mick bringing his sultry eponymous blues band to "the mainland" and I also referenced "Oh Well," an early Mac hit that was the highlight of the Pittsburgh show for me, 'Ark said I shouldn't worry that Mick really got the wrong impression. Sigh. That isn't over.

But there wasn't time to dwell. Mick said his good-byes and we went back to the pre-show party for catered food (I had chicken, 'Ark had three helpings of ziti) and a trivia contest. 'Ark warned that I get competitive, and yeah, I was a little. When a multiple choice question asked where Mick first heard of Lindsey and Stevie, I didn't only provide the answer: d.) a studio but went for bonus credit by adding "Frozen Love" was the song being played at that time. With only one answer wrong (dang!), we tied for the win and each got a John McVie guitar pick, sweet!

Oh yeah, we still have a show to go to! Our tickets had us in the second row. We all had five-star access laminated passes and walked to our seats, feeling green eyes upon us. There we also got a pink wristband, this meant we could go up to the stage whenever we wanted and would never be told to sit down by beret-throwing party poopers behind us.



The lights go down and we position ourselves right at the foot of Lindsey's monitor! Stood there all bloody night too. Well 'ark stood. I boogied, clapped, whooped, hollered, cheered, whirling dervished, et al. (The video clips are examples of my work, gleaned from a fan on the other side of the stage. I'm the tiny dancer. Mark's orange shirt pops into view as well.) I loved "Monday Morning," "Go Insane," "Second Hand News" and "Oh Well" as much as in Pittsburgh and was blown away to see Lindsey's intricate guitar work on "Big Love" and "Never Going Back Again" a couple of feet from my face.



Stevie was even in better voice on "Gypsy," "Rhiannon," "Storms" and "Gold Dust Woman." John's bass spirited us all along, particularly on "Dreams" and "The Chain," and Mick was just smiling and pounding the crap out of his drums throughout. I even liked "Say You Love Me" -- a definitive Christine song.



OK, the pieces de resistance. Lindsey rocking out to "Stand Back," singing song lyrics when he wasn't in front of the mic. On "World Turning," in which Mick's drum solo ends with Lindsey vocal loops from the song, he mimicked his own voice "Iiiiiiii" several times in the darkness at stage left. As "Tusk" ended, he leaned close to the audience in the center. We could see two women just aching to reach out and touch him. As if an animal in a zoo. Guess that's appropriate with "Tusk." Finally one did and then the other, and he didn't recoil in horror but smiled broadly.




I sort of figured out that I was in his peripheral vision pretty much all night, when he looked down at his guitar strings, well, I was right below him jamming away. We had the simultaneous pogo going on during the chorus of "Go Your Own Way." But then ... the second verse of "Don't Stop," when Stevie's singing and he was looking at me from across his monitor ... he scrunches up his face at me in a way that I mirrored. I looked at 'ark, he was laughing heartily. That's in the above clip, and the moment comes right before the chorus, about 1:20 into the song. You can't see the face, but you can definitely see the lean, haha.

And after "Silver Springs," Lindsey looks out at the tens of thousands and thanks everyone for coming. And then ... and then, no joke... he came over near me said "Thank YOU" and blew a kiss to me. I half-smiled and then froze. Then turned around to make sure he was talking to me. Then I looked over at 'ark and he was all "Yes, that was for you!" Then my face crumpled and tears welled in my eyes. Being the considerate b/f he is, 'ark laughed at me. But I was gone. Gone, but aware enough to snag Lindsey's setlist, anyway!

But now what? We seriously have no idea. Not even about perceiving a particular direction.

Addendum to the story: Once our pro photos came over, I recalled that I forgot to add that Mick was helping me wear my scarf in our photo, and that our hostess was very intrigued by my vintage Mac rings. (See below)

Three concerts, two wins, one long road trip

Park packed a LOT into three days -- Van Morrison performing the entire Astral Weeks album (and more!), the Devils avenging a shutout to the Panthers, Chris Duarte burning up Mexicali, Brodeur and the boys recording their second shutout in three games and Fleetwood Mac opening their tour on all cylinders. A little snowstorm couldn't touch that.

The fun started Friday unassumingly when I went to snare Jack Bruce tix at BB's and was treated to the sight of Robert Cray tuning up for his gig that night. We probably would have been at that show, but Van Morrison was dipping into the archives for my favorite trend, the complete album show.

He actually started the evening with a whole other set though, and as the last time I saw him was a pretty brief show one New Year's Eve many moons ago, I was knocked out by Van singing his way through all of it and not giving away his vocals like he did back then.

Van is always reinventing the song with his bit of a rambling vocal style akin to an R&B Bob Dylan, and he just kept hitting them out of the park -- from a striking "And It Stoned Me" to an unexpected and top-notch "Comfortably Numb" to "Common One," which found him trading lyrics with his main sideman -- to the point that it cracked the Man up.

After the first set and a short break, Van and the band (with strings, minus some backup singers and guitarists) brought the elegant, soulful "Astral Weeks" to life. I came in to it knowing the album and 'ark hadn't before hearing it the week before, but it didn't matter either way as both of us wound up completely enthralled.

Next day, the Devils were playing early, so we figured we could fit it in to the busy schedule. In the teams' last meeting in Florida, the Panthers blanked the Devs, 4-0. This was complete reversal, the Devils looked totally sharp and Florida totally not. It helped that the Panthers' starting goalie couldn't play, so Craig Anderssson had to man the net for the whole 7-2 shellacking.

That night we went to Mexicali Live, and Chris Duarte just scorched the place like an electric jalapeno. He's got a wide array of interests and the guitar arsenal to back it up, so he can deliver Hendrix as well as alternative Soul Coughing -- spinning it through his unique filter. Like 'ark says it's a crime that this guy ain't as well known as regional counterparts like Stevie Ray Vaughan and frequent Clapton sideman Doyle Bramhall II.

Between sets, he didn't disappear either. He sat at his merch table and posed for photos and appreciatively listened to babbling fan comments. I blathered to him something about how 'ark told me I'd really like him because Hendrix was a big influence of his. He had just come off a scintillating take on "Third Stone," but Chris said he'd try to work some Jimi in. Then he thought a second, chuckled and said, "Well I just did that, didn't I?"

On to Pittsburgh about seven hours away. We were getting regular text updates from the best sister-turned-fanatical hockey fan (I know, MY fault) going. Brodeur delivered his second shutout in three days in a 3-0 blanking of the Filthy Flyers! No way his ego is going to suffer for that one, right?

Of course we had the tunes cranked and were treated to a gorgeous sunset through the mountains while listening to Eric Clapton and Steve Winwood lift not only the roof off the Garden but the whole damn building during "Voodoo Chile" last February.

We had been toying with the idea of partaking of Le Big Mac -- ya know, Mac Attack and what not -- and were pretty much powerless when a sign popped up for the world's largest Big Mac. So we stopped there and shot this gargantuan burger in the city it was first created in. Of course, neither of us actually had a Royale with Cheese.

On to the show. When I had looked at the map back when I bought the tickets, it led me to believe we'd be about half an arena away, albeit in some nice club seats. But in actuality, the stage was a couple sections in front of the end of the ice and the seats were really spectacular.

As Unleashed has been billed as a "hits" show, I have to admit I was a little concerned on how it was going to play out. Completely unfounded. I might have known all the songs, but at the tour opener, the band just let it rip.

Starting with "Monday Morning" and "The Chain," they ran through a substantial chunk of the back history. Just coming off their own brief tours, Lindsey and Mick were ON. Lindsey's vocals were searing, and sort of pointed out a bit of Stevie's shortcomings. Not surprising she can't hit some of the power notes anymore, but she was just dazzling on "Gold Dust Woman" and one of the set's big surprises, the ballad "Storms" off of "Tusk."

Lindsey sped up "Go Insane," so it was more akin to the original version than the lengthened version he did on the band's last tour in 2003. "Second Hand News" benefited from Stevie's vocals, but we sort of prefer "Never Going Back Again" with just Lindsey.

Another big surprise, and my personal favorite of the night, was "Oh Well" -- a big hit for the band before the Buckingham Nicks era. 'Ark was pretty amused, he referred to me as a "whirling dervish" during the song. I had suffered a stiff neck for a couple days, and I think it helped work the kink out ... but 'ark fretted it could have ended up the other way with me in traction the next day.

Stevie and Lindsey performed "Landslide" on their own, and Stevie disarmingly missed her vocal cue because the audience was soaking it up. Speaking of that, "Stand Back" brought me back to the days of dancing in front of the TV and I got up to boogie with a couple of neighboring Chiffonheads (that's what the fans who are totally there to see and emulate Stevie are called).

That apparently was the last straw for the sourpuss sitting behind us. He had been kind of a pain through the whole show, imploring the girls (tiny little rail things, were they that bothersome?) to sit down starting with the second number. Usually fans just sort of come to an unspoken arrangement, we'll sit for long periods of time and get up when the music really moves us. 'ark had been eyeing him from the beginning, ready to defend my dancing honor, apparently.

So "Stand Back" ends and "Go Your Own Way" starts, and that's pretty much the international signal for anyone who is able to get up and dance to do just that. Sourpuss had had enough by the end of the song, he actually grabbed the crocheted beret off Chiffonhead No. 1's head and tossed it and then stormed out. Incredible, seriously.

(That's my camera phone view. Objects are much closer than they appear.) Ultimately, it didn't bother the rest of us, though. We stood the rest of the show for the anthemic "Don't Stop" (OK, we do miss Christine McVie, particularly on this and "Say You Love Me") and "World Turning." The band even came back for a second encore ... "Silver Springs," sigh. I have NO idea how Stevie can deliver the vocal chops needed in that number at the tail end of the set, but she did.

With the heavily scheduled front end of vacation over, we set out for Virginia with news of the serious snowfall blanketing the country. Luckily, all we really ran across was a light dusting and some flurries. And the journey came full circle too, as we picked up Van Morrison's Astral Weeks Live CD and listened to it on the final leg.