Clapton, Beck ... and Paige

I'm not sure what expectations I went into Friday's Jeff Beck/Eric Clapton concert with -- aside from the persistent rumor that Jimmy Page was reportedly backstage at the Garden and possibly would make an appearance in the show to complete the dream lineup with all three Yardbirds -- but whatever they were, they were exceeded and then some.

I'd always thought of Jeff Beck as a master of the guitar, but one who just used speed and agility to make the musical point. This after years of seeing video of events like the Arms concert and the Crossroads Guitar Festival. (Oh and possibly my favorite video of the '80s, "Ambitious," which features a host of familiar faces -- Donny Osmond, Marilyn McCoo and even Tattoo from "Fantasy Island" -- auditioning to be the vocalist on the song) But I'm happy to have been proved way off base.

I was knocked flat by the 45-minute set that he opened the show with. Whether it was just with his kicking band or with the assistance of an orchestra, his guitar just seared through every single song.

"Corpus Christi Carol," a song close to my heart because it was a staple in the late, great Jeff Buckley's repertoire, almost brought tears to my eyes. But then again, it might have just been Jeff Beck's guitar tone having its desired effect.

Jeff (Beck) didn't do any material with vocals, and hey, that's because he just didn't need them. And his band was just as righteous. The new female bassist Rhonda Smith (sorry Tal Wilkenfeld fans!) did some kicking solos and returning drummer Narada Michael Walden just smashed the hell out of his skins to keep up with Jeff.

If there should be any question over his use of an orchestra in rock and roll, I would just roll video of "A Day in the Life." Ugh, I sure could use Yoko's non-linear thinking right now to express how that song just arouses all the senses. Mere words don't seem to do it enough justice.

So I was literally wiped when that set ended. I didn't think I'd be able to recover in time for the intermission and EC's solo set. This fact was made worse by the two numbskulls behind me who kept loudly voicing that there was no way Clapton could compete with Beck's play. (If I have to be honest, I did kind of worry about it myself, and I've never been described as anything short of a Clapton fanatic.)

But really it's like comparing apples and dominoes. Jeff Beck's guitar sort of cuts a swath through his song, while EC's is entirely complementary -- surrounding all of the other musical components and then elevating it to a different level.

Having the acoustic set first did nothing to quiet the loudmouths. And they just got worse (of course) when asked to keep it quiet. I really had to focus to get past it -- even when the song I had been waiting for, "I've Got a Rock 'N' Roll Heart," started. Long live, T-Mobile! Well, T-Mobile sucks, but long live their promotional department for glomming onto that as the signature song promoting the EC phone.

After the four acoustic songs, it got easier to not hear what I didn't want to hear behind me. "I Shot the Sheriff," never one of my favorite songs, was a highlight. As one friend once said, "You can tell how an EC show is going to be by how good 'I Shot the Sheriff' is." Well, judging by that barometer, spectacular.

It got even better on "Little Queen of Spades," with EC and longtime keyboardist Chris Stainton blazing the trail. And, of course, "Cocaine" got everyone rocking out.

Then, the moment we'd all been waiting for as Beck joined Clapton on stage. OK, all of us except the drunk motormouths behind me because they took off early into the set. I didn't have time to ponder the error of their ways, because the two guitarists intermingled to perfect effect. It was pretty much Beck in the foreground and Clapton in the background, but chalk that up to the apples and dominoes analogy.

"Moon River," another bizarre choice for a rock concert on its face, was haunting. But it was "Outside Woman Blues" and "Little Brown Bird" that really proved the dream matchup point.

Visions of future recordings with the dynamic duo danced in my head through "Wee Wee Baby" and "I Want to Take You Higher." And although Jimmy Page didn't pop out and see his shadow, it couldn't have mattered less as they barreled into "Crossroads."

So I left with an impression of Jeff Beck that went from zero to 60 in about two seconds flat. That'll be an obsession for the next few months, I am sure. And now I have renewed excitement about going down to the Crossroads ... Guitar Festival that is, in June in Chicago.

Live Peace in Brooklyn

Yoko Ono, an acquired taste to be sure. One that puts you in a very different place than where you started, that's for sure. And that's the intent. Since her performance art is all about taking you spatially out of your comfort zone -- and everyone from me to Eric Clapton and back felt that Tuesday night at the Brooklyn Academy of Music -- I guess I'll just go with that flow.

--Were the four days of snow that hit the metropolitan area just part of her work? The frosty white images and sturdy, dangerous but glassy-looking ice patches seem to be in direct proportion to songs like "Don't Worry Kyoko (Mummy's Only Looking for Her Hand in the Snow)" and "Walking in Thin Ice." I'm not for sure that this wasn't Yoko's doing.

--Is the guy sitting in front of me with his combover blocking my view part of the art? It seemed twice as likely to be true when I moved a seat to the left after Act 1 and there was a woman, a smaller version but with her hair gelled up so high it seemed to be a combover as well.

--The guy emitting noxious fumes to my right definitely better not be part of the act.

--Power zoning. That's what Yoko's songs can do to you. You're powerless, she has all the power. She knows and revels in it.

--That band, led by Sean Lennon (who in beard and hat looks uncannily like his father), is fun-ky. This is like Concert for George, where Dhani Harrison looked so much like his dad that you couldn't stop looking. I gotta admit feeling eerie and a tiny bit of the ick factor as he prods Mummy on.

--Over the course of the show, she reaches for a water bottle with her left hand. Is this intentional or is she just thirsty?

--Yoko sings of hearing fish calling from the ocean. I really think I can hear them.

--Bottoms up. The famous "Bottoms" video which photographs, obviously, cheeks was ever-present. Even in the bathroom there was a poster of the grainy black-and-white imagery.

--Second act ... a diverse collection of musicians pay tribute. The Scissor Sisters lose themselves in "The Sun Is Down" ... Justin Bond does a very humorous take on "What a Bastard the World Is" ... Sean channels dad for "Oh Yoko" with Gene Ween ... Sonic Youth's Kim Gordon and Thurston Moore artfully hacksaw "Mulberry" in cadence with Yoko ... Bette Midler, who made her own fluffy arrangement, thrills the masses with "Yes, I'm Your Angel" ... Sean's best friend and his dad (Harper and Paul Simon) do nice guitar duets to "Silverhorse" and "Hold On."

--Yoko ... Eric Clapton ... Klaus Voormann. The first time the three Plastic Ono band members have been on stage together in 37 years. It's a joy to see Eric out of his comfort zone and his playing -- spectacular on "Yer Blues" and "Don't Worry Kyoko" and just out of this world on the song they hadn't even rehearsed, "Death of Samantha" -- is a sight to behold. ... Sean talks of Eric giving him quick guitar lessons before the show on how his dad used to play the songs. Yoko tells stories that I didn't hear and/or understand. Eric didn't seem to either. I feel better.

--Everyone ... except EC unless my vantage point to the far left prevented me from seeing him ... comes back on stage. They and we sing "Give Peace a Chance," with an additional "Happy Birthday" to boot.

So glad I went.

'Once' and for all

I once read you're not supposed to start correspondence with an apology. Not that there were a lot of shows that fell by the wayside here at Maximum Tuneage, I think I've only been to one in recent months -- a spectacular Pete Yorn show at the Hammerstein Ballroom in New York City, where he took a backseat to adult alterni of the year, David Gray. (I thought that was a "General Hospital" bad guy, but apparently he's this decade's answer to Dave Matthews.) So I roll on, sans apology.

Oh wait, I think I didn't do one for The Dana Fuchs Band's show at the Highline Ballroom. That I apologize profusely for. Onward!

When the charming indie film "Once" came out a few years ago, I was bedazzled by Glen Hansard (who had been in "The Commitments") and Marketa Irglova (who is Czech, which is a virtual 'in' for me). The way their voices, guitar and piano melded melted my hardened heart.

I saw them at Radio City Music Hall soon after they won the Academy Award for "Falling Slowly," the lovely ballad in the film that started the characters' down their path to love, with the audience along for the ride. They still seemed so unaffected by it all, really impressed by being in the storied NYC venue, and at the time, they were also together in real life.

It's a couple years later now. They're not still a couple, but they again sold out Radio City (something which a surprised Glen charmingly alluded to during the show). Indeed he was so impressed by the atmosphere that he beckoned the audience to join in and sing lines from about half the night's numbers. For the songs from the new album, "Strict Joy," he delivered very detailed instructions for different lines and even harmonies. And truth be told, it did sound a bit ethereal, even if he made us do it one or two too many times.



The current amalgamation of Glen, Marketa, The Frames, Clarence Clemons' nephew Jake and the rest of the band is known as The Swell Season. And there's no doubt about why Glen is the frontman, for he can do it all. He belted "Say It to My Now" off microphone to the back row of the balcony -- where he claims he usually sits at shows since he's always the last to buy his ticket. He told an endearing story about an older woman with an unusual blue coat he met in Chicago, not divulging the fact that Lois' son had perished in the Sept. 11 attacks until it was time to reveal the real reason for the story's inclusion in the set -- that the space between your mind and your mouth may not be that far, but it seems like a much greater distance when so many important things often remain unsaid.



He deftly worked his ex into the mix several times, once with a story about someone whose better half has a bigger vocabulary, "even if it's her second language." We could almost feel Marketa blush as she turned away from the microphone (and the audience) ahead of "Maybe I Was Born to Hold You in These Arms." Later, he credited Irglova with being the missing piece to success for he and his band of 20 years, the Frames.

Hansard & Company paid homage to a wide array of their influences -- Van Morrison, the most obvious and blatant with a dynamic "Astral Weeks" that allowed Glen to show off his guitar chops; the local flavor of Bruce Springsteen (with Clarence Clemons' nephew Jake on sax) on "Drive All Night" and the traditional Irish tune "The Parting Glass" with nods to The Clancy Brothers and Kate McGarrigle, but which is really adapted from its use as a song used at a wake to wish "good night and joy be with you all" to those who remain behind.

But as fabulous as all those covers were, The Swell Season was at its best when Glen and Marketa were front and center. The other ingratiating song from "Once," "When Your Mind's Made Up," starts softly, ends powerfully and sort of makes you wonder if the right song won the Oscar. The songs from "Once" all were delivered with as much verve as they had been the first time around.

But that I expected. The big questions I had were about the new album, which outside of the radio-friendly Van Morrisonesque "Low Rising," I had found a bit lackluster on the first few runs through the iPod. But at Radio City, with Glen giving introduction and explanation for almost every new song, they came alive, particularly "The Rain," which Glen said was written for his "gang," his longtime Frames bandmates.

When Marketa took to center stage with an acoustic guitar for her woman-child numbers, "If You Want Me" from the movie soundtrack and "I Have Loved You Wrong" from the new album, there was Glen at her place at the piano. Hansard may not have been born to hold Irglova in his arms, but it's very evident he was born to make beautiful music with her.

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.