Sit and Spin
Third and Lindsley was, without a doubt, a strange choice of venue for Philadelphia's most exuberant throwback export, Dr. Dog. We can't help but think a few dozen disappointed fans wouldn't have been turned away had some of 3rd and Lindsley's ubiquitous tables been pushed aside. We know everyone was there to see the Dr., but does that mean it had to feel like a waiting room?
At 8 p.m. sharp, a Lightning 100 representative took the stage and prepped us to applaud on cue in a manner not unlike that of a sitcom taping. Fresh off an appearance on Conan O'Brien, Delta Spirit offered up a style of reflective white-boy soul much like Dr. Dog's—with equal finesse but fewer interesting turns. They were tight, and their fantastic rhythm section and unique use of diverse percussion pieces—garbage can lid, marching band bass drum, maracas-a-plenty—kept it interesting. Lead singer Matt Vasquez's pencil-thin mustache, harmonica holder and visceral gospel-style inflection smacked of Dylan envy, but these days we're just happy to see anything other than a guy with a synthesizer and a bad case of Morrissey envy.
Dr. Dog climbed on the stage at 9 p.m. to an audience abnormally full of fellows rocking the early-20th-century factory worker look—rolled-up sleeves, suspenders, battered old fedoras...all that shit. We suppose the Dog just brings that air of nostalgia to a place. Luckily for us, bass player Toby Leaman was recovered from a throat injury that had forced guitarist Scott McMicken to shoulder most of the vocal duties earlier this year—and he delivered gut-wrenching gems like "Die Die Die" with the throaty inflection we missed when we caught the band's Lollapalooza set.
Our only true complaint from past performances has been rushed tempos, and while that was still certainly the case with a few songs, tunes like "Ain't It Strange" laid back, allowing McMicken and guitarist Frank McElroy to bend their synchronized riffs into oblivion. It was possibly the strongest set we've caught by the Dog, and while it was a lovely change of pace to be back home before midnight, we'd have gladly traded punctuality for a room with less furniture and more Dr. Dog fans.
Freshly squeezed
Wednesday night at The Ryman, a series of miscommunications and mix-ups concerning our press credentials kept us from seeing all but three Aimee Mann numbers—only one of which we recognized, as it was one of her contributions to the Magnolia soundtrack—but we were among the ignorant few. Mann had drawn a sizable flock of her own who applauded each song upon recognizing its intro. Like the headliner, Mann also cut her teeth on new wave in the early '80s, but anyone expecting to hear 'Til Tuesday's "Voices Carry" (e.g. the guy behind us) was greeted only with Mann's more contemporary, sleepy, country-tinged folk ballads.
Thank the baby Jesus we got things straightened out in time to catch the newly re-formed Squeeze—featuring, for the first time since 1984, both the band's principal songwriters, Glenn Tillbrook and Chris Difford. As always when catching an established, re-formed, semi-legendary band, a part of us groaned at the thought of sitting through "the new material" to hear our favorite cuts (in this case, stuff from Argybargy). But had we done our homework, we'd have known sooner that this isn't that kind of tour. Tillbrook assured us in his own words, "We're our own greatest tribute band," as the band sailed through a survey of their expertly crafted new wave pop gems of yesterday. While the Ryman was far from a full house, what the crowd lacked in mass it compensated for with unwavering vehemence. Crowd pleasers like Cool for Cats' "Up the Junction" and "Revue" got a few asses out of their seats and wiggling accordingly.
By the time Squeeze laid out their best-known hit, "Tempted," the confines of the venue's signature church pews had been officially compromised and a baby boomer dance party had erupted in front of the stage. Almost as entertaining as the band was the sight of the Ryman's geriatric security staff attempting to reign this crowd in. Hence, you can imagine what kind of ruckus ensued when they broke out former club faves like "Slap and Tickle" and "Cool for Cats."
The obligatory encore cry actually got a little scary as showgoers stomped and screamed for a good two minutes before the band came back out to a standing ovation. They hit us hard with an extended "Slap and Tickle" jam, and in case anyone was questioning their money's worth, a closing rendition of "Pulling Mussels (From a Shell)" surely ensured them the extra cash they spent on the good seats was well worth it.
Stuff white people like
OK, so this time when we showed up late we were treated like the ingrate vagabonds we are—forced to wait for fifteen minutes outside the Schermerhorn Symphony Center's gilded doors so as not to disturb the evening's opening set. Fortunately Ben Folds' date at the Schermerhorn didn't officially begin until after intermission when he finally joined the Nashville Symphony onstage for a run through his expansive catalogue. (Well, "expansive" might not exactly be the right word: There was piano pop, then a little more piano pop, then some more-melancholy piano pop and then one song without a piano.)
In attendance was a broad cross-section of Nashville's white people. There were obvious NSO season-ticket holders in their Sunday finest—trophy wives in cocktail dresses and men in suits—and then there were the Folds fans. Though we saw the occasional hipster in spruced-up vintage threads, we also spotted flip-flops, cargo shorts and more T-shirts than you'd expect in a place with so much marble. Luckily, those who felt underdressed must have been reassured by the flagrant casualness of Mr. Folds, who took the stage in khakis, Converse and a collared tee. Obviously comfortable with the backing-band-on-steroids scenario, the bespectacled Nashville transplant explained that this was what the songs sounded like in his head anyway, before he beat them up in the studio.
The evening opened with "Zak and Sara" and wound through both solo stuff and Ben Folds Five-era fodder—highlights included (our personal favorite) "Smoke," "Fred Jones, Part 2," "Steve's Last Night in Town," "The Luckiest" and a whole bunch of tunes off the forthcoming Way to Normal. On "Not the Same" (the one without piano), Folds led a surprisingly adept crowd—that's why they call us Music City!—in the swooping harmonies, channeling his inner conductor. The ever-irreverent songsmith closed the evening with a moment of earnestness, imploring the crowd to support their local symphony. As long as they keep up the creative programming, we're in.
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