Time has given me perspective [a little too . . . oh, never mind].
The recent BMD Fundraiser was a success.
The BMD folks netted some cash, and hopefully a lot of it was found money and not skimmed from contributions they would otherwise have received. There were a lot of folks having fun. The music didn't suck, I think.
The Crowd Scene were awesome. No one had sound-checked, and they just sat down and did it by Mark I eyeball. Grahame's guitar was up and bright and full, and Anne's bass filled the room and tucked itself in; it was powerful without being up in your ears or head. It struck your trunk, and rolled along. They played brilliantly together.Click ANY Photo To Enlarge
I was sad to realize that their vocals aren't studio tricks. They just seamlessly weave those parts together. When they rock with full band, I don't have time or place to ponder the vocals. As a largely acoustic act, it's naked songs and naked vocals, and anyone there would have sworn they were hearing a beautiful record.
The Atomic House Band looked like they would rock the house. They had great gear, they're all grown men [meaning over thirty, and aware of it], and their licks as they got ready sucggested the rock.
Instead, it was a quiet, restrained blues/rock that just kicked ass. I could swear the drummer was faking his strikes, they were so quiet -- yet they still rocked. I was surprised how much I liked them.
The house manager said these quiet souls were too loud. Oh oh.
We went on and turned down. Can't comment on whether we sucked. I sure thought so. All I heard were the ugliest vocals ever. I'm not used to monitors louder than the PA [probably true], aimed right at my ears. And I had no top end left on my voice after Sunday, so I was being beaten by a Muleboy Box of Vocals. The guitars and backing vocals sounded good to me, and the boys played well. Drummerboy toned it down and went even more basic [which seemed impossible], but he was good and tight and together, and the sopngs seemed to find the right tempo.
I had to convince myself of these things this morning; last night I just thought it blew.
Fifth of July was bloody awful. Literally.
I glanced over during the first line of the song, and saw the blood on Tom's guitar. I'm used to that; it was de riguerre in 1981-86 for each of us to bleed like fools. But in the light, it looked like blood was spurting out onto his guitar. I kinda got . . . distracted.
I can tell myself that's what it was. God was that a painful tune. ENough of the new stuff; that early-nineties music hasn't cohered yet!
Photo during "She Said She Said"
PS You know, you can beg and beg and beg for photographers to TURN OFF THEIR FLASH, but I'll be goddamned if they will. I don't know why, but they do this to me every time. . .