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Crossroads:
Bromberg and Kaukonen at the Egg.
Photo:
Joe Putrock
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You
Can Pick Your Friends
By
Glenn Weiser
Jorma
Kaukonen and David Bromberg
The
Egg, Jan. 24
Rev.
Gary Davis, the blind guitarist and street singer who influenced
a generation of 1960s folk musicians, was remembered Sunday
night at the Egg by two of his former pupils, instrumental
ace David Bromberg and former Jefferson
Airplane
lead guitarist and Rock and Roll Hall of Famer Jorma Kaukonen,
who played mostly classic folk and blues tunes, separately
and together. For the most part, it was everything a roots
music fan could have wanted: country-blues fingerpicking,
slide guitar, tasty acoustic lead work, stellar mandolin supplied
by Kaukonen’s sideman, bluegrasser Barry Mitterhoff, and many
of the reverend’s signature songs.
Devotees of vocal art would have been disappointed, though—neither
Bromberg, whom The New York Times branded as “a wretched
vocalist” in the early 1970s, nor Kaukonen can sing like their
iron-throated mentor. Although both stay on key, Bromberg’s
voice is quite nasal, and Kaukonen simply has no pep in his
pipes. The show sold out anyway, as plenty of listeners will
overlook a lackluster larynx or two if the picking promises
to be good enough.
Unfortunately, when Bromberg began his solo segment with his
“I Like to Sleep Late in the Morning,” even his fabled fretwork
fell short. Fancy fingerpicking such as he was attempting
can be wickedly difficult to execute cleanly; he played sloppily,
repeatedly missing notes in his songs until he switched to
slide and nailed Robert Johnson’s Delta blues anthem, “Come
On in My Kitchen.”
When Bromberg was joined by Kaukonen and Mitterhoff, though,
the night took wing. Bromberg backed Kaukonen’s impeccable
finger-picking with bodacious acoustic lead work and more
slide blues standards including Jelly Roll Morton’s “Don’t
You Leave Me Here,” Rev. Gary Davis’ “Hesitation Blues,” and
the Mississippi Sheiks’ “Sitting On Top of the World” as Mitterhoff
added lazy fills, and then, the first of many superb solos
that evening.
Mitterhoff and Kaukonen led off the second set. Kaukonen sparkled
on Rev. Davis’ bouncy gospel number, “I Will Feel Better Someday,”
and again on “Embryonic Journey,” his trippy solo-acoustic
instrumental from the Airplane’s landmark 1967 album, Surrealistic
Pillow. On the Sippy Wallace tune, “I Know You Rider,”
the pair started the song as a slow shuffle, and then switched
to a double-time even-eighth feel, allowing Mitterhoff to
uncork his bluegrass chops. With Bromberg again on stage,
other highlights were the Grateful Dead’s “Operator,” Leroy
Carr’s “How Long Blues,” and Leiber and Stoller’s “Kansas
City.”
For an encore, the trio picked the grimmest downer in the
entire folk catalogue—Davis’ somber reminder of mortality,
“Death Don’t Have No Mercy.” The message was incontestable,
but was that any way to end the show?
Get
Up Offa That Thing
Dan Zanes
The
Egg, Jan. 23
On Saturday, Dan Zanes returned to the Egg (though not yet
an annual staple, he and his band have performed several times
in the last few years), kicking off a new tour before a surprisingly
sedate crowd. And “sedate” is not an adjective often applied
to a theater full of less-than-10-year-olds. (Or maybe ever,
before now.)
Given the average age, it’s highly likely that for many attendees
Saturday’s show was their first concert. So, of course, I
don’t blame the kids for whatever uncertainty they may have
had, vis a vis concert decorum. And, as those more experienced
Albany clubgoers know, ours is not a dance-prone hometown
crowd. So, a little shyness is to be expected. It’s almost
historic.
But, wow, what’s a guy gotta do to get a crowd to move? Sheesh.
As it turns out, Zanes was up to the task, but it took some
doing: After several roundabout hints (“Do you guys want a
concert, or a crazy dance party?”) peppered throughout the
set of swinging work tunes drawing on the blues and folk of
early American acoustic music, Zanes finally—thankfully—just
told the crowd what to do. And, in fairness, the grown ups
in the crowd received instruction pretty well.
But prior to Zanes’ gentle directive to form a train and dance
around the room, the adults—who, in my opinion, should have
been setting an example by leaping around like gleeful jackasses
from the first note—evinced not quite enough energy to qualify
as reserved. One woman seated in the front row actually asked
me, and the very few other people around me dancing with their
kids, to sit down so she could see.
I—maybe not quite graciously, a hair shy of patiently—refused.
I hope, not too rudely. But, seriously, the greatest thing
about the shows that Zanes puts together is the unselfconscious
celebration of the power of simple heartfelt music to create
a community out of the contact provided in song and dance.
Open your mouth, move your feet, grab an instrument or a hand
and get up off your . . . well, whatever euphemism for “ass”
you use with your own less-than-10-year-old.
(In addition to Zanes’ instruction, it should be noted, Silk
and Steel, a local group featuring young steel drummers, a
violinist and guitarist, helped build enthusiasm, when called
on stage by the bandleader.)
By show’s end, the crowd had warmed up, literally, and gotten
its feet and voice enough to sing along and parade with the
band out of the theater to the delightful closing waltz, “Sweet
Rosyanne.”
But, next time, gang, let’s not wait so long. How are the
kids gonna learn to make utter joyous fools of themselves,
if not from us? Cool is stupid.
—John
Rodat
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