Tag Archives: live

Stars and Stripes and Sufjan

The first time I saw Sufjan Stevens he played in a church in Madison, Wisconsin. Despite the church’s every nook and cranny being crammed with the hundreds of bodies in attendance, you could hear a pin drop. At the end of the show, we were rewarded with Sufjan’s revision of the National Anthem. It gets a little political towards the end. We Madisonians were a little weepy.

A couple of years later, I saw him perform in San Francisco, and I wanted to hear him play the song again. So I passed a note to the stage requesting it on behalf of his Madison fans.  He read the note and played the song.

All of that is to say, if you don’t know it already, his latest album, The Age of Adz, is streaming this week on NPR’s First Listen, and so far, I give it a wow.

Below is Sufjan singing his revisionist national anthem in San Francisco. I can’t remember if this is the show I attended, but I like to think it is.

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Hot Tub Rock Show Hangover

This past week, Noise Narcs answered the age-old question: What five bands would you travel back in time to see in their prime? To see all of the responses, jump in the hot tub.

It always happens: you get in your hot tub, whack a few sixers, go back in time, see some shows, and Monday morning you’re hungover and all the talking you’re capable of goes towards figuring out what happened the past week.

It’s been a lot of fun reading everybody’s list this week. From Chris T’s insightful parsing of time travel desires to Matt’s run through of WMGK’s playlist (I keed, I keed) to Material Live’s reluctant but then overflowing list to Katherine’s jump into mod to Trent’s attempt to get in pocket to my own lists… it’s been a great and fun insight into the Noise Narcs’ hive mind.

A few observations among the six contributers and 29 choices: a surprising paucity of jazz, the century’s great live at (3), relatively few repeats (two each for Led Zeppelin, Velvet Underground, and James Brown), and an unsurprising cluster of acts in the 1960s and 1970s. In fact, I think we could all be relatively happy in the period from, say, 1968-1972.

Thanks to all the Noise Narcs contributors for humoring me in this silliness.

If there’s anybody who understands our post-Hot Tub pain, it’s Johnny Cash, song courtesy of Kris Kristofferson.

Johnny Cash – Sunday Morning Coming Down (live)

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Hot Tub Rock Show: David G’s Last Call List, Pt. 2

This week, Noise Narcs answers the age-old question: What five bands would you travel back in time to see in their prime? To see other responses, jump in the hot tub.

This is part two of David G’s Hot Tub Time Machine post, listed in chronological order. See Part 1 here.

3. Velvet Underground, 1966-1967

I’m not alone in seeing VU as the blueprint for our current generation’s music. All of the Hot Tub posts have been heavily slated to the ’60s. But if acts like the Stones and Beatles and Jefferson Airplane defined “60s music,” the Velvet Underground deformed it. As other music shot to the top of the charts, the Velvet Underground played music that would bubble up from the sewers: shaped noise, not pretty songs with sass and “substance,” was the real rock of the 1960s.

I can barely imagine the shock of their mid-60s live shows. This was the Billboard top 10 for 1966:

1. "The Ballad of the Green Berets," Sgt. Barry Sadler
2. "Cherish," Association
3. "You're My Soul and Inspiration," Righteous Brothers
4. "Monday, Monday," The Mama's and The Papa's
5. "96 Tears," ? and The Mysterians
6. "Last Train to Clarksville," The Monkees
7. "Reach Out I'll Be There," Four Tops
8. "Summer In the City," Lovin' Spoonful
9. "The Poor Side of Town," Johnny Rivers
10. "California Dreamin'," The Mama's and The Papa

Meanwhile, Velvet Underground was playing with Nico on Andy Warhol’s Exploding Plastic Inevitable tour, with dancers (e.g., Edie Sedgwick), Warhol film projections, and miscellaneous performances by members of Warhol’s Factory. VU would play songs from their upcoming debut, and they would frequently end their shows with a jam they were calling “Booker T” (see my earlier Booker T and the MGs obsession), which would eventually form White Heat‘s chilling “The Gift.” What it comes down to, my fellow Narcs, is what side of the street are you on? The top 10? Or the VU?

Decent sounding bootlegs for this era are scarce, but Youtube user groovemonzter has taken a riotous live recording of “Run, Run, Run” from 1969 and mashed it with Warhol video from the Exploding Plastic Inevitable show. Pick your side wisely:

The Velvet Underground, “Run, Run, Run (Live, 1969)”

Kölsch in a Can (yuck, yuck)

4. Can, 1971-1973, Cologne, Germany

I know: this makes me the worst, a cliché right out of LCD Soundsystem’s “Losing My Edge” (“I was there in 1968 / I was there at the first Can show in Cologne”). But if, as Matt K observes, the spiritual end of the 60s was The Rolling Stones’ disaster at Altamont, then Can is the sound of the 1960s being torn limb from limb. Even their name is an backronym for “communism, anarchism, nihilism.”

The date range is arbitrary, I’d be equally happy with the 1968-71 lineup that featured Malcolm Mooney as the lead singer (before his nervous breakdown led his psychiatrist to conclude Can’s music was bad for his mental health). But the period from ’71 to 74, with the subdued intensity of Japanese street singer Kenji “Damo” Suzuki at the helm, is when they truly hit their stride. Sure, it’d have been amazing to have been at their infamous six hour concert in Berlin (a walk in the park for the band: classic “Yoo Doo Right” was edited down from a twenty hour improv jam). But I’d rather see them on their home turf of Cologne, drinking Kölsch after Kölsch, as Can played their hypnotic pysch-funk until the world was rendered senseless.

Can, “Paperhouse (Live)”

Can, “Spoon (Live, Cologne 1972)”

5. Morphine, 1989-1990, Boston

In every way this is a stupid, wrong answer. Go ahead and close your eyes and ignore this; pretend I chose wisely and picked Nina Simone and embedded her un-embeddable “He Was Too Good to Me” from her gig at The Village Gate. But I didn’t. Like many foolish men before me, I got seduced by a fantasy:

I’m in Boston, a town I like but don’t love. I’m alone. After passing dreadful Irish™ bar after dreadful Irish™ bar, I give up and enter one. “Hey, where you going, $5 cover.” Seriously?“Yeah. Band tonight. Morphine.” Stupid name, I think as I pay and belly to the bar. Band has just started its set. Bass, drum, and sax, a stupid gimmick that I ignore. I drink, elbows on the bar, trying to figure out what I’m doing in Boston, what I’m doing with my life, what my next beer will be. And then I hear it. That sound. That goddamn driving sound, that sax slipping into every crevice of a stone rock groove. I push the guy in the stool next to me, sure that this has to be the opener, Who is this? He shrugs. And then they switch gears. A ballad. All that rock drive, all that forward groove, disappears. And my heart drops into my stomach, and any hope of finding whatever I came to Boston for slips from the face of the earth.

You’re probably asking, how would this work? Would the time machine also be an amnesia machine? Don’t you think Morphine would probably have packed a crowd in their hometown even in their early days? What kind of lame variation on the gem-in-the-corner-bar dream is this?

And to that, I say: screw you and your belief in an imaginary time machine. Go listen to Nina Simone, you sissy.

Morphine on a really lame-seeming French TV show:

And the ballad that dropped my imaginary heart:
Morphine, “You Look Like Rain (Live, Bootleg Detroit, 1994)”

6-10. Pavement

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Hot Tub Time Machine: David G's Last Call List, Pt. 1

This week, Noise Narcs answers the age-old question: What five bands would you travel back in time to see in their prime? To see other responses, jump in the hot tub.

This is part one of David G’s Hot Tub Time Machine post. See Part 2 here.

There is really only two good things about being a music blog’s editor: you can break your own rules and split a post into two parts. And every once in a while, you get to do what you couldn’t get away with at the bar: close out the argument and pretend your choices are the ultimate.

Even though I was the one who insisted on this list and have been asking barstool neighbors and bartenders this question for months, I’m having a lot of trouble coming up with my list of top 5 bands I’d time travel to see in their prime. Sure, it’s difficult to parse exactly what’s important (ha ha) in going back in time to see a show, as Chris and Material Lives have both pointed out. But that’s not my problem. My problem is that I’m going see Pavement next Friday. Pavement. And I have sweet seats. And did I mention that I’m seeing Pavement?

So right now, I’m having a lot of difficulty not just ranking Pavement 1-5. Or, for that matter, using my imaginary time machine to jump a week AHEAD to the show (and, why not, travel back in time first, so I could switch my 12th row tickets for 1st row). But, well, that’s probably not entirely a good idea. And, since I set up the rules, I might as well obey them.

My list, in chronological order, is guided by three principles. That choosing a live show should both be about the brilliance of the artist live and, to a lesser degree and in the most etymological playful of the word, the momentousness of the show. And that there’d be some lack of 20/20 vision about the concert: at a fickle artist, you could end up time traveling back to see a dreadful show. In short, I’d time travel to see an act with it feet planted fiercely in the now of the past, with one eye cocked to the future. Of course, my list cheats all over the place.

John Coltrane's house in West Philly: Did they stay here?

1. The Miles Davis Sextet, Philadelphia, 1958

Tenet #1: No musician in the twentieth century had as great an artistic output in a year as Miles Davis did in 1958. Go ahead, ignore that he created his greatest album, Porgy and Bess, that year. But playing with a (drug-free) Coltrane, Cannonball Adderley, Philly Joe Jones, Bill Evans, Paul Chambers, Red Garland, and Jimmy Cobb. Recording Milestones? Undeniable.

Tenet #2: No group of musicians ever assembled played together were as great or played as well as the Miles Davis Sextet of 1958. John Coltrane, Philly Joe Jones, Cannonball Adderley, Bill Evans, Paul Chambers, Miles Davis. I’ll respect you if you’d argue the first or second Classic Quintet, but not that much.

Tenet #3: Some of my friends have been replaced with pod people. For the Noise Narcs who love Miles Davis (Chris T, Trent W) and wouldn’t use a time machine visit to see Miles in this incarnation, I have to wonder: what have you done with my friends? There are at least three musicians in this lineup worth wasting a time travel trip separately for.

In 1958, Davis invited my favorite jazz pianist, Bill Evans, to try out for the sextet in Brooklyn. Several days later, Evans joined them in Philadelphia as part of the greatest sextet of all time. I love Philly so much I’d probably waste a time machine trip just to see it in its 1950s heyday. Getting to see Bill Evans first gig with the sextet in Philly? Sign me up, friend, and how do you want me to deliver my first born? FedEx? Delorean? Also, do I get to stay at either Coltrane’s or Philly Joe Jones’ Philadelphian homes?

I can’t find a recording of that Philly show, but these recording at New York’s Plaza Hotel in 1958 and Newport 1958, will have to do. Oh my will they do.

Miles Davis Sextet, “My Funny Valentine (Live, 1958 Sessions)” [Buy]
Miles Davis Sextet, “Two Bass Hit (Live, 1958, Newport)” [Buy]

2. James Brown, Apollo Theater, 1962

Jesus’ Son is not a very good movie. It does, however, have the definitive line on music.

FH: I wanna know everything about you. All of it.
Michelle: Ask me.
FH: Like, like, what do you like?
Michelle: Like what?
FH: Well, like, what kind of music?
Michelle: James Brown

Exactly. What kind of music do I like? James Brown.

Specifically, the kind of music that James Brown was playing in the early 1960s, while he was still transitioning from soul to funk, when soul was bleeding through his funk, and funk through his soul. Specifically, the kind of music that he was playing with his spotless band on October 24th, 1962 at the Apollo Theater, which he captured, using his own money, on arguably the best live disc of all time. But really, the specifics don’t matter: my kind of music is James Brown.

James Brown, “Try Me (Live at the Apollo, 1962)” [Buy]

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Hot Tub Rock Show: Material Lives

This week, Noise Narcs answers the age-old question: What five bands would you travel back in time to see in their prime? To see other responses, jump in the hot tub.

I have to admit that I’ve not been keen on making this retro-fit bucket list and have been dragging my feet a little, largely because I am not obsessed with live performances, for the very reasons that have likely influenced all of our lists: shows these days are largely stripped down, more about selling merch, and involve bands getting on stage and sounding exactly like themselves. I keep trying, but it’s a rare case when a show in Madison or Milwaukee that should be uproarious (Of Montreal, for instance) is outfitted with a crowd that’s not totally footloose.

There are times when sitting in a seat and passively listening is good, like when I’m in the dentist’s office and rocked out on nitrous oxide. Or when the music calls for it, as was the case when I saw Sigur Ros, whose purpose seems to be to call for the type of reminiscence that only happens when you’re glued to one spot. Otherwise, you might fall down.

But there’s also something to venue fit. A number of years ago, we lost our indie darling venue, the Catacombs coffee house, when the church that housed it decided that the young kids who ran it were not “evangelical” enough. Turns out that “evangelical” meant “We want to rent this space to Subway and make $$$.” We lost the $3 daily organic, local lunches the coffee house provided and also the space where I first saw Stars, Smog, and Ida. The only other performer who of late got outfitted with just the right spot was Joanna Newsom, who played in our student union’s Great Hall, a remarkable room, one that provided the quiet echo her music demands.

So when I think about what shows I’d like to have seen, I’m not thinking about technical skill; I’m thinking about the energy of a particular moment in time, a time when people were hearing something new or thinking they were, experiencing the transformative power of a crowd, or witnessing an artist on the verge of popular or underground stardom. And I’m thinking about the sensory aspect of place. Or so I am telling myself in order to make this list cohere.

1. Elvis. Despite people’s claims that Elvis simply rearticulated the musical forms and body movements he learned from the blues musicians whom he learned his trade from, Elvis still popularized rock-n-roll and transformed the musical landscape of his time. If you ask your parents or grandparents what it was like seeing Elvis in the 50s, they’ll likely tell you how shocking it was to see a man move his hips the way he did and sound like he did. Katherine Hepburn once said, “I don’t know what starpower is, but whatever it is, baby I’ve got it.” And she is so right that it’s hard to fault her hubris. When you are faced with a performer with starpower, charisma that is beyond anything knowable or traceable, it is something else. I felt this when seeing Phoenix’s Thomas Mars perform live the year of the band’s debut album’s release. I must admit that every time I see Elvis’ face, I turn into a melty teenager. He had the looks, but he had that indefinable something else. And that’s why I understand both the police force presence in the below vid, but also the sentiments of the woman who storms the stage, which he seems to find amusing.

2. Björk, circa early 1990s. Björk is one of our genius vocalists and performers, a person who bends her chords in unimaginable ways. I knew a girl whose father took her on a trip to Iceland and then, mid-plane, surprised her with Björk concert tickets. I wanted to trade parents. I accidentally saw Björk perform with the Sugarcubes in the late 80s, when my cousin and I stayed out later than we were supposed to at New York’s Jones Beach (at least that’s where my memory is telling me this took place) and happened upon their concert. And believably, Björk was just as audible from the parking lot. Still, the Sugarcubes do not equal Björk, and Björk’s recent albums do not equal what her debut, Post, and Homogenic were.

Björk, “The Modern Things (Live)”

See the rest of Material Lives’ picks after the jump…

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Hot Tub Rock Show: Katherine's Regretless List

This week, Noise Narcs answers the age-old question: What five bands would you travel back in time to see in their prime? To see other responses, jump in the hot tub.

I was going to write a post that just said “Coldplay,” no date, no justification. [I would have just assumed it was because of your dreadful (but pretty) doppleganger’s husband, Chris Martin. -Ed ] But then I realized that little joke didn’t really even make me laugh, so I started thinking of other acts I could name to better effect. Several Toby Keiths later, I finally just decided to take the assignment seriously, and offer you my best bets.

1. The Beatles rooftop concert, 1969. Even though they hated each other. The idea of sitting that close to them at the end of their era, without anyone else in the way — it’s just hard to see how anything else could beat it. Plus, I’ve always been a big fan of the Let It Be album, maybe more than is reasonable. Of course I only know about the show from the documentary, which means I’ve sort of already seen it (without actually having seen it in its entirety), but I’m pretty sure the real, live experience, with the London wind in my hair would trump anything I could ever see on film.

2. Sam Cooke, Harlem Square Club, 1963. Really, I’d take any show in 63 or 64 where he sings “Bring It On Home To Me,” but from the noise the crowd is making, this one sounds like the most fun. His voice is purer in other live recordings, but he really throws it down here in a way I would’ve loved to have seen.

Sam Cooke, “Bring It on Home To Me (Live at the Harlem Square Club 1963)”

3. Jefferson Airplane, San Francisco, 1969. I haven’t researched this one enough, but I’d want to hear tracks off Volunteers, so I guess it has to be sometime in the summer of love, before Woodstock.

[Or, due to a Youtube fail for San Fran 1969, how about this 1968 rooftop show in New York, filmed by Godard, that predates and gave the idea for the Beatles’? -Ed]

And that’s all I got. Am I a person who goes around regretting things all the time? No, I am not. I am not.

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Hot Tub Rock Show: Trent W

This week, Noise Narcs answers the age-old question: What five bands would you travel back in time to see in their prime? To see other responses, jump in the hot tub.

5.  The White Stripes
Two years ago, I saw The Raconteurs live at the New American Music Union festival. The also-rans at that festival were Spoon, The Roots, Bob Dylan, and The Black Keys.  Surprisingly, the band known down under as The Saboteurs put on, by far, the best show of the weekend, largely on the strength of Mr. Jack White’s contribution.  For me, it was reminiscent of seeing Method Man performing with Wu-Tang:  on a stage populated by perfectly capable and charismatic musicians, White drew all attention to himself.  During a song in which his contribution was minimal, he took great pains to climb a massive speaker tower at the side of the stage.  He also requested that the audience throw joints onstage and jumped in front of other band members while they were singing to emphatically grab his crotch.

No, wait, those were all things Method Man did.

Mr. White’s enticements were far more subtle, possibly even unintentional.  For the most part, he seemed like he really wanted to function as just one part of a regular old rock band.  He was just as happy to step back into the shadows and play keys on one song as he was to be front-and-center singing lead on the next.  (Actually, he wasn’t even set up in the center; Brendan Benson was.)  Problem was, he performed with such passion and exuded such enigmatic star power that no one in the audience could help but keep one eye on Jack at all times.  Am I gushing?  I guess I am, but it’s only because that show reminded me what the term “rock star” originally meant.  I mean, it was obvious dude was really made for this purpose.

So maybe my interest in the seeing The White Stripes can be boiled down to simply an interest in seeing Jack White.  And, of course, I’ve already seen him once and I can certainly see him again.  Why then, you ask, would I waste a time machine trip just for the addition of Meg’s sloppy drumming?  Because I like The White Stripes music far more than that of Jack White’s other projects to date.  (And maybe something about the focused energy of a duo.)  I think a White Stripes show would probably be the best context in which to see him.  It’s that simple.

The White Stripes, “Dead Leaves and the Dirty Ground (Live, Under Black Pool Lights)”

4.  The Headhunters

I fully expect that someone will include in their Hot Tub list one of the great jazz artists from the bop or post-bop eras: possibly one of the classic Miles lineups, or Coltrane, or maybe even Monk or Mingus.  And those names were also tempting for me to include.  However, if we’re talking about the sheer visceral entertainment value of a live show, nothing in jazz tops the groundbreaking funk-laden fusion of The Headhunters with Herbie Hancock.

Or without him.  While Hancock was instrumental in bringing together the musicians and providing direction for what would become The Headhunters, any of the early lineups will do for me.  It was specifically the linear interplay of bassist Paul Jackson and drummer Mike Clark (or Harvey Mason, as on the first record) that made The Headhunters sound unlike anything that came before it, and continues make me launch into unprompted monologues on the elusive concept of “pocket.” Adding to the heat that must’ve been coming off that road as they paved it were the hints of early Afro-futurism in the band’s dress and overall concept.  So, while I still might be able to catch some permutation of the group doing a lukewarm impression of itself at a festival for guys with graying ponytails, I’d gladly drop one of my time machine tokens to see them like this:

Herbie Hancock and the Headunters, “Cameleon (Live, Soundstage, San Francisco, 1975)”

See the rest of Trent’s picks after the jump…

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Hot Tub Rock Show: Mainstream Matt Edition

This week, Noise Narcs answers the age-old question: What five bands would you travel back in time to see in their prime? To see other responses, jump in the hot tub.

As someone not unacquainted with the joys and perils of pointless list-making, I had a particular problem with this Top 5.  It grows out of a paradox familiar to all written prose, but especially piquant in list-composition — that is, the uncomfortably close relationship between banality and truth.   While I’d like to be the kind of person whose totally sincere Top 5 Rock Shows of All Time are Pere Ubu, Chaka Khan, Quicksilver Messenger Service, Screamin’ Jay Hawkins, and Pat Benatar (correction: no I wouldn’t), I am just not that kind of person (second correction: hmm, I may have to rethink this Screamin’ Jay Hawkins thing… I do love nose horns).  So be warned: obviousness lies ahead.

5. T-Rex, 1972. It’s hard to think of an act more outrageously, goofily sexed-up than Marc Bolan’s T.Rex in their early/mid ’70s prime.  Seriously, check out their 1971 appearance on Top of the Pops, with the stage and set laden almost past breaking with drugged out blondes and confused-looking brunettes.  But I wouldn’t want to see T. Rex in ’72, just after the release of Slider, just to try to hook up.  I’d come for the unapologetic rawk, and I’d stay for Bolan’s spooky, pre-glam trippiness, doled out in small but triumphantly weird doses.  Here’s a great live version of “Cosmic Dancer”:

T.Rex, “Cosmic Dancer (Live, Wembley Stadium, 1972)”

4. New Order, 1987. I suppose this is a little past their early ’80s peak, when the post-Joy Division crew first assaulted audiences with swirling, majestically poppy masterpieces like “Ceremony” and “Blue Monday.”  But I think I’d like to see the Trainspotting ’87 version of “Temptation” — backed up, if possible, with images of Reagan and Gorbachev on a projector screen.  Plus, they were touring that year with Echo & the Bunnymen, also on the top of their game.  It would be arena-ish ’80s rock, but it would still be rad.  Here’s a potent “Age of Consent” from that year:

New Order, “Age of Consent (Live, Brixton Academy, London, 4/4/1987)”

See WHO’s next on Matt’s list after the jump…

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Hot Tub Rock Show: Chris T

This week, Noise Narcs answers the age-old question: What five bands would you travel back in time to see in their prime? To see other responses, jump in the hot tub.

What 5 acts would I waste a time machine trip on to see in their prime?  It seems to me that there are two primary impulses to consider when answering this question.

Generally speaking, part of the essence of seeing live music is its unpredictability, and the first impulse is that desire to experience the unpredictable, energetic presence of the act.   Nina Simone might flip out on some random person in the audience with the audacity to get up to use the bathroom.  Scott Stapp might be too drunk and word-slurry to finish the show.  The point is that you don’t know!  Anything could happen because it’s the here and now.

The second impulse, which is not so much a function of live music as it is of time-machine fantasies, is the desire to witness and/or participate in something historic.  Maybe you want to be able to say, “I was at Altamont,” or “remember when Billy Joe got hit with a clump of mud at Woodstock ’94?  I threw that clump!”

My first pick (these five are ordered chronologically and not otherwise ranked) obeys this second impulse much more than the first.  It also totally rips off the answer given by the members of Grubby Little Hands when Dave asked them a version of this question:

#1: The Premiere of The Rite of Spring at the Théâtre des Champs-Élysées in 1913

The riots that erupted during this concert are mostly exaggerations, I suspect.  Did Camille Saint-Saens storm out within minutes over what he felt was an abuse of bassoons?  Probably not.  And according to Stravinsky scholar, Richard Taruskin, any punches thrown were more likely a reaction to Nijinksy’s radical choreography than to Stravinsky’s radical score.  Still, how could you not want to see a bunch of fancy-pants Parisians go even mildly ape-shit over something they saw at a ballet?  What a time to be alive.

Why it might not be a good show: If I’m invested in the old way of doing things.  If I get hurt in the riots.  If Coco Chanel finds me charmless and won’t laugh at any of my jokes.

About the clip: You can catch a reproduction modeled on Nijinsky’s original choreography here, but it doesn’t have any dinosaurs in it.  This does.

Pick number two, on the contrary, is much more about presence than history:

#2: Billie Holiday

Lady Day was undoubtedly one of jazz’s greatest singers as well as one of its most tragic stories, which says quite a lot.  She died at the age of 44 with 70 cents in the bank in a hospital room guarded by arresting police officers after a lifetime of withering drug abuse.  Everything that she ever recorded, even the happy songs, sounds sad when I hear it.

Why it might not be a good show: I don’t know, maybe if Glenn Beck were in the audience and he was eating potato chips really loudly and talking about how much Martin Luther King, Jr. took after him.

About the clip: I don’t know what this is from, but it’s a pretty high quality video recording of her singing “My Man,” which is not one of the happy songs.

See the rest of Chris T’s list after the jump

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Hot Tub Rock Show week

As previously announced, throughout this week Noise Narcs contributors will be posting our five picks for acts we’d go back in time to see in their prime. Somehow, this involves a hot tub.

There was no set criteria for how to choose these acts, so there’s a variety of approaches. Of course, like all questions that originate as bar chatter, there are no right answers. Except mine, which I’ll be posting last on Friday.

-David, Narc-in-Chief

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