Recently a cool little Pearl Jam promotional CD which circulated during the production of Lost Dogs made its way to my ears, and I am beyond excited. It’s a loose assemblage of demo versions and rough mixes of Pearl Jam songs from over the years, with the occasional live cut tossed in. A couple of these songs have never been heard before by John & Susie Q. Superfan (including me), while others were tunes that I have on various cassette tapes (like this KISW performance of Bee Girl, the alternate version of Alone, or Just A Girl) but haven’t dug out or heard in years.
When something is a great find, my innards shake a little while I am downloading them. This was an innard-shaker.
Anything In Between(unreleased, Binaural outtake, 1999) In The Moonlight(rough mix, Binaural outtake, 1999) Fatal(rough mix, Binaural outtake, 1999) Sad(a.k.a. Letter to the Dead, rough mix, Binaural outtake, 2000) Wishing Well (live)(written by The Free, Mookie Blaylock, 1990) Hitchhikers(rough mix, Binaural outtake, 1999) Puzzle And Game(unreleased, vastly different demo of “Light Years”, Binaural outtake, 2000) Education(rough mix, Binaural outtake, 1999) Sweet Lew(rough mix, Yield outtake, 1997) Sunburn(unreleased, w/ Stone on vocals, No Code outtake, 1995) Hold On(rough mix, Ten outtake, 1991) (Just A) Girl(rough mix, Ten outtake, 1990) Alone(rough mix, lyrics differ from Lost Dogs version, Ten outtake, 1991) Brother(rough mix w/ different vocals, Ten outtake, 1990) Don’t Gimme No Lip(rough mix, No Code outtake, 1996) Bee Girl(on Rockline, KISW FM, Seattle, 10/18/1993) Against The ’70s(From Mike Watt album ‘Ball-Hog or Tugboat?’, 1995) “New” Jeremy(live version from Red Rocks, CO, 06/20/1995)
Also, for those baseball fans out there (I can’t talk about the Giants this year, it’s too painful) Ed’s gonna be singing at the Cubbies game this Friday. Now that’s my kind of seventh inning stretch.
I find this cover toe-tappingly good (“Everyone keeps asking me if this is my song, so I decided that I have to play it,” Yorn says) — and coincidental, considering that the first time I remember enjoying the original song was at an intermission before Pete Yorn took the stage in Denver. Thanks to Stereogum for the cover from two nights ago, and to You Ain’t No Picasso for digging up the video:
I have an admittedly short attention span on planes. Usually I zone out with music, taking advantage of the silent hours to explore the inevitable backlog of new tunes on my iPod. If I do read, it’s often the guilty indulgence of People magazine that I only buy in airport bookshops or –even better– Reader’s Digest. On this latest trip, I found something much better.
Da Capo Music Press is one of the finest purveyors of music books out there. They asked me if there was anything in their (superb) current catalog that I’d be interested in checking out, and the first book I’ve cracked of the box they sent is the anthology Da Capo Best Music Writing 2006. The seventh year in the series, I found a lot to love here from a variety of sources last year ranging from traditional print media, online journals, and even (yay!) music blogs. The commentary varies from straight up album/song reviews to artist profiles and in-depth theoretical pieces on serious topics loosely related to music as a foundation.
The introduction by editor Mary Gaitskill explains the vibe of the anthology: “I put these pieces together like a mix tape of sounds a person might hear in life — get up in the morning, put on an old T. Rex song, go outside, hear “Gold Digger” coming out of somebody’s car, nameless electronica coming out of someone else’s. A guy walks through the parking lot whistling an aria from Bizet’s Carmen; something high and haunting leaks out of a passing boy’s iPod. Go into a store and there’s a faux cowgirl on the sound system singing some artifically sweetened blues. All day songs fly past; some get lost in traffic noise, some enter your imagination and take strange dream-shapes that get inside your thoughts and feelings and make them different.”
I loved that because she expresses exactly how the world sounds to me. People will ask me “where do you get all your ideas for posting?” And my answer is this: Once you start paying attention to the music around you, you hear it everywhere. There’s no shortage of things to listen to, experience, and write about. It’s why I love writing this blog, and it’s why I enjoy reading collections like this one.
Here are three snippets from the book to give you an idea of why you should pick it up for some good summer readin’. Guaranteed to enrich your brain 437% more than People.
CRAZY IS AS CRAZY DOES by Ann Powers What I’ve noticed about “crazy” rock musicians is that ones whose music offers the most insight into the turmoil of emotion tend to be women, and that these crazies tend to receive less hero worship than their male counterparts. . . [t]heir inner demons are in constant dialogue with a world that already demonizes anything less than neat that emanates from the feminine realm. A male artist getting crazy can come off as threatening, but he’s also often greeted as a prophet or, conversely, an endearing holy fool. A woman artist getting crazy is a different kind of mess–one that raises the general discomfort level by raising the specter of uncontrolled sexuality, irresponsible motherhood, violence done to or by the secred “gentler sex” — all elements of our common consciousness that have haunted us since Medea’s time and have never been resolved.
Your Ghost – Kristin Hersh (featuring Michael Stipe) The rest of this interesting piece looks at those who have struggled with demons, like Hersh, Daniel Johnston, Lisa Germano, Nick Drake, or Mary Margaret O’Hara.
THE BEATLES–”Eleanor Rigby/Yellow Submarine” (Reached No. 1 on 20th August 1966) by Tom Ewing Part of a series to write on all UK #1 hit singles The brisk orchestral arrangement of “Eleanor Rigby” is tense and fussy, with something of Eleanor’s spinsterish neatness: the strings bring to mind sewing, or sweeping the steps, one of those little daily things you do unthinkingly, or instead of thinking. They also sound a little like a horror film soundtrack, and Eleanor Rigby is cinematic, and it is about horror. It’s Paul McCartney taking one of pop’s smooth-rubbed words –”lonely”– thinking it through and recoiling.
“Eleanor Rigby” remains neat to its end, so neat you might forget that this question of the lonely people hasn’t remotely been answered. For that you need the other side of the single, “Yellow Submarine.”
Intentionally or not, “Eleanor Rigby” and “Yellow Submarine” make a perfect pair. Crushing isolation as the flip of a song that values limitless community — “And my friends are all aboard / Many more of them live next door.” The one set in a drably recognizable town, the other in a fantasy utopia. Recital and singalong.
A VERY SPECIAL CONCERT: The Enduring Bond Between Huey Lewis and the Developmentally Disabled by Katy St. Clair . . . The band recently celebrated its 25th anniversary by performing at this year’s Marin County Fair on a cool summer night a few weeks back. This was Huey Lewis & the News’ stomping ground, where they began two decades earlier, playing around San Rafael and Mill Valley. Suffice it to say, this show was something all my clients were looking forward to.
There are a lot of stereotypes about retarded people and most of them are false . . . [t]here is however one stereotype about retarded people that is true, one broad brushstroke that one can make about them all: Good gosh a’mighty, retarded people love them some Huey Lewis. Part of the reason is that Huey is apparently a sweetheart who does a lot of volunteer work with people who have developmental disabilities. But another big part is the music.
A bunch of people from a group home had set up camp on the opposite side of the stage, laying out blankets and picnic food. Bobbi recognized some of her friends and waved. “Huuuuueyyyy!” they all yelled back. It was just like people who yell “Bruuuce!” at a Springsteen concert, only more retarded. In fact, Huey Lewis is a retarded version of Bruce Springsteen. Think about it.
Home again, home again, jiggety jig. I had a fantastic loooong stretch in California this past week-plus. In addition to seeing two unbeatableconcerts and witnessing a cousin get married off in a burst of winery festivities, I also got to see lots of old friends, swim in a bonafide swimmin’ hole up in the Sierra Nevada mountains, chat up an old neighbor we call Larry Woodstove and find out the haps in the ‘hood I grew up in, eat my favorite gelato twice and In ‘N’ Out three times, discover a little Italian pottery and antique shop, sit burn on the beach in Santa Cruz, and spot this bar sign (I love taking the scenic route):
I found time to duck into Amoeba Records in Berkeley and Streetlight Records in San Jose. I drove many miles of California highway, waited approximately 832 hours for flights, and I’m pretty sure that some of my underthings were swiped from my luggage by a Transportation Security Administration minion. Never pack em in the outside pocket.
It’s good to be home. I’ve got a backlog of blog posts built up in my head, and a bunch of great music to share with you all.
Put It On Me Ben Harper Hot dang, the new Ben Harper is an absolute scorcher. I literally kept saying “holy crap!” out loud when I listened to tracks like this one, a funky soulful feisty downright boogie. Dig the Isley Brother guitar riffs, the dirty piano, and the full gospel backing vocals. Fantastic. Absolutely fantastic. Lifeline is out August 28.
Diamond Hoo-Ha Man Supergrass Astute NME readers will note that “Britpop veterans” Supergrassopened for Arctic Monkeys this weekend and played a few new songs, which, of course, sent me out on the hunt to hear them for myself. Supergrass just helped me out in my quest by posting a live mp3 on their site of this new dense White-Stripey-rocker tune. I’m not sure how the protagonist here got access to a diamond hoo-ha, but I’m sure he’s not complaining. If you dig this sound like I do, sign up for updates on their site. Supergrass have completed their latest album and are mixing it this summer in L.A.
Let The Music Play (live with Marc Broussard) G. Love and Special Sauce There’s a certain kind of special, laid-back fun that goes along with a G. Love concert. Philadelphia roots-rap-soul-funkster Garrett Dutton (but you can call him G. Love) can wail on the harmonica, lay down the smooth beats, twist a clever lyric, and always, always make me dance. He’s got a new live tour documentary A Year and A Night out tomorrow on Brushfire Records (watch the trailer here) and there’s a bonus live CD that comes packaged with it. This sizzling live version of “Let The Music Play” (originally on last year’s Lemonade album) features tourmate Marc Broussard, whose new album also I keep hearing good things about.
The Honey Month Augie March Last time I was out in California my brother and I were heading downtown to the Gaslamp Quarter of San Diego and he popped in a mix CD he was currently digging. In addition to lots of Mason Jennings (you’re welcome, little bro) most of it was tunes from Australian megagroup Augie March, who are just starting to make a dent in the American market. My brother will be jealous to hear that I plan to check these guys out at a rare U.S. show this week at the Boulder Records & Radio summit, and will report back my findings. Their “new” (to these shores) album Moo, You Bloody Choir (and no, I don’t know what the title means) is out August 7. It’s a rich and literate album, with this track fairly oozing the figurative honey cited in the title. Pitchfork calls a very apt comparison by likening the work to mid-Nineties Grant Lee Buffalo and yes, amen. A solid and multi-layered album that I look forward to exploring.
Rumors Josh Ritter The new album The Historical Conquests of Josh Ritter is miles away from 2006′s Animal Years, except for the common thread of some of the finest songwriting and lyricism in today’s folk/rock world. Similar to how I was surprised by the downright danceable boogie on the forthcoming Iron & Wine (previously offering mostly hushed, go-to-bed-alone music), Josh Ritter gets all Hall & Oates on us with horns, ragtime piano, and beats. I’ll be flogged in public for even suggesting this, but call me crazy if the melody on the verses here is a slowed-down echo of Britney Spears’ 2004 Mile High Club jam “Toxic.” There, I said it.
2007 is shaping up to be an interesting year for releases from artists we thought we knew. Everyone’s gettin’ all spirited-like, and I love it. Some of the songs on this album are more standard fare from Ritter, such as the shiver-inducing loveliness of “The Temptation of Adam” (which I saw him perform back in February) but overall — whew. I am impressed with this direction. Ritter just announced a huge string of tour dates and is absolutely worth seeing live, an energetic and masterful performer.
My friend Dr. Mooney has been instrumental in turning me on to the fine burnished sounds of New York’s Rosewood Thieves [initial post], and keeping me informed on their musical progression. I’d like to thank him for this most recent bonanza: A complete live set from their residency at Pianos, showcasing material both new and old. These kids have two EPs out now: From The Decker House (V2) and their latest independent EP release, Lonesome (just out June 6 but I can’t find it anywhere yet). They are in the final stages of mixing their full-length album expected out sometime later this year. Watch the live performance video here and snag the mp3s below. I really like the rich retro sounds coming from these guys (plus gal).
In an age of Marilyn Manson and Gwar, it seems almost laughable that something as small as using an electric guitar was, at one time, a revolutionary act of heresy to hear some tell it. But there was a time in 1965 when a folksy Bob Dylan took a risk, plugged in, withstood the booing, and helped to usher in the beginnings of a whole new sound of electric sin in popular music.
The Newport Folk Festival was an annual convergence of the Hootenanny crowd in Rhode Island begun in 1959. Dylan had been a hit at both of his previous performances in 1963 and 1964. But as July ’65 came around, Dylan was beginning to experiment with a new sound, evidenced clearly on his song “Like A Rolling Stone,” which had just been released as a single to radio four days prior.
At the festival, Al Kooper, whose session work had already impressed Dylan, was strolling about when Albert said Bob was looking for him. Dylan told Kooper he wanted to bring the “Rolling Stone” sound on-stage. Three members of the Butterfield Band were recruited: guitarist Mike Bloomfield, drummer Sam Lay, and bassist Jerome Arnold. At a party in Newport, Dylan completed his band with pianist Barry Goldberg. In a Newport mansion, Dylan rehearsed this instant group until dawn. They kept their plan secret until they walked onstage, Dylan, in a matador-outlaw orange shirt and black leather, carrying an electric guitar.
From the moment the group swung into a rocking electric version of “Maggie’s Farm,” the Newport audience registered hostility. As the group finished “Farm,” there was some reserved applause and a flurry of boos. Someone shouted: “Bring back Cousin Emmy!” The microphones and speakers were all out of balance, and the sound was poor and lopsided. For even the most ardent fan of the new music, the performance was unpersuasive.
As Dylan led his band into “Rolling Stone,” the audience grew shriller: “Play folk music! … Sell out! … This is a folk festival! … Get rid of that band!” Dylan began “It Takes a Train to Cry,” and the applause diminished as the heckling increased. Dylan and the group disappeared offstage, and there was a long, clumsy silence. Peter Yarrow urged Bob to return and gave him his acoustic guitar. As Bob returned on the stage alone, he discovered he didn’t have the right harmonica. “What are you doing to me?” Dylan demanded of Yarrow. To shouts for “Tambourine Man,” Dylan said: “OK, I’ll do that one for you.” The older song had a palliative effect and won strong applause. Then Dylan did “It’s All Over Now, Baby Blue,” singing adieu to Newport, good-bye to the folk-purist audience.
It’s fitting as I write this on the night of July 25th, a hard-to-believe 42 years to the day of this performance. There is certainly controversy about why people were booing that night – revisionist history rages, with some saying that the booing was due solely to the poor sound quality and not the music itself. Folk music patriarch Pete Seeger has been widely quoted as saying that if he had an axe, he would have chopped the cable that night, even though he’s given varying reasons for that statement in the following years.
Hearing these performances and seeing the footage in the Scorsese documentary No Direction Home, I can lean towards feeling that there was a crackle of discontent in the air that night that I don’t think was just a PA issue. I think there’s definitely a strong argument that Dylan’s performance was an important splinter in the genres of folk and rock music that had profound and immediate implications for both. The “This Land Is Your Land” crowd went one way with the idealism and the acoustic guitars, and the rock barrelled off in another direction best summarized by Dylan himself the following year in response to the infamous heckler at the Manchester show: “Play fucking loud!”
I’ll try and be nonchalant, but that’s pretty much the best picture I’ve gotten to be in this year. Maybe ever. I got to meet Ryan after the Berkeley show last night, and we talked about some interesting stuff. He seems somehow smaller in real life, with very penetrating eyes. Keep readin’, keep readin’. . .
The show itself was absolutely fantastic, and that surprised me because the venue is all seats (which I thought equaled sedate; I was wrong). Plus I thought I’d already gotten the very best from the Santa Cruz show (again; wrong). The Berkeley Community Theatre is a high school auditorium and had the distinctive feel of such, down to the drinking fountains and some undefinable quality to the bathrooms – I was almost expecting pink powdered handsoap. The difference between my own high school and this one, though, is that my high school never hosted Jimi Hendrix, The Clash or Ryan Adams.
As I was walking into the auditorium from the lobby, the usher was checking my ticket, and the guy standing right in front of me in a very anticlimactic way was Ryan Adams, setlist and Sharpie in hand. He was relaxed and amiable, wearing some sort of death metal t-shirt, a black hoodie with a denim jacket over it, and a pair of tighter jeans than any I own. He was walking around the hall conducting a “First Annual Audience Poll” for the setlist. This, compared to what I had heard about his virtual refusal to speak a single word to the crowd in San Francisco the night before was pretty astounding, and boded well for an engaging evening.
As I stood there with him in the lobby, on such short notice the first thing I could think of that I’d love to hear was the b-side “Halloween.” He looked up at me with an encouraging smile and said excitedly, “No, think big. Think full band electric, me and the Cardinals!” I couldn’t think deeply on such short notice, standing next to Ryan, so the moment passed and he went on to the girl next to me who asked for “Come Pick Me Up.” I spent the next two hours thinking off and on of what I should have said. There are so many of his songs that I’d love to hear them incorporate into the Cardinals’ current sound. Very nice idea from Ryan.
From where I was sitting (with a camera with no flash) the sound was excellent, and Ryan and The Cardinals took the stage close to 9pm with massive amounts of energy. They played over two hours with a quick intermission –so Ryan could go drink some juice, he said– and no encore. He was definitely the most chatty and entertaining between songs as I’ve heard in a long time. From singing an impromptu custom birthday song to a girl a few rows up from us named Summer Rae Brown (it’ll be the smash hit of her summer for sure) to making up poems about his love for Cheez-Its (me too, Ryan, me too) it was hilarious.
Someone in the front said something to him and in a stage whisper he replied, “Dude, I totally can’t talk right now, I’m WORKING.” He also joked about having a camera in his tie and being on “lady patrol,” with the priceless aside of “I would never trust a woman who would tolerate my shit.” But the best part was — he kept the banter strictly between songs instead of right in the middle of them like he kept doing at the acoustic show last year at the Palace of Fine Arts. This was very good.
The energy and cohesiveness of the band was a force that kept me glued to the show even though I was seated. The three personal highlights of the setlist were an unexpected & searing electric version of “When The Stars Go Blue,” a gorgeous performance of “Elizabeth, You Were Born To Play That Part,” which may have hit me like a fist to the gut and made me cry (maybe, just hypothetically), and an absolutely electrify-me-down-to-my-toes closer of “I See Monsters,” which was even better than the one we got in Santa Cruz. Ryan writhed and pulled every note of that song out of his guitar like he was battling a demon, or wrestling with an angel. I felt it too. I left that show completely sated.
Full setlist:
A Kiss Before I Go Please Do Not Let Me Go (smolders) Goodnight Rose Peaceful Valley Two Easy Plateau Beautiful Sorta Mockingbird Happy Birthday Summer Rae Brown When The Stars Go Blue I Taught Myself How To Grow Old Everybody Knows Let it Ride
My friend Sharif and I decided to hang around a little bit nonchalantly on the sidewalk behind the venue, just because we like doing that and you never know who you’ll run into. In this case, for instance, we saw Ryan in the park right across the street from the high school, walking alone in the empty fountain and balancing on walls. He crossed back over to the venue side of the street and was sitting, leaning against the wall in the shadow of an enormous bouncer when we stopped to chat for a few minutes.
The box set of unreleased material is definitely happening, he tells me, and all next week they are working on finishing up the artwork. It’s up to seven discs now, and he assures me that it’s a lot of stuff that even us crazy fans have not heard. For instance, he said that the Suicide Handbook material that we have (and love) is leaked from the studio and only contains his acoustic guitar and vocals, but that we’ve never heard it as we soon will — with a 16 piece string section, among other things. Also, I asked him if the lusted-after Elizabethtown Sessions will be included on there and he said he thought so, that that “album” is actually called Darkbreaker.
The logjam in my brain also finally had cleared during the show when it hit me that an awesome addition to his current setlist would be “Hotel Chelsea Nights” from the Love Is Hell album. It could fit nicely into the intense electric vibe, and add some swagger and cool class. I suggested it and his face lit up. He told me that they had actually been working that very song out recently to start playing in their Cardinals shows and that he was excited about it. Maybe we’ll get it in Boulder?
I really couldn’t ask for more. It was an excellent show and I drove home with an indelible smile on my face that won’t go away.
Hot off the heels of another mindblowing show from Ryan Adams last night (more on that later), my email tells me of another show I should perhaps consider sacrificing a kidney to be at:
Pearl Jam will be in Chicago next week to headline Lollapalooza on August 5th. They announced yesterday that they will be playing a fanclub-only show at Chicago’s historic, cozy, Vic Theatre on the night of August 2nd. The Vic only holds 1300, and being at a fanclub-only show would be just fantastic (hopefully that would mean no one hollering “Jeremy! Play Jeremyyyyyyyyyy!” and fewer cries of “Marry me Eddie!” — oh wait, that might have been me).
Looking out for their ubernerd fans like this is one more reason why I love them (although . . . maybe they love their wealthy ubernerd fans more?). Should be an amazing show, I wish I could be there.
Since I’m on vacation, it’s a fine time to let someone else take the wheel for a bit, as one of you recently commented. So today we’ve got a special treat to the Fuel/Friends blog with a guest blog on a nice little set of demos from Beatle George Harrison.
I’d been entirely unfamiliar with any of Harrison’s solo work before I was recently challenged to unearth this set of demos from Harrison’s All Things Must Pass album (1970). I was surprised at the gentle and warm acoustic loveliness, not being at all familiar with Harrison’s work aside from The Beatles.
This particular pal is responsible for introducing me to a massive amount of good music, and possesses an encyclopedic library of musical minutae in his head. Not kidding, it’s like world-record material. This is his first attempt at blogging: for years now he’s just had to try and unload his vast musical knowledge on disinterested friends and poor passersby. Finally, he has a willing audience. He writes:
“Not only are these sessions amazingly historic, but they’re just beautiful — like the George Harrison cafe sessions! Art of Dying was written in 1966 and fuck me does it sound like it totally could have been on Revolver — which it would have been considered for?! But I think it probably sounded too much like Eleanor Rigby, and since it was Paul vs. George…ta da.
George sat down on solo guitar with Phil Spector in Abbey Road Studio 2, and ran through the cache of songs he had built up over the repressive last years of the Beatles. Sit back, get a coffee, put on a turtleneck if you feel pretentious enough, make like it’s the end of the ’60s, and let George play you some of the tunes he’s been collecting over the past few years.”
GEORGE HARRISON DEMOS (1970)
w/ Phil Spector (“Beware of ABKCO” sessions)
I feel a little nagging urge today because it’s MONDAY and I’ve not posted any sort of music round-up (except portions which I’ve written and posted in my head). I am on vacation in California this week, just enjoying listening to amazing music on the beach and thinking of ways to better please you all when I have time to write. I’ve got some good stuff in the works (always) and I’ll try to get it together soon.
I also have developed a wordlessly awesome one-sided sunburn today after falling asleep on the sand. To quote another favorite Heather of mine, you just go right ahead and try to comprehend how hot that is.
Name: Heather Browne Location: Colorado, originally by way of California Giving context to the torrent since 2005.
"I love the relationship that anyone has with music: because there's something in us that is beyond the reach of words, something that eludes and defies our best attempts to spit it out. It's the best part of us, probably, the richest and strangest part..."
—Nick Hornby, Songbook
"Music has always been a matter of energy to me, a question of Fuel. Sentimental people call it Inspiration, but what they really mean is Fuel." —Hunter S. Thompson
Mp3s are for sampling purposes, kinda like when they give you the cheese cube at Costco, knowing that you'll often go home with having bought the whole 7 lb. spiced Brie log. They are left up for a limited time. If you LIKE the music, go and support these artists, buy their schwag, go to their concerts, purchase their CDs/records and tell all your friends. Rock on.
Recently a cool little Pearl Jam promotional CD which circulated during the production of Lost Dogs made its way to my ears, and I am beyond excited. It’s a loose assemblage of demo versions and rough mixes of Pearl Jam songs from over the years, with the occasional live cut tossed in. A couple of these songs have never been heard before by John & Susie Q. Superfan (including me), while others were tunes that I have on various cassette tapes (like this KISW performance of Bee Girl, the alternate version of Alone, or Just A Girl) but haven’t dug out or heard in years.
Also, for those baseball fans out there (I can’t talk about the Giants this year, it’s too painful) Ed’s gonna be singing at the Cubbies game this Friday. Now that’s my kind of seventh inning stretch.
I found time to duck into Amoeba Records in Berkeley and Streetlight Records in San Jose. I drove many miles of California highway, waited approximately 832 hours for flights, and I’m pretty sure that some of my underthings were swiped from my luggage by a Transportation Security Administration minion. Never pack em in the outside pocket.
From where I was sitting (with a camera with no flash) the sound was excellent, and Ryan and The Cardinals took the stage close to 9pm with massive amounts of energy. They played over two hours with a quick intermission –so Ryan could go drink some juice, he said– and no encore. He was definitely the most chatty and entertaining between songs as I’ve heard in a long time. From singing an impromptu custom birthday song to a girl a few rows up from us named Summer Rae Brown (it’ll be the smash hit of her summer for sure) to making up poems about his love for Cheez-Its (me too, Ryan, me too) it was hilarious.
Name: Heather Browne
