What a concert SHOULD be

Probably my favorite thing about living in the Chicagoland area is the chance I get to see all sorts of live music.  However, being a poor grad student, this plethora of concert options doesn’t always work well with my budget.  I really do need to marry a rich man to support my educational and concert-going “habits.”    But seriously, this has been a great semester for shows, and thankfully many of them have been relatively inexpensive, a few even free.

What’s been interesting to note, however, is the correlation between ticket price and concert quality.  The concerts I’ve paid the most for (Jenny Lewis, Ray LaMontagne, Conor Oberst), while still enjoyable, were not near as memorable as those that cost much less (Rachel Unthank & The Winterset, Don Chaffer, Over the Rhine) or were FREE (Andrew Peterson, Shawn McDonald).  I was so excited to see Ray LaMontagne … not only was it at the Chicago Theatre (as in the classic sign everyone recognizes), but it was sold out.  I expected the crowd to be ecstatic … communal somehow.  Instead there were a bunch of drunk girls yelling out, “We love you Ray!”  I mean, he was great, so talented, but I couldn’t help but think that the venue wasn’t right.  It was too big for his sound.  There was no intimacy that you hope for between yourself and the artist at a show.  Jenny Lewis felt a little commercial and forced at times, and I didn’t think Conor Oberst was a very generous performer.  It seemed to be about him and not the audience, which to me is a major concert faux pax.

The others, though … let’s just say I have been blown away on several occasions.  Starting with Don Chaffer.  It is a SHAME to me that this man’s music is as relatively unheard of as it is.  Emotional honesty and incredible creativity characterized his whole performance.  Never heard of him?  Download an album (for FREE) here (and then search for Waterdeep or Krusty Brothers). Or pre-order Waterdeep’s newest album and get a pre-release download sent to you immediately.  Yeah, I’ve heard it … it’s good … you should buy it  … now.

And then there was Andrew Peterson.  If I could choose to write like anyone, it would be Andrew.  For his album release tour this fall, he did two weeks of straight shows, all free, in the hopes of getting his music into the hands of those that might be blessed by it.  He played an annotated set, working through his album song by song, explaining the inspiration behind each one.  I could write an entire post about this show alone.  Actually, I could write a whole post just about the inspiration behind the song “Invisible God.”  His artistry extends beyond his music and lyrics and into the stories he tells.  My least favorite song on the album pre-show was “Rocket.”  I hadn’t listened that closely, and it seemed to me some silly boyish ode to a space machine.  However, after hearing his story about how a fan of his (who happened to be an astronaut) invited him and his family to a shuttle launch (as well as promised to take pictures of his albums up in space), I had to give the song a second chance.  I love how Andrew can see stories of resurrection (the album is called Resurrection Letters, Vol. 2) in the least expected of places.  He mused that trusting in Christ is somewhat like strapping oneself to an incredibly complex machine, a human’s only hope of breaking free from the earth that ties us down.  “Gravity binds us, but glory defines us.”  Sharon pointed that line out.  Yeah, I brought a few friends with me, most of whom hadn’t never even heard the name Andrew Peterson.  They all three bought his album and have since informed me that it was all they listened to for weeks.

Last week I saw Over the Rhine for the first time.  It was an unpublicized show at an old converted church in Naperville.  Pretty appropriate as Karin belted out what one reviewer called their “jazz hymn,” a poetic take on the return of Christ.  “The Trumpet Child will lift a glass, His bride now leaning in at last, His final aim to fill with joy, the earth that man all but destroyed.”  From the moment she opened her mouth to sing “I don’t want to waste your time,” I knew this concert would be anything but that.  Every song was incredible.  I’m not overstating it.  INCREDIBLE.  And they were so generous.  It’s like they know how talented they are, and rather than thinking more of themselves and making it all about them, they simply share their art.  Generously.  And the audience really responds to that.  There was a communal aspect to this show that I haven’t felt in a long time.  And while I love, love, love music, never have I really considered a song perfect.  “Trouble” is that song for me.  “If you came to make some trouble, better make it good.  Your sexy cocktail hour stubble is doing what it should.”  Seriously, greatest line ever.

This afternoon I got to see Shawn McDonald perform at a free show put on by Willow Creek.  Other than the horribly bright backlighting and the rude people talking in the back of the room for the first half of the show (until a random girl got up, interrupted Shawn in the middle of a story, grabbed the microphone and proceeded to tell them how rude they were being … in a rude manner herself, I might add, not to mention awkward) I would definitely put this show in the high quality/low cost category.  Give me one musician, a guitar, and a microphone over a whole production any day.  A few songs in, Kristi leaned over and asked if he seemed nervous to me.  He did a little.  An endearing nervousness.  There was such a drastic difference in the speaking Shawn versus the singing Shawn, however.  The former, who would start telling a story and then forget how it tied into the next song, was far outshone by the latter, who with passion and funk would belt out in one breath “takemyhandtothepromisedandonyouIwannastand’causeIcannotdoitonmyown.”  And then there was the skatting.  Seriously, my only exposure to skat is The Cosby Show and Shawn McDonald.  That takes talent, my friends.

I was recently reminded of something Jeff Tweedy said on Sunken Treasure (a DVD of his solo tour down the West Coast) about concerts as I began to reflect on all the shows I’d been to this year.  He compares a concert to what church would be like if church was what it should be.  At one point he’s reacting to some rude background talking at one of his shows (much like the kiddos today), and after chastising them a bit he shares the following thoughts on what a concert should be: “You feel yourself being in a room full of people with all their hearts beating and all of the their thoughts and feelings, and you’re a part of it.  You’re not just you.  You are a part of a group of people in a really beautiful way.  It’s a really wonderful thing to be a part of, but you have to pay attention to it.  It’s not just me; I’m not just being some pissy artist.  It’s what you do when you go to a concert.  You be a part of it.  You don’t set yourself apart from everybody.  You’re part of something.  It’s wonderful.  It’s joyous.”  Amen.  That’s what makes a concert great.  But it takes effort on both ends.  Artists can’t expect that from their fans with a half-hearted performance.  They have to be the kind of performers whose excellence commands that attention and interaction.  And when that combination is there, it’s magical.

So in my remaining year and a half (at least) in Chicagoland, I plan to continue to take full advantage of all my concert options.  Oh, and I’m currently taking applications for a financier, aka wealthy future husband. 

I didn’t fight the law, and I won.

A couple weeks ago I tried to renew my driver’s license.  My Oklahoma one expired on Halloween, so on the day before, I did a little internet research to find out what all getting a new license entailed.  I called the DMV to ask what sort of ID I needed to bring, and as it turned out I had to have one of the following: 1) Birth Certificate, 2) Passport, or 3) An official sealed high school transcript.  Unfortunately, I didn’t have any of these in my possession … but really, who DOES have an official high school transcript (sealed, nonetheless) just sitting around?  Anyway, I immediately called my parents to have them send me my birth certificate, a little worried that I wouldn’t have a valid license for a few days.  It turned out that they had “misplaced” it (as they did my shot records a few years ago … another huge inconvenience in terms of enrolling in classes), but would get one to me ASAP.  I will count it to their credit, however; they did just that.  I don’t know how, but I ended up with a new birth certificate in my mail box by Monday.

In the meantime, however, I couldn’t just stop driving.  I had tickets to a concert in the city Saturday night, and I figured I’d be okay.  I hadn’t been stopped yet in Illinois, and for the most part I am a cautious and obedient driver (although Todd may beg to differ … I can hear the fake siren noises now).  Well the concert venue was either in or near (not quite sure what the boundaries are) Wrigleyville, so afterward I told Jayme I’d try to find Wrigley Field since she’s never seen it.  I knew it was somewhere north of where we were, but I wasn’t quite sure which street.  After I’d driven what I was sure was further north than I should have, I gave up, opting for continued directional orientation rather than a risk of getting lost.  I made a right turn and then another to turn south, and then all of the sudden I saw lights.

Yes, on the day after my driver’s license expired, for the first time in the three plus months I’ve lived here, I was getting stopped.  Perfect.

Now I’ve been stopped several times (probably around 10), so I’m no stranger to the protocol.  However, most times it’s been on the highway, which makes it easy to know when and where to pull over.  However, here I now was in a neighborhood with skinny streets and cars parked all along both sides.  I was driving really slow trying to find the best place to pull over … certainly they didn’t think I was trying to get away, but they still had to instruct me over the loud speaker to “STOP THE VEHICLE!”

So I stopped.  It turns out that I turned right on red at an intersection where that was a no-no, although I don’t remember seeing any signs.  The officer was a little confused as to why I was in Illinois, driving a car with Texas plates, with an Oklahoma drivers license … expired at that.  So I talked really fast, explaining that the car was in my parents’ name, I just moved here, and that I really had tried to renew my license two days before.  I even went into the whole “official sealed high school transcript” thing.

Now I mentioned before that I have been pulled over SEVERAL times.  I didn’t mention, however, that I have never gotten a ticket.  I don’t really know what to say except that I’m nice.  And compliant.  I always have my license and insurance all ready for the officer before they approach.  I’ve been given warnings and even told that my car was not a rocket, and therefore I shouldn’t drive it as one, but never once was I issued a ticket.

I figured this time might be different.  An expired license is a big deal, right?  Well, evidently it can be.  After the officer came back from I suppose running me through the computer, the first thing he said was that he “should” lock me up.  LOCK ME UP!  As in, go to jail.  In Chicago.  With my cousin stranded alone with no idea of how to get home.  However, he then followed that little bomb with a quick “Don’t drive,” after which he walked back to his car and drove off in less than 15 seconds.  No arrest, no ticket, no warning and “don’t drive” … wink, wink.

You would think after that little scare, I would have gotten my license the next day (or the day after that considering the next day was Sunday).  However, I’ve put it off for various reasons (the office was closed last Tuesday, I had a research paper due Thursday, etc), but today was the day!  I picked out my new drivers license outfit, carefully applied drivers license makeup and headed over this afternoon.  When I switched my license over from Texas to Oklahoma, it was somewhat of a hassle, but I didn’t have to take any sort of test.  However, there does happen to be a test for new Illinois residents.  They gave me a book to study until they called my name, which surprisingly didn’t take very long.  I had only gotten through a couple of chapters … and NOT the one including the traffic signs.  Anyway, I took my written test (which I haven’t had to do since Drivers Ed eleven years ago!!!) and did my best to make good guesses when I wasn’t sure.  As I stood in front of my test grader, I asked her how many I could miss and still pass.  Seven.  I missed six.  Drivers beware.  Nevertheless, I am now an officially licensed Illinois driver with a decent picture to boot.

… We’d hum on Election Day

I had a long conversation with my dad last week about politics.  It was great fodder for a post, but alas, I have a research paper due in three days and a historical context assignment due in four, which leaves little time for political pontification.    So … I’ll share a song instead.  Enjoy!

Over the Rhine’s “If A Song Could Be President”

If a song could be president
We’d hum on Election Day
The gospel choir would start to sway
And we’d all have a part to play

The first lady would free her hips
Pull a microphone to her lips
Break our hearts with Rhythm and Blues
Steve Earle would anchor the news

We’d vote for a melody
Pass it around on an MP3
All our best foreign policy
Would be built on harmony

If a song could be president
We’d fly a jukebox to the moon
All our founding fathers’ 45’s
Lightnin’ Hopkins and Patsy Cline
If a song could be president

If a song could be president
We could all add another verse
Life would teach us to rehearse
Till we found a key change

Break out of this minor key
Half-truths and hypocrisy
We wouldn’t need an underachiever-in-chief
If a song could be president

We’d make Neil Young a Senator
Even though he came from Canada
Emmylou would be Ambassador
World leaders would listen to her

They would show us where our country went wrong
Strum their guitars on the White House lawn
John Prine would run the FBI
All the criminals would laugh and cry
If a song could be president

Oh, and while we’re talking politics (and music) here’s a link to some free music (about politics).

The Parable of the Lost Keys

You’ve heard them all.  There’s the parable of the lost sheep, the lost coin, and the lost son.  However, today, let me recount for you the parable of the lost keys.

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There was a girl who had a set of keys.  These keys were beloved in they eyes of the girl, for in addition to getting her into her car, her cousin’s car, her apartment, the laundry room in her apartment, her mail box,  and her parent’s home in Texas, they also were fastened together by two favorite key chains.  One key chain was replaceable, yet expensive.  The other cost maybe a couple bucks, however the girl was pretty sure the keychain was no longer for sale.

One day, the girl lost the set of keys.  And while this was a quite a common occurrence for her, this time things were different.  The keys weren’t simply misplaced in her apartment.  They were lost … for real.  The girl looked high and low, retracing her steps from Jamba Juice, across the parking lot to Old Navy, and on a few stores over to Famous Footwear.  She searched dressing rooms, through piles of clothes, and in shoe boxes, all to no avail.  After probably an hour of searching, the girl gave up.  She left her name and phone number with each shop, hoping to someday be reunited with her precious set of keys.

But the parable doesn’t end there.  Thankfully the girl’s cousin had a spare key to her car.  However, on this particular day, the day that the girl lost her keys and thus access to transportation, the girl forgot her cell phone at home.  So not only was she stranded at Old Navy of all places, but she had no way of contacting her only hope for rescue.  Thankfully an Old Navy clerk allowed the girl use of their phone to call the two numbers she actually knew by heart (neither of which was her cousin’s).  The girl tried her mother’s cell phone first, but of course there was no answer.  Who answers their phone to a strange number upon first ring?  The girl then tried the number she’d known since she was a child, and fortunately her father answered.  Unfortunately, however, he did not have the number she needed to get in touch with her cousin.  He did have her aunt’s (and mother of her cousin) cell phone, which he was able to give the girl.  The girl then alternated between calling her aunt and her mother until finally her aunt answered and gave the girl the number she’d needed from the start.  Finally the girl got a hold of her cousin who promised to come quickly and bring the spare key.

But the parable doesn’t end there either!  With spare key in hand (and soon, the ignition), the girl began to drive home.  However, she quickly realized that were she to arrive home, she would have no way of getting into her apartment.  And her only hope of rescue then would be her roommate, who again, she had no way of contacting.  And this time there was no one to call who could give her the number.  Remembering her roommate was currently in German for Reading, the girl made her way to campus, thinking that she’d find the class and hopefully borrow the key from her roommate.  Putting her detective powers to use, the girl looked up the class online and found it met in Blanchard 223.  However, when the girl found the classroom, it was obviously the wrong class.  After poking her head in, she only saw two people who assured her it wasn’t in fact German for Reading.  So the girl gave up that search as well, and settled on sitting outside near her roommates car, hoping to catch her after class and before she left Wheaton for the evening.

For an hour the girl sat outside, enjoying the beautiful fall weather and gorgeous Illinois foliage, and she began to work on a blog retelling her adventurous afternoon.  Eventually her roommate showed, and the two drove to their apartment, inside of which the girl found her cell phone with eight missed alerts, one of which being a classmate she had unconfirmed plans to meet in the library that afternoon.

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In the time I spent waiting for Jayme at Old Navy and then Emily at Wheaton, I remembered two things.  The first is a blog (which you can read here) I read several weeks ago, that at the time I COMPLETELY identified with, and do so even more now.  The pastor who wrote it refers to himself as a loser … of things.  He even blames it on genetics … as do I!  Seriously, I get this forgetfulness/losing things thing from my dad.  Anyway, he writes how of the three “lost” parables in Luke, he personally identifies most with the parable of the lost coin.  “Or what woman, having ten silver coins, if she loses one coin, does not light a lamp and sweep the house and seek diligently until she finds it?  And when she has found it, she calls together her friends and neighbors, saying, ‘Rejoice with me, for I have found the coin that I had lost.’”  He calls that good news and writes, “What a great thing it is to find something.  I’m guessing that my life has had bursts of joy that many of you have never known because you don’t lose things.  Nearly every week there is some moment of ecstasy when I realize that something I thought might be gone for good is still around.”  Well, I certainly have known those bursts of joy, preacher.  Too bad I’m still waiting on said burst for my keys.

The second thing that came to mind was an Andrew Peterson song.  I know, I know, he’s gotten a lot of blog space these days (and may get even more in coming days … I did go to an AMAZING concert of his last week).  Forgive me, but I’m going to share another whole set of his lyrics.  I can’t help it; the song is just too clever … and fitting:

I’d give you all of me to know what you were thinking
And if I had one wish, I’d wish I wasn’t sinking here
Drowning in this well
Oh, can’t you tell

That I can’t pick myself up off the ground
I’ve been face down and pushed aside
Well, you know I’d rather just turn tail and run
Than lie here in the sun
And watch you pass me by
‘Cause I ain’t worth a dime

But if only I could stand up straight
I wouldn’t have to lie and wait
I could up and roll away
And never be ignored
I’ve got a feeling that I’m something more
Than just a piece of copper ore
Turning green and looking for
The reason I was born

I’ve been around since 1964
In banks and bottom drawers
On railroad ties
I’ve been passed around and cast aside
Skipped and flipped and flattened wide
Spun around and thrown away and left alone to lie

But I heard about a penny found
Lying underneath a couch
By a woman who was kneeling down
And looking for some change
Then the woman danced around
And called her friends all over town
And told ‘em what was lost is found
It’s another penny saved

So I find that all this time
Beneath the surface I could shine
Like all the gold a king and queen could measure
You see, even just a penny is a treasure.

Now I’m certainly no biblical expert in parables, but they’re supposed to have a moral, a take away thought, if you will.  Jesus explicitly states the point of all three parables as the rejoicing that occurs in heaven over repentant sinners.  But in the story of the lost coin, there seems to be another layer.  There’s a desperation in the woman’s searching.  She searches until she finds what was lost.  I suppose my parable of the lost keys is somewhat antithetical.  I gave up.  It’s not that I didn’t love my keys; I just didn’t love them enough to spend anymore time on my hands and knees at Old Navy.  I’m glad my God is like the woman looking for her coin and not me looking for my keys.