PATRICK MCVAY

WRITER

My Musings

This text is currently hidden by a css change. Alow's me to go directly to the category description because it is editable in the front end,

Yo Adrian!

Belew-and-Harrison

I've seen the rock musician Adrian Belew probably five times now in various bands and musical assemblages – with King Crimson, with his Power Trio, and solo at least once if not a couple of times – but until a few weeks ago I always saw him playing his own music.

But Adrian Belew has participated in so many bands over the years that I should have expected him to show up with a friend in tow and do most of the friend's songs, which happened a couple of weeks ago at the HOB* in Boston, when he showed up with a member of the Talking Heads.

You may point out that Jerry Harrison isn't the main Talking Heads songwriter; however all songs on the album Remain in Light are credited to Talking Heads and Brian Eno, so Harrison gets credit for all of them. And since the name of the tour was "Jerry Harrison & Adrian Belew REMAIN IN LIGHT" I feel confident that a court of law would exonerate me from charges of falsely claiming that the band was playing mostly Jerry Harrison songs.

You're probably wondering if this is the part of my music review when I start writing in flowery and verbose language, highlighting nebulous, esoteric aspects of the concert, casting light on little bits of melodic nuance that would have gone over the head of the average concertgoer. Or, maybe the average person wouldn't have noticed the subtleties I focus on, such as contending that the power and elegance of Adrian Belew's singing was brought into sharp relief when juxtaposed to Harrison's croaking style, because the subtleties really weren't there, and I'm reading way, way too deeply into the music. Maybe I'm just using this concert as a way of calling attention to me instead of the band.

That's not my style.

I will tell you in the most straightforward, easy to understand expository prose that Talking Heads music is still great decades later, and that the musicians assembled played faithful renditions of it, with Harrison and Belew and a backing funk band called Cool Cool Cool generating a big, energetic sound that mimicked the Talking Heads stage act at the height of their popularity. Yeah, sure, it would have been great for it to be an actual Talking Heads show with David Byrne singing, but Adrian Belew can still bring it in his 70s, and not only did he collaborate with Talking Heads in the late 1970s and early 1980s, but he can sound a good deal like David Byrne when he wants to.

I can't talk about this night without mentioning the type of mildly irritating fan you might encounter at a general admission rock concert that makes you wish they would go get another beer and get stymied trying to return . Often it's a large man who needs about a six foot radius around himself at all times to enable him to shake and shimmy and dance the night away, while the rest of us are jammed together like a pack of cigarettes. Then he elbows you in the eye socket and turns to you with his hands raised like it's a stickup to indicate that he didn't mean it. But he goes on needing all that floor space the whole night. In this rather different case, I weaved my way onto the floor after the opener had left and stopped behind a man and his son who were best pals, arms slung over each other's shoulders, high fiving, hugging, and so forth. It was kind of sweet! But after the concert started, the tipsy Dad who was sloshing around his second or third tallboy can of beer kept pulling the teen boy close so that their heads touched and I couldn't see the show, even with my big shoes on. I kept eying vacant floor space so that I might slip away from peculiarly amorous father-son act. You're thinking, what's the big deal? Too many fathers and sons don't show love for each other so why complain about these two being best buds? Trust me, it got weirder and weirder as the man got more and more hammered. Plus, like I said, I couldn't see the show.

Eventually, I was able to slide to the left so that I didn't have to keep bobbing and weaving like Joe Frazier to see the musicians between the tilted heads of this overly-close pair. Meanwhile, my buddy Tim abandoned the area headed to the back of the venue floor to get away from them. It wasn't just me. 

I'll probably keep going to Adrian Belew shows until they don't exist any longer, or I don't exist, which, if you were paying attention to my early blog posts of several years ago, may be a long way off, as I expect to live quite a bit past 100. Just need Adrian Belew to do the same.

*(I don't like to expand the acronym because my friend Todd hates the HOB).

Continue reading
  606 Hits

 

 

Daily Haiku

 

Cats oft’ void their guts.

They cough out fur balls. They puke.  

We tread carefully.  

 

College Tuition

We dig ourselves a deep hole

Need a second job.

 

Now that I’m sixty

People think I’m a wise man

Probably, I’m not

 

I’m in my Fifties

But tomorrow I’m Sixty

Will need a sports car

 

My PCP Says

“Keep doin’ what yer doin’”

Prob’ly I should not

 

It’s St. Patrick’s Day

We eat beef that has been corned

Whatever that means

 

Robots and A.I.

I will make use of these soon

To do my taxes

 

Strange Oscar night end

Pacino failed to mention

Best pic nominees

 

Who’s this Katie Britt?

Scary. Wierd. We could have used

A Trigger Warning

 

Subscribe To The Blog

Produce This Audio Play!

Ever wanted to produce a radio play?  Think you have the mettle?  Read on!

Tag Cloud

Music Bill Monroe Art Syracuse Guns and Ammo Stairs Accounting Motorists Hurricanes Brewing cornhole Email Football winter Bicycles Bands I've Seen First World Problems punk music Canada Folk Music Religion Bikes Cornhole star Liz Phair Bob Dylan Teeth Roommates I've Had Big Shoes Mike Doughty Halloween Things I've done Communication Channels the sea Brain Surgery Me Audubon Bar Scotch and Sirloin Beer plan mid-winter vacations Plastic Diseases Ice Dancing My sisters midwinter vacations Europe Bands I haven't seen NPR COVID-19 Climate Change People I know My Parents Radiohead Yeast When I die baseball Short Fiction Sports Coyotes Red Sox Eclipse Emergencies Mom and Dad Reveillon coronavirus Ticketmaster Dr. Jeckyll and Mr. Hyde Marketing Gimmicks Barber Shops Wind Texting Bodysurfing Food Imaginings BB King afterlife Soviet Union China Skiing Bunker Fiction The Future soapbox rantings TV Zoom Spoon the band Mass General Hospital Quebect tambourrine Rabbit Hole Christmas Canadiana Putin Soccer Snow Guns Godfather high winds The Past town square Theater War and Peace Candy Biden acerbic high school principal Hache Verde Weather Peacekeeping Soul Coughing technology seasons Rock Bands Boston Smoke Meat Car Dealerships Pats Grass Skiing College COVID Higher Education Golf US Senate Knots My grandparents Earth Belgian Ales Good Reads Audio Sugarbush 1980s Work NFL Vaccines Reese's Peanut Butter Cups Real Estate New England Bands I've seen Ketchup weather Spice Girls Head injuries Masks Existential Crisis Advertising Martinis Hawaii Allergies Hand Planes Elvis Presley Dad advice My Estate Trump nukes Stories I should write Royal Stuff Eating and Drinking Ukraine Cats the future Skating Chowder Vaughn Cars The Old Days Mustard Politics As Usual The future vacation Soup Joan Jett gathering throngs curling shoes Hot Air Balloon Drumming Them Kids Butterfingers Tom Waits