This is a brand new decade. It can’t be any newer. The one that ended yesterday seemed to go at a traumatically brisk pace. The 1990s seemed to exist way longer than they actually were. This, in part because there was a mélange of cultural moments, styles and ideas that shaped each year and still make them easy to define. This decade? Not so much. Every cultural phenomona seemed to hit at once, and then linger. There were so many things happening, they packed every square inch of calendar space.

The two-thousands are the first decade I can remember from beginning to end with clarity. Most of my formative years- the things that shape your life and set you on the course you’re on now happened. It was a unique time to be growing up, because instead of the glacial change and relative peace of the decade before it, the world seemed to rise and fall just as I hit highs and lows as well.

This decade was a hyper intense cycle of life and death, war and despair, hope and loss and and an overwhelming amount of information coming all at once. So much, I’ve struggled writing this because I don’t know exactly what to include.

It was an insane time to grow up – both good and bad. The wars, the endless stream of controversies, the first two presidential elections are some of the least proud moments – but at the same time, there was the music, the movies, and the people who worked to make this world (and my life) a better place.

I feel privileged to have had a front row seat. I got to form my opinions on a world that was experiencing growing pains just as I had mine. I learned nothing was easy, dreams can die, and things don’t always turn out the way they’re supposed to.

Okay, so maybe that’s a bit fatalistic. If I’ve learned anything else: there’s almost always second chances. There are ways to get the things you want. There are ways to better yourself and the world around you.

There’s always the time to dream bigger and make them a reality.

I now know more than ever, this is my chance to.

I felt like Lewis and Clark traveling in a sedan caravan.

I suppose what I remember most about my first excursion this year was that endless stretch of Ohio that bleeds into Pennsylvania – the precipice between the hills that age and become mountains when you cross the border. It’s like watching the evolution of nature with each mile. These memories are at the crux of every road trip. You have the enthusiasm at the get go, then the reward at the end. The middle – that’s where the magic is.

I find myself thinking about these middles a lot more than what bookend them. I think that’s what I like most about traveling – getting there. There’s nothing more than getting to lay your eyes on things you haven’t seen before. Sometimes it’s boring (ie: cornfields) or exhilarating (ie: the Appalachians). I constantly find myself in awe that I’m actually doing it, escaping from my house and making a future for myself. When I was younger, I don’t think I afforded myself that kind of freedom in my head. I had my own restraints. I honestly didn’t think I was going anywhere – nor did I really know I had the power to.

I guess that’s why I do it now. That’s why I’ve been to so many different states (and one other country) in this past year. I’m making up for lost time. I want to experience it now, not wait for some other time that I don’t know that I have. I understand how that may sound morose, but it’s true. I constantly feel I’m working against a clock.

I feel I’ve woven a pretty nice tapestry: Baltimore, D.C., New York City (x2), Albany, Buffalo, Urbana-Champaign, Bloomington, Iowa City, Toronto, Minneapolis (x3), Madison, and Memphis. The problem with this is that I haven’t gone that far West of the Mississippi, but I’m working to rectify that as early as January.

You’ve been a part of these memories – reading, encouraging, experiencing with, filling in the blanks.

Coloring in between my lines.

I’ve been to shows, but not THAT show.

Sure, I could expound forever on the trope of a Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band show being likened to a religious experience, but I won’t because I feel I can do better than that.

Forget it. Who am I kidding?

If I didn’t before last night, I BELIEVE now.

It’s a pastiche of images swirling through my head. You have Bruce’s first descent into the middle of the crowd for ‘Hungry Heart,” crowd surfing back to the stage to continue the show – or the abscess of horns magically bringing “10th Avenue Freezeout” to life.

A marathon lasting over three hours; it felt as if no stone was left unturned, from first album classics (“Growing Up”) to the prowling, elemental (“Kitty’s Back”) to the ‘WTF?’ (“Jole Blon”?)

Of course, the main attraction came with the complete performance of the group’s 1975 stone-cold classic, Born To Run. Any way you look at it, the album is colossal. Every track has a mammoth emotional hook. The way the piano dances in “Thunder Road” as Bruce’s vocal gets more urgent each verse, his shredded vocal in the chorus of “Backstreets,” and the mournful trumpet that wades through “Meeting Across The River”. These moments are at every turn.

There’s the album’s title track, which really is the only song to actually capture the naïve, blazing intensity of being young and in love – so powerful, so hopeful, one wrong move and it could crush you under its weight.

All of these emotions translate live. The songs feel otherworldly – Clarence Clemons’s majestic solo on “Jungleland,” – yes, THAT solo – is something I could live in. It peaks and valleys with grace and complete effortlessness from it’s performer. It’s the end of a musical journey, and a hell of a fitting epilogue it is.

That wasn’t even the end of the evening; an entire set of songs followed the album. The award for “Too Soon?” goes to “Santa Claus Is Coming To Town,” based on a Christmas tree (complete with working lights) cardboard sign request collected by the Boss during the “requests” segment. Fans in the pit threw Christmas hats at the band, and both Clemons and drummer Max Weinberg obliged them. (Also, it should be said, Max wearing a Christmas hat does nothing to overwrite his classic perv supreme image on The Tonight Show in my mind.)

The one-two punch that really brought the evening full circle came at the end of the evening – the jubilant (and personal favorite) “Rosalita (Come Out Tonight),” which has been documented by us before, and it was great that we finally heard it by the person who wrote it. Jaw dropping. No other words other than those are coming.

The night’s final song – a cover of Jackie Wilson’s “(Your Love Keeps Lifting Me) Higher and Higher” was the other moment. The normally three minute rave up expanded to an epic thanks to Bruce and his band, taking advantage of this by making their way to the center of the arena to sing the chorus amongst the faithful.

At that moment, it was clear: together, we were already on a higher plane, if only for a couple hours.

Dirty Projectors at Bottom Lounge, Friday, November 13, 2009

Dirty Projectors’s Friday night show at Bottom Lounge was a definite contrast to the other two bands we’ve seen in the past few days. John Darnielle and his Mountain Goats teeter on the line between celebratory and morose, and Art Brut remains indie rock’s funniest (and musicially exceptional) inside joke.

With vocalist/guitarist Dave Longstreth’s group, there is no humor. It’s a collective of very serious musicians that conciously take the fun out of rock and roll. It’s impossible not to detect a cultist vibe that runs through the Dirty Projectors when they’re on stage. Longstreth is clearly the leader, and everyone seems to be under his spell – the girls especially. Singers Amber Coffman, Hayley Dekle shimmied unconvincingly like 60’s girl group backup singers. Rarely did anyone else challenge his stage presence or his acrobatic guitar stills. This was painfully apparent as his guitar essentially drowned out Coffman’s soaring vocal on “Stillness Is The Move”.

What was terribly disappointing is the lack of the camaraderie between the group. None of them really seemed to enjoy what they were doing on stage. Multi-instrumentalist Angel Deradoorian, a talented solo musician in her own right, remained far stage right all evening and hardly cracked a smile.

On Bitte Orca, the band’s latest record, the songs are infectious. They breathe. They have great hooks and incredible vocal interplay. Live, they’re a mess of noise that is opposite the album’s calculated synchronization. For what Longstreth and Co. have finally accomplished on record, they’ve got a ways to go with their live performance. There are glaring rough edges, and perhaps with a little more collaboration live – stretching the songs with the same kind of elasticity that permeates their singer, they’ll have a more engaging live show. Until then, they’ll continue to sound like a gaggle of sound without a clear direction.

The Mountain Goats, Thursday, November 5, 2009 at Metro

The Mountain Goats played to a mostly packed crowd at Metro last Thursday. John Darnielle and the lineup consisting of bassist Peter Hughes and drummer Jon Wurster leaned copiously on last month’s release of The Life of the World To Come, a record tackling religion, specifically inspired by certain Bible verses. Heavy themes for sure, and maybe that’s why the record really hadn’t sunk in for most of the crowd – certainly less sing-a-longs than expected. That said, the show was immensely powerful, especially as Darnielle played several songs solo. He was chatty and engaged the audience on multiple occasions, often deflecting obscure song requests. The best moments came when his collaborators returned for classics like “No Children,” “This Year,” and at the very last minute, the stunning, sparkling “Going To Georgia”.

Art Brut, Tuesday, November 10, 2009 at Lincoln Hall

Art Brut took the stage with the shit-kicking “Formed A Band,” an easy (and awesome) set opener. Frontman Eddie Argos commands so much attention from the crowd it’s easy to forget that there’s a talented band behind him. Argos’s long winded ‘Where- is-this-going?’ storytelling and jumping into the crowd during “Modern Art,” was excellent, as it built into an exhilarating pit around the singer. Replacements references were abound, (the band couldn’t remember their song about the Replacements in Minneapolis the night before, and therefore, did not play it as a tribute to them) as well as Ian Catskillin’s “Bastards of Young,” tease at the beginning of their set. It was a total pleasure to get to see a band with such an outsized personality at such a small venue. Unfortunately, save for the front section, the rest of the crowd stood dazed and mostly unresponsive of guitarist Jasper Future’s efforts to get the crowd clapping.

Perhaps it was the location, Chicago’s brand new Lincoln Hall opened just three weeks ago. It’s a converted one screen movie theater that’s part bar and restaurant, and venue with a total capacity just over 500. Gorgeous woodwork, exposed brick and muted colors are a nice theme for the place, which put it a level above most Chicago venues. Perfect for the size of Art Brut’s audience, but still too small for Art Brut’s collective ego.

While I agree that most of the DirecTV spots involving classic movies can be really entertaining (this, in particular), but the Tommy Boy one is pretty tasteless.

There’s two things that I find offensive: that Chris Farley’s likeness is being used to shill premium television, and the fact that David Spade took the dough to get in another cheap laugh at the expense of his dead “friend”. The emphasis is on “friend” because Spade skipped Farley’s funeral because “he could not be in a room where Chris was in a box.” That’s always sounded like a weak excuse to me. Then he does this.

Knowing that Spade and Farley shared a close personal relationship, and for Spade to accept compensation to depreciate (comically or not) Farley’s likeness comes off desperate, and frankly, in poor taste. I know Spade just had a kid, but he couldn’t possibly need the money that bad. He’s stayed afloat this decade on “Joe Dirt” and “Dickie Roberts”. For Spade, I guess the almighty dollar is more important than friendship. I’m not clear if the Farley family authorized the commercial, or even if they had the power to in the first place. Either way, there are plenty great comedies to choose from. Don’t pick the one with the helpless dead guy.

Even though it’s part of the ‘joke’, Spade says something profound in the commercial:

“Great, I’m here with Tons O’ Fun, when I could be at home watching DirecTV…”

I don’t know about you, but I’d rather be with Tons O’Fun.

I kinda miss having the guy around.