As most of you know, I see The Hold Steady quite often, and in several different cities. After graduating college recently, Kim and I decided it would be cool to travel to New York City to see some of the shows of the band’s four night stand there. The first two on June 8th and 9th were at Bowery Ballroom in Manhattan, and the second set was at the Music Hall of Williamsburg (North Six, if you’re nasty – or old school).

We did do another series of ‘VBlogs’ or video scrapbooks of our road journeys, which are always sort of fun because it brings the show to those who couldn’t get there.

Anyways, the first night at MHOW was extra memorable. As soon as the show was over, Thunder Road came on the PA, which instituted a mass sing along by the hundred or so people that were left in the theater. Then, “Rosalita (Come Out Tonight)” by Bruce Springsteen came on and ensued in the largest dance party ever. It was so impressive that the band even came out to thank those who stayed.

Anyways, here’s our VBlog from Wednesday night. Watch it in it’s entirety. It’s a bit shaky, obviously, but there’s a couple cameos that are certainly not worth missing.

One more thing: GO SEE THIS BAND. There’s nothing else like it. In fact, they’re playing Chicago’s Taste of Randolph Street on June 21. It’s a 10 dollar suggested donation. BE THERE.

Without further adieu…

They don’t make ‘em like that anymore, the sensitive working class hero who can play one hell of a guitar and will roll down Thunder Road after he picked you up from your parent’s house. Oh sure, there’s a million and one guys out there with a Hanes t-shirt on trying to BE Bruce Springsteen, but there will never ever be quite another one like him. No one will ever make people feel the way that Bruce Springsteen makes them feel, and in music, that is the difference between a Hostess Cupcake and a ganache filled torte. In laymen’s terms, he’s a classic.

Why do I want to date Bruce Springsteen? Four Reasons.

1. Atlantic City
2. Thunder Road
3. Candy’s Room
4. She’s The One

Now, of course, there isn’t really any proof that these songs are autobiographical by any means. There is such romanticism to these songs that there is no possible way that they can be completely true.

In fact, this is something that annoys me about music fans. Take some armature Fleetwood Mac fans: they think every song that Stevie Nicks writes is about Lindsey Buckingham, and vice-versa. I highly doubt it, (even though it is a known fact that “Silver Spring” is totally about Lindsay…what a creepy song.), because good songwriters, at least in my mind, can take a situation that has nothing to do with them, and run away with the story, even if they haven’t ever been a coked up prostitute or are happily married and writing songs about cheatin’ men and women.

Of course, the converse to this is “write what you know.” Every creative writing class I’ve ever taken has told me that writing what I know is going to yield better results in the long run. But that’s just the thing, what I know is boring. I’m willing to bet that the majority of musicians lead relatively boring lives too. What am not I is what intrigues me, and probably many songwriters feel the same way. Take someone else’s situation, embellish it a bit, and therein, hopefully, is a perfect song.

There are probably three billion songs about love in some way or another, but there is obviously a very sizable distinction between what is a good love song and what is a bad love song. If I may be so bold, almost anything that people can say about love has been said. But it’s what you do with those old tired clichés, and what you tie on and restitch that make it something worthwhile. I’ve reached the point in which horrible lyrics actually make me cringe now. In a kind of, “Oh, he’s not gonna….oh man…poor guy…”

Back to Bruce. There are few artists that make me feel the way I feel when I listen to a Bruce Springsteen song, and one of them gets enough play on this site as it is. “Atlantic City,” is probably the saddest song I can think of. Not only that, but it’s also one hell of a love song. It’s honest. The speaker in the song is perfectly frank with his intended, in a “hey, we’re pretty much out of luck, and I don’t have any money, so let’s go to Atlantic City and piss away what we have, because life is too short to be a sad sack about it.”

There’s this one part that just really kills me. About two and a half minutes into the song, the speaker/Bruce Springsteen, says “So honey, last night I met this guy and I’m gonna do a little favor for him,” and the way it’s sung is just so heavy with remorse it would be like squeezing a wet sponge if I could hold that line in my hand.

So yeah, hey Bruce…you know where to find me.

I won’t lie, I went through my jam band phase in high school—Phish, String Cheese Incident, moe., all that shit. Looking back on it now, I don’t understand it for the life of me, probably because I don’t smoke enough weed. I mean, I’m sorry, but I don’t enjoy listening to a band play three songs in an hour, or hearing extended guitar solos that go nowhere. That 20-minute tabla solo just isn’t that riveting, bro. Though it must be said, I did find a few really solid groups that I still spin occasionally today, namely in the form of the Disco Biscuits and Bela Fleck & the Flecktones, and the one band that I loved long before that phase, and continued to listen to for some time afterwards, was the Dave Matthews Band.

I remember my mom picking up a copy of “Crash” after hearing a song on the radio, and being blown away by it. Insane drumming, funky bass and sax, and the singer was playing some of the most unorthodox acoustic guitar I’d ever heard. Even after I started listening to jam bands, DMB never really struck me as one. Later, once I got past my jam phase, I realized that they had a lot in common with the bands I’d quickly grown to hate—more live albums than necessary, extended jams I didn’t care about—and on top of all that, they had a spectacularly douchebaggy following. The “Busted Stuff” album had a couple of decent tracks, but at that point, I just was past caring; and when “Stand Up” came out, with that creepy fucking “Dreamgirl” song, I completely gave up hope.

I saw in passing that LeRoi Moore, the group’s saxophonist had died. I was a little bit sad, because one of my favorite aspects of the band’s earlier work were his amazing horn lines; but I was more troubled at the idea of him becoming some sort of jam-band martyr, spawning new legions of fans and a further spike in the group’s already-too-prominent popularity. Receiving word that the group’s newest album would be dedicated to Moore only furthered that notion. I assumed the album would be full of the same generic, vaguely creepy ballads as the last, the type of music guys with popped collars and upside-down-and-backwards visors would play on acoustic guitars at bars and parties in hopes of getting laid by chicks in Sublime shirts.

But then last night, I saw the current lineup of the group (including guitar whiz Tim Reynolds and Flecktones saxophonist Jeff Coffin) play a song from the new album on Jimmy Fallon, and my perspective changed. The song, “Why I Am,” is dedicated to Moore, whose nickname was “GrooGrux King,” after the funky edge he brought to the band. Fittingly enough, rather than the song being a weepy ballad, Matthews straps on an electric guitar, and the band plays it funkier than they have in over a decade.

I picked up the new album today. It’s good. It’s really good, actually. Sure, there are the weak points (namely the ballads), but there are some heavy funkers and some driving rockers, the solos are all sharp and to-the-point, and the new horn section—Coffin and session legend Rashawn Ross on trumpet—sounds great. Moore’s saxophone is sorely missed (and the haunting opener, “Grux,” is presumably the last thing Moore was able to commit to record) , but this personal tragedy seems to have lit a fire under the band’s collective ass, pulled them out of frat-jam purgatory, and restored my faith in a band I used to have a great deal of respect for.

PLUG THIS: It was getting scary there for a bit. After doing some site upgrades in the past couple of days, we hit a snag with one of the plugins and it was making the site load all weird. What we found is that the Last.fm plugin was causing all the issues, so for the time being, it’s gone. I know, you’re really sad that you can’t find out what Prince song I’m listening to. Womp womp.

LATENIGHTOLOGY: So, last night, my obsession with late night TV (specifically the NBC variety) reached it’s fever pitch. The Tonight Show with Conan O’Brien finally made it’s debut. It was fantastic. The new set looks gorgeous too. It feels a lot classier than Leno’s waiting room on steroids. With Leno gone for three months, this means we have three uninterrupted months of Conan and Jimmy. I’ve been noticing the Jimmy backlash is growing, but I’m not going to defect. It will find it’s footing eventually. My lovely ladyfriend and I got tickets for Jimmy on June 10 in New York City, but we have a conflict that day – a conflict in the form of a Hold Steady show. We still haven’t completely decided what to do. Stay tuned, folks.

SWEAT AND WET CONFETTI (LITERALLY): Speaking of The Hold Steady, over at Pitchfork.tv, they’ve got a seven-song live set from last year’s Pitchfork Music Festival. Myself and friends (and future girlfriend) are featured in several clips. See?

and

MAGIK MAN: Big ups to the Orlando Magic for making it to their first NBA Finals since 1995. Kim keeps making Shaq references even though he hasnt played for them in well over a decade. The reason I want them to beat the Lakers? Well, there’s two, really.

1. I don’t like the Lakers.
2. Patrick Ewing will finally get a ring.

GRIZZLY SCARED: I’ve been spinning Veckatimest, the new Grizzly Bear album. Still on the fence about it, save for the fantastic “While You Wait For The Others” and “Two Weeks”. I’m COMPLETELY terrified of the “Two Weeks” video. Find out for yourself why.

OH, BILLY: For almost a week now, I’ve been trying to get through this New York Times Magazine piece called The Mellowing of William Jefferson Clinton. It’s a long one, but a really great read so far.