I enjoy writing about music in this blog, but I don’t consider myself a music critic, and so there are certain things I’m reluctant to do. One is bash local bands. Maybe it’s just me, but it seems a bit shrill and churlish to bash some obscure, local band that never performs anyplace but Valentine’s, even if their lackluster sets make you feel like you would have been better off staying home and watching NBA basketball than marching through the cold and forking over $5 to watch them. I like to support local music, and so whenever I’m disappointed by a local band, I make a mental note not to recommend them, and move on. (On the other hand, if you want to hear me complain about a show, ask me about Martha Wainright’s show at Valentine’s a couple of years back. She’s not exactly a household name, but she’s well-known enough that I feel comfortable telling the world about the childish hissy fit she threw before marching off stage about 25 minutes into her set. Needless to say, I vowed never to buy a Martha Wainright album.)
Anyway, this weekend I went to a show that I can’t stop complaining about. But because the band was so obscure, and because the venue was so tiny and weird, I don’t feel comfortable saying who I saw, or where I saw them, because it just feels mean. Musically, they weren’t bad — the band featured a cornet player, which I really liked, and the lead singer’s vocal style was similar to Jeff Buckley’s, hushed and haunting and occasionally beautiful. If the show had lasted longer than 35 minutes, I might have been pleased. But when you drive 40 minutes to some out-of-the-way venue, and then the show barely lasts a half hour, it makes you think: “Huh. Why didn’t I go watch roller derby at the Washington Avenue Armory, instead?”
“Well, we took a chance,” my friend Bruce said, as we drove back to Albany. “Yeah,” I said. “So much for that.”
Maybe it’s just me, but I feel performers, no matter how big or small, owe it to their audience to put on a real show. I also have a difficult time understanding why a band would come all the way from Brooklyn to give such a brief performance. I mean, what is the point? In any case, I’m really looking forward to seeing The Pretenders on Thursday at The Palace Theatre. I fully expect them to give me my money’s worth, because they’re a big, famous band, and you don’t get to be a big famous band playing half hour shows.
Yes, I’m still writing about beer
I’ve long been intrigued by the growler option at Oliver’s Beverage in Albany, and so I got a friend a growler for Christmas. For those who don’t know, a growler is a half-gallon glass jug that can be filled with fresh draft beer, and taken with you. In any case, the growler I got for my friend was pretty much the coolest thing ever, and I decided that I would have to get a growler of my own. So this weekend I returned to Oliver’s and got a growler full of Abita Christmas Ale. The container, which can be washed and refilled, cost about $3, and the beer was about $9. I brought my growler to a friend’s house for dinner, as the beer is supposedly good for about 48 hours and it’s best to have plans to drink it immediately. We polished it off fairly quickly, but now I’m hooked. Growlers are a ton of fun, and everyone should have one. (Oliver’s is a fun place to visit even if you don’t have a growler, because they have over 999 different types of beer.)
Yes, I still like Billy Joel
A friend just sent me a link to a Slate article about the awfulness of Billy Joel. Before I go any further, I’ll just say that I loved Billy Joel when I was a kid, and I still have a lingering affection for him. But I’ve since met all these Billy Joel haters, who go on and on about what a whining hypocrite he is, and, well, I can’t deny that their arguments are compelling. Anyway, I read the Slate article, which you can find
here and, yes, it’s yet another compelling argument for not liking Billy Joel. But I just can’t help myself. I like “Piano Man” and “The Ballad of Billy the Kid” and “Honesty,” and I probably always will.
Which is why I really enjoy and relate to the Chuck Klosterman essay, featured in his book, “Sex, Drugs and Cocoa Puffs,” about why Billy Joel is so awesome. I can’t find a good link to this essay, titled, “Every Dog Must Have His Every Day, Every Drunk Must Have His Drink,” but here’s an excerpt: “Yet Billy Joel is great. And he’s not great because he ‘doesn’t worry about being cool’ (because I think he kind of does). No, he’s great in the same way that your dead grandfather is great. Because unlike 99 percent of pop artists, there is absolutely no relationship between Joel’s greatness and Joel’s coolness (or lack thereof), just as there’s no relationship between the ‘greatness’ of serving in World War II and the ‘coolness’ of serving in World War II. What he does as an artists wouldn’t be better if he was significantly cooler, and it’s not worse because he isn’t. And that’s sort of amazing when one considers that he’s supposedly a rock star.”
I gave this essay to one of my Billy Joel-hating friends, and it made her roll her eyes and rant about Billy Joel, but it all made perfect sense to me.
Got a comment? Love Billy Joel? Hate him? Add your thoughts below or email me at sfoss@dailygazette.net.
