Presenting... someone else!

I presented my first ever house concert this weekend, and I'm still enjoying the warm glow of the experience. It wasn't just about the music - although Greg Hobbs did an excellent, understated, intimate and funny performance that literally drew applause from several backyards in each direction.

I'll admit, there was the satisfaction of seeing all the hard work I've put into my back yard pay off and be symbolically recognized with this event. And of course it's always a pleasure to be surrounded by interested lovers of music, some of them friends and some of them strangers who may one day be friends.

But more than anything, it was a great pleasure to present a musician whom I admire, to some people who I knew would enjoy his stuff. That's a common experience for me as an MC, but hosting my first house concert added some of the work of an impressario to my task list as well. To my delight, I found it was something I liked, and liked a lot.

I liked it so much, I didn't even want to play, at least not until the crowd had dispersed and the evening had grown long. Managing the music experience turned out to be every bit as enjoyable for me as making the music myself.

Presenting.... someone else. What a gift and pleasure. You'll be hearing more from me about that.

Jammin'

Music: the universal language. Everyone says it, but you really only understand it when you jam. You can get together with a completely diverse bunch of people you hardly know, and as long as you can figure out the chord progressions you're communicating and making music together. It's a simple thing but it matters a lot.

That's why I've been working hard to turn my Tuesday night "Riverdale Roots" gig at the Oasis East into a jam night. As a singer-songwriter (who works with a very empathetic percussionist) I have a tendency to get stuck to my own material, my own quirky method of presentation, my own schtick. Jamming is the opposite of that. It's not about anybody's songwriting prowess or performance style; it's about finding common ground. Last night two guys from my hockey team showed up and played- the audience couldn't tell we'd never played together before as we busted our way through Neil Young tunes and the like. Actually it's a little like playing hockey; as long as you know the rules of the game you should be able to play with anyone, anywhere.

Kim Jarrett, superb singer-songwriter, also showed up to showcase some of her material, as promised. Her work is really melodic, catchy but also deep and evocative. She has a great voice, excellent presence, solid lyrics, and a fine friend in Mike, the 5-string bass player, who really helps ground the songs. We'll be working on a combined gig at some point; meanwhile you can catch her July 4 at the Free Times on College Street.

Highlight of the jam: the incomparable Suzanne de Bussac on piano, Jem from the hockey team on my Telecaster, and me on harmonica, lighting up Bob Marley's "No Woman No Cry." Universal language. I love it.

Feeling like eleven bucks

Mighty Grace is sounding mighty good... yesterday, Mike Nunan (the producer) played me back three tracks from the recording we did in the train station- including the one where Scott and I just jammed with a freight train rolling by. Listen! I'm really pleased with the way the acoustics of the place got captured, and looking forward to getting this project into CD form.

Meanwhile, I'm fighting off exhaustion, which is probably no surprise. After work yesterday I spent about 3 hours working on the bike shed I'm building in the back yard. Actually, carpentry counts as relaxation, but it still makes me tired, which hardly seems fair. After that I had Riverdale Roots at the Oasis, which is now officially becoming a jam session. A piano player named Dwight was the unwitting first participant in what I hope will be a weekly roots session. After that I had hockey. For the record, 11.30 on a Tuesday night is too late to be playing hockey, but that's no excuse. The Nomads lost, in a valiant struggle. Had we won I'd feel like a million bucks. Instead, I feel like eleven bucks. So it goes.