The old/new way to listen to live music

There’s something humbling and heart-warming about being invited into someone’s home. Hospitality stirs a powerful response of gratitude.

Kate Campbell, photo by Suzannah Raffield.

Every time I sit down to a meal or stand around eating finger foods in someone’s home, I know they have gone to a tremendous effort and expense. I feel valued.

Now, add in the experience of live music, and the occasion moves up the rungs of memory a few notches.

Carla and I had the great pleasure of receiving the hospitality of our friends the Mackeys last Friday night. They treated us to a spread of food and the stirring strains of our favorite musician, Kate Campbell, in our first-ever house concert.

For the first hour or so we caught up with old friends, met new ones and generally enjoyed adult conversation without having our children in tow. For the next few hours, we sat in Brittany’s and Joe’s living room listening to Kate tell stories in word and song.

I was thrilled she sang “New South,” the unofficial anthem of this blog, in her opening set which also included her Southern lament “Look Away.” I beamed with pride when she elected to sing one of my requests in her second set, “Visions of Plenty.” She stuck mostly with the guitar, but at the end of her first set, she did give us one or two tunes on the piano.

Still, I couldn’t get over the mixture of awkwardness and excitement over having such a personal experience in such an intimate setting. I’ve seen Kate perform at church, at large-scale religious gatherings such as CBF’s General Assembly, in songwriting workshops, and even Eddie’s Attic, the Decatur, Ga., landmark venue that routinely hosts outstanding singer-songwriters. I’ve enjoyed her and her music in each setting, but I have to say that the house concert was the best.

I wouldn’t exactly call house concerts a new trend. Back in the 16^th century it was called “chamber music.” Nobles would have musicians play in their homes for their friends. Maybe the contemporary trend is a revival of that practice. Curious, I went in search of information about this trend in live music and found several pieces online from CNN to the New York Times, both dated 2010. Three years is about average for me to experience a trend that the rest of the world begins to notice.

You don’t have to be a music promoter to recognize house concerts are a win-win for the performers as well as the patrons. House concerts provide a powerful experience of the arts and a livelihood for the musicians. The latter part of that equation is why home concerts are making a comeback. Constant touring is a rough way for a musician to make a living: playing in bars where the music is just a backdrop, paying out of pocket for travel expenses, being away from family and friends for weeks at a time. All of these factors and more make the home concert an appealing way to earn a living and share music.

In my research, I quickly found two sites dedicated to the proliferation of house concerts: Concerts in Your Home and Dinner and Song. The concept behind these sites is that they offer you the opportunity to buy tickets to home concerts in your area. Slightly riskier in terms of social awkwardness – paying to go to someone’s home you may not know to spend time in close proximity with complete strangers – than going to a show in a more impersonal venue, these sites make a compelling case for the house concert.

We were able to get Kate's latest release, "Live at the Library" which was recorded with Southern historian Wayne Flynt during Samford University's Homecoming in October 2008. This limited-pressing CD will be available May 15. I'll spare you the full review and say it's amazing. — We were able to get Kate’s latest release, “Live at the Library” which was recorded with Southern historian Wayne Flynt during Samford University’s Homecoming in October 2008. This limited-pressing CD will be available May 15. I’ll spare you the full review and say it’s amazing.

And that’s what made last Friday night so special: it was a gift. Brittany and Joe didn’t ask anything in return. Yes, we bought the one CD of Kate’s that we don’t already have, but otherwise, we didn’t have to contribute anything.

I’m sure your musical taste will dictate whether or not a house concert is for you. I can’t imagine experiencing Metallica or Guns ‘N Roses in a living room. But if singer-songwriters are your preferred genre, I highly recommend a house concert. It will be an experience you won’t soon forget.

Have you ever been to a house concert? Who performed? What was it like? Did you enjoy it? Leave a comment below and share your experience.

Boogie-woogie bugle boy

There are many challenges in life for which I believe I am unprepared: landing a disabled aircraft, selecting a paint color for a formal living room, lecturing on physics or attending a baby shower.

The next big life hurdle staring me in the face is being a band parent.

Barron with trumpet — Doesn’t he just look like Dizzy Gillespie?

Last Saturday Barron took possession of a trumpet, loaned to him by my friend, Brian, himself, a veteran of high school and collegiate marching band. Since that time, what could be mistaken for the love-sick mating call of the Canada goose has been reverberating off my rafters as Barron “familiarizes” himself with the instrument.

His brothers take particular delight in how the “music” Barron coaxes from it resembles the sound of flatulence or other bodily functions boys of a certain age find hilarious. Somehow I don’t think Barron’s band instructor will find these noises quite as humorous.

This is completely new turf for me. While I enjoy music, particularly the singer-songwriter, folksy-country variety, I have not an ounce of musical talent. I made it as far as flutophone, for which I earned a B- in second grade. And please, don’t get me started about my singing. I and those misfortunate souls who attended Sunday night church are still recovering from the emotional scars of my singing solos.

I did grow up with musicians in the family. One of my strongest memories of my childhood was my mother practicing her voice lessons to a cassette tape. Now those were some interesting vocalizations. And my middle brother played several instruments, including the baritone saxophone, which he used to sneak up behind me while I was doing homework and blast a fog horn tone in my ear.

But now, I am the parent of a band member. It’s early yet in his career, but after nearly two years with the guitar, a more gentle, soothing sound to be sure, we are entering unchartered waters. I want to be supportive, but I really don’t know what to do. I guess wearing earplugs would send the wrong message.

Here’s what I know about band parents: they work a lot of hours in concession stands. They sell lots of gift wrap and magazine subscriptions. They incur huge dry cleaning expenses. They form tight bonds with other band parents.

Back in the day, I spent most of my extracurricular time in athletic pursuits, not that I had much more athletic talent than musical talent. Everything I know about band I learned from watching my brother, including going to his concerts, which — don’t tell him — I kind of enjoyed.

Barron shows off his new trumpet — Brian’s trumpet has been through enough marching seasons that whatever Barron dishes out shouldn’t phase it. Thanks, Brian, (I think) for loaning it to Barron!

I will never forget the first middle school band concert I attended. After the first selection, the band teacher approached a petite girl with a French horn. He gently took the horn from the girl, removed the spit valve and in full view of the gathering, drained what seemed to be 32 ounces of saliva. Some lessons are best learned through humiliation, I guess.

Perhaps I’m getting the cart before the horse on this whole band thing. Maybe when the fun of blowing loudly at his brothers has worn off and he actually has to practice, Barron may decide to go in another direction.

But if he sticks with it, I’ll be right there, attending every performance, working my turn in the concession stand and selling gift wrap and magazine subscriptions to raise money for the band trip to Washington, D.C., or wherever. I’ll beam with pride as he plays Sousa and Beethoven and whatever else trumpet players play these days.

I have just one question: does anyone know if a trumpet has a spit valve?

What helpful suggestions would you offer a rookie band parent? Share your experiences and thoughts by leaving a comment below. It’s cheaper than therapy!

Piano music

New South Essays readers know I’m a fan of Southern singer/songwriter Kate Campbell, so when her 13^th album “1000 Pound Machine” was released April 3, it wasn’t a stretch to predict a review was coming.

Kate Campbell at the piano — Kate Campbell at her "1000 pound machine"

I was intrigued by several twists on this album. First, Campbell trades her customary acoustic guitar for a piano, the instrument of her training and youth. Second, she is joined by an all-star cast of musicians including Will Kimbrough, Spooner Oldham, David Hood, John Deaderick, Dave Jacques, David Henry, Paul Grifﬁth, Sloan Wainwright and Emmylou Harris.

And third, no matter what instrument Campbell plays, her melodic storytelling always delivers.

Even with high expectations, I was not disappointed. From the first track to the redux, Kate delivers soulful ballads, playful imaginary scenarios and spiritual depth that will unfold over many hours of listening.

In case there’s any doubt that the album’s title refers to a piano, the title track “1000 Pound Machine” begins with a lesson of sorts on exactly how a piano makes music. Line by line, Campbell explains the technical details of making music on a piano, but song by song, the album restores the mystery by placing the emphasis on storytelling.

The sound might be a little different, but the lyrics are classic Campbell. Each song tells a uniquely Southern story with beauty, grace and cleverness. She connects the South’s agricultural roots with a very modern quandary in “Wait for Another Day.” A farmer’s decision turns out to be a universal challenge faced by procrastinators everywhere.

Campbell then takes us on a bus ride across Alabama in “Montgomery to Mobile,” imagining George C. Wallace and Rosa Parks seated next to each other. The excited-to-travel child in all of us is transported down the flat stretches of road flanked by cotton fields and pine trees, and the idealist in all of us is given some reason to hope that human beings can overcome their differences and connect on deeper levels.

“Red Clay After Rain” is a longing for the South by an ex patriot Southern who moves up north for economic opportunity. The song’s protagonist declares “I miss cotton, camellias, curtains of cane and red clay after the rain.”

“Spoonerville” is a tribute to legendary musician Spooner Oldham, who returns to play with Campbell again on this album. The lyric “Don’t you know, you gotta have soul if you want to rock and roll” speaks to Oldham’s approach and what he has brought to Campbell’s previous work.

Haunting and beautiful, “The Occasional Wailer” is an instrumental that sounds as if it has blown in from the Celtic isles.

Album cover of 1000 Pound Machine — "1000 Pound Machine" was released April 3

In the bluesy ballad “Alabama Department of Corrections Meditation Blues,” Campbell’s adopted persona laments the circumstances and character traits that led to his incarceration. But ultimately the song is about redemption and being born again. Campbell seems to be asserting that freedom is a function of the spirit and not physical space, and Emmylou Harris’ vocals add a richness that drives home the point with emotional power.

“I Will Be Your Rest” has a message we can all afford to soak in from time to time, with a warm and full sound. The song envelops you like a hug from God. Next time you are feeling down and out, a good dose of this song will bring comfort and maybe a few tears.

“God Bless You, Arthur Blessitt” tells the true story of the fellow who carried a cross around the world. Rather than focus on those elements of Blessitt’s journey that would strike people as fanatical, Campbell poetically congratulates him for his commitment, perseverance and sense of direction.

“Walk With Me” has a Hammond organ to complement the thousand-pound machine in this song that updates a hymn with compelling emotion and earnest pleading. None of us want to walk this “tedious journey” alone.

The album ends with a reprise of “1000 Pound Machine” that, absent the lyrics, reiterates the piano theme and injects some of the Hammond and an undertone of another piano that intertwines with the dominant melody like two playful swans floating on a still lake.

The final song is “1000 Pound Machine Redux.” Each version plays with sound in different ways, but what all of the versions capture is a sense that life carries on amid playful and sometimes fearful distractions. You can read your own emotional state into the stanzas, and I think I could hear something different in it if I listened to it a thousand times.

For Campbell’s fans, this album is a delight. If it’s your introduction to her brilliant songwriting, you need to invest in some of her other music to hear the contrast. I highly recommend you spend some time with Kate and her 1000 Pound Machine. Don’t “Wait Another Day.”

No matter how far away we roam

I’ll be home for after Christmas.

We’re at T-minus two days and counting until the big day. Soon, Carla’s parents will be arriving and we’ll being going to Christmas Eve services at church. The surprise and joy of Christmas morning will give way to the irritability and arguing of sleep-deprived children.

Cognitively, I know that Christmas isn’t for me. It’s for the kids. Emotionally, though, I need to have a connection with my past before I can truly feel I’ve celebrated Christmas.

Don’t get me wrong, Christmas with my wife and children in our own home is special. I treasure the traditions we are developing and enjoy building life-long memories with our boys. But for me to feel like I’ve had Christmas requires a trip to my parents’ house in Central Florida.

Since I left for Troy University in 1988, I’ve been making a pilgrimage to Lake Wales some time during the holidays. The 502-miles of pavement allow my mind to travel through time to revisit memories of previous Christmases.

Michael Jordan cardboard stand up with Lee and Lance — Lee and I measure up with Mike, circa 1994.

Like the time I gave my brother, Lee, the life-size cardboard standup Michael Jordan for Christmas. All our Christmas pictures that year had Mike wearing a Santa hat in the background.

Or the year my youngest brother Lyle ate too many helpings of Lee’s famous barbecue meatballs during an all-night Madden football video game tournament. He has since sworn off meatballs.

Like Christmas itself, now that I have kids of my own, the trips to Florida have taken on a different meaning. My children look forward to these vacations because they get to spend time with grandparents they don’t often see, and, yes, they get even more presents.

My dad’s unpredictability adds to the excitement. One year he took the boys and their cousins for a night-time hay ride through the orange groves. Not a year goes by that he doesn’t introduce them to such classic songs as “Does Your Chewing Gum Lose Its Flavor on the Bedpost Overnight?” and “You Can’t Roller Skate in a Buffalo Herd.”

Paw Paw takes the grandkids on a hay ride — Paw Paw's lawn tractor and trailer entertains the grandkids with a Christmas hayride in 2009.

So like so many snowbirds over the next several weeks, we’ll load up the minivan and head down I-75. If you have to drive home for Christmas, Central Florida isn’t a bad destination. At the risk of sounding like a member of the Florida Tourism board, this is really the best time of year to visit. It’s in that narrow window of about two months when the weather isn’t unbearably hot and humid. With temperatures in the 60s and 70s, we will be packing shorts and T-shirts, ready to enjoy outdoor play in my parents’ expansive yard or at one of the nearby parks.

Central Florida also just happens to be home to a number of theme parks. This year we’ll be trying out the new Legoland Florida, which opened this fall a convenient 20 minutes up the road from my parents’ house.

There is no place like home for the holidays, even for grown ups. I look forward to making more memories with my family even while reminiscing about a few that happened before I had one of my own.

Now I’ve got to go find my shorts to pack.

It’s your turn! Where do you travel for the holidays? Do you take family vacations or do you travel great distances to see family? Are you separated from family by geography and miss out and seeing family members? Leave a comment below on how you cope with holiday travel.

Two nights in Texas

Mississippi-born singer songwriter Kate Campbell intruded into my awareness in the late ‘90s, and since then, each lyrical and patently Southern album she releases is a must-own in my limited collection.

On Sept. 27, she released her latest, a live album called “Two Nights in Texas,” with recordings from back-to-back shows April 8-9, 2010, at the Blue Rock Artist Ranch and Studio in Wimberley, Texas.

The 14 tracks showcase Campbell’s diverse range of styles and topics, although all are grounded firmly in the red clay of Dixie.

Her repertoire, while not exclusively ballads, tells stories. I had the opportunity to hear Kate explain her songwriting process back in 2005 at a conference in San Antonio. That peek behind the curtain has helped me hear the stories she tells even as I tap my foot or sing along.

Of course, I’m partial to “New South,” a 2002 song chronicling the obvious as well as the subtle changes to southern living that indicate even tradition-laden Southerners are evolving. The version on “Two Nights” is a little more up-tempo, and the dobro gives it a rich sound.

A compelling element to the album is a seamless medley called “The Steal Away Trilogy.” At a little more than eight minutes, the piece includes her songs “Would They Love Him Down in Shreveport,” “Peace Comes Stealing Slow” and “Steal Away.”

As a fellow preacher’s kid, I resonate with the way she weaves deeply spiritual themes into her stories, letting hymns, Southern gospel and spirituals infuse and inform her music. I like that I can put the windows down and turn up the car stereo, as she suggests, and crank out “See Rock City” or mull the truths of “10,000 Lures” in mellow contemplation.

Of “10,000 Lures” Kate says from the stage: “My mama said ‘I believe that song could go in the Baptist hymnal.’ I said ‘I don’t believe the word ‘voodoo has ever been in the Baptist hymnal.’”

Though I’ve heard it dozens of times, I’m still haunted by “Crazy in Alabama,” and this rendition is a good one. The story of the Fall of Adam gets a Mississippi Delta reinterpretation in “Genesis Blues.” Your heart will melt when you remember your old home place as Kate reminisces on “Tupelo’s Too Far,” and I defy you to listen to “Look Away” without feeling a pang of regret at how insidious the snare of racism has been in the South.

As I’ve previously stated in this space, I’m more of a writer than a musician, but unlike some singer songwriters, Kate has a beautiful voice that can lilt or twang depending on the context. And on this album, the very accomplished musicians accompanying her deserve credit, including Sally Van Meter on dobro, Scott Ainslie on guitar and Don Porterfield
on bass.

If you’ve had the misfortune of missing out on Kate’s music this long, I urge you to start with this live album. Kate spins a good story with or without music, and her comments captured on the album will give you a taste of her colorful personality, eye for telling details and sharp wit.

After you’ve soaked in “Galaxie 500,” “Free World,” “Cotton Field Away,” “Jesus and Tomatoes” and the rest, you’ll be ready to appreciate her broad discography. My recommendation: Listen to “Two Nights in Texas” for a few weeks, then go and buy everything she’s ever recorded.

I promise the experience will make you wiser and more in tune with Southern culture in all its expressions.

I Gotta Go … listen to Robert Earl Keen

I’m a writer, not a musician. That’s the best way to explain my fascination with country music – specifically, alternative country and the work of singer-songwriters. I’m not much of a fan of that over-produced, impure sound coming out of Nashville the last 10-20 years.

A few years ago, my native-Texan friend, Bob, introduced me to the music of Robert Earl Keen. Texas-born and Texas-bred, Keen’s knack for storytelling outstrips his singing ability, so naturally, I immediately took to his music.

On Tuesday, Keen released his latest album, “Ready for Confetti,” with the pre-released single “I Gotta Go.”

This album has a different feel than Keen’s previous work. The imagery-rich ballads such as the evocative “Black Baldy Stallion” and “I Gotta Go” are still there, but overall, the pace was slower and the mood more subdued. It’s as if Keen, 55, is slowing down after 30 years in the music business, and he thinks the world needs to slow down, too.

The title cut, “Ready for Confetti,” has a Latin flair, and if I knew the steps to one, I might be tempted to do a Latin dance. “I Gotta Go” reminds me the most of his other work. The story of an orphan who steals and gambles his way right into more and more trouble, “I Gotta Go” is a toe-tapping tragedy that will lift your spirits even as the lyrics depress. But who among us hasn’t felt upbeat even when faced with certain death?

I can’t help but think the line “I’m wasting time standing here, I gotta go” is also Keen’s not-so-veiled smirk at our over-caffeinated, texting-addicted, hurried society. This is particularly evident when juxtaposed with the next song on the album, the mellow “Lay Down My Brother.” With a little bit slower tempo, this song seems to be encouraging us to “take it easy, take it slow,” an admonition that might help us all live longer. “Lay Down My Brother” has nice harmonies, which is frankly when Keen sounds the best.

“The Road Goes On and On” is a satisfying insult song that harkens back to one of Keen’s best loved songs “The Road Goes on Forever.” We’ve all encountered phonies who are so full of themselves that we just wanted to cuss. Keen captures the feeling well with such hurtful criticisms as “you’re malicious and downright cruel, superstitious, so uncool,” “you’re a regular jack-in-the-box in your clown suit and your goldilocks” and the coup de gras, “all duded up in your cowboy crocs.” Wow, now that’s a cowboy insult if I ever heard
one.

I’m convinced that “Top Down” is best listened to live. The studio isn’t kind to Keen’s ability to hold pitch, but I admire the fact that it doesn’t sound artificial and over-modulated. Like “The Road Goes On and On,” this jazzy song seems to be poking at the stars who drive around with the “top down” and believe that “everbody’s clapping and it’s all about you.”

If “Top Down” makes you doubt, Keen returns to a familiar sound in “Play a Train Song.” From the opening guitar licks and harmonica strains, you know REK is back on his turf. Anyone familiar with his discography will immediately recognize his nod to the genre of train songs that Keen himself has helped populate over the years with such songs as “Number 9 Coal” and “Whenever Kindness Fails.”

Way back when I worked at The Macon Telegraph, page designer and copy editor Randy Waters and I played a word game we liked to call “Who da’ man?” We would ask each other that question back and forth until those around us demanded we shut up. Well, in “Who Da Man,” Keen turns the question into an adjective as the song proclaims the advantages of being a “Who Da Man,” who is able to evade law enforcement and other life consequences as he somehow sneaks through life.

“Paint the Town Beige” is a rerun from 1993’s “A Bigger Piece of Sky” album. I think Keen repeats the song on this album to tell us that he really has slowed down. Keen seems to be saying with this even more laid back version that he craves the quiet life, and he’s put crazy antics behind him.

The final song, “Soul of Man” evokes images of a men’s quartet in a country church on a dusty central Texas farm-to-market road complete with funeral home fans, men in boots and starched white shirts and women in bonnets. “Soul of Man” is Keen’s take on the hymn, “Where the Soul Never Dies,” which has been recorded by a variety of artists, including the Oak Ridge Boys, Ricky Skaggs and even Hank Williams Sr. My fondness for traditional hymns makes this a fitting ending to the album in my mind.

Overall, it’s one of Keen’s most understated works, but enjoyable and meaningful if you find yourself feeling wrung out emotionally and stressed from the busyness of life. In the New South, we could all use a little more time to “lay down” and less “I Gotta Go” urgency.

REK may be an acquired taste for those who like good singing, but for the storytellers of the world, enjoy.