New Day Rising

 

Welcome.

 

If the rambling nature of what’s about to happen here doesn’t turn you off, you may be ready to read my dronings-on about music on a semi-regular basis.

 

But first, Anthony Bourdain….

 

Tony Bourdain’s death wrecked me -- just absolutely wrecked me unlike any other celebrity/famous death ever. He had his finger somehow perfectly positioned on the pulse at the intersection of punk rock, food, and living the dream. 

 

But that awful moment when he died made me make a change.

 

Most of my life, I really never liked eating alone in public. I’m a social person – extremely social; some might even say ready to talk your ear off at a moment’s notice – but I never found the joy in going solo into a place, planting my weary keister on a stool at the counter, and ordering a meal for one… or even, truth be told, a drink for one. Yeah, I’d done it when I needed to, but it was always temporary, like when waiting for a friend to arrive. I never really did Bourdain’s thing: sit yourself down and start a conversation with the bartender, the server, whomever. Never really embraced being “So Alone,” as Johnny Thunders would say.

 

Bourdain would tell us over and over that solo meals at counters in out-of-the-way places are how a person gets a flavor for places that you don’t know well, but it just wasn’t particularly in my repertoire. That changed, out of nowhere.

 

That 2018 day Bourdain died, I was flying to Vegas, which is, for me is always a temporary stop – a layover, so to speak – until I can get the hell out the next day (at latest) and go somewhere beautiful.

 

In this instance, “somewhere beautiful” was going to be Joshua Tree, CA. I had tickets to see one of my favorite live bands, Yo La Tengo, at nearby Pappy and Harriet’s, and my plan was to drive across the Mojave Reserve that day on my way to a place I had rented in JTree.

 

But I’m a compulsive vacation planner, so I had checked out what was along my expected route. I had noticed this place called The Palms Restaurant, in Wonder Valley, CA – forty miles from the nearest business in one direction and 12 or so from the nearest in the other direction. It’s an oasis in a very hot, dry place. A little roadhouse.

 

I don’t really stop by myself in roadhouses. But I hit the “fuck it” button hard that day. Or more exactly, I hit the “WWABD?” button extra hard. I knew what Tony would do. He’d stop at the damn bar. He’d have a beer and a burger. He’d shoot the shit with the bartender. If it all pleased him, he’d hang out, and, if it didn’t, he’d be on his way in no time.

 

I went in. I was the only customer at the time, and so the bartender and I started talking. It turned out the guy is a Yo La Tengo fan, used to live in NYC, and wanted to talk endlessly about music.

 

The shit was shot. For at least two hours we covered allllllllll the music. I was then back to the Palms once a year or so thereafter – in other words, a couple more times. Fast forward: I’m good friends with this guy and I’m going to his wedding in the fall. Fuck yeah. We’ll call it a win for following the advice of Tony Bourdain.

 

Another fast forward: Summer 2021. I’m in the Catskills. A friend lent me a family cabin for a few days of solo vacationing. I’m a hiker, so I planned hikes. I didn’t anticipate bad weather in July, but bad weather it was. I got some hiking in, but one day I just decided that stomping through the muddy forest to a peak that was probably going to be in the never-ending clouds of the moment was not lighting my personal fire. I decided to explore the towns around there.

I swear that this is all a way about telling you how music-obsessed I am, thereby justifying/explaining the existence of this blog. But here’s how Tony Bourdain helped.

 

His spirit of “Fuck it. Let’s check it out” led me to go into a number of businesses, but the highlight was T.J’s – a combo bait/tackle store and BBQ emporium. Inside, I sat at the counter – the only customer – and had a nice convo with the owner. It reminded me a bit of my Bourdain-inspired trip to the Palms a few years earlier, but just with different topics on the conversation list.

 

But here’s where the music part really comes in. No, I didn’t talk music with the owner of T.J.’s. But we talked about brisket and local beer, and about how 2021 has been a shitty summer of rain in the Catskills. And when she had to head back to the kitchen to cook some more, she turned on music on the store speakers.

 

Boston – “More Than a Feeling” came on as the first song. At the time I was texting my friend who lent me the cabin and, besides mentioning the crazy-great meal I found at a local joint, I said, “Oh wow. I’m having a moment here.…”

 

I saw Boston once. It was April 1977 at the Philadelphia Spectrum. It was my FIRST concert, at 14 years old. The setlist is here.

 

They weren’t mindblowing, but they really were good, on their first headlining tour for the then-wildly successful debut album. Sammy Hagar opened. Yes, *that* Sammy Hagar. He was fresh out of Montrose and touring an album called “Red.” He undoubtedly did the only song of his that I love – a Montrose song called “Bad Motor Scooter” – but I can’t tell you that he did. He was in the way; I wanted to see Boston.

 

Boston did exactly what you’d expect: open with “Rock ‘n’ Roll Band,” because what else would you open with if you were, indeed, a rock and roll band from Boston called Boston on their first headlining tour? “Foreplay/Long Time” – a.k.a. “everyone’s favorite song at the time from that first album – was stunning. And yes, of course they played “More Than a Feeling.”

 

I’ve heard – and I bet you have too – That Damn Song so many times, but, motherfucker, if it isn’t still catchy as hell. When Brad Delp first tells you about how he “closed [his] eyes and slipped awaaaaaaaaaay” and then *that* guitar hook hits, there is still something there for me.

 

There I was in the Catskills, doing my new(ish)ly-found Bourdain shtick, having a great solo meal in a quirky restaurant in a beautiful place, shooting the shit with the owner, and the first band I ever saw headline a concert comes on the store speakers.

 

I smiled, and dug into my lunch to avoid getting *too* into the moment. Awwwww, hell, it was great.

 

I’ve been music-obsessed since I first listened to the radio as an elementary-school student. But those first real over-the-edge musical moments were in high school. I wasn’t a stoner back then. But I was friends with stoners, and they listened to great classic rock when it was happening. So I did too. Later I went all-in for punk, and we’ll talk about that in depth one day, but today’s about the drop-dead thrill of that very first concert. It was the Grail – the thing I’d been searching for to take my album-listening obsession to the next level. There was a motherfucking band up there on the stage and they were going for it. Hell yes.

 

If that tale adequately explains to you why I had a brief moment when “More Than a Feeling” came on in a little BBQ/bait-and-tackle joint in the Catskills, well then… fuck yeah. You’re a fellow traveler, and you might come back for more rambles. If not, I got nothing. Either way, I hope to see you here again. As Ian Hunter once sang: “I’ve wanted to do this for years.” Let’s talk music….