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Turnpike Troubadours Tear Up Little Rock's Metroplex in Terrific Show 

5/28/2016

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by Julian Spivey
While standing in line to get into the Metroplex in Little Rock, Ark. on Friday night (May 27) to see the Turnpike Troubadours for a third time I overheard a couple from Mississippi (it’s amazing how much you can learn eavesdropping) saying they’d never even heard of the Turnpike Troubadours and were there as big fans of Cody Canada, the opening act and former frontman of Cross Canadian Ragweed. By the time the clock struck midnight they damn well knew who the Turnpike Troubadours are – the best group in country music today. No, not that stuff you hear on the radio masquerading as country music, but real by-God country music with a fiddle, pedal steel and everything.

Arkansas’ own (from Harrison) Americana/Indie-Folk band National Park Radio opened the show at 8 p.m. with a cool sound that included already released stuff like “The Great Divide,” a terrific cover of the traditional folk song “Dooley” and good stuff from an album to be released in July like “Steady.”

Cody Canada and the Departed took the stage at 9 p.m. for a fantastic hour of rip-roaring country-rock that included recent selections from their 2015 album Hippielovepunk like “Inbetweener” and “Comin’ to Me.” These performances truly rocked, but it was the Cross Canadian Ragweed, a group Canada fronted from 1998-2010, stuff that really excited the packed crowd including “Hammer Down,” “Boys from Oklahoma” and my personal favorite performance of their set “17,” a song about hometowns many can identify with. The Departed’s set also featured some vintage country music, the real stuff that Canada bemoaned is never played on the radio anymore, in a cover of Johnny Paycheck’s “A11” led by bassist Jeremy Plato on vocals.

The Turnpike Troubadours took the stage at 10:30 p.m. and for the next 90 minutes they played a terrifically energetic show, as they always do, with everybody in the filled Metroplex singing and jamming along to every word. The Troubadours opened with “Doreen,” a cover of the Old 97’s song that appears on their 2015 self-titled album. It would be the only non-original the band would perform all night with the supremely talented group ripping through many of their greatest works in rapid succession from all three of their major studio releases like “Good Lord Lorrie,” “Every Girl,” “Shreveport,” “Whole Damn Town,” “Kansas City Southern” and my personal favorite Troubadours song “7&7.”

Many selections from the most recent album were in the set on Friday night like “Down Here,” “The Bird Hunters,” “Easton & Main,” “Bossier City” and the superbly rocking “The Mercury,” which topped this website’s list of the 100 Best Country Songs of 2015, and the fans loved every one and knew all the words to them.

Something I particularly enjoyed about the Troubadours show at the Metroplex on Friday night, which frontman Evan Felker announced was the coolest of the shows the group had done in Little Rock (I’d previously seen them twice at Little Rock’s Rev Room), was that the group included performances in the set that I’d not heard them do live the two previous times I’d seen them like “1968” and personal favorites “The Funeral” and “Diamonds & Gasoline,” which Felker performed acoustically by himself on stage.

Felker is for my money is the best songwriter currently in country music (if we shoehorn Jason Isbell into the Americana category, which I don’t necessarily always do) and a song like “The Funeral,” which tells the story of a rebel son returning to his hometown for his father’s funeral and how his family and family preacher view the outcast is a terrific example of how Felker’s songwriting can be like a Southern short story set to music. “The Bird Hunters” from last year’s album is another great example of this fact.

The entire group – Felker, guitarist Ryan Engleman, bassist R.C. Edwards, drummer Gabe Pearson and fiddle player Kyle Nix, who likely rivals Nick Worley of Jason Boland and the Stragglers as the genre’s best fiddle player of the moment, are highly energetic the entire show every single time you see them and truly seem to be having a blast on stage.

I can’t stress enough how great these guys from Oklahoma are and how underrated they are, because you aren’t likely to hear them on the radio, especially mainstream country radio. Look up their albums on Spotify, buy them on Amazon or their website and if they come anywhere near your hometown buy a ticket and you will be pleased beyond belief.

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Guy Clark, Texas Troubadour Legend, Catches His Train - Plus, Guy Clark's 10 Greatest Songs 

5/19/2016

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by Julian Spivey
Singer-songwriter Guy Clark died at 74 on Tuesday (May 17) after a lengthy illness. His death obviously hasn’t gotten the same amount of attention as legends like Merle Haggard, David Bowie and Prince and never will, but in his circle of music (Texas country/Americana) Clark was a musical God.
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The term troubadour gets thrown around a little too much in music these days, but Guy Clark was a real-life troubadour who the New York Times referred to as “a king of the Texas troubadours” in the obituary published on Tuesday. There was Guy Clark, Townes Van Zandt and Jerry Jeff Walker. Names that might not be recognized by the majority of music listeners, but should be for one to truly consider themselves a true music lover, especially if a fan of singer-songwriter folk or Americana – which is what “Texas Country” really was in the mid-to-late ‘70s and into the ‘80s.

Clark wrote songs that would become No. 1 hits in the ‘80s like “Heartbroke,” which Ricky Skaggs took to the top of the charts, and “She’s Crazy for Leaving,” which co-writer Rodney Crowell took to No. 1. He also wrote stuff covered brilliantly by the likes of The Highwaymen, Jerry Jeff Walker, Jimmy Buffett, Lyle Lovett, Vince Gill, Alan Jackson, Brad Paisley and many more. Known maybe more as a songwriter, it’s his own performances of these songs that might not be as well known, but almost always come off as the greatest versions. It’s no surprise that the originals often turn out to be the best versions, because you’re going to get a little more of the feeling and emotion behind the tunes coming from the scribe himself.

What separates the good songwriters from the great and legendary ones like Clark is the ability to truly craft a complete short story to music. Few were better at this than Clark. Just listen to a song like “Desperadoes Waiting for a Train,” originally appearing via Jerry Jeff Walker’s cover on his 1973 album Viva Terlingua (a classic everyone should have), which tells a complete story of a boy and his hero from childhood all the way to adulthood when he watches his hero fade away. I’m not sure there’s ever been a greater song written about enjoying life and then watching it fade away. The song was inspired by a grandfather-like figure named Jack, who was the boyfriend of Clark’s grandmother.

Oddly enough the storyline of “Desperadoes Waiting for a Train,” which was covered by the country music supergroup The Highwaymen (Johnny Cash, Willie Nelson, Waylon Jennings and Kris Kristofferson) and became a top 20 hit in 1985, is something that made me think of Clark’s last days. The imagery he was able to invoke in this song is truly like few others I’ve ever heard, which is why if I were to sit down and quickly compile a list of the 100 greatest songs ever written I’d probably include this piece of songwriting perfection.

A week or two before Clark’s death I’d see an article on savingcountrymusic.com about how Clark wasn’t doing well health-wise and was living in an assisted living facility. This reminded me of how the hero fades away in the song: “The day before he died, I went to see him/I was grown and he was almost gone/So we just closed our eyes and dreamed us up a kitchen/And sang another verse to that old song/Come on, Jack, that son-of-a-bitch is comin’/We’re like desperadoes waiting for the train.”

Guy Clark finally caught that train.

10 Favorite Guy Clark Songs 

10. "Texas Cookin'"


​9. "Hell Bent on a Heartache" 


8. "Heartbroke"


​7. "Texas 1947"


​6. "The Cape"


5. "The Last Gunfighter Ballad"


4. "She's Crazy for Leavin'" 


3. "My Favorite Picture of You"


2. "L.A. Freeway"


1. "Desperadoes Waiting For a Train

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Someday My Prince Will Come 

5/13/2016

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by Kellan Miller 
As one ages, one must come to grips with a slew of challenging truths, no matter how bitter they might taste. I'm not talking about inconsequential truths like the fact that Sriracha actually comes from the United States, or that Ted Cruz is in fact the Zodiac Killer. No, I'm talking about real, facts of life shit. For instance, when Jennifer Lawrence first penetrated the mainstream consciousness, I along with every straight man I know welcomed her with both outstretched arms and bulging crotch. But recently I came to the harrowing conclusion that Lawrence is violently unfunny, almost as if she has a personal, deep-seated vendetta against humor. Even Daniel Pantaleo, the NYPD officer who strangled Eric Garner to death and basically said "What up bitches? Thug Life!" afterwards to the camera, is on the record saying that Lawrence's actions are a grotesque attack on humanity.
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Fortunately, Lawrence's deplorable ‘SNL’ performance finally puts an end to this sinister YouTube spiral I have succumbed to in the last two hours. This happens to me at least once a week on average, lasting far into the wee hours of the morning despite most days having to wake up early in the morning for work. I start with something innocuous like ‘The John Oliver Show’ or “Late Night With Seth Meyers,” then “Broad City,” then “Portlandia,” then maybe a little ‘W/Bob & David,’ and inevitably appears an ‘SNL’ clip. The ‘SNL’ rabbit hole is the absolute worst-- all 41 seasons worth on Hulu, including the earlier seasons with all those people you are "supposed" to revere for some reason despite their total lack of talent, like David Spade or Adam Sandler. 

Excuse my Trump, but those greedy network executives at Hulu are Grade-A bastards. So much entertainment shouldn't be widely accessible for people with sleeping troubles and corporate jobs. But as I watch Kristen Wiig, Bill Hader and Fred Armisen lampoon my friends and I on the wildly funny "Californians" sketches, I stop the video in a rare display of self-discipline and opt for a documentary instead. I suddenly remember I've yet to watch “Amy,” a documentary about none other than the late Amy Winehouse, my favorite songstress. When I say favorite, I'm not exaggerating not even one iota, like your super chill buddy who asserts has been an ardent supporter of the Golden State Warriors for his entire lifetime ("Yeah one time my step-brother's roommate's ex-girlfriend's best friend was travelling to Seattle but had a layover in San Francisco, and I've been a fan ever since"). 

In 2007, during my freshman year of college, things like Twitter and Instagram were not mega popular at the time, so if you desired platforms to exhibit your inherent right to bless others with your well-earned, millennial narcissism, only Facebook and your college dorm room was at your disposal in these dark times. Of course, if you are secure enough in your skin, you don't necessarily need a plethora of posters and prints to advertise your eclectic, sophisticated cultural tastes. Clearly this sentiment didn't apply to me. But for my peers, having to contend with my breathtaking charisma and encyclopedic knowledge, I decided to take the philanthropic route by blending in with the crowd and decorating my own walls with expensive laminated paper. 

Thumb-tacked right above the desk I accomplished my greatest moments of procrastination was Amy Winehouse's first cover issue of Rolling Stone, featuring the cover story "The Diva and Her Demons." I had fallen madly in love with Amy that summer. In an era predating the immeasurable bliss Spotify shepherded into my life, three things happened that would seem utterly preposterous to a person young enough to first learn about the Spice Girls in a history book-- I heard a song on the radio, collected real paper money, and went to a store to purchase a compact disc (four things if you include the fact that it was a bookstore, and five things if you include that the bookstore was Borders).

Back then I classified female pop singers as largely belonging to either two categories. First, you had the all-I-do-is-drink-party-rebel-rebel-rebel-no-matter-what multi-hair-dye sensations. Second, a whole two and a half hours South of the complete flip-side in rush hour traffic was the opposite group. Tinted by soft voices and acoustic guitar, these women tended to pen love songs about bearded men who wore wool caps and denim jackets in August. In a nutshell, these women sound exactly like what Nora Ephron would sound like in the distant future when scientists discover a way to transform people into actual songs.

Yael Naim's "New Soul," which was used for a 2008 MacBook Pro commercial, is a perfect example of what I'm alluding to. Obviously, Apple has a reputation for using music to market their products. Normally their selections go off without a cinch, and even prompt a bunch of douchebags to post "I'm here because of iTunes commercial ____" on YouTube. But that wasn't the case in 2014 when the company chose to use The Pixies' "Gigantic," a song about Kim Deal's admiration for a big black penis in an iPhone commercial. Obviously, this was a pretty dumb idea for implicit reasons that go without saying. Everyone knows that Apple prides itself on designing products using Bauhaus-inspired simplicity. The penis is the exact opposite in terms of shape. Like I said, incredibly stupid. 

But I digress. Watching “Amy” was enthralling from start to finish. Because I put such a high premium on winning, watching similar-minded people suffer total and absolute failure is a fascinating spectacle to behold. When I say failure I don't mean those websites dedicated to texting or social media "epic fails" (Yes, it's amusing that your mom mistook you for her booty call, but why post it online for the world to see?). There is something both haunting and immaculate about Amy’s demise, with the ominous "Rehab" only scratching the surface. The documentary explores this in meticulous detail.

Even though the online sphere is still the preferred battleground of pimply, socially awkward weirdos subsisting on bigotry as not to have to confront their own crippling jealousy of the people they despise, most people love to see strangers taste success. The typical rags to riches anecdote is an everlasting hologram that gifts common folk hope for better days again and again, regardless of dreadful credit card debt personified, literally choking the life out of them with outstretched hands. No matter how chaotic life can get, people want to believe that with only a little blood, sweat, and a lucrative television show contract, a person on the bottom can rise to the top, forever denying requests to connect on LinkedIn because NO NEW FRIENDS FOREVER AND EVER AMEN. 

The simple, half-baked narrative of Amy’s eternal can’t-get-right predicament that survives in the popular consciousness does disservice to a much more complicated reality. Not only were there myriad instances where Amy could’ve possibly recovered, but she was often a willing participant in her own rehabilitation, the latter unfortunately not being the case with many addicts. But Amy was forever surrounded by purported loved ones who repeatedly established roadblocks in her quest for recovery, not to mention leading her down the wrong roads altogether in some instances. Any person who has stuck a ruler or measuring tape between their legs at age 12 (presumably the entire male species) cannot possibly watch the documentary without a crippling sense of shame and contempt for the Adam’s Apple race, if the ruler anecdote wasn’t enough for self-disgust. Amy had the supreme misfortune of being born to her father Mitch Winehouse, and plunging into hopeless love affair with Blake Fielder-Civil, objectively the two worst human beings in existence.

Let's start with the lesser of the two literal evils-- Fielder-Civil. After she released acclaimed her debut album Frank in 2003, featuring timeless jams like "Fuck Me Pumps" and "Stronger Than Me," Amy embarked on a torrid love affair with Fielder-Civil. Torrid mainly because, after introducing her to a life of drugs and all-night partying, he was dating another woman at the time, and eventually broke up with Amy on a voicemail. She soon succumbed to an abysmal depression in which she subsisted on a diet of alcohol. For God knows what reason, Mitch Winehouse decided that her daughter didn't need rehab, which if you watch the documentary is 1000 percent ludicrous. Luckily, her friends convinced her to clean up her act, and eventually get back in the studio again. 

Collaborating with Mark Ronson and Salaam Remi, she transformed the pangs of heartbreak into one of the finest albums of the decade with Back to Black. Pretty much all of the songs dealt with her rocky relationship with Fielder-Civil in some way, like "Teardrops Dry On Their Own" and of course, "Back to Black." When Amy achieved her meteoric rise in 2006, people the world over enthusiastically hopped on the bandwagon. Looking back, with squinted eyes and nostrils covered, it’s a wonder that Americans in particular even survived the mass pestilence.

In some sort of deranged, maniacal premeditation, record label executives decided in unison to completely eradicate the world with music so shitty it required exceptional, classically trained musical minds to befoul chords so spectacularly. Nickelback, arguably the most disastrous thing to happen to the world, somehow managed to flip their what-Kurt-Cobain-would’ve-sounded-like-had-he-actually-survived-the-gunshot-and-shot-himself-two-more-times style into a gajillion record sales. Songs like “Laffy Taffy” and “Chicken Noodle Soup” wiped clean all the sweat, blood and elbow grease the good men of the band Creed put into ensuring that their catalogue would sit atop the pantheon of the worst music ever created. The virus spread in such a sweeping fashion that even Jay-Z temporarily forgot how to make music and released your weedplate’s weedplate Kingdom Come. But in October of that year, along came Amy, like a goddess arriving just in time to teach us how to get over.

As stated in the aforementioned Rolling Stone piece: Amy is bringing a rebellious rock & roll spirit back to popular music," says Mark Ronson, the DJ-producer who helmed more than half of the tracks on Back to Black. "Those groups from the Sixties like the Shangri-Las had that kind of attitude: young girls from Queens in motorcycle jackets. Amy looks fucking cool, and she's brutally honest in her songs. It's been so long since anybody in the pop world has come out and admitted their flaws, because everyone's trying so hard to project perfection. But Amy will say, like, 'Yeah, I got drunk and fell down. So what?' She's not into self-infatuation and she doesn't chase fame. She's lucky that she's that good, because she doesn't have to."

Back to Black was much needed salvation to say the least, a colossal spray can of air freshener to douse the code red, John Goodman post 4th of July BBQ level foulness threatening to ruin us all. Writing for The Guardian, Dorian Lynskey opined: “Starting with the pungent single ‘Rehab,’ everything is in its right place: the exuberant neo-Motown swing supplied by producers Mark Ronson and Salaam Remi; the rich, sinewy vocals, somewhere between Lauryn Hill, Beth Gibbons and Etta James; and the thoroughly modern songwriting.” In the most eclipsing example of praise, Pitchfork awarded the album a 6.4 rating, which in ratio is equal to a 15 by us regular folk.*

*Editor’s Note: If Richard Pryor and Louis C.K., the ingenious purveyors of wisdom, have taught us anything, is that true legitimacy in life is only achieved through the act of self-deprecation. People love to see others make fun of themselves, except for hip hop. In the rapper’s realm, one must be endowed with the powers to fuck multiple women at a time without speaking a single word to them, slang hard narcotics on the street corners of dangerous neighborhoods despite their celebrity in the TMZ age, and burn through an entire mortgage down payment in a few hours at the strip club.

This is a good thing. There needs to be balance. I don’t want to live in a world where on a whim Chris Brown couldn’t use his unrivaled charm and psychosis to steal my girlfriend away from me at the club. But as a writer with no musical talent whatsoever, I must take the denigration route, which is why I am currently looking at the myriad emails I’ve sent to the editors at Pitchfork for them to take a chance on a young whippersnapper like myself. To this day I haven’t even received a reply back. “Go fuck yourself you no talent-having assclown. Best Regards, Pitchfork Editors” is exceedingly preferable to absolute nothingness.

So as good as it feels to crack wise on Pitchfork for time to time, it is only a fleeting comfort at best, because I know my heart will instantly fill with gratitude rather than scorn for the motherless the student loan collectors who manage to bait me into a life both bereft of joy and money, all because the University offered me the chance to become a better writer while using the same information that is easily accessible and free on the internet. Pitchfork is like the really hot chick at the bar that Barry Sandersizes you with a “Oh I need to go talk to my friend” spin-move to ward off both your cheap cologne and whatever douchebag pick-up line you learned from some even douchier Pick Up Artist Forum. I will keep my head held high in the long, long walk back to my posse’s circle and calmly laugh off the humiliating experience with the ole trusty “She’s a real bitch/cunt” line. But later on I will attempt to soothe my own feelings of inadequacy with Ben & Jerry’s, “30 Rock” reruns, and the knowledge that a person named Bieberbabex0022 thought highly enough of the article I wrote last week to retweet it.

What is it Pitchfork? Why do you reject me constantly? I too believe that all of pre-David Bowie’s Low album era humanity is irrelevant, and that Radiohead and Arcade Fire made the world and saw that it was good. I can even make up fancy sounding genre-labels like “Micro-age-Super-Mario’s-Brothers-Lo-Fi-Fuzz-Pop” that make other people feel stupid for never having heard of them. And as for my resume coup de grace, after enough drinks I can say with a straight face that Young Thug is the prolific visionary to touch a mic. I know that I use too many adverbs and that my bastardized Kerouac-esque run-on sentences have no place in a world where people don’t read, but I’m working on it. Give me a fucking break. I’ve already stopped employing the Hunter S. Thompson method of writing long-winded digressions and rants that have little to nothing to do with the overarching article itself.

Most pop artists subsist in a small, crowded, and cushioned chamber, with poked holes in the ceiling for them to breathe, surviving on a diet of Pop Chips and Diet Coke. Their entire artistry is the unimaginative offshoot of record label executives studious in the business of molding them into real-life hashtags. Even if a spark of originality and talent caused the industry to notice them in the first place, by the time the PowerPoint slides are head-nodded through, a robotic cash cow has been spawned, armed with a team of personal songwriters and sparkly outfits. I’ve been told by credible sources that executives oversee covert locations where they cultivate large gatherings of potential recruits and also discard defective ones. It sounds crazy at first, but makes a lot of sense if you really think about it. I mean, what the fuck happened to Cassie?

But I digress, again. The incredibly fucked up thing about the Amy situation is that after her massive rise, none other than Fielder-Civil showed up again, and the two resumed their romance, eventually marrying. That's when things started to go South for her at a rapid clip, especially when they both became addicted to crack. 

In an interview with the Times Magazine, Fielder-Civil defended himself: “I don’t think I ruined her, no. I think we found each other and certain people need to realize that she did have other addictions before she met me,” he told the Times Magazine. “She wasn’t a happy, well-adjusted young woman … and I find it disrespectful to imply I was some Machiavellian puppet master.”

Fielder-Civil is absolutely correct to clear his name here, and it is truly unfair and mortifying that people would imply that he was an evil, Machiavellian puppet master responsible for the death of the love of his life. It’s easy to pile on Blake considering how revolting he is. But when you are scrolling through your news feed after somehow managing to break yourself from the black hole of all 742 pictures from your best friend Julie’s trust-funded trip to Italy and stumble upon a story like “Blake Fielder-Civil Dating A Transexual Amy Winehouse Impersonator” you can only sigh and put down the shovel.

For a person who spends an inordinate amount of time deleting emails from publicists wanting me to write a few glowing words about their newest artist, Amy was a superior talent. Plus, she was a real talent, in the sense that she presented a raw, unedited image of herself and her flaws. Obviously, a lot of the demons that ultimately brought about her demise were the product of her own doing, but who knows what could've happened if she wasn't surrounded by the worst people imaginable? I could conclude this rambling article with even more rambling superlatives about what a major talent she was, but in 2007, Prince decided to perform Amy's "Love Is A Losing Game" with her live. Also, Tony Bennett, who collaborated with her on their Body & Soul project, stated: "Jazz is a wonderful art. Listening to it, I compare it to watching the greatest tennis player who's so intelligent about where he places the ball, it becomes effortless. The great ones that are very talented know just how to turn jazz singing into a performance that's unforgettable. And Amy had that gift. The fact that she died at 27 years old is just horrible to me. If she had lived, she would've been right up there with Billie Holiday and Dinah Washington. It's just a tragedy.”

Watching “Amy,” I was left with one unshakable feeling. Throughout her life, she longed for a father figure-- someone she could trust. Instead, she was surrounded by men with selfish interests. Sadly, her prince never came, and our beautiful, musical princess left this world far too soon. 


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Paul Simon Brings Iconic Songwriting, Cool Sound to Oklahoma's The Joint

5/8/2016

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by Julian Spivey
If I were to construct a Mount Rushmore for my favorite songwriters of all-time it would probably include the face of Paul Simon. For this reason, getting to see the legendary singer-songwriter in person was something I’d always hoped I’d get to do. That moment finally came on Friday, May 6 at The Joint at the Hard Rock Hotel and Casino in Catoosa, Okla. just outside of Tulsa when Simon put on an around 20 song set that included songs from his early days with Simon & Garfunkel all the way up to tracks from his upcoming album Stranger to Stranger.
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Simon’s career has basically been two different careers that make up a body of work as rich and as legendary as just about any other artist in pop music history. His work with Simon & Garfunkel throughout the ‘60s and the very early days of the ‘70s was moody and beat poetic that had Simon rivaling Bob Dylan as the best crossover folk artist of the day. His solo stuff starting in the early ‘70s and growing as it reached his epic Graceland album more than a decade later is a full sound of worldly music bringing in different styles from places all over the world, in particular the sounds of African music.

I greatly enjoy both styles of Simon’s music and he does a pretty good job mixing them in concert, but just know if you want to see Simon on this Stranger to Stranger tour expecting to hear a greatest hits of Simon & Garfunkel classics you may leave the venue slightly bummed. You shouldn’t though, because Simon’s solo output is Rock and Roll Hall of Fame caliber on its own and will have you wanting to move your body along to the music all along. Unless you get somewhat of a dud of an older crowd just wanting to sit back and enjoy the music like The Joint seemed to have on Friday night.

Simon opened his show with the brilliant “The Boy in the Bubble,” one of four songs he’d play from Graceland throughout the course of the night. This really got the crowd excited for the show and the excitement was ratcheted up even more when Simon immediately went into his 1976 No. 1 hit “50 Ways to Leave Your Lover,” his only chart-topping single as a solo artist.

As previously mentioned, Simon did an excellent job at giving the audience a terrific glance at his entire body of work that spans six decades on Friday night and he proved this early on going from his mid-‘70s hit directly into the beautiful “Dazzling Blue,” from his 2011 album So Beautiful or So What. This would be followed up by the Cajun-flavored “That Was Your Mother,” from Graceland, and back into a song from that 2011 album in “Rewrite.” This portion of his concert may not have been filled with sing-a-long hit records that everybody in attendance knew, but was truly one of the highlights of the evening.

Songs like “Dazzling Blue” and particularly “Rewrite” are proof that Simon hasn’t lost anything at all as a songwriter over the years, something that truly makes him one of the all-time greats.

One of my favorite performances of the concert was Simon’s take on his 1977 top five hit “Slip Slidin’ Away,” which he performed in a different style from what we’ve been accustomed to hearing on the radio and records for years. This seemed to be off-putting to some in the venue, but gave the song new life that made it both interesting again for myself and I’m sure the 74-year old performer who realizes music is fluid and can be adapted, changed, altered or even improved over the years.

“Slip Slidin’ Away” launched into two of the most energetic performances of the night from Simon and his stellar band with “Mother and Child Reunion” and “Me and Julio Down by the Schoolyard,” which should’ve had more people on their feet and dancing near their seats than it did. Is anybody else slightly perturbed by some of the concert audiences they’ve seen lately? It’s a concert, not a funeral. Have some fun. Maybe seeing Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band and his loyal, raucous followers last month has made me believe that’s what every concert should be like, though?

As previously mentioned, Simon didn’t play many Simon & Garfunkel selections throughout the night, but when he did play one his song selection was impeccable. The first of two S&G songs was “Homeward Bound,” one of my all-time favorite Simon pieces. While not performing the complete song Simon’s beautiful band used an instrumental performance of Simon & Garfunkel’s “El Condor Pasa” and a musical interlude into Simon’s solo performance of “Duncan,” which really worked well with the song.

Simon ended his set with the perfect one-two punch of “Diamonds on the Soles of Her Shoes” and “You Can Call Me Al,” both from Graceland, which finally got the majority of the audience at least on their feet and grooving.

I’ve seen a lot of great artists, all-time legends really, in concert over the last decade of my life, but Simon and his band were without a doubt the grooviest act I’ve seen.
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Simon started his first three song encore with “Wristband,” the first release from his upcoming album Stranger to Stranger. It’s a smooth and comical song about getting locked out back during a small venue show and having to go back around to the front where even though he’s the evening’s talent the bouncer won’t let him inside without a wristband. During his initial set Simon had played another cool track from this upcoming album called “The Werewolf.” These two songs leave me excited about the performer’s first album in five years, which will be released on June 3.

Simon continued his encore with his 1980 top 10 hit “Late in the Evening,” speaking of groovy. The infectious bass line of this song had gotten stuck in my head the night prior to the show in anticipation of seeing one of my musical heroes and really had me excited for the live performance.

Speaking of bass playing, Simon’s bassist Bakithi Kumalo is without a doubt the best bassist I’ve ever seen in person and truly one of the most underrated bassists in the business. His bass solo at the end of “You Can Call Me Al” alone is maybe the greatest bass solo I’ve ever heard and seeing him perform it live was one of the greatest feats of musicality I’ve ever seen.

Simon finished his first encore with “Still Crazy After All These Years,” an obvious fan favorite. “Still Crazy After All These Years” is one of those performances throughout the evening where you realize just how great Simon sounds at 74 years of age.

Simon left the stage at The Joint to uproarious applause before returning a minute or two later to completely make my night with a performance of Simon & Garfunkel’s 1969 top 10 hit “The Boxer,” which in my opinion is the greatest song Simon has ever written. This performance alone, truly made the ticket price, the most I’d ever spent on a concert worthwhile.

Simon was everything I wanted him to be, which is to say essentially perfect. He sounds great, his band is amazing and these stories he has written and put to music over the last six decades are iconic and generally important in my life as a music lover. Simon may have a small five foot three frame, but the man is and always will be a giant to me.

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Paul McCartney Shows Why He's Music Royalty in Little Rock 

5/1/2016

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by Julian Spivey
When the announcement was made a couple of months ago that Paul McCartney would be bringing his One on One tour to North Little Rock’s Verizon Arena on Saturday, April 30 my jaw just about hit the floor. Verizon has had some great acts in a variety of genres come through in recent years, but Paul McCartney? That was huge and, in fact, it would be the music legend’s first ever appearance in Arkansas at any point in his career.

A former member of The Beatles was coming to Arkansas. This concert was a no-brainer for me.

The concert would be near perfection, with the audience both thrilled and stunned to be in the presence of such musical royalty, it’s arguable that Verizon Arena has never seen such a star before.

But, there was one complaint I’d like to get out of the way before going forward. Early on during his show McCartney asked those in attendance to shout out when he asked where they were from. The crowd’s cheers when McCartney asked if audience members were from places other than Arkansas greatly drowned out the noise from those when he asked the same of people from the state. I’ve long questioned the tastes of musical fans from this state and Saturday night’s representation somewhat confirms that Arkansans just don’t have as refined musical tastes as others. This was a freaking Beatle, and it seemed fans from surrounding states cared a little bit more than our own. And, just to quell possible questions – I don’t feel like the ticket prices were outrageous either.

McCartney opened up his show with The Beatles classic “A Hard Day’s Night,” which he’s been playing on his current tour for the first time since the early days of The Beatles. This Beatles tune really got the crowd pumped up for a night when McCartney would play songs from throughout his entire career, whether with The Beatles, Wings, solo or even with The Quarrymen, a group he was in prior to The Beatles with John Lennon and George Harrison. In fact, his Quarrymen performance of “In Spite of All Danger” was a highlight for me, as I remarked to my wife beside me that it would’ve made for a good country song.

There were probably too many highlights throughout the evening, which fit almost 40 songs into a show that approached the three-hour mark, to pinpoint each and every one in this review. But, I’ll go through some of the most memorable.

It was The Beatles songs that, unsurprisingly, really got the crowd revved up. Throughout the night McCartney peppered his set list with his Beatles output both featuring No. 1 hits like “Lady Madonna” and “Let It Be” with maybe not as remembered performances such as “The Fool on the Hill” and “Here, There and Everywhere.”

A moment that seemed to resonate beautifully with both McCartney and the crowd was when he told us before performing “Blackbird” that the song was inspired by the Civil Rights Movement of the ‘50s and ‘60s in America and how he views that movement as having gotten its start right there in Little Rock with the integration of Central High School in the ‘50s. McCartney had met with two living members of the Little Rock Nine prior to the show. The performance was absolutely stunning with the imagery of black birds taking flight on a screen behind the superstar’s performance.

The Beatles output from McCartney might have gotten the sold out audience to sing along a bit more than anything else, but some of his ‘70s hits with Wings really had the place rocking. “Maybe I’m Amazed” was a beautiful moment, in which McCartney said he’d written the song for his late wife Linda. The performances of “Band on the Run” and particularly “Live and Let Die,” with its incredible pyrotechnics and light show were everything a kickass rock show should be about.

While much of the audience probably didn’t know some of McCartney’s newer stuff by heart like “Queenie Eye,” “New” and “FourFiveSeconds,” which McCartney collaborated on with pop star Rihanna and hip hop sensation Kanye West last year, the newer stuff expressed that McCartney hasn’t lost anything over the years.

A couple of truly mesmerizing moments from the show were when McCartney paid tribute to his fallen Beatles bandmates John Lennon and George Harrison with performance of “Here Today,” which McCartney wrote for Lennon shortly after he was murdered in the early ‘80s, and “Something,” my personal favorite Harrison song, which McCartney partially performed on ukulele, an instrument he said he and Harrison both liked to fool around a bit with.

McCartney finished his terrific set with “Hey Jude,” of course, which had the bulk of the audience on its feet singing along in unison, especially the “na, na, na, na” parts.

McCartney left the stage to uproarious applause before returning minutes later for a terrific encore that started with him solely on stage with his guitar to perform The Beatles No. 1 hit “Yesterday,” which in my opinion is his greatest accomplishment with the song being so elegantly beautiful and sad at the same time while also being incredibly simplistic in its story and songwriting.

DJ Lou Brutus tweeted after the show: “Watching Paul McCartney perform ‘Yesterday’ is like getting to see John Hancock sign his name.” I couldn’t have said it better myself.

The encore continued with rocking performances of Wings’ “Hi Hi Hi” and “Birthday.” At one point during the encore McCartney invited some fans onto the stage with him that were picked out of the crowd based on signs they held up during the show. Two of the lucky fans were a Japanese couple who got engaged on the stage as the man proposed to his girlfriend with McCartney standing by to congratulate the happy couple. It was a great moment for everybody in the building to witness.

McCartney ended his epic concert really the only epic way he could with his portions of the medley that ends The Beatles classic Abbey Road, potentially my favorite Beatles album, with “Golden Slumbers,” “Carry That Weight” and “The End.”

Seeing Paul McCartney in person instantly became one of the all-time great concert moments for me as a musical lover and I still find it hard to believe that he actually came to Arkansas – huge props to Verizon Arena for this booking. It’s really one of those “wake me up because I must be dreaming” type moments.

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Carrie Underwood Shows Off 'Queen of Country' Status in Little Rock

5/1/2016

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by Aprille Hanson
While the crowd in Verizon Arena, North Little Rock, Ark., waited for headliner Carrie Underwood to kick off her “Storyteller Tour: Stories in the Round” on April 28, a D.J./break dancer/T-shirt gun-shooter asked if everyone was ready for the “queen of country music” to entertain us.

The statement was bold, even in a room full of Underwood fans. Reba held that title for years and even Faith Hill along with her hubby Tim McGraw were considered the queen and king of the genre. Then, there was of course Blake Shelton and Miranda Lambert, sliding nicely into that royal role before ultimately crashing and burning their romance.

So when someone says queen of a genre, it’s a hefty title to uphold. Underwood has built a career so far beyond her start on “American Idol” that most don’t even give that reality show fame a second thought. Her voice is consistently pure on awards shows, television specials, etc. that I was a little curious to see if that purity and captivating quality would translate to a live concert setting.

It did.

But before audiences got to see the spectacle, The Swon Brothers and Easton Corbin took the stage. The Swon Brothers have had minimal success after finishing third on NBC’s hit reality singing show “The Voice” in 2013. It would be easy to assume that Zach and Colton Swan may have gotten on the tour thanks to country star and ‘Voice’ judge Blake Shelton, but according to theboot.com, the singers have had a connection long before all three of them were famous, growing up just 10 minutes from each other. They did “these little country family shows together” according to Colton Swan, but lost touch after Underwood rose to fame. While their performances were not anything to call home about, their presence on the tour is notable. The brothers pointed out that Underwood typically has just one opening act.

Their approximately five-song set included their 2013 song “Later On” and Kings of Leon cover “Use Somebody.” It’s tough for smaller acts to be in the shadow of such a big star, but they managed to have fun despite the crowd being anxious for Underwood.

Easton Corbin was certainly the favorite opener, showing fans why he’s still relevant after his No. 1 hits “A Little More Country Than That” and “Roll With It” from his 2010 debut album. While his more recent songs (“Baby Be My Love Song,” “Yup”) have paled in comparison to his originals, Corbin has a distinctly southern drawl, missing from way too many of the Bro-Country artists today (*cough, Sam Hunt, *cough). It’s one of the reasons I believe he can stand out in sea of other Joes that look just like him and why his medley of songs he said influenced him as a youngster sounded great: “Check Yes or No,” George Straight; “Should’ve Been a Cowboy,” Toby Keith and “Fiddle in the Band,” Alabama.

He closed his roughly 12 song set with 2013’s “All Over the Road,” a fun one for the whole crowd.

Underwood performed in the round for this tour, though the stage was hardly circular. As someone who has been to a lot of concerts at several arenas, the stage itself may have been the most impressive. The long, sprawling stage had various levels and entrances, with black rectangular tents being set up quickly toward the stage, allowing Underwood to sneak underneath undetected.

After AC/DC’s “Back in Black” blared through the arena, suspended round screens started to sink toward the stage, possibly masking the stage itself rising as Underwood soon immerged high on the platform to kick it off with “Renegade Runaway” the title track to her Storyteller album.

The song is high energy, very similar to “Cowboy Casanova,” which she performed on a raised jukebox, an ode to the line “He’s a good time Cowboy Casanova leaning up against the record machine.”

But first, she blazed through most of her high-energy songs: a medley of “Last Name” and “Somethin’ Bad,” her 2014 duet with Miranda Lambert, which appeared on Lambert’s album Platinum; “Undo It,” “Good Girl” and “Church Bells.” It was an interesting approach because typically artists will intertwine their “let’s pump the crowd up” songs with their ballads. But Underwood kept up the momentum, shooting off six songs like a machine gun before slowing us all down to perform the love song “Heartbeat,” her single from November. It was the most mesmerizing spectacle of the night, despite all the other special effects she threw at us, because her standing on the stage with red lighting along with the white sparkling dots from a disco ball that lit up every inch of that arena, it was like being under a blanket of stars.
If that wasn’t enough, she abruptly took us back in time to “Jesus, Take The Wheel.” I understand the song is 11 years old and may not be the one she’s known for as much, but it’s still quintessential in her discography. It’s why throwing it in the middle made gave me a bit of a double take, but regardless, she sang it with passion which I would imagine is a tough thing for artists when you’ve sang it likely on every tour. The surprise gem “Wasted,” also from her debut album Some Hearts, came next, which is all the love her debut got until the end of her set.

So after partying, slowing it down, it was time to take the audience down the dark alley of “Blown Away” and “Two Black Cadillacs,” both centering on killing someone. To simulate a tornado could prove difficult in an arena, but as Underwood sang her lungs off on lines like “Every tear-soaked whisky memory blown away” white sheer material blew up from the floor, dancing in the lights, making the whole atmosphere ominous like a storm.

When “Dirty Laundry,” a song from Storyteller came up, she had the screen show a video with some of the words from the song sprawling across when she sang them. I’ve seen at least one other artist in concert do that with a new song (Trisha Yearwood) which I think is a great idea -- it gives fans a chance to sing along to a song that’s obviously new and might not be as well known.

“Choctaw County Affair,” the twangiest song on Storyteller, Underwood showed off her harmonica skills, which was definitely an unexpected treat.

The most poignant moment of the night came from one of two covers she sang -- and no, it wasn’t “Fishin’ in the Dark,” a Nitty Gritty Dirt Band cover she brought her openers back on stage for, despite it being fun. It was her tribute to Dolly Parton with “I Will Always Love You” and although she could have belted out the more soulful ballad that Whitney Houston made it, Underwood sang it with a quiet reverence like the original.

The only song that rivaled that heartfelt moment was “What I Never Knew I Always Wanted,” from Storyteller. While it’s not a single and was probably brand new to many in the crowd, she explained how her life has been changed so much from her marriage (to hockey star Mike Fisher) and her baby son (one-year-old Isaiah). It was moving to see the intimate family photos across the screens as she sang.

She went on to perform “Clock Don’t Stop,” “Little Toy Guns” and “All-American Girl,” which she brought out her “Carrie Cam,” walking around with a video camera which displayed the crowd shots on her big screens.

She closed her primary set with “Before He Cheats” from Some Hearts, that life changing hit that propelled her to stardom. It was the only time really that the arena clearly could sing the words back to her, making it a magical moment for the fans.

She disappeared into the stage with a wave, but before too long, she popped back up to perform her popular “Smoke Break,” her first single off of Storyteller.

Her closing number went to “Something in the Water,” a single she co-wrote off of her Greatest Hits: Decade #1 album. It was a huge No. 1 for her, with added crossover appeal. It’s a little country, a little pop, but it’s all heart, talking about a person’s life changing after being Baptized. It was a fitting end because of its power and graceful vocals.

Underwood kept her energy up throughout her 22-song set, with minimal drag time for costume changes. Those were filled by some videos on the screen and teasing the instrumentals to some of the tracks on Storyteller, including “Mexico,” which she absolutely should have performed live. With a discography like hers, it’s hard to decide, but I think forgoing “Clock Don’t Stop” for something like “See You Again” or “Temporary Home” would have been more meaningful for her fans.

After following her since her blind audition from “American Idol” to now, seeing her live was a special opportunity. It’s arguable that she is in fact the overall queen in the genre but for that concert, the stage was her throne and she owned it. 

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