#chaknroll

There was not a single second of the show where I was not either singing, dancing, crying, beaming, or flipping the bird. I think I started crying at the second word of the first song. I am not usually one for being starstruck, but I could barely believe I was in the same room as this incredible artist. She held the audience in the palm of her hand the entire show, and I am honestly not sure to what extent she realized it. An audience, by the way, that was extremely and beautifully diverse, containing various ages, races, and especially genders, all united by the heartfelt words of the star of this evening. Ezra is the perfect mix of performer and songwriter. I may have seen people who are better at one or the other, though I can't think of any at the moment, but I'm sure I've never seen anyone better at both. Her every motion on stage seemed possessed by the songs, completely driven by the music, except for some of the between song bits, where she seemed too aware and suddenly remembered, embarrassed, that she was in front of an audience. "Songs of love and war" she kept repeating, and unfortunately songs of war are just as necessary if not more than joyous songs of love at the moment, especially from a trans artist in today's culture. She was a magnetic performer, even moreso in the way that she did not seem overflowing with confidence, but she did seem invigorated by the stage and the sound and the spirit of the songs.

And what songs! I feel like Ezra Furman's songs transport me, fully immersed inside of them, as if I am living their truths. She opened with The Train Comes Through, the beautiful song that opens her newest album evoking Bob Dylan and Leonard Cohen, and from there exploded into the song that first made me a fan, Evening Prayer. She cracked my heart wide open with Book Of Our Names when she sang "the names will be the real ones that are ours.". I slow danced by myself to I Wanna Be Your Girlfriend and punk danced all the gunk out of my soul to My Teeth Hurt. I reverently sang all the words to Point Me Towards the Real and felt the thrill of Can I sleep In Your Brain rolling seamlessly into Calm Down. I knew there was no better conclusion than What Can You Do But Rock n Roll. When she returned for the encore and went into Lilac and Black, I pledged myself to take up those colors and join the queer girl gang. I put the final nail in my voice's coffin with the line TO THEM WE'LL ALWAYS BE FREAKS in Suck the Blood From My Wound. Before leaving, Ezra stood in the center of the stage and affirmed that the joy and anger had become one thing, and the name for that thing is rock n roll. If there is a religion based on that statement I want to join it. And she left us with Tell 'Em All To Go To Hell. My long neglected, unrecognized queer heart was full as fuck. I was expecting an unbelievable performance and Ezra overdelivered on every mark.

Before the show, I did something I normally don't at concerts and decided to grab a drink. While there I struck up a conversation with a fellow fan who had traveled all the way from Vermont for the show. Talking to strangers generally doesn't come easy to me, but I think I kept my end of the conversation moving and even entertaining. While I was talking to Geoffrey from Vermont about secret societies and life in general, two people came up to me, fellow poets who recognized me from an open mic I'd attended a month earlier. I took this all as a sign that this evening and my life as a whole are moving in a good direction. I left the bar and went upstairs in time to catch Jeffrey Lewis, who I had actually seen and enjoyed about 15 years ago, but I hadnt spent much time revisiting. He was an excellent opener, showing boundless creativity in both songs and the biographical graphic novels of Keith Haring and Sitting Bull projected behind him.

After the show, I was elated. What a perfect performance! I decided to do something else I normally don't, and wait in line to buy merch, because Ezra had more than earned my t-shirt money. When I was a couple spots back from the front of the line, I turned around and saw that she was sitting in the corner of the room, talking to someone. I reached into my rarely reached reservoir of social courage and resolved that if she was still there after I'd made my purchase, I would go up and say hi. "excuse me, I hate to interrupt, but you are fucking amazing!" was all I could think to say. Today, I think all the things I could have said. "Twelve Nudes is a perfect album!" "Temple of Broken Dreams makes me cry every time!" "I wish I had your music in high school!" "You helped me get in touch with my gender and it's made my life so much better." I guess "fucking amazing" is a decent blanket. She told me it was a dream come true getting to perform like that. I stumbled over the phrase "best show ever" and let her return to her conversation. I floated, glowing, all the way home.

Sometimes art hangs on its own and brings meaning to a life when it is sorely needed. Sometimes a life seems indivisible from the art that flows in, out, and around it. I have been riding one of those rare waves of energy and inspiration lately. There has been an influx of creative people in my life and I feel like this just made the show so much better for me. As I said, normally I wouldn't have swapped jokes and stories with a rando from Vermont, and I would have left and hopped the next train back to suburbia rather than sticking around to meet one of my favorite singers. As it is, I had an overall incredible evening that I will remember forever. I am an Aries and this is my season. There is nothing I believe in more than the beautiful two edged sword that is rock n roll and I don't think I've ever gotten closer to experiencing the purest most powerful version of that than getting to witness Ezra Furman sing her heart out in Brooklyn until the sound covered everyone who could hear. Songs of love and war, indeed.

West Coast vs Wessex! By NOFX & Frank Turner

A good cover should do three things, it should remind you how good the original song is, it should reveal something new about it, and it should reinforce the things you love about the musician who is trying to make someone else's work into their own art. I'd say this album hits all those marks. Has there ever been a song not only lyrically in Fat Mike's wheelhouse but also perfect for that patented NOFX final-chorus-get-in-overdrive than Glory Hallelujah? Even better, the ease with which The Ballad of Me and My Friends gets translated to something that could have closed any NOFX album makes plain the kinship between the two artists and the sense of community their songs offer to the listeners who get absorbed by their music. On Frank's side, he surprisingly outpunks NOFX with his sped up take on Scavenger Type, and follows the old adage of saving the best for last with his harrowing rendition of Falling in Love. One of my favorite songs, (and one of the worst third party heartbreaks I've experienced when I realized the relationship that inspired the song had run its course).

Frank Turner's music is the music I always needed to hear but didn't know until I heard it.

Get Better is literally the song that pulled me out of a rut i thought would never end. When I first heard this song I said I'll never be that positive and put it away. When I was ready, I listened to it every day until it was true.

The first song of his I fell in love with was Photosynthesis. I won't sit down, I won't shut up, and most of all I will not grow up were words that we're etched in my heart from the word go and when I heard someone who had translated that etching into a catchy song - from another continent away mind you - I was instantly hooked. Of course I spent a fair amount of time hating myself because I didn't think I was living up to it. But (see above) I Got Better

I Still Believe. Another etching, another song. He asked "who'd have thought that something as simple as rock 'n' roll could save us all?". Not to brag, but I fucking did. What else could do it? I love how he uses Elvis as a quasi religious figure in this one, and Guitars and Drums and Desperate Poetry have been my holy Trinity since I heard it.

Recovery. Broken people can get better if they really want to or at least that what I have to tell myself if I am hoping to SURVIVE

Four Simple Words we've covered here before. But yeah, a song with Bohemian Rhapsody DNA that quotes Rocky Horror about dancing and punk rock and welcoming communities and shows. How the hell am I not going to love that?

Just to name a few, but these songs were the absolute highlights of the Frank Turner & The Sleeping Souls show I attended tonight and it was wonderful. A lot of his songs sound better live - heavier in both the music and emotional senses, and he is obviously a performer with his little dork dance behind the guitar and his encouraging people to sing along as if their lives depended on it and getting his accountant to crowd surf and writing a song about appreciating the bar staff and, as I said before, it was wonderful. This was an even more special event for me because my love Ange accompanied me, and I hope I do not embarrass her if she reads this. I had a sinus headache and a cramp in my knee but i couldn't have been happier to be there.

Once upon a time I took my significant other to see her favorite songwriter, Connor Oberst. More memorable, for me at least, was the greatest opening and I've ever seen, and a song that changed my life. The Felice Brothers had a wild and authentic energy. They were timeless and classless. Each song was like a tiny movie that you wish you could see more clearly. You got the idea that they genuinely wanted to adopt the whole crowd as honorary Felice siblings. Then, they announced the drummer was going to sing. The oldest brother, Simone, got up from behind the kit and picked up an acoustic guitar. Then I heard the voice and the words that have haunted me in the best way possible ever since.

I don't remember if he announced the name of the song before he started it, but even if I had to wait to the end of the first verse to find out I was hooked. React how you will, but I have always felt an affinity for the devil as a symbol, an allegory, a character. I'm a weirdo, a rebel, a reject, someone who feels even the villain deserves sympathy. I question things others seem to take as givens. I am the king of fire and desire and hell is my aesthetic. Anyway. When I heard that line sung in that voice it was like a personal invitation I couldn't turn down. So here we go.

Pharaoh, my pharaoh, my Bonnie is dead. Who is this Pharaoh and why does our singer answer to them? I didn't know Twin Peaks at the time I first heard the song, but it feels like foreshadowing with just the right combination of confusing spirits and the dear girl's corpse. This Bonnie lies not over the ocean, but in the back seat with sex and death, and which one would be more responsible for that tear in her dress? The Felice Brothers are a mutant strain of Americana, so naturally this fateful evening started at a drive in movie, where Bonnie asked our singer to show her the devil is real. Is he the devil? Is he possessed? Did he do the dirty deed and leave her in his Chevrolet? Is this all just a metaphor, is it fiction or hearsay? Too many questions and not a damn answer to be found, not even on Bonnie's naked body. She's got a birthmark on her arse shaped like a gallows and a cross. Sex and death and God are all here my pharaoh, but who is driving the damn Camaro? And where is it going?

Across the Queensboro bridge, of course, by way of F Scott Fitzgerald. This verse seems anomalous. Talking of the exhilarating journey the brothers have undertaken to peddle their songs across this holy holey land. Howling their way, however, is a more sinister word choice than others, but maybe the wolves are not what they seem.

Patti Smith is one of the most dynamic, transcendent, and evocative performers alive, and her powers may have only grown with age. The Field Marshal still leading the charge of rock n roll against the enemies of care and creativity. She opened with Dancing Barefoot, and the sound was a spiritual experience. She commanded energy and attention from everyone in the room and fed it back to us filtered through her voice. Lenny Kaye is still standing to her left after all this time and being one of the coolest fuckers to ever touch six strings. For the first few songs, she seemed ageless and eternal, repeatedly abusing her mic stand and commanding the attention of everyone in the room, (Free Money was twice as loud and fast as the record, and while Lenny and Tony Shanhan sing more lead vocals than you might expect, her voice hasn't lost any of its strength). Patti then had to interrupt the show to change her socks because they were bunching up in her shoes and making her uncomfortable ("I'm not dancing like this because I'm intoxicated, I have a sock problem!") which probably made this the most unique show I have ever attended and I loved it. It was a very human and relatable moment and Patti even made changing her socks seem artistic. She then followed that up with a positively beautiful rendition of Because the Night that brought a tear or two to my eye.

Partway through, Patti took a break and her band ran through a medley of songs about time including an unexpected but delightful Cher cover from Shanahan before the boss came back for the last half of Time Is On My Side. Patti sounded like the oldest being on Earth for a cover of Dylan's One Too Many Mornings and then got possessed by the Spirit of Fucking Itself (which popped into Lenny for a fiery guitar solo, then returned) for an unbelievably vibrant and sexual performance of Ain't It Strange. Afterwards, a cake was presented and balloons were dropped. Let me tell you. Nothing is as blissful or addictive as batting balloons around! It doesn't matter that I'm an adult surrounded by strangers. The excitement I felt whenever a balloon came close enough to hit was such a strangely tangible expression of joy. A blistering cover of the Chamber Brothers' Time Has Come Today gave way to an impassioned rant in which Patti got so invested in screaming to encourage the crowd to DO SOMETHING and make this bullshit world a better place, weaving lines of poetry in amongst primal yells, that she missed a few cues and the segue into People Have the Power. That gave her a sin to ask penance for "for fucking up the last 14 and a half minutes… but in my defense it was 14 and a half minutes of pure unadulterous joy!" (or did she say adulterous?). Her daughter Jesse joined the band to took up residence at the piano and they gave us a rendition of Gloria to shake heaven and Earth. Jay Dee Dougherty gave us a blistering drumming performance that was just as mind-blowing as it was in 1975 and Patti left us with one of the greatest things I have ever heard a human say in person. "People! A new year is coming! Be righteous! Use your voice!

Was the human heart broken by design?  Were the shattered pieces of the ten commandments the first mosiac?  Is it ok to cut your own hair in the bathroom of a diner?  These questions and more are some of the ones asked, either directly or indirectly, and possibly even answered on the brilliant song "Temple of Broken Dreams" by Ezra Furman which has quickly found its way into a deep compartment of my (assuredly broken from the start) heart, the way her songs tend to do.  (It can share a room with "Point Me Towards the Real" and live across from "Evening Prayer" and "My Teeth Hurt" from the previous perfect album, Twelve Nudes).  

Although I don't travel much and still live 10 minutes from my childhood home, lately I find myself drawn to songs about traveling, new beginnings, liminal spaces.  The feeling of only belonging to places which are not permanent, of only embodying something when nobody is looking straight at you, of only being yourself when you are somewhere in between different incarnations of the self.  The waitress has set a table for me in one of the most comfortable settings imaginable, a diner, possibly on my home island unless she's referring to a different Southhampton.  I have rarely had my hair cut in the last twenty years, but I  often find my reflection wondering if it wouldn't look better if I did so, and I feel like I would be far more likely to spontaneously do so in a diner bathroom I've never been before than at a barber in my town.  

Like Pat the Bunny, maybe god is not the right word but I believe in you.  So substituting postcards to prayer is a beautiful concept to me, raising the life saving connections between people that are so easily put aside or forgotten in the moment to the level of the holy.

I love these songs that translate thoughts I've had but never defined into words.  A collection of the shards that I can save, indeed.  I'm starting to tear up reading the words to the second verse as I type this.  So much of life is this futile battle to defeat life itself, because there is no way to be alive without feeling deep emotional pain and separation but it is through that separation that we find truth.  Or something like that, just go listen to the song!