Don't Die; Don't Disappear. I Swear to God We Need You Here

I started to write this when Chris Cornell died.  I tried again when Chester Bennington died. Ultimately I realized that I didn't have anything relevant or specific to say about those two gifted but deeply troubled artists that hadn't been more adroitly expressed by others who knew them better. Now again I'm hearing friends express loss about an artist (Scott Hutchison of the Scottish indie band Frightened Rabbit) whom I didn't get the chance to appreciate while they were alive. And I'm realizing these stories are coming out at alarming intervals.

The thing that each of these deaths brought out for me is a sense of threat for a community that I've been blessed to stumble into, probably later in life than most people would think is normal, beginning with a concert in Philadelphia in the summer of 2010.  I attended to see a band called Chamberlain which had reunited briefly after a long hiatus to tour with The Gaslight Anthem. I only knew the latter's radio hits going in, but I came away a fan of both them and pre-opener Tim Barry, and have since been drawn into a community of their fans, a core group of which I have come to know as friends.

I have found myself spending more and more time at shows by a handful of bands whose fans seem to overlap quite a bit. Gaslight and their lead singer Brian Fallon are at the nexus, but I've checked out new bands just based on the t-shirts of the people around me and rarely been disappointed.  Thus I've come to be familiar with the music of The Bouncing Souls, The Menzingers, Hot Water Music, The Loved Ones, Lucero, and others.

This is a little bit of a different experience than following an act like Bruce Springsteen who can sell out Giants Stadium for multiple nights (or a Broadway theater five nights a week for six months).  That is a great atmosphere, but a fairly anonymous one; you only interact for the most part with the people who came with you and maybe the tall guy who keeps blocking your view. The likelihood of seeing them again is pretty much nil.

Rather than stadiums, these gigs tend to be in smaller theaters and even bars. You start to see familiar faces, and become one yourself. I made friends with the tall guy at a subsequent show and he made sure I could see. And in between shows, you can go online and quote lyrics, brag over autographs, answer endless polls, and generally bond with your fellow fans. To my surprise, my age and general awkwardness didn't set me apart

The artists in venues like Crossroads in Garwood, The Saint in Asbury Park, and any of a dozen clubs in downtown NYC are often a few yards away, and some, like Chuck Ragan and Dave Hause, come out and talk to fans before and after.  The up-and-coming acts that open for them frequently staff their own merch tables and carry their own gear in and out, and sometimes look to you for help. Sometimes they stay for a drink or four, and you have the opportunity to actually interact as, if not "friends" exactly, still more than just performer and fan. You might catch a glimmer of recognition in their eyes (it helps if you have something unique like my friend Beth's cool boombox purse) and you exist, if even for just a few seconds, as something beyond the aggregate of ticket sales and chart positions.

Someone asked me, after I mentioned seeing Jared Hart of The Scandals perform live for probably the tenth time, how I can see the same act over and over (particularly if they are fairly new and have a limited catalog from which to build a setlist). I had to think about that, and the truth is that the repetition doesn't bother me. Every show is different, with a different energy and banter, and there is even something comforting in the ritual of hearing your favorites again.

On that note, I had an epiphany during a recent set by Tim Barry, who opened that show in Philly: these shows are, in a sense, a similar experience to church when it's at its best. Whether it's shout-singing the lyrics of your favorites or the chaotic society of the mosh pit, I wondered if the a generation growing up in an increasingly irreligious time finds at these shows some of the community and energy a faith community might have otherwise provided. At a time when the pews have become somewhat of a no-man's land for me, I know I certainly do. While there is little in the way of "preaching" I've been relieved to discover by following them on Twitter and Instagram that I can feel good about being associated with them based on the worldview they put out there.

Thus when these guys share, either through lyrics or between-songs banter, anything that suggests they are struggling, it is unsettling. As much as you think they "get" you, you don't really know what's going on in there, and feel like you can't really help. Fallon in particular keeps a pretty solid barrier between his work and his personal life, probably wisely.  But when you've trusted someone to contribute to the soundtrack of your life, it's hard not to feel at least a little protective in those moments. I won't pretend to understand what drives so many creative people to these dark nights of the soul: maybe it is a heightened perception of this troubled world that seems like too much to bear. And, perhaps selfishly, I worry for the fragile sense of togetherness these fandoms provide.

So even though I've never been in the crowd at an Avicii or Frightened Rabbit show, I mourn with their fans tonight. I can keenly imagine what they're feeling. I never want to hear the news they got this week.

The title of this post is from "I Just Died (Like an Aviator)" by Matthew Ryan, another of my musical finds.  That is my message to the artists, both the ones whose work I love and referenced here, and the ones who are just as important to someone else. We need you here.

In the wake of Bennington's death, Music Minds Matter was launched in the UK. The group offers 24/7 mental health services to not only artists, but anyone involved in the music industry, with a 24-hour helpline. By using this link to listen to Tyni's song "Fighter", fans can contribute to the organization. I pray that any artist who is struggling finds the help they need.

Root, Root Root for the Home Team

Albrecht Dürer (1528), Matthias Grünewald (1528), and Lucas Cranach the Elder (1553) - Religious Artists

Tonight's adventure was a minor-league baseball game between the Newark Bears and the Southern Maryland Blue Crabs, both members of the independent Atlantic Baseball League, at Bears & Eagles Riverfront Stadium in Newark. I had helped a friend try to promote a group outing to the game, but as it panned out it was only four of us. In the meantime, I had one eye on the Stone Pony because the Gaslight Anthem was performing and -- given a certain amount of mutual admiration that's been going back and forth between lead singer Brian Fallon and Bruce Springsteen -- there had been some chatter that the Boss might make an appearance.

Most folks I know do not go to Newark on purpose. It has a bad reputation which is for the most part deserved. However quite a bit has changed in the past few years in the downtown area, which will hopefully continue to boost the circumstances for the people who live in the city.

The first major undertaking was the construction of a massive opera house, the New Jersey Performing Arts Center. A few years later, it was joined by an 18,000-seat arena for the New Jersey Devils NHL franchise. Both facilities bear the logo of Prudential Financial, the largest corporation with operations in the city. Because this is Jersey, of course it couldn't happen without a few deaths, a few accusations of corruption, and a whole lot of upheaval. But the arena is done, the Devils (and -- for now the New Jersey Nets NBA team) and the Seton Hall men's basketball team have taken up residence there, with concerts and other events filling out the schedule.

Here and there, other signs of life are popping up. The McCarter Highway (NJ Route 21) which connects the city to the airport to the south and Route 3 and Passaic to the north, has been repaved with new lights and streetscaping, and former abandoned lots are now bustling new bodegas and furniture stores. Plans for a new hotel, the first to be built in the downtown area in nearly 40 years, were announced in February. And the city's population slide by almost a third since the riots of the 'sixties, has finally reversed.

Now, where were we again? Oh yes, baseball game. The Bears (named after a Yankees farm team who played in the Ironbound section of town from the 'twenties to the late 'forties) are not associated with any major league team, but sport pinstripes perhaps as a nod to that connection. In addition, we initially thought there were two teams sharing the stadium (hence the "Bears and Eagles" but in fact too is a reminder of the past: The Eagles were a team of the National Negro League who shared Ruppert Stadium with the old Bears. The current organization has a nice wall of fame above the grandstand with prominent contributors to both of these teams.

I have to agree with my dad that people who have not given minor league baseball a try are really missing out. For starters, it's an incredible bargain. Arriving at the stadium, we found a parking deck right next door for $5. Tickets to the game are only $10 each, and, sadly, we were able to sit right behind home plate because there were not many people there on this beautiful weeknight. Food and beverage prices were sane, unlike what one pays at major-league venues. The area surrounding the stadium is a business district, quiet at this hour. Outside the gates are the Broad Street train station and the Rutgers business school. From the stands, one can see the Manhattan skyline on a clear day, and to the north, the trains of the Morris & Essex line chug past on elevated tracks. A Hampton Inn hotel and some attractive new townhomes across the Passaic River in Harrison peek over the outfield wall (and -- by the by -- Harrison has it's own professional sports venue now, a 20,000 seat soccer stadium which is home of the New York (ahem) Red Bulls). From Section 105, this certainly didn't feel like a blighted city one should be afraid to visit.

Then there is the simple fact that you are -- because of the scale of the place -- much more connected to the game. Unless one happens to be privileged enough to score seats right down front, the experience at Yankee or Shea stadium is fun but I feel more removed from the action than when watching the game on TV. Here, we could hear the banter between the officials, watch the on-deck batter warm up, and -- in our case -- witness a player interact with regulars who he knows by name. The players seem move between teams more often than in big-league ball; I checked out the history of outfielder Randy Gress, and I won't be having his name put on a jersey anytime soon: he's played for ten teams in three years!

All the regular shenanigans like the seventh-inning stretch, games on the field for the kids, and "YMCA" are faithfully executed to keep the energy up. We were treated to a good game against well-matched teams where the lead passed between them several times, and ended when the Bears' pitcher Manny Mejia hit a two-out two-run homer in the bottom of the 10th. By this time I was listening to the live stream on the team website because a Certain Party's bedtime had come and gone. But he had also enjoyed himself and we all decided could definitely see making this a regular activity.

If you enjoy baseball you owe it to yourself to check out either the Bears or a team in your area. Sharing the Atlantic League with the Bears are the Somerset Patriots and the Camden Riversharks whom my sister and her family cheer on (read her thoughts here), and there's also the Trenton Thunder (affiliated with the Yankees), the New Jersey Jackals based at Montclair State University, among others. It's a great, cheap night out and they could use the support.

God's Been Good to Me

Mary, Martha & Lazarus of Bethany

I begin writing here from a very "good place". Anyone who knows me well is aware that last summer was, for lack of a better expression, a shit show, bookended by the diagnosis and subsequent death of my friend and bandmate Henry from Leukemia, and punctuated in the middle by eye surgery which left me unable to drive, lift weights or read for the better part of a month. Thanks to the generosity of some close friends I was able to get out here and there but for the most part it was an isolating, unhappy time.

Thus there was nowhere to go but up, and -- being a summer person by nature -- I vowed that this year I would make up for it. Unlike George Costanza, I have thus far not been disappointed. In fact, looking back at what's happened so far, I feel as if someone up there has been stacking my deck in my favor.

Case in point, I found out a few months ago that a band I have loved for years, Chamberlain, had signed on to tour with The Gaslight Anthem this summer. Since they live in Indiana, aren't on a major label and broke up in 1998, I had pretty much assumed I would never see them live. Yesterday, I did, and it couldn't have been better. We got great seats, the weather cooperated, and they started out with one of my two favorite songs of theirs, "Try for Thunder" that had helped keep my spirits up when all the aforementioned stuff was going down last year. Also, I found out while writing this that they released a single "Raise it High" which hopefully means they're planning on doing more work together.

None of this should eclipse the fact that they were opening for Gaslight, the main reason most of the audience was there. I have to say that the audience, which was pretty young, was extremely receptive to both Chamberlain and the opening-opener, Tim Barry. Hailing from Richmond, VA and also the once-and-future(?) frontman of a punk band Avail, Barry is unapologetically rough-hewn and commented that he rarely performs anywhere "as nice as this". At one point he got off the stage with his acoustic and climbed partway up the amphitheater where he performed a song unamplified. Just about everybody quieted down so he could be heard, interrupting him only by clapping along at the chorus. He sheepishly thanked everyone for indulging him, calling his stunt "selfish" when in fact the audience seemed to love it.

I won't go on about Gaslight Anthem, both because I'm sure there will be tons of reviews of their show and I don't know their music that well, but they were pretty energetic and connected well with the crowd, who knew every word of every song. If only their teachers could get them to study so hard! Now I want to go see them again at the Stone Pony next week, especially since (Gaslight lead singer) Brian Fallon is a huge Springsteen fan. The Boss appeared at the Pony last Friday night to play a few songs with buddy Alejandro Escovedo, on whose album he appears, so you never know.

Anyway, I'm going to bed feeling very blessed.

"Try for Thunder"
By Chamberlain (written by David Moore & Alex Rubenstein) from the CDs The Moon, My Saddle and Five Year Diary

I haven't smiled in a long time but I've learned how to look impressed,
learned to lose the dreams I had when I was at my best.
When I was a boy on the back lawn, faith, like a gun,
I'd find and be it loaded or not I'd keep it at my side.

This voice inside keeps saying: "congratulations on what you've done,
on all you are and all that you won't become."
But even when it's hard I guess I'm never where I don't belong
and I'll get there by knowning I'd get there all along.

This life to me it's like a try for thunder.
This sky that I'm under it's the best sky for me.

I've learned less from daylight than from night threatening to leave.
All along my voice goes after what my hands cannot reach.
I ran through the fog without you, through the low hard language of rain,
afraid that if I caught what I came for I'd never want it again.

This life to me it's like a try for thunder.
This sky that I'm under it says God's been good to me.

One night in the rain you set me straight.
You said I have everything I need, and for every slow day in the sun there's two storms in between.
Where I am is where you'll find me at the edge of many things,
hands outstretched, doing circles in the rain, grinning like a thief.

This life to me it's like a try for thunder
this sky that I'm under it says God's been good to me.