Shaka Ponk

If this doesn't get you moving, there's something wrong with you.



And they're French!

Paradise, John Prine

The summer ends kind of like it began, with an open-air concert at Château Ste. Michelle. Last night's show was opened by Ani di Franco, which we didn't realize until afterwards. Her name wasn't on the ticket. She was awesome. I hate to say it, but I sort of missed her rise to fame. Let's say it was because I was living in France at the time. That's what I say whenever I learn of a cultural phenomenon known to every American but me.

About John Prine, what can I say that hasn't already been said. As Ani DiFranco noted, John Prine fans come to hear him because they like well-told stories. Every John Prine song is a true story, I'm sure of it. He ranks right up there with Leonard Cohen, which is odd because they are so different in so many ways.

Prine (and his two fine musicians) was so captivating I forgot about the two drunk Asian women sitting next to me, who spent the entire time gabbing and shrieking. One of them looked exactly like Imelda Marcos. Shoes and all. Walt politely asked them to shut it, but this only made them chatter with greater intensity. Finally, she traded places with her friend's husband, such that we were next to the two husbands, who obviously were Prine fans. Why the hell did they drag Imelda and her pal to the concert? Imelda's friend's husband had the annoying habit of reciting (not singing) each line of lyrics after it was sung by Prine. But we got so wrapped up in the music we just ignored him and his echolalia.

For his encore, Prine did Paradise, a song that many people associate with John Denver. It was really sweet the way the crowd spontaneously went up to the stage and sang the chorus along with him. We were right up there too, about a foot away from the guy. We said thank you to him and he said you're welcome.



Oh, and he also did another of his great songs, which he wrote for Bonnie Raitt. Here's Bonnie's version. As one of the youtube commenters said: if you don't fall in love with her just a little then you are soulless and evil.



Ani DiFranco is also a great songwriter. Her best line, as far as I know: "If you're not getting happier as you're getting older then you're fuckin' up".

She ended with a revamped version of Which Side Are You On? When I find a version that has decent sound quality, I'll post it.

One Love

Happy Monday!

Playing For Change | Song Around The World "One Love" from Concord Music Group on Vimeo.

Sweet Gretchen Parlato

One day not too long ago I was driving to my nearest Target and listening to KPLU, Tacoma's NPR affiliate and a station that specializes in jazz. KPLU was playing a recent concert performance by Gretchen Parlato. I listened to her suave voice, which at times sounded more like an instrument, and thought of Camille, my favorite French singer. Camille also does these strange things with her voice, in the great tradition of the African singers. When I heard Gretchen Parlato would be at the Triple Door, I just had to go. For the first time, we went for the dinner credit scheme, which comes with a reserved booth for four.

It turns out that this gets you front-row seating. The only seats closer to the stage are actually at the foot of it, with bar style seating. Those seats were just in front of us, and were occupied by some high school kids who play in the best local high school jazz band. They were enthralled. It was fun to watch them watch. I think they were thrilled to be in such an adult setting (you have to be 17 to get in to the Triple Door).

The subtlety of Gretchen Parlato's performance is something to behold. She sways ever so slightly and hardly opens her mouth as she makes incredibly suave and silky sounds. Those who only like singers who belt out their tunes may be disappointed; she's too cool for that. She's the New Bossa Nova, the Girl From Ipanema singing about the Boy From Ipanema. She's a tiny thing who towers over everything, with well-proportioned, tiny arms and legs. But she has amazingly long fingers, which she uses to play the microphone like an instrument as she sings: sometimes a flute, sometimes a clarinet, sometimes a trombone or sax. She was wearing what looked like a very colorful pillowcase with a black sash around the middle, and very high cream-colored heels. She looked like a six-year old who had gotten into mommy's closet and make-up drawer. There was something very endearing and no-nonsense about her.

She was accompanied by a pianist (Taylor Eigsti, playing a beautiful Steinway grand piano), a drummer/percussionist (the immensely talented Kendrick Scott; I bought his CD too) and bassist Alan Hampton. They were all quietly consommate musicians. Grethchen Parlato's enthusiastic fans include jazz legends Herbie Hancock and Wayne Shorter.

I'm listening to Parlato's latest CD, In a Dream, right now. It features excerpts of her singing at age 2. How sweet is that?

What's Bjork got to do with it?

I just realized who Gretchen reminds me of - Bjork on Gling-Glo, her one-time experiment with pure jazz vocals. She recorded Gling-Glo in 1990, when she was working with her Icelandic college rock band The Sugarcubes. This was before she became a name. She teamed up with the Gudmundar Ingólfssonar Trio on a set of traditional Icelandic jazz tunes. I came across Gling-Glo in 2003, while visiting Iceland. I was in a record store in the unspellable city of Reykjavik when I heard what sounded like Bjork on the sound system. The owner of the shop got all excited when I asked about it, and told me she used to perform at the jazz club right up the street. I could have sworn he also told me that Bjork's father had also been a local jazz performer, but I may have imagined this. Anyway, Gling-Glo is a joyful piece of work, which is why it is hard to believe it's Bjork. She can be a bit gloomy, with wild emotional mood swings. But if you listen to her gloomy and manic bits while in Iceland, they make total sense. Gling-Glo is positively upbeat, though.

Cat Power warms up the crowd for Queen Chrissie

It was one of those perfect summer days yesterday, in Seattle that is. Temperature in the mid-80's, not a cloud in the sky. It stands to reason that it was a perfect night for an outdoor concert; and it was. Our friend Dahli had the terrific idea of buying reserved seats (20 dollars more than general admission at Marymoor and worth every penny), so we had the bizarre, wonderful, slightly strange experience of having Cat Power wander into our row as she wailed and grimaced and communed with inner voices. Cat Power is known for her quirky stage presence. Before she stopped drinking, she was known to wander into the audience and then right out the door. The drunk red-haired woman in the row in front of ours, when she wasn't lap-dancing for her boyfriend, was taking photos. She made me look at every single one and then promised to send all of them to me by email. She added that she was really drunk, which was totally unnecessary because totally obvious. I'm still waiting for those photos, damn it. In the meantime, here's what Cat Power wailing and grabbing her head with her hands and looking forlorn yet mischevious reminded me of: Edvard Munch, The Scream.

Then along came Chrissie Hynde and goddamn that bitch kicks ass. It is hard to believe she is 57 going on 58. I guess that militant vegan lifestyle keeps you lean and mean. She said "fuck" more times in one night than I do in one month. Well, in one week then. And she sang Angel of the Morning, the old Merilee Rush song written by Chip Taylor. Merilee is a Seattle native, and Dahli said she thinks she married some rich old guy and raises horses somewhere on the eastside. Maybe she was in the audience last night.

More on Chrissie later, but here she is. Don't take her photo or she'll stomp on you, chew you up and then spit you out.