Great Big Chicago

Part III... THE SHOW!!!

     As is my custom, I will present the notables of the show in bulleted format:

~  The show carried characteristic energy from band and audience, though the onstage banter was somewhat stunted.  Séan seemed to me to be a bit out of sorts – more than once I noticed him staring off into space, and his customary cheeky grins were few and far between.

~  Alan’s first comment concerned the awesome history of the House of Blues Chicago.  His mention of the Blues Brothers sent Séan into blues mode, and he offered us minute renditions of “Flip Flop & Fly” and “Soul Man” before Alan introduced the next song.  He began by pointing out that, “In Newfoundland, our horses are dead before the song even starts… and I’m just now realizing this!”  Séan responded with, “Flip flop fly… I think my horse just died…”

~  Just before sending us into intermission with “Lukey,” Alan boasted that the show up to this point had been nothing more than an opener.  “How was that for an opening act?” he asked us.   “How was that for an appetizer?  How was that for foreplay?”

~  Alan let us know a few songs into the second set that his application for popedom had been rejected.  Since Brit handed him his electric guitar, I assumed this was a precursor to some song that might explain why he was rejected, for example because he’d sold his soul to the devil in exchange for a lifetime of rock ‘n’ roll. Rather, it appeared he was interested in the Pope’s position more for the power than the religion, because he assured us that the world will sing when he is king. 

~  Alan, Bob, and Séan were all wearing black, but Kris and Murray had not received the memo and were both looking slightly less stylish in red/orange plaid shirts.

~  I didn’t get to see much of Chicago due to my short stay, and even less due to the booger-freezingly cold weather, so I did not know that “the best thing about Chicago is that the pubs stay open all night.”

~  Séan thanked the United States for their enthusiastic embrace of St. Patrick’s Day, suggesting that it would have been relegated to a minor holiday by now if the Americans had not insisted on being such passionate celebrants.  He then thanked the United States for American girls, whom he likes so much that he married one.

~  It seems that Bob was not actually at the show but was joining us via hologram.  He was in fact relaxing on a deck chair in Palm Beach or something, sipping a fancy tropical drink.  Fine by me; after my dream the previous night, I was just glad he was still alive.

~  Speaking of Bob, he seemed less than thrilled with my panty-flinging shenanigans.  I actually was as well; I ought to have practiced a bit more in the hotel room, and I may have learned that the flinging release that had worked so well with the last thong I used would not be as efficient for the less-than-aerodynamic-yet-magnificently-colored briefs I had chosen this time around.  They did, however, remain onstage until the last encore, at which point a stealthy stagehand snatched them up in the process of gathering up Bob’s menagerie of instruments.  Even though I was paying attention this time, I still did not actually see it happen. Sneaky stagehands.

~  I have the beginnings an idea for the next show, having met so many audience members this time around that would surely have helped me out.  The idea is as follows: Purchase perhaps six or seven pairs of panties, find cohorts in the audience willing to throw them, and have a small, unexpected shower of panties rain upon Bob.  He would be EXCESSIVELY unamused.

~  “Whataya At?” from the band’s debut CD, was apparently used in a commercial for some manner of toll-free phone service in Newfoundland in 1993 or 4, and we had the pleasure of watching said commercial on the screen behind the band before the b’ys launched into the song.  Alan said he loved the commercial despite its cheesiness because it had suggested to people that they were globe-trotting superstars when in fact the globe that they were trotting at the time consisted of almost the entire southeastern coast of Newfoundland.

~  Disappointingly, Alan informed us that all Great Big Sea shows are actually lip-synched, and proved it to us by pointing out that, “Nobody could bust these wicked dance moves and still have breath to sing.”

~   The band’s first time playing at the HOB Chicago was either 18 years ago or 75 years ago, and they were the first of three opening acts for an artist whose name I do not recall. However, this artist didn’t actually know they were opening for him.  In fact, no one did – apparently they snuck in, set their gear up onstage and were such an opening opening act that they literally played before the doors opened and as folks were coming in.

Marley and Tosh are not the only two dogs in the McCann household.  According to Alan’s introduction to Sean during “The Old Black Rum,” he actually owns “about a thousand Beagles.”

During Bob’s spotlight, Alan introduced him by saying that he “plays the everything.”

Set list!

Ordinary Day

Captain Kidd

Billy Peddle

Heart of Hearts

Jack Hinks

England

Flip Flop Fly Diamond and Soul Man (Sean)

Charlie Horse

Whataya At?

River Driver

Ferryland Sealer

When I’m Up

Yankee Sailor

Come and I Will Sing You

Lukey

INTERMISSION

Let My Love Open the Door

Love me Tonight

The Night Pat Murphy Died

When I am King

General Taylor

The Scolding Wife

Sea of No Cares

Good People

Helmethead (har har)

Consequence Free

Mari Mac

Run Runaway

Live This Life

Old Black Rum

Wave Over Wave

     And now for the post-show excitement, which is the reason the actual show had to exist in its own separate blog.

     Kim stopped on our way out of the House of Blues proper to chat with GBS’s sound guy (she knows freakin’ EVERYBODY,) then we parted ways so she could head back to the Foundation Room and I could find the swag table.  The Chicago’s House is much more complicated than Cleveland’s, with several floors and balconies and hallway thingies, and the merch table was situated next to coat check in what may have been the front of the venue but felt like the back.  A random guy stopped to high-five me, presumably because of my shirt, and we had an odd exchange that I can’t remember the details of.  But I’m pretty sure his drunk girlfriend thought I was into her or something, because she was quite tall and her Sisters were right as my nose height as I shoved through the crowd and I heard her make a slurry and suggestive noise as I passed.

     I got a pin (in case you didn’t know, I have found myself to be a pin collector, and this one now has a position of prestige on the front of my bodhrán case,) a keychain (because I don’t have enough, I guess,) and a signed poster (which, upon boarding the bus home, I discovered I had left in the hotel room – Kim assures me that “this is easily fixed,” so I am not FREAKING OUT TOO MUCH, I SWEAR.)  The swag guy over-charged me by $5, a realization that sunk in about 15 minutes later but at the time only glanced off my brain through the predictable post-concert fog.  I suppose that I can’t complain, having been ever-so-graciously hosted by Kim during my stay and knowing that the money goes to a worthy cause – the cause of letting Alan buy an extra round at the Boulder shows.

     Back in the Foundation Room I immediately ordered myself an ice water, grateful to have a bar so close and convenient after an evening of screaming and standing and dancing.  I sat for what must have been around half an hour, occasionally engaging in conversation but generally getting sleepy and feeling uncomfortable in a crowd that was significantly larger than it had been earlier in the day.  I kept wondering what on earth I was doing there, since I always feel so very out of place in crowds and in this case felt the need to cling to Kim or, in her absence, my bar stool.

     I also spent some time in front of the fireplace, having gotten chilly but not yet resigning myself to cover up my I♥BOB shirt with my White & Nerdy hoodie (and it was in fact a very romantic-ish fireplace.)  At some point after that period of waiting and being sleepy and wondering if I should turn in, I noticed that the crowd had become slightly more jovial, and when I turned around I was not exactly surprised to see Alan floating around in a sea of people.

    I was slightly embarrassed (well, maybe embarrassed is the wrong word) when I heard Kim say to Alan, “Could you turn around and say hello to my friend Sarah?”  My first thought was, “Ha, Dad!  Alan Doyle shook MY hand!” and my second was, “He was right, Alan does have big hands.”  My third was something about how socially awkward I am that Kim had to get Alan’s attention for me, and how in the heat of the moment I had no idea whatsoever what to say to Alan Doyle once I was face-to-face with him.

     Alan wandered around meeting and greeting, as is his spotlight-loving custom, and perhaps 10 minutes later (time almost has no meaning, in the Foundation Room) I noticed him posing for pictures.  Naturally I followed my instinct, fetching my camera and inching closer until such a time as I could catch his eye.  This involved waiting patiently while two or three deeply inebriated individuals staggered up to him to tell how much they loved him and ask for an autograph.

     “Hi,” I said as casually as was possible under the circumstances, “I was wondering if I could get a picture.”

     He gave me his best charming game face and replied, “Sure, but you have to be in it too.” (As if that wasn’t the idea already.)  Kim was nearby and more than willing to manhandle my camera for me.  She snapped two pictures while I stood for twenty or so blissful seconds with my arm around Alan’s waist.  This picture shall of course become my Twitter avatar, and possibly my phone wallpaper, as soon as it becomes feasible.

     Alan did not comment on my shirt, nor did he mention my panty-flinging shenanigans.  I wanted to ask him what Bob really thought of them, but part of me was certain that if he were to be honest with me, I might not like the answer.  Instead I told him how much I enjoyed reading his journal entries on greatbigsea.com about the time he spent in England training for and filming Robin Hood with Russell Crowe, remembering the jealousy and wonder with which I read of his experiences being trained in theatrical swordfighting, archery, horseback riding, and such.  I had been wondering if the barn I had seen a dream-job posting for, located in Warwickshire, England, was the same barn that had provided the horses and the training for the actors in the movie (they list Robin Hood among their movie credits, but do not specify which incarnation of the story they were involved with.

(NOTE Dad later made the following comment: “You have two songs about horses and you don’t know anything about them?  It’s a wonder you ever got Kit out of Tickle Cove Pond!”  Hahaha.  You so funny, Daddy.)

     I found myself noticing that despite the very close proximity and excessive talking (and the fact that he had a beer in his hand and the very logical assumption that it was not his first of the night) I detected no alcohol on his breath.  In fact, I noticed no untoward scent at all, which I found fascinating.  A bizarre thought flashed across my mind and disappeared as quickly – if Alan Doyle does not become King of the World, he at least has a very real shot at some kind of dental hygiene award.

     I think what excited me the most about this encounter was that for what could have been ten minutes of my life, I had Alan’s undivided attention.  There were dozens of people in that room with us, and he made his rounds as a generous star does, but for those minutes I was a fan, and he was a musician, and he was choosing to talk to me when he could have been with any number of other people.  And not once did he make me feel like I was taking up his time or badgering him unnecessarily (I’m looking at you, Steve Twigger.)  Plus, you know, he hugged me.  J

     Sometime after this moment of Awesome I noticed that Kris had wandered into the Foundation Room.  Brit had parted ways with Kim several minutes earlier, citing bus pull (when the bus is supposed to leave the venue for either the hotel or the next city,) which was supposed to be at 1am.  It was ten minutes past when Kris appeared, apparently having been sent to fetch Alan, who went on cheerily disregarding the face that they were supposed to have left already and was still hob-nobbing with the fans.  Even after my close encounter with sweetheart Alan, I found I had little to no power of social interaction with regard to anyone else, and so Kris went ungreeted by me.  People were filtering out, and I was getting quite sleepy, so I told Kim I was turning in and found my way out of the venue with an absolute minimum amount of getting lost.    

     There is nothing exciting to report from here on out.  I got dressed for bed and snuggled myself under the plush hotel comforter with the customary after-concert bedfellows – a stale headache, ringing ears, a jumping heart, and an overactive mind.  Kim came in just a few minutes after I lay down.  When I heard her cross to her suitcase I rolled over in bed.

“Alan hugged me,” I told her.

She laughed.

♥

SM

Great Big Chicago
Part II - Days 1 and 2
"Gettin' Ready for da Show..."

     I think my body didn’t mind getting out of bed this morning at 6:30 because it was under the impression that it was actually 7:30.  My body is always surprised by time zone changes and is a little slow at catching up.  I wasn’t about to remind it of the one-hour time change, however, because I went into work with Kim this morning and due to rush hour traffic we had to leave by quarter til 7.

     Getting to sleep had been surprisingly easy, given my body’s customary resistance to sleeping in unusual places, but waking up this morning was actually a blessing.  Waking up saved me from playing out a dream that was not entirely pleasant.  I dreamed that I was in Chicago with Kim and we were going to a Great Big Sea concert… but that Bob wouldn’t be attending inasmuch as he was dead.  He’d died in a car accident several months ago (I wonder if this is some remnant of The Lathe of Heaven working on my psyche,) and for some reason I either didn’t know this or was in denial.  I think that I was confused because Dream Sarah and Real Sarah had conflicting memories of Bob’s whereabouts for the past several months, and I was positive that Bob had been with the band just the other day, according to his Twitter feed. 

     Not cool, psyche. Not cool.

     Much of the time I spent in Kim’s office was devoted to finishing up yesterday’s blog post and figuring out bus times for the Cleveland RTA system for when I get back to Ohio tomorrow.  The latter involved unsuccessfully trying to reassure my mother, who clearly feels that I cannot function on my own because I tend to figure things out as I go and never plan far enough ahead for her liking.  Yes, I probably should have worked out a rock-solid plan for getting home upon my return to Cleveland BEFORE today, but I also have resources at my disposal to make sure it gets done.  I don’t always do things the way she wants me to, and I haven’t killed myself through planning-related negligence yet.  In fact, if I DID do everything the way she would, I would never have been to a concert in Cleveland or studied abroad or met Michael or driven to Maryland by myself, and I certainly would not have accepted Kim’s offer to give me the coolest birthday celebration EVER.  I know you’re not reading this, but Mom: Not everything on the other side of our front door is plotting to kill me, and I wouldn’t have survived to 26 if you and Dad had not instilled some common sense in me.  You might be worrying because you care, but from this side it really looks like you’re worrying because you don’t trust me to do anything without you.

     *deep breath*

     Kim took a route along Lake Michigan to show me Chicago’s most posh beach and its skyline from a great photo-taking vantage before we headed to the hotel.  It was at this point that I made the comment that it was “booger-freezing cold” outside, which Kim thought was funny enough to immediately put on Twitter.

     The Hotel Sax is quite literally within spitting distance of the House of Blues.  The front doors were so close together that you could hold your breath, walk out the Sax’s front door, and not even need to inhale when you got into the HOB.  Rising astoundingly over the HOB are the Marina Towers, which somewhat obscured the view out our hotel window.  The famed House of Blues Chicago itself is actually not much to look at.  It’s a sort of squat, grey, nondescript, saddle-shaped thing wedged between the Marina Towers and the Hotel Sax.  The interior, of course, is generously and elegantly architected, and is beautiful and complex and labyrinthine for the uninitiated first-time visitor, but looking at it from the outside, you would never know it.  Dave Barry might call it a turd of a building.

     I relished a shower, having skipped the day before, and went for a short jaunt to the Subway on the other side of the HOB (an EXTREMELY convenient one, from my perspective – there have been many times I’ve wished there was a Subway near the HOB Cleveland, and there’s one right frickin’ next to the HOB Chicago) to get something small to tide me over til dinner.  I then thought I’d go for a brief walk to explore the area, but I got as far as the Chicago Riverwalk before the cold drove me back to the hotel.  I learned later that there is a Dick’s Last Resort like, right underneath of the Marina Towers, right underneath of the Subway I walked into, and below that is a place to park your boat, if you are a river-going boat owner.  The Chicago River, by the way, was still very green, Kim tells me, from the St. Patrick’s Day festivities that took place just a few days ago.  I also took a picture from the foot of one of the Marina Towers looking up.  Basically it looks like a huge scalloped concrete thing, and if you look close at my picture you can see a railing on each and every scallop.

     Kim had not succeeded in napping, so when I returned to the hotel she got dressed and we met Murray (and by Murray I of course mean Murray Foster) at the House of Blues so she could deliver her Irish Car Bomb cupcakes to him.  I was again astounded by her relatively intimate association with the band, as I stood there awkwardly but buzzing with excitement while she chatted with Murray.  I got a handshake and a friendly hello, and he introduced himself to me as if I didn’t already know who he was.  He’s shorter in person.

      We then returned to the hotel, where I ate my allotted cupcake.  In case you are curious, it was a legit tastegasm explosion.  My sister might say it’s what “sex with a cupcake” would be like.  Our less tasty reason for returning to the hotel was to wait for Kim’s friends Jen and Kevin, who arrived not long after.  Jen was in the throes of a sinus infection, which put only a slight damper on her mood.  She was, after all, preparing to attend a Great Big Sea concert at the iconic House of Blues Chicago with pretty much the coolest people in town.  Kim also got a call from her sister (also named Jenny – it just about made me wish I could have brought my own Jennie with me to Chicago) to update her on her progress through the traffic-choked Chicago streets.

     The plan was to eat at the House of Blues restaurant before the show and do Pass the Line to get into the venue first, but when we got to the venue we were informed that the restaurant had been booked for a private party and would not be available tonight.  Kim was something south of livid, until they also informed us – after ten or fifteen minutes of sitting around the House of Blues lobby trying to decide where to eat and what to do or who to talk to that could rectify the situation – that Foundation Room access also came with Pass the Line privileges.  In light of this new information, and assured that we could get from the Foundation Room (which did not open until 5pm) to the House of Blues Proper before the lame people who would be waiting outside, we went around the corner to Bar Louie instead.

     I ordered the Trio Dips & Chips, but ended up mostly eating the guacamole dip.  The salsa was okay, but the queso dip was entirely too spicy and nacho cheesy for my tastes.  Kim told a story about how she learned that Bailey’s Irish Cream needed to be refrigerated, which I thought was hilarious, since it’s a milk-based beverage.  I did, however, relate my experience with it in Scotland, when I bought a bottle but kept it in the cabinet of my desk because I didn’t trust my flatmate and her friends to not drink it.  I did not refrigerate it, and it didn’t go bad, but then, it wasn’t sitting in there for months.  Then there was some adventure of which I did not get the details and on which Kim later refused to elaborate.  In my notes the only thing I have written is, “That’s when Kathy came up and shoved her tongue…”

     Not long after we ordered, a man walked in the door that made my dining companions quite excited.  Kim hugged him and he sat down with us, and I gleaned from their conversation that he was intimately associated with the band.  In fact, I learned, his name is Brit and he’s the head of their road crew.  He stuck around for at least 10 minutes just chatting with Kim like they were old friends.

     The Foundation Room was pretty awesome.  Like, really really awesome.  There were little nook everywhere to sit in, and a long bar that faced a fireplace.  The lighting was low, as is the custom at the House of Blues, and decorated with warm wood tones and vintage patterned rugs.  Off to the left immediately upon entering, there is a tiny room separated from the rest of the place by a curtain that really just invites you to peek through.  If you do, you will see a very intimate lounge lined on both sides by couches separated by a long coffee table, and at the end a gold statue of Buddha sits in an alcove contemplating inner peace.  There was no one in this lounge, which meant that either the crowds had not yet filtered in, or it was by reservation only.

     We found an empty table that required some squishing to fit most of us in, and passed the time talking of the band and our related exploits (Kim has been to roughly 100 Great Big Sea concerts, Kevin roughly 83.)  I related my panty-throwing expertise (or lack thereof) and the time at my first show when I lost my wallet at the Southern Theater in Columbus.  We also discussed the inside jokes of the OKP (the Online Kitchen Party, Great Big Sea’s official message board) and its primary drama-causing agents, something I stay away from on the OKP as avidly as I do in life.  At one point we were approached by a woman, much to the chagrin of Kim and Jen, who shall remain nameless but who is known around the OKP for being one of those monster-rabid superfans who routinely go way too far in their desire to interact with their idols.  She is of the “Well, in my defense, you made it really easy to figure out where you live” persuasion, just south of “permanent restraining order from the band.”  She was already somewhat inebriated by the time she got to us, and I wondered just how much she would be able to enjoy the music and the band by the time the show finally started.  She tried to talk to me, affecting an intimate interest in my life and goings-on, which is weird coming from a person that you only know about through an online community and don’t really talk to even then.  It did, however, make me feel like I was at least somewhat infamous around the OKP, which was kind of cool.

     I kept looking at the time, getting anxious with each passing minute about being first in line to get to the stage once they started letting us in.  When it was finally time, I was annoyed to discover that they had started letting people in from outside before we had been informed that we were cleared to enter the venue.  I still managed to get a sort-of-second-row spot after wedging myself in between a despondent-looking teenage boy and a middle-aged blonde woman with a braying laugh.  And then, as it always happens at the House of Blues regardless of city, the waiting began.  Behind me were two girls who struck up a conversation when they noticed my Weird Al Yankovic hoodie.  I chatted with them for most of the time that we waited (they were thoroughly entertained by my promise to throw underwear at Bob whenever he happened to do a solo.  They introduced themselves as Nathaniel and Supa-fly (allusions to the Weird Al song “Albuquerque”) and one took to showing me her tattoos.  When I asked her the names of the koi fish and the dragon, she said that she had never thought to name them (can you imagine?) and then came up with the names Kelly, Bob, Sheela, and Priscilla for the four figures on her arms.

     Kim, Jen, Jenny, etc. were not as interested in being squished as close to the stage as possible, and left me to my own devices as they hung back and opted for a spot on the floor that offered more elbow room.  So when the show started, we were somewhat separated.  I do regret it some, that I experienced the show more or less on my own rather than in the company of those I had come with, but I still had a rollicking good time.

♥

SM

Taking The Walk With Hanson
or: How I Got My Foot Blisters

It was an odd thing, to wake up on the morning of a Hanson show and think “I’m going to a Walk with Hanson today!” and not “HANSON SHOW TONIGHT!!! *squeeeeeeallllll!!!!!”. But I told myself, even back when I first saw the tour dates, that I may not go to it. The last show I went to drove home how difficult it is to go to a Hanson show anymore. Jennie and I were on our feet for hours without reprieve, and during that time I developed pronounced pain in my feet, knees, back, neck and head, more than at any show previous. The House is almost unbearably dry, perhaps to encourage the purchase of over-priced beverages, and hot and claustrophobic when crowded with Fansons (this is not so bad at a Great Big Sea show). Finally, while I adore the publicity-spreading-for-relatively-unknown-bands idea behind the boys’ opening acts, after standing for several hours already in a hot, dry, crowded room, every single time I find myself wishing sudden death on anything and anyone that stands between the Hanson brothers and the stage.
At first my plan was to become intentionally ignorant of the date of the show, to lessen the odds that I would be bouncing off the walls in anxiety, like a dog watching a meat truck drive by, when the big day came. Later on, however, after I determined definitely that I wouldn’t be going, and came to terms with it as much as could be expected, I realized that I could just go to The Walk before the show, then hit up the swag table, without actually going to the show itself. This was also an extremely unusual feeling, one that permeated my thoughts throughout the day described herein.
I logged onto hanson.net in the morning to make absolutely sure the time of The Walk hadn’t been changed (I didn’t want a repeat of last year!) and found that not only was it still scheduled for 5, but that my boys were set to do a morning show spot on the Robin Swoboda Show at 10am. I checked my cell and saw that the time was 10:32 am. I tuned in just in time to see David Moss making pulled pork for a Midwest-themed meal in honor of the band, and, to my amusement, heard the boys making noises off-camera in response to the food (seriously, they way they eat they should each weigh at least 300 pounds). They may have done three songs, but I only caught two after I tuned in. They did “Waiting For This” and “Carry You There” while I kept my thumb poised over the rewind button (how did I ever live without DVR?!?!). I found myself disappointed that there weren’t more fans in the audience to do the “Shout it out!” refrain.
I left early to check out the Oberlin College bookstore, planning to ask someone there if they hire non-residents so that I know whether or not I have a shot at getting a second job there when I go back home for winter break. The campus is so spread out, city street-wise, that I got easily confused. By the time I'd found what could have been the admissions building, I’d already had plenty of time to chicken out.
Not wanting to go back home and face the screaming children that now dwell in my house, I headed for North Ridgeville and got to Kristin’s early.
We took the spare time to stop at Half-Price Books. Even though I knew better, I let myself fancy that I wasn’t a poor college student who shouldn’t be buying things she doesn’t need. Although I exercised great restraint in the area of Purchasing Books About the Science Behind Jurassic Park, I did come away with a hardcover copy of “Letters to Jenny” by Piers Anthony and Rush Hour 2 on DVD. I know, all you people out there who know me are probably wondering how I lived for so long without having that movie on DVD. I do have it on VHS, mind you. I was just slow in upgrading, and also had a surprising amount of trouble finding it.

When we got to the venue there was a small crowd gathered. We walked several hundred feet past them until we came to a point where I feared we would be solicited by strangers if we went any further. So we changed course and wandered down the East 4th St. alley where the entrance to the House of Blues Restaurant is. On the corner at the opposite end of the street is Flannery’s Pub (where Gaelic Storm had their after-party last March). We stopped in to use their bathroom, which smelled quite ripe despite the “19 Action News Clean Plate Award” declaration stickered to the door at the entrance. I noticed immediately that I had never seen the pub so empty – there were perhaps 8 or 9 people there. Also, the place looked smaller when empty – it had taken me more than ten minutes to weasel my way up to the bar to get a glass of water after the Great Big Sea show two years ago.
After satisfying our bladders we moseyed back to the front of the House shortly before someone called for all Walkers to register before The Walk (last time I walked we did it after). I explained the process to Kristin, who throughout the day had many questions about the event (“Oh, we are taking off our shoes? Why is that?”) and the cause. Some of her questions, such as the aforementioned one, I knew Taylor would answer in all his megaphone-d glory once things got underway.
The boys came out at 5:14 pm – which is about 4:55 or so Hanson Time, so I suppose they were early by their own standards of punctuality – to a roaring and quickly congealing crowd. They were dressed exactly as I had seen them that morning – Taylor was in a yellow plaid flannel shirt with that ugly little orange-ish hat that he likes to wear:

Isaac was in the ever-present white dress shirt and dressy pants:


and Zac was wearing a leather jacket over a t-shirt with thick slate-colored stripes. How he did not overheat in that thing, I have no clue:


Kristin was most excited because it would be the closest she’d ever been to a celebrity. As The Walk got underway and we floated into a position behind Isaac, she was all but giddy.
I overheard a few interesting things as we were walking, but I was not taking notes because I have a severe overabundance of faith in my memory. The only one I can remember for certain is as follows: as we were making our way down East 4th, I heard a girl behind me say, “Look at those guys! They’re probably thinking, ‘Who are all those girls following? And more importantly, how can I get them to follow me like that?’” A dozen clever answers were swimming around in my head, but none of them came to fruition so I just kept my mouth shut and smiled to myself.
Isaac was given a megaphone this time, so he and Taylor each had one, and Zac relied on his ability to project should he need to say something. At the halfway point Taylor said something about being yelled at by a crazy guy with a megaphone, mentioning that Zac is usually the crazy guy yelling at him with a megaphone. Zac declared, in a loud voice, that he didn’t need one.
We walked with each brother in turn, surprisingly, as last time I pretty much kept close rank with Isaac for the whole Walk. Sometime before the halfway point, Isaac managed to sneak ahead while Taylor appeared somewhere behind us, by some wonderful Hanson-related magic.


After the halfway point we managed (where I took a video of Taylor speaking to the gathering), to my surprise, to find ourselves relatively close to Zac, although not nearly so close as we managed with his older brothers.

Note that he is posing for a picture with a fan in this picture. I saw all three of them doing this, which should have bolstered my confidence, even though they were strict about not posing for photos the last time I walked with them.
When Zac was propelled too far forward for us to have a hope of claiming we were walking “near” him, Isaac appeared, again as if by magic, about 20 feet behind us. I slowed my walking a bit (my prerogative) and actually found myself the courage to do some of that backwards-walking-picture-taking.
You can't see it in the pic because I cropped him out out of irritation, but there was a guy in the original shot with a camera in Isaac’s face. He took up space in front of all three of them at one time or another. I don’t know where he was from, but he was extremely skilled at walking backward… and was making it difficult for the rest of us to get good shots.
The terrain we navigated, shoelessly, was old hat to the boys, who traversed it all nonchalantly. In places in direct sunlight it was hot enough to be painful, but during his midway speech, Taylor told us, “I heard someone complaining, ‘It’s too hot here!’ and let me tell you this: You know nothing of heat until you’ve Walked in 100+ degree weather…” Also, though this has nothing to do with the walking conditions, he praised the fans for the efforts that have been made in the past three years to host our own Walks that the band was not involved in. They have apparently been taking place all over the world, from Chicago to London to Sydney to Tokyo, and according to hanson.net, band and Fansons have, as of the writing of this blog, walked over 36,000 miles collectively.
Besides the really hot places, we walked over asphalt, concrete, brick, stone, and these REALLY painful grates that most of us hopped over or skirted around. I made a point to watch Isaac’s reaction to one of these obstacles. Surprisingly (or not, because I’d half expected it), he walked over it like it wasn’t even there.
As for my own pain…
I noticed a sharpish pain in both my heels before we ever reached the halfway point, and recognized the local as the place on my heel where most of the pressure is concentrated when I take a step (indeed, if you were to examine the wear on any pair of shoes I own, you would notice that the heel is worn in a decidedly lop-sided manner). It wasn’t until we got back to the House that I suspected that there were actual blisters down there – when I felt like I had something stuck there but couldn’t find the culpable irritant, then when I took a step and it actually felt like there was some fluid being pushed around in there. Gah.
I can’t imagine how painful it must have been for them the first several days or weeks of the campaign, getting used to what must have been constant pain (in addition to blisters, I’ve noticed a fierce soreness in my calf muscles from walking without the support of shoes). Also, as I will mention later, their feet must have been constantly dirty, because let me tell ya – my feet are still not completely clean.
The doors were scheduled to open at 6, but at that time we were just finishing up – when I looked at my phone for the time and saw it was exactly 6, Taylor was still addressing the crowd outside the HOB.
Kristin and I waited about 10 minutes (remember, I wanted to hit the swag table), but by quarter after 6 they still hadn’t opened the doors. I was exceedingly hungry, having skipped a trip to Subway in hopes of finding a cheapish place near the HOB. Ha. Ha ha ha.
I realized that I didn’t have to get in as soon as they opened the doors. The table would be available all night until the show was over – another oddity about not going to the show itself. I realize that these may sound like obvious things to the average layreader, but they are novel ideas to me. I don’t HAVE to get into the venue as soon as they open the doors! Imagine that!
Thus reassured that nothing would be lost by it, we walked over (well, she walked; I sort of minced, due to my blisters) to the Corner Alley, a great bowling alley/bar/lounge right on the corner of Euclid and E 4th St. It is a wonderful place – open to anyone who wants to come it and hang out, yet it has a very clean and classy feel to it. The hostess and the bartenders were very friendly (it’s the same place I stopped at for water with Jennie after last year’s show). We saw a few people that we recognized from The Walk, and some that we didn’t but whom we recognized as Hanson fans by the I heart ISAAC and I heart ZAC shirts they were wearing. I almost asked them why they weren’t going to the show but I decided against it for whatever reason. Was probably mostly social phobia, but they also seemed a bit standoffish to me.
We were in time to take advantage of the happy hour specials, and though I had intended to go in for water and then find somewhere closer to home to eat, we ended up ordering a $5 pizza with red and green peppers. It was quite good, but could not TOUCH a Lu’s pizza for deliciousness. Kristin also ordered a triple chocolate mousse-type thing, which was more delicious than I expected it to be, since it’s surprisingly easy for me to become over-chocolated in the area of dessert dishes (we are exact opposites in this respect!).
Upon leaving the Corner Alley, which I am now shamelessly plugging for its great atmosphere and service, we got back to the venue before 7:30. I was exceedingly disappointed to find that the shirt I’d wanted was not available --> http://www.hanson.net/site/sections/337 (If you’re a fan, you’ll get what this shirt is about. If you’re not, go here --> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QswJz6IDAPg&feature=channel and here--> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_FRtQr9PDus for more information.)
I commend the woman working the swag table (and Kristin, for that matter) for putting up with my customary indecision, and for generally being fun and friendly in the face of it. Faced with an inability to buy a REFRESH t-shirt, I (eventually) bought an “I <3>So there I sat, having washed my feet (3 times) in the tub and rubbed them with some Aloe Vera-infused lotion, with the light off and Cindy trying to sleep, steaming about how after months of looking forward to this day only to have it all rendered pointless by two of the people who are supposed to be my biggest supporters.

*sigh*

I suppose that’s a bit of a negative note on which to end a blog.

I LOVE HANSON!!!!!

MY BIRTHDAY PARTY AT THE HOOLEY HOUSE – MENTOR, OHIO

MARCH 13th, 2010

So my birthday is tomorrow (March 18th), and I had been looking forward all year to having my party at the Hooley House (Brigid’s Cross’s new home in Mentor). Last year, immediately following the grand opening of the Hooley House, Brigid’s Cross played a St. Patrick’s Day concert there. The following evening (my birfday) they did what they called the Survivor Party (an extra excuse to drag out the festivities) named so because it would only be attended by St. Patty’s Day “survivors” – those that are not too hungover from the night before to go out again.
Last year I attended the Survivor Party – front row and center – with Kendra. It was the only thing I actually did for my birthday last year, and really the only thing I’d done in two years (I will not mention the depressing day that I turned twenty-one, when my stepfather had refused to talk to me for two weeks, let alone acknowledge my birthday, and I was stuck at home with him all evening). I was looking forward to doing it the Survivor Party again, but when I talked to Paul on St. Practice Day last month, he told me that they wouldn’t be having one, as he and Peggy have to leave for Florida early Thursday morning. They did, however, mention during that show that they would be throwing an anniversary party for the Hooley House the Saturday before, and that was my signal to scoot and shuffle my birthday plans to accommodate.
So at 7:36 pm on Saturday night (some friends were more punctual than others) we gathered on the first floor of Andrew’s Hall. I felt extra special being the one for whom the crowd was gathered in our dorm lobby, as it has become custom for us to gather in a lobby before going out to dinner together. Brittanie and Tiffanie made an awesome picture for my door whereon they drew a hand doing the Vulcan salute, then added the all-important phrase “Live Long and Prosper” in a lovely styled calligraphy. Upon close inspection, you can tell that it was drawn by hand, but at first glance it appears to have been printed out. Stellar-ness.
Kendra, Jennie, Nikki, Claire, Courtney, Becky, Nicole, Brittanie and Tiffanie and I set out in the rain at roughly five minutes to 8 to make the short trip to Mentor.
I became extremely nervous and uncomfortable when we got to the pub an hour and a half early to find that there were no tables available. I had contemplated calling ahead, but felt stunted by the phone call I had made last year to reserve a table for myself and my dad, only to discover that tables could not be reserved on concert evenings. However, the hostess informed us that we could have called ahead, leading me to conjecture that either I had spoken with an uninformed employee before, or the policy had changed. Also, it led me to feel stupid and incompetent.
Anywho, the hostess told us that it would be an hour wait (was more like half an hour, bless her), which is what made me feel all twitchy inside, plus we would have to sit in two separate booths until a table became available. I had a real and serious fear that my great evening out was going to flop. Jennie, however, lent an important hand by scouting a good location for us to wait, at the back of the bar where it was breezy and somewhat quiet-ish and we were more or less out of the flow of traffic. Here we were free to chat and take photos and, in Nicole’s case, glue our eyes to whatever sportscast happened to be playing over the bar. She must have been gleefully over stimulated by the excess of TV screens. Way to go, Hooley House! You know how to treat a lady!
After our wait, we were fetched by the hostess and relocated in two adjacent booths near the door, with a clear and close if somewhat sidelong view of the stage. I was actually rather pleased with the outcome of the seating arrangement – we were given two extra chairs to accommodate the extra people (we had ten), and I was able to sit at the end of one table and flit back and forth to socialize as I pleased. I returned the pager to the hostess and thanked her, letting her know that we were content with the booths and would not require a table.
I wrote several requests down on a napkin for myself, Claire and Kendra (and Nicole, who wanted to hear “The Devil Went Down to Georgia” but was for some reason embarrassed to have her name written on the napkin). I wanted to hear “Twelve” – but then, when do I NOT want to hear it? – as a birthday request, and “Lisdon Varne”; Claire voted for “Drunken Sailor”, her favorite Irish pub song; and Kendra opted for “The Dance” to satisfy her country side. I made sure to mention that “Devil” needed to get in there before 10pm, because that was the time Nicole, Becky, Courtney and Claire had to skip out. Claire had a horse show the next day – exciting in its own right, as it was a Western show at our equestrian center, plus she placed 6th in her class. Unfortunately, they played her request about 15 minutes after she left.
The remainder of this blog will be done in bulleted format, as I have noticed that paragraph format will make it look choppy. Also, since blog-writing is a form of pleasure writing for me, I think I shouldn’t feel the need to adhere to any formal format.

I noticed at this point how extensive the House’s birthday decorations were. There were balloons attached to the booths and a “Happy Birthday” strung over the stage. The concentration of decorations around our tables made it feel like it was decorated just for me, which tickled me anew.

I was thinking about trying to cobble together a set list from memory, but I really don’t feel like it. They started out with “The Night Pat Murphy Died”, which we of course know courtesy of Sean McCann. They did both of what I’ll call “The Irish Clapping Songs” (“Wild Rover” and “Whiskey in the Jar”), and “Fields of Athenry/Freebird”, thereby completing the Holy Trinity of Irish folk songs (those that you hear by default several times a day at any given Irish festival). Also on hand were show staples like “Katie Daley”, “Johnny Be Fair”, “Follow the Whale”, “Doin’ an Irish Polka”, “Orange Blossom Special”, “The Unicorn Song”, and that lovely medley that features Richie and Paul’s sexy Neil Diamond impressions. They spontaneously turned “The Dance” into a dollar dance for the bride-to-be that was celebrating her bachelorette party at the table in front of the stage.

My friends got a kick out of The Mailman Song. When you introduce people to a band and see them react positively, it’s almost like hearing it for the first time again.

My customary scream when Paul announced that they would be doing a Seven Nations tune was met with customary good humor. Peggy and Paul even poked at Richie to let me have a drink on the house, but to no avail (I ended up getting a Long Island Iced Tea, which was pretty good. Could have been a smidge sweeter, but then, I don’t really know the proper mechanics of alcoholic beverages). “Twelve” battled it out with Lisa Loeb’s “Stay” for quite a while before winning the title of My Favorite Song Ever. I never get tired of hearing it.

Later, when they did “Lisdon Varne” for me, Richie tickled me by saying, “I really don’t think I can sing this song until I hear that scream again…” I dutifully complied.

The Rooster’s performance was “Oldest Swinger in Town”, in honor of the bride-to-be. At this point I had to pee for like, the third time, and so unfortunately I missed the flashing he paid the audience mid-song. That’s right. All of my friends were subjected to Dick Goonan’s nipples while I was safely in the bathroom, waiting in line with a full bladder. Mwahahahaha…
Speaking of weddings: while he did not tell it at this show, Jennie wishes me to mention Paul’s “Irish wedding” joke, because she really liked it: What’s the difference between an Irish wedding and an Irish funeral? … one less drunk!!

The show ended around midnight, after which I got the Bakers to pose for a picture with me, by approaching Paul and letting him know that I had never taken a picture with them before *shock*. I even got a picture with The Rooster near the beginning of the show, and about an hour later he wandered over to our table to say hi. When he saw me, his eyes got wide, and he exclaimed, “Hey! I’ve seen you before! I got to take a picture with you earlier! Remember me?” or something to that effect. It was quite amusing. Richie skipped offstage and was running around the pub like a mad person (or a manager) after the show, so I didn’t grab him for a pic. And he’s probably lucky. But he won’t be so lucky on St. Patrick’s Day. Hee hee hee…

Gaelic Storm at the Cleveland House of Blues - March 11th, 2010


The day started out quite happily – I went to breakfast to find that the cafeteria was serving French toast, cream of wheat, and scrambled eggs that were neither dry nor soggy. Plus Richard was there to take up my tray for me so that Creeper didn’t try to flirt with me. Also, it was nearly 60 degrees outside and the sun was happy and sociable. Things were looking up for me.
Also important to mention, while we're talking about how my day went, is my riding class. My body was extra sore from Tuesday’s ride, but the weather was beautiful and warm and I was optimistic after my experience with Spot the class before. I have discovered the sometimes scary but usually rewarding tactic of trusting my body to know what it’s doing before my brain has a chance to tell me that I can’t do something. This is mostly true with my new foray into experiencing the canter. Bud says canter, you don’t think about it. You just do it. The first time it was quite freaky – I had never cantered Spot before, and he felt different from Oskar, and right before I slowed down I almost lost my balance around a turn. Second time, once I got my bearings, and the third (to fix the second where I messed up the dressage test we were working on) were largely non-scary, and I think I “WHOOOOOOO”d at least once. Walking on the moon with Spot (that's a reference to "Walk on the Moon" by Great Big Sea. Look it up on YouTube if you don't know of it yet).
But all that is pre-concert woo-ness. Onward to Gaelic Storm!!!

It took me roughly 10 minutes to travel the half a mile or so down E 9th Street between the Rt 2 exit and Prospect Ave, due to the customary aggravation of people who park their cars in traffic lanes. Extremely aggravating. Talked with Dad and Kevin each in turn – and each tried to call me while I was on the phone with the other. I’m just popular like that. Also, I received a text from Dad exclaiming that he had seen Steve Twigger in the street. He was thrilled, but said that there was no conversation, as Steve had appeared to be in a hurry.
In the restaurant, Kevin was astonishingly patient with my bouncy, adrenaline-fueled pushiness as time slowly ticked by in the restaurant. I can think of half a dozen people that would have tried to strangle me, but he instead took the opportunity to laugh at me and tease me relentlessly. Dad was mostly quiet, as usual, and Kevin told me that he had procured some gently used, “indoor-friendly” pipes for a good price. He suggested that I bring my bodhrán to the next family get-together so that we can jam. That is super-exciting for me. Finally, a traditional instrument that Diane will permit indoors and can accompany me! Or rather, I can accompany it.
Kevin got a jambalaya dish that was delicious but very spicy, and a Blue Moon and a Newcastle to wash away the spice. Dad got a burger that he ended up eating with a fork because it was too big for his mouth. I ordered teriyaki salmon, which sounded delicious. And it was, only I was unprepared for the questions imposed by our waitress. I have ordered fish in restaurants dozens of times, but never before had the server ask me how I wanted it cooked. I expressed confusion, to which she explained that people order salmon the way they order steak – rare to well-done. I required further explanation, and she asked me if I liked it pink in the middle. I naively pointed out that salmon is always pink in the middle. It’s SALMON. (Kevin feigned a bop on my head at that point, but I was genuinely perplexed.) Apparently, most people order theirs medium well. I told her to just have them cook it to the middle of the spectrum.
As I said, the flavor was absolutely delicious; it could be a real contender with Famous Dave’s grilled salmon (except that grilled salmon is the same price for a heck of a lot more food). The middle was softer than I would have preferred, and it made me a little nervous to eat it, but I figured that they wouldn’t serve it to me if it had the potential to kill me. I suffered no stomach pain, diarrhea, nausea, vomiting or gas, so I assume I didn’t get food poisoning.
What did bother me was the “vegetables”. When I see “vegetables” on a menu with no other indicator of vegetable species, I, like most people, assumed the natural cast would be present – carrots, broccoli, peas, etc. What came to my table were these ugly little mutated cabbage halves – brussel sprouts – that were barely cooked. I don’t really like beans, and I hate asparagus, so you can imagine my dismay. Nobody had warned me that there would be brussel sprouts.
I probably should have said something, and gotten some decent herbage to eat, but I instead foisted as many as I could off on Dad and Kevin, which wasn’t much.
Also, I think Dad was eyeing me warily as I perused the alcoholic beverage menu. I wanted to try the “Electric Lemonade”, but ultimately decided that alcohol is expensive and I didn’t really need it.
When we got into the House, after a brief wait in line wherein I introduced Dad to “Raised on Black and Tans”, the new GS download from their forthcoming album, he and Kevin scoped out a couple of barstools halfway back from the stage. Watching them wander about, trying out various angles, I was reminded of Sheldon Cooper determinedly scouring Penny’s apartment for an acceptable place to sit where the sunlight, ambient temperature, airflow, feng shui, and proximity to the television, other guests, windows, kitchen and exits were sufficient, and where the texture, cushion density, size and pattern of the furniture was adequate. Not that they were that finicky or anything. It just crossed my mind.
So since I was standing by myself, sort of second-row, I amused myself by texting Kevin. It did not take long for me to get sore from all the standing. Jeez, I’m getting old. The soreness did not hit my knees this time, but it did make itself heard in my back, shoulders, feet and, interestingly, my calves, which begged me to stretch them although I had no room to do it.
The guy waiting in the crowd behind me, whom I will refer to as “Polite Warning Guy”, apologized ahead of time for the possibility that the girls behind him would shove him into me once the band took the stage. I looked behind him and saw a mass of potential ugliness (several barely-post-pubescent girls jostling one another) and figured that it couldn’t be worse than last year – being shoved at by drunken girls that were dropping f-bombs like cookie crumbs and threatening to spill their beer on me.
I noticed about halfway through my wait that the people in front of me were the same trio that Dad and I waited with in line last year. I recognized the dad and his daughter first – the other guy (GBS-Mash-Man? Remember him?) looked like he’d lost weight and had a haircut that definitely suits him better than the one he had.
There was a girl sort of behind me and sort of next to me that was talking to Polite Warning Guy about the band. He asked where they were from, and she told him that they were all from Ireland except for Peter (???). I sort of wonder where the heck she gets her information from, since Patrick is the only band member, past and present, who is from Ireland. I almost turned around to correct her, and though he probably would have been grateful for the info, I felt like I would have been intruding in the conversation. But for the record, for those who are interested, The geographical diversity represented by Gaelic Storm is as follows:

Patrick: County Cork, Ireland
Steve T: Coventry, England
Pete: Ottawa, Canada
Ryan: Somewhere, New Jersey
Jesse: Suffolk, England
Previous band members:
Steve W: Olean, New York
Shep: London, England
Kathleen: Chicago, Illinois
Ellery: Cincinnati, Ohio
Samantha: Zambia, Africa
Tom: Ottawa, Canada

So… yeah. Definitely only one guy from Ireland in there.
Also, I heard Polite Warning Guy tell Confused Fangirl that he was only in town from Pittsburgh on business, on a week that just happened to coincide with the week that Gaelic Storm would be in town (he’d only seen them once before, 6 years back). An extremely lucky break for him.
There was also a significant amount of Peter-obsessing going on on either side of me, which was at times both amusing and irritating. The loud ones were obnoxious, although I could appreciate them rooting for him during an especially rollicking pipe solo.
As so often happens with opening acts at the House of Blues, I feel that the night’s openers got the short end of somebody’s stick. Fans at the House of Blues do not want to see opening acts. Fans at the House of Blues are sick of standing around. Their feet hurt from standing around so much. Their knees and backs hurt. They are sick of hearing the barely-post-pubescent drunkards around them shove one another around while they talk loudly and at length about what Joey did to Sophia on Jackie’s birthday after Dennis was found in Andrew’s bed. The air inside the venue is extremely dry, which causes them to become thirsty, and they do not wish to spend an absurd amount of money on water when the restaurant 100 feet away serves it for free, and in any case the only water that they give you in the venue is Dasani water, which tastes like it came from the ear canal of a large African ungulate. In most cases, they would rather chew on a live ferret than stand around longer than necessary while waiting for the band they paid to see to come out.
This wasn’t supposed to be a long rambling rant about the aggravation caused by the way things are done at the House of Blues, or about opening acts, and certainly not about this specific opening act. Perhaps I simply wanted to get that off my chest.
Onward.
I would definitely classify Oakhurst as bluegrass, although the band’s guitarist insisted that they were not bluegrass, really. After all, they had a drummer.
I need to say, call me crazy, that their guitarist/lead singer, “A.P.”, reminded me heavily of Captain Jonathon Archer of Star Trek fame. I cannot find pictures online to support this fanciful notion of mine, but perhaps I have some in my pictures from the show…
They did 8 or 9 songs. Unfortunately, their microphones were inadequately amplified and could barely be heard. They were okay, and I imagine Dad probably enjoyed them quite a bit, although I didn’t think to ask him afterward. I think I’m more entertained by artists that switch up their instruments during a show. Great Big Sea has spoiled me in that way.
Gaelic Storm set list!:

Beggarman
Johnny Jump Up
Bare in the Basin
Piña Colada in a Pint Glass
Death Ride to Durango
Me & the Moon
The Night I Punched Russell Crowe
Samurai Set
LOVER’S WRECK!!!!!
Raised on Black and Tans
Instrumental That I Didn’t Recognize
Johnny Tarr
Darcy’s Donkey (in the key of “spoon”)
Here Comes Chucky Tim
Floating the Flambeau
Slim Jim and the Seven Eleven Girl
Courtin’ in the Kitchen
What’s the Rumpus?
Kiss Me, I’m Irish

It seemed that there wasn’t quite as much onstage banter as there was last year.
In addition to being performed in the always delightful key of spoon (contains, according to Patrick, the only known spoon solo intro in music history), we were instructed to do the “Donkey Dance” during the instrumental section of “Darcy’s Donkey”. Patrick threatened that if he saw someone not doing it, he would point that person out to everyone, and he or she would subsequently be laughed at. I won’t describe the dance here, but suffice it to say that when the song was over Pat made sure to let all of us know how stupid we looked doing it, but that he was impressed because we were the first city to do it voluntarily. Also, apparently Pittsburgh could not get the hang of it. This may or may not be true, but we went with it anyway. I turned around to give Polite Warning Guy a Significant Look, and saw him laughing.
Patrick announced about four songs in that they would not be singing “Johnny Tarr” that evening, stating that after you’ve played every single day for the past 200 years like he has, you start to get sick of it. Steve replied, “Why would we do THAT song, anyway?” Cheeky devil. This was of course met with profound unhappiness, and Pat took a moment to muse about the traditionally fleeting nature of fandom. They did play it, of course, as you can see from my set list, but they did not do any other artist’s version of the song (Kenny Chesney, Nora Jones, Michael Jackson, Lynrd Skynrd, Snoop Dog, etc). Sadness.
I was thrilled to hear the opening chords of “Lover’s Wreck” (as you may have guessed by its exclaimed and capitalized status in my set list), but I was ultimately disappointed with the performance. It was good, but it was not better than good. The album version is very rough-sounding and powerful, and I didn’t feel like the percussion was given enough rein in the live performance. Also, two of the things I love about the song were sacrificed – the way the beat and counter-beat seem to flip back and forth within the chorus, which is one of the things that makes it so fun to play on the bodhrán, and the powerful madness of the third verse.
One of the most interesting parts of the show was the percussion solo stuck in the middle of the “Floating the Flambeau” set. I got a video of the song from about halfway through the percussion section, which featured Patrick and Steve on bodhráns and Ryan on the cajon. I can’t promise that it will be uploaded, as I’ve made that promise on a few occasions in the past only to find that things come up to stop me, or the upload fails for whatever reason. I shall attempt it. That is all I can say.
The dueling instruments character of the Samurai Set was made extra entertaining by the addition of a burly stage hand, who was fetched by Jessie, and later by Peter, to aid them each in disposing of the other so that the spotlight they felt their respective instruments deserved could be basked in.
I was right in the middle of the audience for “Me & the Moon”, but I appeared to be slightly Stage Patrick, so I took his side in the shout-off for the first time in the 4 times that I’ve seen them live. We won the match, but only by Patrick’s vote. I didn’t notice any great disparity in the volumes of the two sides.
I tried calling Mom when the song started, as I’d warned her I would, but she didn’t pick up. I ended up recording a snippet of the song on my phone and sending it to her, but I got no response. I did get a rather nice shot of the audience in the video, though.
“Here Comes Chucky Tim”, which will be on the new album, is a tribute to a man the band met at the Dublin Irish Festival last year. I cannot tell you the details because I can’t recall them, nor can I find any substantial reference to him in a Google-aided search.
I took a video of “Slim Jim and the Seven Eleven Girl”, for whatever reason (it came right after the stellar “Flambeau” set), and at one point attempted to get a shot of the audience. Steve decided that that moment would be a perfect one to wander to the edge of the stage and smile brilliantly in a camera-stealing kind of way, hoping to thrill me by personally acknowledging my video and actively participating in it. I was thrilled, indeed, but unfortunately after I swung my camera back around to him, he didn’t stay put long enough for the camera to refocus on his face. Simultaneous Yay and Grrrr.
I usually notice the sad state the floor is in after a show at the House of Blues, because it is necessary to scour the floor for potentially dropped items and to watch where one is going. The floor was absolutely saturated with spilled beer, and as I was making my way back to Dad (Kevin had had to skip out instantaneously after the curtain closed), I saw a girl who was complaining that someone had spilled beer in her hair. I guess I’d gotten lucky.
It took me forever to pick a shirt at the swag table, but I ultimately chose a brown shirt that had a slightly vintage look to it. http://gaelicstorm.s3.amazonaws.com/large2_1234.jpg
Dad got another brown one with a donkey in a pint glass and the phrase “EVERYBODY RAISE A GLASS TO DARCY’S ASS”. http://gaelicstorm.s3.amazonaws.com/large_1237.jpg

Kevin called me as we were making our way to the parking garage to let me know that he’d seen a license plate on Rt 71 that read “GR8BIGC”. This tickled me, but also saddened me, because it was an Ohio car. I wanted that vanity plate!!
As Gaelic Storm had officially declared Flannery’s to be the “Pub of the Month” on their website, I perhaps should have at least tried to get in to see the band there for the after party, but I knew that they place would be impossible to navigate. In retrospect I’m a little sorry that I didn’t try, but I probably would have gotten social phobic and nervous and unable to move around very well. Oh, well. Perhaps I will have more of a spine, and more desire and gumption, next year.

“In my sleeping mind she sings a sad and lonely lullaby
And when I wake, there’s just the ache that’ll haunt me till I die
When those winds of vanity no longer blow her west
I pray they’ll guide her home and put my heart to rest
A press-gang filled this Man-o-War, to make the black-mouthed cannon roar
Now all my trade is ball and blade and blood forever more
The sting of salt and spray, the oceans howl and squall
A stumbling wreck, I roam the deck at the Devil’s beck and call”
~ “Lover’s Wreck”

HANSON W/ HELLOGOODBYE, STEEL TRAIN & SHERWOOD @ THE CLEVELAND HOUSE OF BLUES

I know, it’s been two and a half weeks and I’m just now getting around to posting this. I’ve been working on it and the related pictures steadily since the show, and they’re finally ready to see the light of day. The blog has been ready for quite a while, but I’ve been so busy that I’m just getting around to uploading the pictures.
As some of you know, I went to my (6th? 7th? I can’t remember anymore) Hanson concert on Tuesday, October 6 2009. The understanding I have with my readers is that I will post a concert recap blog. So, here she is!
Jennie and I got to the venue around 2:30 in anticipation of The Walk starting at 3 (that’s 3 o’clock Hanson Time, 3:20ish Standard Time). Jennie was fascinated by Cleveland’s pigeon population. “Those are the fattest birds I’ve ever seen!” she kept saying. “Take a picture! Take a picture!”

So we got in line and there were only a few people in line ahead of us. A guy from the HOB kept reminding us about Pass the Line, insisting that the Pass the Line people would be getting in before the Walk people. I’m not so sure he was correct about that, after my experience last year, and I don’t suppose we will ever really know who went in first. We did lose several people from our line, however, who found the lure of a place closer to the stage too enticing to pass up.
Some odd, smoking hippie chicks who were wearing foundation a full centimeter thick sat behind us and showed us pictures that they’d taken earlier in the day. This confused me, because I had thought that, like every Cleveland show before, The Walk was supposed to start at 3pm at the House of Blues. Evidently, unbeknownst to me, my boys had decided to host this year’s Walk at 1pm the Rock Hall instead. Long story short, we missed The Walk and I was extremely aggravated. Several other people were, too.
And yet we still love our boys.
I know this is a silly thing to say, but I have decided that I REALLY need to stop loving this band so much. I can’t remember the last time I was so exhausted, even after pulling a 13-hour day working horse shows last spring. Jennie and I were on our feet for about 10 hours straight, and my feet, knees and lower back were throwing out some major pain vibes by the time Steel Train took the stage. Also, the time I spent waiting for the real show to start really really really really would have been better served in my dorm room finishing up the midterm project that was due in my Equine Facilities class the next day.
And yet we still love our boys. We are blindly devoted. That’s all there is to it.
As for me, I feel like Jerry Fletcher in Conspiracy Theory. Remember the scene where he’s talking to Alice about Catcher in the Rye? And he says that whenever he walks into a book store he has to buy that book? And if he doesn’t find it he has to look for it so he can buy it? So that he can feel normal? And he doesn’t feel right if he doesn’t do it? That’s largely how I feel about Hanson shows. I can’t not go them. If there is a Hanson show going on in Cleveland and I know about it, I have to go to it or when that evening comes around and I’m not there, I’ll be bouncing off the walls and pacing and wondering and thinking and getting all uppity and it just doesn’t feel RIGHT to not go.
I could have made that sound crazier, but I don’t think I want to.
Anyway…
After Two Smelly Hippie Chicks With Too Much Foundation left, we were standing with a girl that I only know as Purple Hoodie because she didn’t tell us her name and for some reason we felt foolish asking. She was personable, but she was positively obsessed with trying to be as close to the stage as possible, and she left us after a while to try her hand at Pass the Line through the HOB restaurant. Jennie saw her in the crowd later, and evidently she was closer to the stage than we were. Perhaps the HOB guy knew what he was talking about after all.
After Purple Hoodie left, we met Drumstick (the girl who swiped Zac’s drumsticks and waved them dutifully in front of my camera last year) and her friend Mexico (who was crazy and did not wear long sleeves to wait in line outside in Cleveland in October). We talked to them quite a bit. Jennie kept squirming whenever people asked her what her favorite Hanson song, album, band member, etc was. I called her a “fresh convert” to help her out, and that sent the people asking the questions all aflutter with approval.
I felt a hunger headache coming on and was determined not to let it ruin my evening, so I walked a few hundred feet down the sidewalk to a place called Jimmy John’s to see what they had. It was a sub place, and the closest quick restaurant the HOB had to offer. I overpaid for a sub with turkey – that’s it, just turkey, though the menu made it look like it would at least come with cheese, for Chan’s sake! – and a cookie and rejoined Jennie, Drumstick and Mexico.

The doors opened at 6pm. At that time we had already been waiting 2 ½ hours.

We were like, right in the middle of the crowd, more or less centered but slightly Stage Taylor. Kind of where I was expecting to be last year. There was a really tall guy in front of us that every girl around us was complaining about. Naturally, most of the girls around me were my height or shorter. He ended up in front of Jennie. She complained a little, but is far too polite to have said anything to him directly.
So if you’re out there, Tall Guy in the Blue and White Striped Shirt Who Was at the Cleveland Hanson Show With His Wife, on behalf of everyone in the back half of the audience, I would like to say this: we do not like you.
Also, to Guy in the White Baseball Cap That Looked Mostly Unhappy To Be There – Jennie was watching you. You are attractive. Keep your cap on, she says.
I’ll say first that I was ultimately disappointed with HelloGoodbye (sorry sorry sorry!), but that Sherwood and Steel Train were at least good enough that I resolved to YouTube search them very soon. Evidently I had a thing for keyboard players that night, because Sherwood’s keyboard player tickled me (he looked like a young Andy Dick), and Steel Train and HelloGoodbye both had cute keyboardists. Steel Train’s lead singer also reminded me of Derek (a guy that you don’t know who goes to school with me).
Unfortunately for you, and for them, I do not feel like recapping the opening acts very much. I will mention, however, that I sat down (on the floor at the House of Blues) in between them because my back and feet were so sore. ACK!!!
I will say that Steel Train closed their performance with a mostly a capella song. I thought it was cool.

You could see the brothers watching the opening bands from behind the scenes, in a balcony area above the wings of the stage. I tried to get a pic, but was mostly unsuccessful. I did get one of Taylor, but it’s really REALLY bad.
After one of their more rollicking songs, HelloGoodbye professed to having a “Back to the Future moment”, and proceeded to play an erratic guitar lick a la Marty McFly. This tickled me, but the rest of the audience didn’t seem to care for their between-songs banter. This is something that, as a Great Big Sea fan, I see a lot, and tend to enjoy. Of course, there are other people – and here I refer generally to people but also specifically to Loud Rude Heckler Girl Who Was Standing Behind Me – who do not appreciate it. On the plus side, this pop culture moment caused someone in the back to shout a request. The song? “Earth Angel”. This tickled me even more. He attempted the first few chords, but then admitted to not really know the song.
I wanted Hanson to get out on stage and play already, too, but I really REALLY felt that there was no call to be rude to the bands that were opening. As such, Loud Rude Heckler Girl Who Was Standing Behind Me was extremely aggravating.
Later, a guy in the balcony shouted “FREEBIRD!!!” at some point during HelloGoodbye’s set. They told him that if he wanted to get on the stage and play Freebird for the audience, they would stop their set right then and let Hanson play. Needless to say, the audience squealed with delight. Also needless to say, he didn’t do it. He did get right up to the edge of the stage, though, and the stagehands were all waiting, ready to haul him up.
Also, one of their guitarists, who also played the ukulele and the electric mandolin, looked quite preppy in his Abercrombie sweater, compared to the blatant geekiness exuded by his bandmates. Song or two into the set, however, he removed the sweater and I found that he was laden with tattoos. As such, I took pictures of him for Cindy.
I swear Taylor was wearing the same grey pants he wore last year. And they are no more flattering on him now than they were last year.
Isaac’s hair has gotten fluffier. More sophisticated, I guess you could argue. I will get used to it, as I always have. And while we’re discussing hair, Zac has let his grow out a bit. I for one am loving it. Jennie is not. Fie on her, I say.

Set list!...

World’s On Fire (New EP song) (I’m really beginning to love this song. It’s extremely catchy. Also, as I was preparing to come home for Fall Break, I picked up my bodhrán and played along once I realized that the song is a jig. Much fun. I took a video of it.)
Thinking of You (First song off the first album. 12 ½ years ago. Damn.)
Where’s the Love (I think it was during this song that Jennie commented, “OMG The floor is bouncing!” Veteran Hanson fans know that this phenomenon is not uncommon for Hanson shows. Watch “Underneath Acoustic Live” for details.)
Great Divide
Got a Hold on Me
Been There Before
Penny & Me
A Minute Without You (ISAAAAAAAAC!!!!)
Blue Sky
Carry You There (New EP song)
Madeline (This song won the online vote in Cleveland for “song you’d like to hear”. I voted for River, but when I voted on Sunday, “Never Let Go” was in the lead. So this was a surprise to me.)
This Time Around
Use Me Up (New EP song) (Jennie liked this one a lot, but that one really long note in the chorus was just the right pitch to cause my ears to ring.)
These Walls (New EP song)
Can’t Stop
Crazy Beautiful
MMMBop (Jennie took a video of this to show Nikki, but the sound on her camera was really bad and most of what you hear is the crowd.)
Man From Milwaukee (I got a video of the “Mother Bird” part of the song. I will put it on my computer next week, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to get it on MySpace or YouTube.)
Watch Over Me (They did this song near the end of the show last year, too. They started it with Zac’s drums, and I mistook it for Every Word I Say.)
Lost Without Each Other

When Zac took the piano to sing “Use Me Up” and announced that he would be doing a new song, someone from the rear left of the crowd shouted “GEORGIA!” Zac turned around and said, “But… I don’t sing that song!” I should mention here that several days earlier Zac had posted this plaintive tweet on twitter.com: “Someone help they are trying to make me do a solo. –Z”
Poor little dude (as Mom would say).

For the acoustic set (Carry You There – These Walls), Zac was using one of those boxy drummy things that Ryan Lacey tore up the stage with at the Gaelic Storm concert. Zac, for once, was much more reserved than Ryan.
After the show, Jennie and I made our way to the swag tables (that’s what my uncle Kevin calls them – I have since discovered that that is not a well-known term for them, as everyone that I’ve used that word on has met it with a puzzled expression). Jennie really liked Steel Train, and wanted a t-shirt from their table, but embarrassed herself when she approached the Sherwood table and asked about the yellow shirt from the wrong band. She covered herself by insisting that her friend had her money (which was sort of true – she had given me a 20 to get her a Stand Up Stand Up t-shirt from the Hanson table) and scurried back to me, red-faced. After we finished at the Hanson table, me with the Stand Up Stand Up EP and a zippered hoodie (I FINALLY GOT A HANSON HOODIE YAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYY!!!!!), we slinked back to the Steel Train table. After some painful deliberation, Jennie chose the black galaxy shirt, which you can see here -----> Steel Train t-shirt
I also decided, when asking for the shirt, to let the guy behind the table know that Jennie wanted a picture with him, since she kept pointing out that he was the cutest one in the band. She was slightly embarrassed, but since he agreed, she let me take the picture anyway. I’m just evil like that. We went to The Corner Alley after we left the venue. We reviewed our pictures and videos, discussed the bands and the people we put up with in the audience. The bartender was pretty awesome, and we downed at least 2 glasses of ice water apiece. (As it was after the GBS concert, all I kept thinking was, “WATAH!! I NEED WATAH!!!!”) In case anyone is wondering, the bathrooms at The Corner Alley are in the basement at the back of the establishment. Also, they are dark.