Josh and I are both too lazy to blog regularly on our own (you can check out my possibly updated blog at bestnamesaretaken.wordpress.com), so we've decided to do some music writing together in this space. We haven't talked about the format, Josh doesn't even know that I'm posting already, but suffice to say there will be music writing.

I had a memorable live music experience on Friday. It all started with a Boylan ginger ale. Boylan makes by far the best bottled ginger ale and I was delighted to find some Thursday night in a local grocery store in Candler Park. Friday, while reading law journal articles about judicial opinion writing I got a craving for a carbonated delight and went to the fridge to indulge. Mind you I had recently returned from doing work at the Highland Bakery where I had their out-of-this-world corn cakes. Anyway, I sucked down the ale and continued my reading on the couch. My awkward position combined with a fifteen minute nap caused the gas from the soda to get lodged squarely in my abdomen. I was uncomfortable. An hour and a half later I had to end my work for the day to go to the gym where I did three rounds of a half-mile run in 90 degree heat, 50 back extensions, and 50 sit-ups. This did not help my cause. I then took the dog for a walk and hit up Soul Vegetarian (the vegan soul place in the neighborhood) for some grub. At this point I knew I had made a huge mistake somewhere along the line. By the time I got the venue to see Shearwater I was experiencing escalating discomfort and pain, and the anti-gas stuff I took was not helping. After the first act I found myself leaning heavily on the elevated small table hovering in the center of The Earl, clinging to it like a life raft. I thought about catching a cab home; all I really wanted to do was lie down and fart all night. But I thought better of it, and being that we were in a smelly, loud club I settled for just farting all night. Mid-way through the second act I stopped feeling like I was going to explode and was just upset that I was so tired and the opening bands were taking so long to play and set up. Don't worry, I'm getting to the music.

The first band was nice. They were called Jeffrey Butzer and they played keyboards and melodicas and toy pianos and stand-up basses. They had a wonderful vocalist and the lead dude was a good performer if not a great pianist. The second band was another local, named Silver Lakes. A straight forward indie rock band that wasn't interesting but was very tight.

Shearwater opened with an acapella version of Nico's "Nibelungen."



A fine opening for a band that is always close to moving from playing in small clubs and attracting audiences unworthy of their virtuosity and ambition to Spinal Tap lows.



Jonathan Meiburg's lyrics and compositions never reach Wagnerian heights, but his voice comes close, and one can't help but get the sense of a closeness to the epic mythology of the Ring Cycle (and the Lord of Rings). If nothing else, he has the pipes to go toe to toe with most singers you're likely to hear and it was almost painful how out of place his singing was in the crap hole that is The Earl (no offense). But it did set up a startling contrast between the devout in the room and the folks who seemed to have wandered in. His epic voice coming across chant-like to the few drunk folks in the back who couldn't help but snicker, mostly due to discomfort more than anything else. It's amazing how a voice on its own can make the room so tense. You vacillate between awe and being embarrassed by such an earnest, virtuosic performance.

After the opening things picked up pace, but always there was Meiburg's voice out in front. The band was very tight. They bowed their glockenspiel and other bells, which I had never heard before; it's a great sound. They ended with a real barn burner, but then were forced to come back for the now standard encore. I really loved the performance, but they ended so well that the encore that we all knew had to come was not just as meaningless as always, it completely wrecked the flow of the set. My last image could have been of Meiburg thrashing a guitar with his hair flying and his voicing reaching some of the greatest heights of the night, but it wasn't to be. Instead I was left to suddenly remember that I was tired and realize that I had stopped passing gas at some point.