Today Kurt Cobain would have been 40. Seems like yesterday when we were seeing that searing image of his suicide: the photo taken in the room where he died, of his Converse All Stars, still on his feet, sticking out from behind a piece of furniture.
From Stereophile writer Fred Mills:
Tom Waits tickets for the August 2nd show at the Thomas Wolfe Auditorium in Asheville, NC sold out in 15 minutes. Waits publicist Tresa Redburn tells me the Atlanta date sold out in less than half hour.
"Yours truly was on-line hacking away at the Ticketmaster site," Mills said today, taking a break from pressure washing moss from the roof of his home in Asheville.
He also mentioned that a pair of tickets for the Chicago show went on eBay and someone who couldn’t wait for the auction, used the "Buy Now" function and bought them for $1500.00. I scanned eBay and found a pair of 4th row seats for the Asheville gig going for $549.00. A pair for the last date, in Akron, Ohio, are being offered for $450.00. In Akron, Ohio!!! This despite measures to limit scalping and reselling. And the fact that he rarely if ever these days dips back into the Asylumera material that everyone loves.
The best part about this eight date mini-tour of the South and Midwest is that he’s playing great old theatres, most of which have great acoustics. Here's the list: read it and weep, `cause these tickets be long gone. Or silly expensive.
Tues, Aug 1 Atlanta, GA Tabernacle
Wed, Aug 2 Asheville, NC Thomas Wolfe Auditorium
Fri, Aug 4 Memphis, TN Orpheum Theatre
Sat, Aug 5 Nashville, TN Ryman Auditorium
Mon, Aug 7 Louisville, KY Palace Theatre
Wed, Aug 9 Chicago, IL Auditorium Theatre
Fri, Aug 11 Detroit, MI Opera House
Sun, Aug 13 Akron, OH Akron Civic
To those who don't get the whole Waits cult, all I have to say is, something's happening somewhere with this guy. Few artists, in any genre, at any time, are able to sell out tickets, quite this fast.
Late on Saturday, the last night of SXSW, I somehow ended up having a pint with a mixed party of American and British band members, only one of whom I knew previously, when suddenly the subject of the British government’s support of the arts came up. Seems these four young lads, and their frontwomanone stunning fulfillment of my perky blonde English chick singer fantasy (oh my)hadn’t used their money to come all the way to Texas. No, the government had picked up the tab. The fact that they were vaguely ashamedbecause being on the dole is unhip and kind of the opposite of DIYtold me it was true.
Call it “Hollywood Alcoholism,” meaning it’s not Requiem for a Dream, that chilling and incredibly visceral film depiction of addiction, but the more common cut and dried varietyhe came, he drank, he fucked up, he had an epiphany and of course, he cleaned up after one neat and tidy trip to the Zen rehab clinic. Having seen Townes Van Zandt and more than a few other musical substance abusers when they were riding high (which is really riding low, if you know what I mean), things just ain’t this a way. Hollywood’s way is to show addiction without any of the struggle. Oh sure, he threw up, sort of, once or twice but hell, I remember seeing Townes fall off a stage that was four inches high, and then he couldn’t get up. When I pitched in to help, the man clearly had not showered in quite some time. He’d been bingeing and playing one nighters, which is where Crazy Heart starts out.
How great was it to hear all the music at the inaugural. Maybe music and the arts will once again be valued in the country. Maybe someone else than right wing country singers can get a tune in edgewise.
Humble, unprepossessing, modest are not words normally associated with lead guitarists, or lead singers, or lead anything. But Albert Lee, the Fender Telecaster devotee, has, by all accounts, always been refreshingly down to earth. The other unusual quality about Lee is that he's an English guitarist who, in country music, can hold his own against any American player.
Up on the old church altar, under the ceiling's massive and ornate wooden arches, in front of an array of stained glass whose center panel has been replaced with a modern rendering of a trio of bluesmen, singer and harmonica player Phil Wiggins and singer-guitarist Corey Harris are nearing the end of their set. Wiggins pauses, looks at his watch, and smiles.
"Time flies when you're playing blues in a church."
“Children by the million sing for Alex Chilton when he comes 'round
They sing "I'm in love. What's that song?
I'm in love with that song."
(from “Alex Chilton” by The Replacements)
My five month old cell phone fried itself dead. Traffic in downtown Austin crawled inch by inch. A friend, who called himself a “capitalist,” called long distance to tell me Obama’s health plan was going to bankrupt the country. But all of that paled in comparison to the strange news that on the first night of South By Southwest 2010, the great Alex Chilton had died just before leaving New Orleans to come to Austin to play a Big Star reunion. Or as the more cynical among us had it, another Big Star reunion.