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[ **NOTE: This mix has been hidden
away in my vault for well over a year. It is entirely my fault.
Constructed through the month of March, 2007 -- before the prodigal return
of Matty -- it got lost in the shuffle (pun intended) of a year where
I got married, traveled the world, the Red Sox won another championship,
and "Rock Band" was created. Thirteen months later, we bring you
Eighty Minute Encore.
It is truly better to be late... than never. -- Kevin (aka Kluv),
June 17, 2008. ] Dude, somehow I knew we would be starting off with this track. I love it. I remember the look on your face when you tried to describe your Cheap Trick experience -- they really are a band you have to hear live, eh? It's like there's a reason everyone and their mother bought Live at Budokan (not your mother, dude). I'm going to ignore my impulse to stop myself from making a drunken pick and just go for it. I feel that I drunk, unabashed pick might be just what I need to get off the schnide. As, I remember it, I was very stressed out -- I hadn't had a drink for the better part of the month of March (a deal I'd made with Happy and Marc, I think?) and I had moments before, finished my commitment to Birdie's Bachellorette Party. I'd been working on Ed for a little while and my crush on Natalie from Sports Night was in full bloom. I found my way to that bar (whose name escapes me) around 22nd street and into a wrap party where my name was finally on the list. I saw Reed and you, and my new friend Dingess. That girl you liked was there and I attached myself to you and Diesel. I decided that I'd have a drink or three. We drank and had a good time before the hired band kicked it up a notch. Sabrina and the guy from The State kicked the dancing off and we all joined in. They really rocked our sox off, and truly, I don't think any of us expected to rock. I don't have the recording of Cavenaugh kicking ass on Thunder Road (but I vividly remember looking at Reed and thinking he was cooler than ever because he knew all the words). What I do have is what I think might be an apt second track to Concerto. It's the kind of track that keeps all the balls in the air -- just where Cheap Trick would have liked them. It is, what I guess, will be the first of at least a few cover songs on this list. It rocks. It's good. It was as fun as hell, which really is all you could ever want from a rock show. It's The Nerds, My Own Worst Enemy/ I Love Rock and Roll. Dig it. -- Ire Oh, you tricky bastard. You made this one so easy for me. I'm so ready to just hit reply that I almost forgot to mention the special place in my heart reserved only for The Cover Bands out there (like The Nerds). There's also few things in the world that puts a skip in my step than the Excellent Live Cover Song And/Or Medly. All good things. But, back to my pick. Which, as I said, you made so easy for me. Some people might say it's too soon in the mix for this one. I tell those people to suck it. It's NEVER too soon for this one. And, if you think this artist sounds great coming from Tommy C's pipes (and it does), you should try skipping across the highway outside of Giants Stadium with your sister and sneaking under the fence to run as fast as you can and get inside because you're one hour late for this concert but that's not a problem because it will be a four hour concert and besides when you hear THIS SONG and THIS VOICE filling the air of the New Jersey Medowlands... ...well, let's just say anything is possible, and nothing in the world can worry you. It's the motherfucking Boss. Baby, we were Born To Run . -- Kluv Burn to Run is about as close to rock heaven as you can get. The vision of you and Little D taking the ticket taker/toilet cleaner bus and running towards the gates of that heaven turns this whole thing to eleven. Me, I'm going with all covers. (Okay, not all -- but definitely the first two.) In searching for the perfect song to follow The Boss, I brainstormed a bit, asking myself all the pertinent questions. How do you follow the Boss? Can you follow The Boss? You have to, this mix is only 3 songs old. Do you keep rocking? Is it too early to cool it down? And even if it is, do you want to? How do you follow the Boss? Then it hit me, how do you follow a growly, jowly, old school rocker with a rich history of bringing it live? Why, with a growly, jowly, old school rocker with a rich history of bringing it live, that's how! And then I said, out loud, to my imaginary pitching coach, like Sparky Anderson trying to finesse his way out of a jam by calling on the right left arm, "Get me Cocker." I've been listening to the original version of this song, by The Boxtops, a few times a week for months now. I love it. Joe gives this song his signature slant and the horns and backing vocalists really kick it up. I'll try to stay away from the covers hereafter, but for now I had to go with the hot hand. It's Joe Cocker, The Letter. -- Ire Bro -- Joe Cocker doesn't DO covers. He just makes other people's songs HIS. And, true to form, he blew me away with that track, One. Two. Three. It's at this point in the concert that our heads would be buzzing -- with both beer and adrenaline. The excitement of the opening tracks would have us sweating already, and, in order to keep us alive for the whole show we would need something to catch our breaths. There's nothing worse than an early-show-flameout. So, we'd have our first story of the night, coupled with the segue into a wonderfully chill song. And, I can't think of a MORE growly jowly old school rocker (to keep with the trend) who has better stories than this guy. It's Tom Waits, with a story and The Train Song. -- Kluv Yeah! I love that one. I had that one on my list! Great story. Classic song. And I agree with you that we needed a break. Catch our breath a bit. This concert is really fucking good. How the hell did we get tickets? Amy? Of course! Your decision to marry her so that you could get tickets to stuff is paying off already! Genius! Tom Fuckin' Waits... you really aren't making this easy on me. I've decided to keep it a little slow on my next track (which is finally, an original song). The way I see it, Tom is way off to one side of our giant stage at the piano in a smokey yellow spotlight. And as the light fades on him, his song and his portion of the show, the crowd momentarily voices their approval. In that instant, the lights come up quickly on the other side of the stage, which has escaped their attention whilst Tom delighted. In the darkness over there, another piano had appeared and, now in the rising light, we see another artist who knew a thing or two about playing to crowds. Like Tom, this artist knows how to bleed, and he doesn't have to fake it with this one as he pleads, with the father who abandoned him as an infant and the mother who died when he was a teenager, not to leave his side. It might not have the magic that came so easily to him and his pals years before, but it definitely bleeds, and I think Tom probably would have not gone back to his dressing room. He would not have gone for a drink of water and a towel or follow the glow tape back to his glass of whatever and an Old Gold. I think he would have sat there in the dark, with all of us, and watched this person who went two decades without privacy sing a very private song in a very public venue. He would have sat there in the dark with us to watch John Lennon. It's John Lennon, Mother -- from John Lennon, Live in New York City -- Ire Alright -- the fact of the matter is, as soon as I listened to that Lennon song (which, incidentally, floored me -- I've never really listened to his stuff after "the band" broke up -- perhaps I forgot to love it?) I knew what my next choice had to be. Because my iTunes told me to. I had it on shuffle, so when "Mother" ended (man, he really bleeds in that song, doesn't he?) iTunes moved onto the next random song. Except it wasn't random. It was a band and an album that I figured would show up at some point. And I can't see a better time to bring them in. It's time to kick the concert back up, time to turn the rock n' roll on high, time to -- as Bono says in this one, take it back. It's Helter Skelter, by U2. -- Kluv Very well played, KC. An audience member requests that John follow Mother with Help, and he meets the audience member halfway with, "We'll go back in the past, just once." Right into Helter Skelter. Well played indeed. I love this track, always have. I love Bono's vocals. I love the Beatles homage (for you don't cover The Beatles, you pay homage). This song (and a few others by U2) were on my list for this mix. I felt like they were one of the bands that just didn't find a niche in our last mix, though they certainly deserved to be there. And there you go, covering my bases for me again. I realized something while picking my follow up track. That moment I described during my last pick, where the lights go down on Tom sitting downstage left and come up on John sitting upstage right... I fucked that up. John isn't sitting upstage right at all, that's just the general direction of the jumbotron. You see, John is sitting in the dark at a packed Wembley Stadium listening to Tom. As Tom finishes up, John launches the European portion of the show. This concert is huge! It's fucking great! How did we get these tickets! (I know that this premise is inherently flawed, because if John Lennon was kicking off the European part of the show, then the whole thing would go downhill unless the Fab Four reunited to close the show. Whatever. Use your imagination.)
I ripped this track from your computer, so I know you have it. If you're ever walking from the train in Brooklyn to my old apartment and start this song right as you walk above ground, it fades out just as you walk in my front door. I did that everyday for a while. It's a great song and there's some stellar audience participation. This one only really works if it's loud. My cover band will one day use it as the second to last song of our second set. It's Don't Look Back in Anger, Oasis. -- Ire Those boys might be right bastards, but they sure know how to string a tune, don't they? In picking the next song, I wrestled with a number of different directions -- there were even some tracks that might have helped continue the European section of the concert. But, then I realized -- shit, if this is a truly global event, we can come back to Europe later. Because there's this next band who've got to play NOW -- you see, they're looking to blow the fucking doors off this global concert -- and, let's be honest... if they don't play now, there's no guarantee that they'll be around later in the night. So, we cut across the globe -- to Tokyo. The stage is dark. The energy in the arena feels like the place could explode at any moment. And then you hear him. " Do you know where the fuck you aaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrreeeeee???? You're in the Jungle, baby. It's time to die. It's time for Guns N' Roses. Welcome to the Jungle. -- Kluv Holy shit. USA! USA! This is a song about your fucking mother, indeed. I knew that these guys were going to make this list -- if you ever get to read the GQ article about Axl form a few months ago, I guarantee it will enrich your life. If I hadn't just had three glasses of bourbon and two slices of pizza, I might not have been ready to appreciate this song for all that it's worth. There is a reason that this song is still played in every stadium and rink and ballpark in America 20 years later. Axl fucking brings it. Seriously. Maybe Freddie Mercury tops him as a Frontman (capital F), but other than that, I'm not sure who touches him. No one comes close. Oh yeah, that guy Slash can play too. Give me some reggae! My next pick was not easy (okay, none of them are). But this one was particularly troublesome. I tried to think of one that was equally as rollicking, but obviously could not touch it (after all, we're talking Appetite for Destruction here). So what do I do? I decide to steal from your playlist again. It was a few years ago, four or five even, when I came to an important decision in a young man's life. I said to myself, as you know, "I am going to be a fan of both the Foo Fighters and the Pixies." I have not looked back on that decision with regret once. My only decision here is which track to go with. Do I go with the one that speaks directly to my youth or do I go with the one that speaks most directly about my my youth. I've decided to go with the former. Why? Well, because he says the C word. Not only that, he says the C word too, if you can believe that. I was way late getting to this party, but I'm glad I came and I'm never leaving. Not only that, but as far as your fiance is concerned, I was reared in the sleepy West of the woody East -- and I'm okay with that -- because I really am a pioneer. Do not fuck with us. We're The Pixies and this is U-Mass. It's educational. -- Ire This is the greatest concert I've ever been too (and, mind you, I was at the Pixies show your last song came from). So, just when I start to forget how fucking great the Pixies are, you go and remind me. That's what friends are for. Speaking of friends, I think it's time to cut to a little venue that you might be familiar with. It's called the Avalon, and it's in Boston, your old stomping ground. The band is one you are familiar with -- we saw them many years ago tearing the stage up at some o' them New England Ska Festivals (even though they don't play ska). They are the only band I've ever seen who have been known to rock the bagpipes. And, when they penned a song for our beloved Red Sox in 2004, the team won it all. Straight from the halls of U-Mass and over to the Dirty Water of the Charles Rivah, it's the Dropkick Murphys. -- Kluv Wow, I could have had this pick in hours ago. I am a follish prick. I decided to go with the first song that occured to me when I heard your track and your description. You see this is another band that haunts around the haunts the Murphy's have haunted like a million times or more. In fact they own a club right down the street from The Avalon. That club is named after the song that was almost here in this slot. But sadly, I'd already jumped the gun on Axl's line, "This is a song about your fucking mother," from right before he covers this band's early hit, Mamakin. So, I decided to go a different route. I took a page out of your Murphy's book and went with the song with the best audience participation. This track, and this recording, are from a time when Axl still could be proud to call himself a fan of this band. When they were still drug addled and bickering. When they still rocked. When they were skinny because the never slept and never ate, not because they'd had cosmetic surgery. They bring it. They are from the motherland. My parents went to see them on a date before they got married and my mother made them leave early because it was too loud. They're Aerosmith. The song is Train Kept A Rollin'. This was, randomly, like the fourth cd I ever bought. -- Ire You know, I tend to forget just how wicked those guys used to be (before, as you noted, the plastic surgery -- which, frighteningly, Axl is following their lead on). Heroin may ruin lives and stuff, but it sure seems to lend itself to great music, don't it? Speakin' of drugs... We're gonna change things up a bit and fly on out to a joint in California, to a man that knows a thing or two about drugs, to a whole room full of guys who also know a thing or two about drugs (and robbery, and murder...). We're going to Folsom Prison. I love listening to this and the San Quentin album. (Could there ever be a more perfect audience for the Man In Black than a jail full of inmates? I'm sure Haps would have an answer/opinion on this.) It's a really tough call narrowing it down to one song, but I thought this one captures the crazy energy from these shows -- a little too close to the edge -- because when you and I cheer for this song, it's because we love Cash. When some of these guys cheer, it's because they really put a bullet in their woman's head. Cocaine Blues isn't just a song to them. "Hello, my name's Johnny Cash." -- Kluv Cash. Money. To be that tough for one day... I don't know what I'd do. Pick a fight with Dingess. Piss on Yankee Stadium. Say all the things that run through my head every minute while I'm at work. Probably that last one. And the first one. And the pissing thing. I wasn't sure if I was going to get to something off of this album. I've had this disc for years and always loved it -- but it felt like we were playing a big stadium show. But Cash brought it back. The tinny jailhouse recording immediately reminded me of this recording. This guy is fucking good. Throughout this album, we get to experience this man's connection to his audience. He is having a good night. He is having fun. He is, in fact, having a party. I believe him when he says that he doesn't want to quit. Keep on having that party. It's Sam Cooke, Having a Party. Funny aside, at the beginning of the movie Ali (it's about a boxer), Ali is at this concert. They rip the whole thing directly from this recording. Cooke's dialogue onstage and everything. So, you know -- your song was from a biopic, my song was from a biopic. Levels. -- Ire We ARE havin' a party! Damn, my friend -- we are in a crazy sort of symbiosis here, because I've been itching to get a Sam Cooke track from that great Harlem recording on this mix. You read my mind. Freeing me up (or cursing me -- this is tough!) to make another selection... As we near the end, there are so many other tracks all fighting for my attention. Just like Sam, I don't wanna quit. And then I heard him guide me -- "Don't fight it. Feel it." "Keep on havin' that party." I know it's late. I know we're tired and spent and soaked in sweat. But we've got a few more friends to see this evening. And we're gonna call on some guys who were very special to our hearts -- some guys that will find a way to pick us up off the floor for this home stretch. Your song comes from "The Man Who Invented Soul", my song comes from the guys who "Never Souled Out". It's The Pietasters, and they're Movin' On Up. -- Kluv We need more beer, up here! I've actually seen that band play live. Same with these next guys. When our hearts were pumping out of our chests and we were certainly beginning to wonder, as everyone else around us had been for some time, what the hell we were doing in three piece suits. This was the part of the show where you knew there would be no let up. Not yet. They were going to push this thing a little further. They wanted to see if we would pass out, I'm convinced of it. This is a great live album that captures the fun of a great live band. I wasn't going to use these guys -- I didn't think we'd get here. (Do I say that everytime? Yes.) But I just felt like it really fit. Naturally, you know. I love that they're having fun. I love that he gets the name of the song wrong. Watch the hand, it's The Scofflaws with After the Lights. If you close your eyes, it's like you're there. The only thing missing is you coming out of the jon after they finish the song and inadvertently requesting it again. -- Ire Ah, one of my more embarrassing concerting moments. And we were doing so good earlier talking to Sammy about Desmond Dekker. Well, I'm glad you were there to share. I've got a little juice left in me. Just enough to get me through this next pick. Which is why it's time for the "we're reaching the end, and we've taken all your energy, so now we've gotta hook up directly with the soul." The best example of this phenomenon from my own experiences would be Lollapalooza '95. After an entire day of dehydration and rocking out to The Breeders, PFunk, and the Beasties with my pals, we all managed to get separated during the last set of the night -- my Smashing Pumpkins. I was more exhausted than I had ever felt in my life, and the adrenaline of seeing my favorite band for the first time was starting to wear off. They were playing fantastic and nearing the end, but I must admit to a twinge of disappointment in my heart. You see, they played most of the songs off of Siamese Dream and just a few off of Gish -- but none of the 20+ B-Sides that I had collected and memorized (you know, to show my dedication). And then, I heard it. The opening strings of "Starla". From the "I Am One" single (this was before they released "Pisces Iscariot", the B-Side collection). I started singing along. Nobody else within earshot knew the song or the lyrics. They must have thought I was some sort of savant. Then, I turned, and saw my buddy Steve. We stood there, screaming this quietly rocking song with every ounce of our heart, as if we were the only people there. As Mr. Dingess would say -- they get you right in the boo-boo. And since I don't have a live recording of "Starla", I'm going with this next one. Because it gives me the same type of feeling. And I can hear the kids in the audience with that same feeling, too. It's a beautiful song in it's own right. But, when you hear the fans singing along, completely caught up in the song with Dave (who's also giving it his all) well, it's magical. There's a moment in this song -- Jim Morrison used to call it a "Pregnant Pause" -- where the song just stops. And they just hold... and allow the audience's anticipation to grow bigger and bigger, until they whip themselves up into a frenzy -- and then, "Blammo!". (Or, as you might say, "Vah-dah-DOOSH!") Let me tell you, with this one, that payoff is REALLY something special. Plus, this is the only band I've ever seen where they actually rocked so hard, their amps spontaneously combusted. True story. They're waiting here for you. They're the Foo Fighters. This is Everlong. -- Kluv Dude, Here's what I need from you. (You'll have to bare with me right now as a drunken Liz is dancing like a pixie around my office and demanding that I take her for a walk and discuss our lives, our writing and the possibility that I would one day buy her a new breed of cat known as a toyger -- which yes, looks like a small tiger.) What I need from you is a rollicking follow up to Everlong -- and yes, I know you're tired and spent and all you want to to is crawl to the parking lot, sit in traffic on your way out of the show and at some point in the near future sit down to a plate of Denny's Moons Over My-Hammy. You need to give me the -- "Thankyouverymuchgoodnight!" song. I will in turn give you two songs, same artist, that will make up our encore. One of which might fit in this slot, but I've got it in my mind that my two songs are a tandem that cannot be unlinked. So, give me the rocking end to our second set, and you'll have your encore. Then we'll be done. If you do this for me, I will buy the Denny's. A better offer, you will never hear. -- Ire My pleasure. There's a point at the end of the night where you've given every ounce of yourself to the show. Your body. Your soul. And then some. But you're still standing (mostly because everyone is so tightly packed into the place). And then it arrives -- the last song. That secret reserve of energy -- that "do not break unless in case of emergency" energy -- that shot of adrenaline direct to the heart energy -- it finally courses through your body. Because it's now or never. The band is going to walk off after this track -- it's the "last song". And sure, it's possible, (even likely) that they could return for an encore... ...But it's not a guarantee. And so, it's time to go out with our guns blazing, as it were. There are so many bands that didn't make this bill. All were deserving. But I had to go with a band that gave every ounce of themselves when they performed live. A band that could send us off with the proper amount of energy and excitement. A band that was worthy of closing out this show of Legends. A band that I will always wish I got to see with my own eyes and ears. I'd like to thank you for coming out to the show tonight, and I'd like to thank all the great bands who performed. This is Matty. I'm Kluv. And this is The Clash, Capital Radio. Thankyouverymuchgoodnight! -- Kluv Hot coffee. Great call. We needed to end this one with someone worthy of this slot. The Clash leaves the audience with no solitary sense of what could be next. The Clash leaves the audience with a sense of, oh dear God, how lucky I have been to have been here on this night and in this place and with these ears. The Clash earns it. And the full circle is complete. We have created one ring that could rule them all, I'm sure of it. All of our artists are out onstage for a final bow. And we clap and stomp and romp and they know that they've been a part of something special and so do we. They pat one another on the back and laugh and quietly discuss what is about to happen at the hotel or club or after hours show that we are not yet cool enough to be a part of. And the last man finally leaves the stage. Yet we clap on. Our feet burning and our foreheads unable to sweat another drop, ignore their personal needs for the greater good and we, like the marching band from the song, refuse to yield. We refuse to bow to what feels like an overwhelming sense of physical danger and something magical happens. The lights don't come on. And everyone who's anyone knows that our Denny's reprieve will have to wait again -- and somehow, beyond any logical explanation -- this is something that we want. We've just got through explaining that we could not ask for anything more from this show and this show could not ask anything more from us. We just finished that. We are ready to start heading for the egress and looking at strangers with a sense of, "Wow my head hurts, does yours, I can't believe how good that was, I'm sweating like a hog, I can't believe I have to drive home..." But we don't do it. Something in our core is willing us to continue stomping and continue clapping. And once every thirteen seconds or so, I muster the inner strength to hoot as loud and as long as my breath will let me, "Whooooooooooooooooo!" Like some rock and roll nature boy. Then, and this is a moment that I've described recently, it happens. The band does not return en masse. They are certainly as spent as we are. But in the reddish light in the wings of our stage we see the lead singer strapping on a guitar -- likely the first time he's done so all evening. And we go nuts, and the people around us go nuts -- not because they see him as well -- but because they know that we must see him and they are a little bit nuts to begin with. And he bounds out onstage, alone but to thunderous applause. We all think, "Where's the rest of the guys?" while we return to thoughts of dehydration and how long we'll have to sit in traffic (our stomping and clapping work, now complete). And then it happens. Thousands of people get quiet. Very much like the moment we experienced not long ago during Everlong -- but this one is different. This is a pause where we don't quite know what is coming next. A collective holding of breath in wonder and anticipation. Then he begins. It's probably hangover from our last mix, but I've been remembering Pearl Jam more and more fondly over the past three weeks. I feel like writing about them then reminded me how big they were for me 14 years ago. So when Eddie comes out alone to sing this song, it really gets me. After all, this was the song that Liz sent me a few years ago that made me believe that I would love her forever and that what we had was indeed everything I believed it to be in my heart. This is a bare and raw song about true love. It is, in fact an old Australian song about one night love, but it talks to my better angels. The lyric, "We may never meet again," speaks to me more about a long time love that you've not seen, than any one night stand. It's a performance that gives me chills whenever I hear it -- and I used to listen to it on a loop, over and over again, trying to recreate that feeling. It occurs to me now that doing that could have diminished its effect. The fact that doing that has only enhanced its effect, I think is telling. It's Throw Your Arms Around Me, Pearl Jam. While we go nuts and realize that our stores of energy and sweat and stamina may very well be limitless, the band rejoins Eddie onstage. Sentimentality and love are all well and good, but that is not the lingering emotion that these guys want us leaving with. They want us leaving, having been rocked. I have another live recording of this song that is somewhat forgettable. I was prone to do just that, when I was looking through my albums for different recordings that had fun live stuff tagged on the end. I saw a CD single I bought in the mid 90's and remembered that I'd bought it exclusively for the three live tracks. This recording is from before. It's from when it was okay to be young and ideological. And to wear your heart on your sleeve even though you'd lived through jack squat. I don't need to retell you about all the ways this was the biggest song of my youth. It represented everything for us as young men. Wanting to rock. Wanting to fit. Wanting to live. Eddie's intro to this track is fitting as hell for what this mix is. All that we've been talking about, the theme of "surviving" a show. The whole idea of it being something that we, the band and 30,000 other people all survive together. He can barely breathe. We can barely breathe. Yet, both of us reach down for one more. All of us hop and scream. Eddie screams, Jeff hops. Matty screams, Kev hops. It's what this whole thing is all about. It's what it feels like to put Denny's off for another half hour. It's what it feels like to survive something where there is no real danger involved. It's what it feels like to be a part of something bigger than yourself and your problems. It's what it feels like to be Alive, Pearl Jam. -- Ire Jesus Palomino. From The Nerds to The Clash ("The Only Band That Matters"), right through those last two by the Jam -- which truly are Encores of Encores. Now, I just smile. I just bask in the glow of an evening spent dancing and screaming. My ears are ringing. Denny's is on you. -- Kluv |