iJamming.net

The Phoenicia Hotel had a storied existence, a favorite destination of Babe Ruth and Dutch Shultz, to name but just two American legends. In recent years it fell into disrepair, and though its bar continued to do business, and a restaurant and gallery were among its storefront tenants, was eventually closed down – just around the time we moved up here. As the biggest building on Main Street, its dilapidated silence spoke of the Catskills’ fragile economy – and when it caught fire a year ago, just as it was about to be sold to local businessman Declan Feehan, promptly became an eyesore, an all-too-visible reminder of how so many other hotels round these parts met their demise and of the ghosts they leave behind. A local photographer caught that fire on camera - and last week, when the Hotel was finally torn down, came out again to capture “the end of an era.”

The village looks notably different without the hotel in the middle of Main Street. But it already looks better. And though Declan Feehan, who went ahead with his purchase of the building despite the fact that the Town condemned the building after the fire, has been coy about what he plans in its place, likelihood is that whatever he constructs will surely be for the good. The Hotel’s slow demise aside, Phoenicia is thriving, with four restaurants, an old-fashioned theater that puts on proper plays and movie nights, the Arts Upstairs Gallery with its own myriad events, the Phoenicia Belle B&B, a variety of decent (and not-so-decent) stores, maybe the best pizza outside New York City, a railway museum, the internationally famous tourist attraction of tubing (see here and here), a beloved Library – and a successful elementary school which, thanks to the recent School Board election, appears to be assured of its status. Here’s to Phoenicia’s Phuture.

R.E.M. at Madison Square Garden, Thursday June 19
The Ting Tings at Southpaw, Friday June 20

L Magazine describes the R.E.M./Modest Mouse/National concert at Madison Square Garden, Thursday June 19, as “Just you and about 20,000 of your closest friends taking an active interest in your local indie scene.” Which means the Ting Tings at Southpaw in Brooklyn the following night is just me and about 200 of my “closest friends” taking an active interest in… a band on the same major label as Modest Mouse?

Not trusting MSG to sell alcohol after my experience at Jones Beach last week, I force my fellow middle-aged dad to hit a local bar with me beforehand. We miss part of Modest Mouse in the process.

Knowing full well that Southpaw sells alcohol, I visit a local bar with a different fellow middle-aged dad before the Ting Tings show. The 4th Avenue Pub has opened since I left Park Slope. It looks like a dive from out front but it sells about 40 or 50 different beers – including Keegan’s of Kingston! – and has a nice little backyard. I have a Rogue Soba IPA. (That’s Soba as in the noodles, not as in non-alcoholic.) We miss part of Anna Rossi’s set in the process.

I have nothing against either support act. I’m also not completely taken by either support act. Modest Mouse make a lot of noise, but it might be better served with an audience that fully appreciates it; the arena opening slot is never as glamorous as it sounds. Anni Rossi makes very little noise – it’s just her and her viola, and she’s plucking away at a Cure song as we enter, which seems appropriate (if not desperately original), given that the Cure are themselves playing the Garden that night. But hey, I have a short attention span. I see as much of each act as I need to.

At MSG, I hook up briefly with friends who have driven down from the Catskills.

At Southpaw, I hook up briefly with the promoter, who was once the bartender, who has, in the period since I left the ‘hood for the Catskills, been instrumental in promoting the Catskills’ Felice Brothers – so much so that he recently came up to Woodstock to see them at one of Levon Helm’s Rambles. Small world.

My seats at the Garden are perfect, just above and to the side of the floor. They’re rendered even better by the fact that the people in front of me stay seated throughout the show.

At Southpaw, nobody sits.

Tickets at MSG are $79.
Tickets at Southpaw are $15.

Um, I didn’t pay for either.

R.E.M. play for two hours.
The Ting Tings play for about 40 minutes.

R.E.M.’s opening acts are both renowned and worth a fair ticket price in their own right (in a smaller venue): Modest Mouse play for at least 45 minutes, The National play for about 40 minues.
Anni Rossi has a single out on Too Pure, but is not exactly renowned.

R.E.M. performing “Man-Sized Wreath.” I love that R.E.M. actually encourage people to take videos and photos and share them: you can find them all archived here.

And so, for all that we tend to assume that arena shows are overpriced, the R.E.M. show looks like surprisingly good value. Especially as ticket prices actually start below $40.

I thought I didn’t like arena concerts. I had figured I preferred outdoor events like at Jones Beach. But after the previous weekend’s thunderous disappointment, I have now decided I prefer arena concerts after all.

Though to be honest, what I really like in life is club gigs. I find it hard to live without them. It’s not so much about the band in question as the vibe of just seeing the band in question – being in a club, checking the crowd, catching the mood, getting a sense of what’s happening on the live scene.

The R.E.M. show starts in a blaze of energy, with “Living Well Is The Best Revenge,” a way to get the crowd up and on their feet from the opening notes. Even better is its immediate successor, “These Days.” Did I mention that Lifes Rich Pageant is R.E.M.’s most impeccable rock album?

The Ting Tings don’t have to worry about getting the crowd up and on its feet. The crowd is up and on its feet and in their face from the off. They start with “We Walk” – not the R.E.M. song of the same name, but one of their own. It takes time to build, but what I assume at first to be a subdued beginning turns out to be calculated; by the end of the song, it’s full on.

On stage, R.E.M. is/are an old-fashioned rock band: all male, guitar, bass, drums. All of it played live.

On stage, The Ting Tings are one of those new-fangled rock duos: male/female, drums/guitar and guitar/vocals. A lot of it is pre-recorded.

Lighting was so bad at Southpaw I’ve used this picture from their LA show instead. Photo by Carlos Chavez.

This raises the interesting question of how the Ting Tings provide their pre-recorded music. Instinctively, one would suspect it comes from backing tapes, of the kind that singers like the Ting Tings’ Katie White, in her girl group past, frequently relied upon; of the kind that any number of one-hit-wonder wanna-be disco divas have used when “performing” their latest hit around the witching hour at a major urban nightclub. But drummer and guitarist Jules De Martino doesn’t wear the headphones that would seem almost essential to play along with taped tracks. And in the group’s record company bio, he and White alike make a big deal about his custom-soldered effects pedals and how they create “loads of different layers of music…. There’s no right order, no time code, it’s all completely live.” White notes that “It’s not like a backing track. It gives you total live control.” I have seen drummers controlling backing tracks before – most memorably, in 1991, Renegade Soundwave pre-programming their various syn-drums to provide specific loops. I’m not certain De Martino, while pounding out a live rhythm with impressive zeal, is doing anything quite so complex as mixing the extensive backing tracks. And yet the manner in which he and these tracks start each song in synch suggest that he must have finite control over them. I don’t get quite close enough to the stage to figure this one out.

With R.E.M., there are no such complex questions of origination. Here’s a group that’s been playing onstage together for 28 years now – and can read each other like the front cover of a tabloid. You don’t hear many mistakes at an R.E.M. show; in fact, it’s often so seamless you don’t even notice you’re hearing improvisations on a theme. R.E.M. don’t extend their songs in free-form fashion as, for example, the Who still do, but they play with an energy and vitality, an enthusiasm and a humor – and vary their set list from night to night – in a way that very few acts can lay claim.

Katie White is a very 21st Century pop star. Equal parts indie queen and Spice Girl, whatever she may lack in the diva department she more than makes up for in cheerleading qualities. She jumps up and down, she claps her hands, she shakes around, she embraces and engages the crowd. I’m reminded of other, equally lively shows at this same club over the years – The Go! Team come straight to mind. The Go! Team were a painfully hip British indie band signed for vast sums of money to Sony. The Ting Tings are, also, a painfully hip British indie band signed for vast sums of money to Sony. The Go! Team recently released their second album on Sony, and I don’t think anyone noticed. Will we still be raving about the Ting Tings come their second album? Right now, it seems unfair to suggest otherwise. But ask the Go! Team and look at Sony’s one-album-wonder track record with painfully hip British indie bands – san anyone say Sunscreem? – before you reach any conclusion about longevity.

R.E.M. released their second album, Reckoning, in 1984. At the Garden they play three songs from it: the college rock country anthem “Don’t Go Back To Rockville,” for which Mike Mills takes center stage; the Rolling Stones nervous breakdown “Pretty Persuasion,” for which I still have no idea of the words (and no desire to ever know them); and “Harborcoat,” the album’s opening cut but one rarely played even back in the day. Tonight, the ska influence is emphasized by Peter Buck and Mills, with Michael Stipe trying his best – and failing – to skank along. Afterwards, he notes the influence of the English Beat on R.E.M. back in 1984. I do believe the groups shared the stage a few times.

The Ting Tings, to be more than fair to any possible one album wonder status, have hits. Three of them, at the very least. They play one of these, “Great DJ” as their second song, and the response is the most energetic I’ve seen from a Brooklyn audience since painfully hip British indie band Simiam Mobile Disco at Studio B last year. You remember Simian Mobile Disco, right?

R.E.M., to be equally fair, have hits. Dozens of them. Some of which seem to get played more than others. And while a few hardened fans are upset at being subjected to “Losing My Religion,” “The One I Love” and “Man On the Moon” every night even after all these years, it’s worth noting that R.E.M. don’t play “It’s The End Of the World,” “Everybody Hurts,” “Shiny Happy People” or “The Great Beyond.” Instead, tonight’s “less obvious” hits include “Bad Day,” “Drive” and “Leaving New York,” the latter a particularly welcome inclusion – especially as it’s one of only two songs I can comfortably listen to from Around The Sun.

The Ting Tings have taken their share of knocks from the British press for their live shows. A review in the Guardian last month called them “a jaded duo” in its opening sentence. Talk about bad journalism. The Ting Tings may be many tings, but they are most certainly not jaded. Admittedly, they are not high art either, not rocket science (unless De Martino’s bass pedals are indeed programming all the backing vocals), and it’s not the end of the world as we know it, but I feel fine all the same. The act is FUN! Come on people: it’s Friday night, everyone’s in good spirits, the crowd is drinking and dancing, the music is pumping, the girls around me are all good looking – and none more so than Katie, in her hot pants. What’s not to like?

Stipe introduces “Ignoreland” as dating from 1740.

Katie plays a cowbell and the crowd go wild.

Michael Stipe refrains from calling George Bush a “piece of shit” President like he did at Jones Beach. Instead he calls him, “the pathetic George Bush.” At MSG, nobody steps up to challenge him.

“Shut Up And Let Me Go” is another Ting Tings’ hit, the one currently in Apple rotation. It’s the kind of (major label) indie f-you anthem that feisty Brooklyn girls love. It’s also one of my favorites, notably for its “Rapture”-era groove.

Peter Buck is looking content, relaxed and yet full of beans. Mike Mills is wearing nudie suit and cowboy hat – the latter was not just a defensive move for the rain of Jones Beach. Scott McCaughey jumps around like he’s earned the right to do so. And Stipe… well, I agree with the chap who says his voice keeps getting better with age. And the showmanship is more comfortable than ever, too; it’s that of an arena rock band’s front man, but it’s neither patronizing nor insulting nor over the top. As much as anything, it’s witty. When you pause to think about it, every great front man in history has needed a sense of humor – and read into that what you will.

Some things never change at Southpaw, like the tendency to bathe every act in the kind of red light my Canon Elph absolutely hates. Despite being all of about six feet from the stage, there’s no way I’m getting a decent picture tonight in that light. I take video instead:

Other R.E.M. highlights at MSG from across the years: “Disturbance at the Heron House,” “Driver 8,” “Electrolite,” and a very welcome “Begin The Begin” as an encore, a song not even listed as a possibility on the night’s set list. (Pictured here.)

I’m not so keen on the Ting Tings’ “Traffic Light”; I concur with the reviewer who says its inclusion as a “slow song” is more for Katie’s benefit than that of the audience.

“I’m Gonna DJ” has an NYC Scrabble ting going on in the background. “Man-Sized Wreath” features the premiere of its video. Before closing with “Man On The Moon,” Michael does his political speech, about how they last played here in 2004 just days after Bush had been re-elected, and how despondent he was at the time and it was one of the worst concerts they ever played. Guess I’m glad I missed it.

The Ting Tings don’t have anything political to say. Unless, of course, you count the lyrics to “That’s Not My Name,” their third hit and most popular number. It gets me thinking of another group that, like the Ting Tings, suffered inevitable comparisons to Blondie: Voice of the Beehive and their excellent “Don’t Call Me Baby.” You remember Voice of the Beehive? Their second album was better than sales would have you believe.

The Garden show is as close as I have a right to expect a personally “ideal” R.E.M. set list. Three songs a piece from Reckoning and Lifes Rich Pageant. Only one from Reveal and Around The Sun combined. Sadly, none from the under-rated Up, though “Walk Unafraid” has shown up elsewhere on the tour. You could make an assumption that R.E.M. were becoming an oldies act based on this above count if not for the fact that Accelerate finally brought them back on track. It’s a triumph, and they know it. Best of all, the songs are designed to be played live. Tonight’s set features no less than seven of them.

According to the LA Times’ reviewer, Todd Martens, The Ting Tings play nine of the ten songs from their debut album We Started Nothing, somehow extending the run time from 35 minutes to 45 in the process. It didn’t feel that long to me, but then I wasn’t really counting.

Johnny Marr joins R.E.M. again for “Fall On Me” and “Man on the Moon.” This time I’m ready to film the two guitarists and their black Rickenbackers (and Vox amps!) leaning into each other like old-time best buddies. Guest spots are not always my turn-on, but this one feels properly special. Who knows if we’ll see it again?

As you would surely expect me to conclude, R.E.M. is the better show, the more proven group, the longer and more extensive set list. It’s better lit, better back-dropped, better sounding, the musicians are better, the singer is better, and every note is played live. Plus, my vantage point is perfect. But none of that is to take away from the sheer unadulterated fun that is the Ting Tings in a small club. Not every band has to follow conventional line-ups, not every live show has to be judged on the group’s back catalogue. Going to gigs – as opposed to arenas – is about living in the moment, enjoying what the act on stage has to offer right here right now, at this particular moment in their lives, the past and the future be damned. The point has been regularly made that the Ting Tings are no spring chickens. But Debbie Harry was 31 years old when Blondie released their debut album. Do the Ting Tings have as many hits in them as Blondie and R.E.M.? The turnover of painfully hip new British “indie” acts suggests otherwise, but the unknowable is the fun of it all.

You can surely guess the club. The year was 1975.

The other day I went out on a long mountain run, training for the Escarpment Trail race. At the beginning, I loaded up the latest Tripwire podcast. Almost two hours later, the podcast finally came it its conclusion, just as I got back to my car. During that time, I had been spurred up and down the hills by a fascinating array of new music, very little of which I had heard before, none of which I felt the need to fast forward through. Hosted by Robert English, the Tripwire Podcasts run a wide gamet of indie music, including some hip-hop and electronica as well as the more standard guitars-bass-and-drums rock, though it falls far short of, for example, All Songs Considered, in that it doesn’t veer into world or folk or truly experimental music. But that’s fine. The Tripwire Podcast is more varied than many, more informative than most, and expertlty segued from start to finish, to the extent that sometimes you don’t even realize the songs have changed. Best of all, the Podcast is designed to just let the music play, with all the back-announcing done in two chunks, at the end of each hour: meantime, the songs and artist names pop up on your iPod with one click of the Select button, and on iTunes itself, the cover art also shows up and links to each act’s website.

The Tripwire Podcast 037 features great new music from Ebony Bones, The Phenomenal Handclap Band, The Lady Tigra, Lyrics Born, Ladytron, Dizzee Rascal, Creature, The Swayback, M83, and The Lodger, to name just a few. My personal highlights, out of many, are the opening, morbidly morose cover of “Always On My Mind” by Davey McManus from The Crimea; Langhorne Slim’s brassy and sassy “Rebel Side of Heaven” (“Although we’ve sinned all our lives, we ain’t going to hell, we’re going to the rebel side of heaven”) and the hilarious indie country rock love triangle “Fantasy Guy” by El Madmo (“In my fantasy you and me we screw like bunnies… But your wife gets in the way.“).

TheTripwire Podcast is very much part of the new music paradigm: two hours of great music legally available for download in the hope that you’ll feel sufficiently intrigued to either buy the act’s albums, go see them live – or, if nothing else, simply be aware that they exist. Judging by this latest selection, it’s not hard to see or say that independent music is as healthy in 2008 as it’s ever been.

Download The Tripwire Podcast 037 here

(Continued from Part 1: Road Trip)

The thunder and lightning recede, the rain does not, the stage is mopped, and the show goes on. R>E>M> take to the stage at 10:10pm, 45 minutes after their due time. They open with “Have You Ever Seen The Rain” and follow it with “So. Central Rain (I’m Sorry).” I always appreciate a band that adapts to the occasion.

My mind goes back to June 22, 1985, The Longest Day in more senses than one. It rained at the Milton Keynes Bowl that afternoon from the end of the Faith Brothers’ set through Spear of Destiny and Billy Bragg, on through a disheveled R>E>M> at their Fables of the Reconstruction lowest – with bottles of piss being thrown at them by impatient fans of the Ramones, who followed – and only stopped when U2 came onto the stage and sang the Beatles’ song “Rain”… proving that Bono does indeed have a direct line to God.

Have You Ever Seen the Rain provide your Reflection on the stage? Probably: think June 22 1985 for one.

Michael Stripe does not have a direct line to God. (Thank God.) He makes comment instead about wishing “we’d signed the Kyoto Treaty” and how this weather is “fucking stupid.” In defense of the weather, the storm probably has little to do with global warming. It’s the nature of the microclimate and Stipe may be better putting it down, instead, to the (bad) luck of the draw. Some performer or other is going to run into one of these storms each year at Jones Beach, and this year it happens to be R>E>M>. I’m just glad nobody died when lightning hit the venue.

After all, “Living Well Is The Best Revenge.” R>E>M> storm into it (pun intended) at tornado force, straight out of the equally vitriolic “These Days.” I maintain that Lifes Rich Pageant is R>E>M>’s most impeccable rock album. It was also the only album they toured but skipped out on touring Europe. Meaning I’ve never seen them play “Superman.” Tonight will be no exception.

Stipe makes a friendly comment about how the audience in their polythene ponchos look like “garbage bags.” This is true, and expensive garbage bags at that, Jones Beach charging $5 each for what are essentially throwaway items. “You keep looking like garbage bags, we’ll keep playing songs,” he says. He promises another 20 or so of them. It’s a half-dozen shy of the number they’ve been performing elsewhere on tour, suggesting that (for presumable reasons of curfews and overtime) the 45 minutes delay is not going to get added at the back end.

I’m watching all this from out front, having left my wife and kid in the viewing pen. My Beatles Ben Sherman shirt, Triple 5 Soul cap, O’Neill shorts and DC skate shoes may be the height of fashion on the beach in the sun, but I’m not on the beach in the sun; I’m in a downpour, and nothing seems remotely waterproof. I try and slide into one of the front rows, figuring that would be worth getting wet for, but security are doing their “go back to your assigned seat” assignment routine, because that’s what security people do at big shows. The seat far back from the stage that seemed so well suited for Noel, now seems a little … well, seems ironic, given that he’s basically on the stage and I’m at least a hundred feet away from it! And I arranged to watch the show with wife and child so I know I can’t stay out here too long anyway.

The view from front of house

After “What’s the Frequency, Kenneth,” the band introduces “Man-Sized Wreath” for “our stupid piece of shit President.” A guy nearby shouts out “Hey, fuck you Michael!” And at the end of the song he throws the insult right back at Stipe. (Exact words: “Michael, you’re a stupid piece of shit!”) When a bunch of rain-soaked fans turn and glare, he defends himself. “Hey, he insulted our President!” You have to wonder what part of R.E.M.’s politics this particular punter has never quite grasped, but nobody confronts him; this is not rioting weather.

R>E>M> play “1,000,000” which, dating back to the 1982 Chronic Town EP, proves the oldest song of the night.

The next day, I read a posting from a dad who says he couldn’t have asked for a greater pre-fathers day gift than watching R.E.M. with his 17-year old son. “After all,” he writes, “when did a little rain hurt anyone?” I’d love to have shared his enthusiasm and can only assume he was in the front rows where, I have to admit, the atmosphere seemed that much more charged for the circumstances.

Then again, someone else that, “That was a terrible decision to play last night. They jeopardized the safety of their fans-we were 3 feet from a lightning bolt.” I doubt that the decision to go ahead with the show was taken lightly – and I’m sure that canceling would have been even more disappointing for the bigger majority that had paid their money and driven out to the beach, knowing that outdoor shows always carry some sort of weather risk factor. Still, I can’t help but notice people leave their seats and retreat… To the very limited areas of shelter? To their cars? Who knows…

During “Ignoreland” (wonder what the Bush fan in the audience thinks of that one!) I realize that the notes I’m making are turning it into Pollock-like doodles of drips; I give up on getting wet, find my previously assigned seat, grab our stroller and make my way back to the viewing pen. Noel is happily drawing on a chair, occasionally looking up to view the action on stage.

The view from back of house.

Given the choice, I would never watch a show from up here. Not only are we missing out on the front of house sound, not only are we missing out on the video screens and light show, but we’re not even getting the monitor sound, given how high up we are. The music is bouncing around all over the place, rendering Michael’s introductions all but inaudible…

…Which is a great shame, because it’s only by reading other reviews that I’ve finally gathered some of what Michael was saying on the night. About how they won’t be playing “I’ll Take Rain” because “It’s plodding. And it’s seven minutes long. Trust me, you DON’T want to hear that song right now!” He has a point: Reveal is not the album some critics cracked it up to be.

Document, on the other hand, was impeccable, so I’m thrilled to hear “Welcome To The Occupation.”

Mike Mills is wearing his cowboy hat. It provides some shelter as he frequently steps stage front and out into the rain. Stipe is practically living out there, I presume taking the attitude that if it’s good enough for the audience… Peter Buck is moving in relatively subdued fashion, mostly under cover; Scott McCaughey, when I can see him, looks like he’s having the time of his life. Bill Rieflin is perfectly controlled at stage rear. I don’t know why I should be surprised by the fact, but it occur to me that there’s a lot more gray hairs around this band than there once used to be.

Michael Stipe throws out Obama t-shirts to those who aren’t wearing garbage bags and need some dry clothes. Throw one out to that Bush fan!

“Let Me In” is performed in a huddle, Buck on organ, Stipe singing, the others on acoustic guitars. I decide to film some of it and to my later surprise, the fact that I’m not in front of the PA means that for the first time in years, the audio is actually audible.

R>E>M> have been encouraging people to share photos and videos online. This is so much more sensible a policy in the face of technology than to try and stop people from taking them in the first place – which is still what goes on at most big shows. And so I believe I’m allowed to share my clip:

Thanks to R>E>M> setting up a tag system, my video below links to at least a dozen others from the same show. By scrolling along, you can see for yourself the rain pouring down during the opener “Have You Ever Seen the Rain” and the rather shambolic conclusion to “It’s the End of the World…”

More songs from Accelerate: “Houston,” “Horse To Water,” “Hollow Man,” and the final song of the set, proper: “I’m Gonna DJ.”

The group doesn’t leave the stage. Given the rain delay, they just pile straight into the encore: “Supernatural Superserious,” “Losing My Religion” and then a song with which we’re all most familiar but for the fact that with this tour, the group had promised to drop it from the set list. Presumably then, the inclusion of “It’s The End of The World As We Know It (And I Feel Fine)” – the 58th song to be played on this tour, though the only new “old” addition of the night – is in direct reference to tonight’s truly apocalyptic weather. And though you wouldn’t expect it from a group that must have played it a thousand times, the end is a shambles, Mike Mills and Michael Stipe on opposite sides of the stage losing grip on the refrain. I see Peter Buck walk over to Bill Rieflin and give him the “cut” signal. They cut.

Buck’s probably just eager to get on to the next song. The advantage of having Modest Mouse as support is having Johnny Marr in the wings for the encore. He and Peter Buck are suddenly side by side, both sporting black Rickenbackers, playing “Fall On Me.” I doubt there is any other R>E>M> song written after the Smiths came to prominence (i.e., after R>E>M> had already made Reckoning, in 1984) that sounds quite so perfectly suited for Johnny Marr. Back in those mid-80s days, R>E>M> were understandably pissed to be compared to the Smiths, a band they preceded by a good couple of years and really weren’t interested in copying. But still, the groups had so much in common – not least Johnny Marr and Peter Buck and the Rickenbacker. To see them shoulder-to-shoulder like this – and to clearly hear Johnny Marr’s additional fretwork on this performance – is something everyone should be able to experience. Too late, I remember to film some of it. Here you go:

Marr stays on for “Man In The Moon,” the sort of sing-along the audience deserves at the end of such a difficult night. By my watch, the group has played a solid 90 minutes without leaving the stage, and they’ve all – but especially Michael Stipe – worked hard to make up for the unfortunate weather and necessary delays. But it’s still probably a good thirty minutes shy of the regular set length, and with it has gone the opportunity to hear songs like Second Guessing, Gardening At Night, Disturbance At The Heron House, West of the Fields, Sitting Still, Final Straw, Auctioneer, Pretty Persuasion, Carnival Of Sorts, Shaking Through, Little America, Harborcoat, Cuyahoga, Driver 8, (Don’t Go Back To) Rockville and many others that have been played elsewhere on the tour.

And so, despite the initial plan to make this road trip my only R>E>M> show on this tour, I’m heading to New York City June 19th for the Madison Square Garden show. I hear the venue has a roof.

#remjones