One of my favorite things to do in the world is to go to a concert. I can't imagine what it's like for my friends who don't listen to the same music as most of their friends. I listen to a metric ton of music that no one (my age) I know likes, and I love going to concerts.
There was once a time in my life where it seemed like the most important event was when my father would sit me down, whether it be in the living room, the musty, box-filled attic closet where the record player and stacks of dirty, old, beautiful records resided, or the back seat of the black Honda, old and dirty but comfortable on a drive to nowhere in particular, not to listen as much as completely absorb what music had to offer and what words of explanation, both anecdotal and definitive, he had to offer about the music. I took in all that he said, and, in my mind, formed legendary images of these fondly-spoken-of idols that became firmly cemented within myself and everything that I knew to the point where they became more than men, more than mere mortals: gods in their own right, up on a stage above the rest of us, lights flashing behind them, illuminating the outline of their magisterial bodies, thousands of body-less hands groping for a piece, a pick, a drop of sweat, or even just to get closer, as if the greatness of one person could rub off on the not-so-great mortals filling the audiences and make their lives better in ways they could only hope for by day and pray for by night. I've since grown into this insane, warped reverence for what Kurt Vonnegut and I agree on the only definitive proof of a higher plane of life. I can't imagine not sharing music with someone. I can't imagine having a secret like that, one only I know about and can't speak out loud to another single human being in my everyday life.
Nowadays, I've also expanded and grown my tastes away from the classic rock based sensibilities of my father, and can't necessarily share all of these millennial-type modern musicians with him, which is where my 14-year-old brother comes in.
Anyway, it's wonderful being able to share all of my own personal discoveries with someone who's willing to listen. The kid is an avid learner and a willing listener, to both my lectures and stories, and the music that I've thrust upon him. I used to do it all the time in subtle, secret ways. Upload an album as the soundtrack to one of his video games, or burn a copy and put it in my mother's car, the one he gets driven around in.
Eventually it became more collaborative, as we made mix CDs together, and dreamt up the perfect setlists, and browsed record stores together. Sure, he was annoying when he was born, but if you had told me that he'd be twelve and rocking a badass Ramones t-shirt on the regular, I might have changed more diapers. There were a few years there where I thought that I would never be able to experience that feeling of awe I used to feel walking down the steps on Christmas morning. Then I watched James do it. Sharing music is kind of like that. It's given me the chance to be on both sides of everything, and it's given me a partner. I think this aspect is really just getting started.
Four years ago he was in the front row at his first concert at Asbury Park's legendary Stone Pony, snagging the setlist and successfully requesting an encore song. There's nothing like a concert, like hearing that song that you've pumped into your brain thirty times a day for years be created from nothing directly in front of you, and then to look around and realize that you're amongst hundreds of other people who've pumped that same song the same amount of times into their brain. I love that, but I also love that I don't even need to go to a concert to feel that, because he's right there, across the hall, pumping the same song into his brain right now.
So this all turns into what I slash we do before going to a show, or after leaving a show. This isn't just with my brother, this is also with my girlfriend or father or friends who are attending, I was just in the saying-nice-things-about-my-brother mood, so I was highlighting him, but I'll say something like, "I really want to hear this song, this song, and this song," or "man, I wish they had played this song." I went around seven or eight Josh Ritter concerts before I heard him play "The Temptation of Adam," which is one of my very favorite songs. Basically, I wanted to create fantasy setlists for all of my favorite artists, that include all of the songs that I want to hear in the position that I want to hear them.
There has to be ground rules, though. It can't just be total fantasy, as in, it should be less than two hours, or around an hour and a half in most cases. Basically, it should be realistic. Sure, Bruce plays for three hours, but someone like Brett Dennen or Ingrid Michaelson isn't going to get that much time on stage. Also, if there's a song that the band/artist always always always closes or opens with, like as in, every single show ever, I'll probably stick to that, too, since it's probably best in that position, and if I happen to disagree with that, well, they know their music better than me.
So, for the first one, I've decided to do The Avett Brothers. Usually, I just assume that a band's home state is the best place to see them. It's all about the crowd, and how the artists bring out their best for the home crowd, so let's so go with Township Auditorium in Columbia, South Carolina, where just this past week the brothers and their band played three consecutive nights of 25-26 song shows.
1. Down With the Shine
2. Love Like the Movies
3. Jenny and the Summer Day
4. Head Full of Doubt / Road Full of Promise
5. A Lot of Moving
6. January Wedding
7. Go To Sleep
8. The Ballad of Love and Hate
9. If It's the Beaches
10. Laundry Room
11. At the Beach
12. Bella Donna
13. Sixteen in July
14. Paranoia in B-Flat Major
15. Die Die Die
16. Murder in the City
17. Left on Laura, Left on Lisa
18. Pretty Girl From Michigan
19. Slight Figure of Speech
20. Tear Down the House
21. The Perfect Space
--encore--
22. Kick Drum Heart
23. I and Love and You
24. Talk on Indolence
I've got seven songs from I and Love and You, four from Emotionalism, three from The Second Gleam EP and Four Thieves Gone: The Robbinsville Sessions, two from Country Was and The Carpenter, and one from each of Mignonette, The Gleam EP, and A Carolina Jubilee.
Some oddities for my ultimate setlist are probably: "Jenny and the Summer Day," which of the 639 setlists on setlist.fm, only 8 shows have that song on it. Only 7 shows have "Sixteen in July" on their list. I usually like it when a band closes with a strong run of three or four songs, and then comes back out with a soft song before rocking out the final encore song, but I did more of the opposite here. I think that with a fantasy setlist, you have to go for your favorites over the songs the band typically plays, otherwise you could just copy and paste their actual setlists. It's like if you meet them before the show, you're not going to request "Kick Drum Heart," even if it is your favorite song. They're going to play that no matter what, so ask for something weird that you may never ever get the chance to hear. For me, those ones are the two mentioned above, plus "Bella Donna," "Tear Down the House," and "A Lot of Moving."
"Tear Down the House" isn't played often, but I love it so much ("bulldoze the woods that I ran through, carry the pictures of me and you"), and "The Perfect Space" isn't your typical main-set closer, but it's probably my favorite of theirs, and I think the quick transition from ballad to "Ok, part two, now clear the house," would make for a really strong ending.
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