Ed and I sat right next to the drummer on the edge of stage left. After the show, I urged Ed to swipe the drummer’s copy of the set list, which was sitting an arm’s length away, under the drummer’s seat. Instead he asked the stage manager if it was alright to take it. “No, we reuse those,” came the reply. Really? As we walked toward the exit, I saw the stage manager hand the setlist to an attractive brunette who had been sitting front and center. Life….
- Life's a Long Song This was an upbeat way to start the show. Ian sells a t-shirt with a rather bleak sounding message, “Too old to rock and roll and too young to die.” The image is the cover of his 1976 album of the same name. Well, he’s still rocking. And this song’s message is quite different: life is a long song which ends all too soon.
- Up To Me. Bit of a youthful independent streak.
- Nursie. A “mercifully short” tune bout the cute Nurse that moved in to take care of his Dad in his last days.
- In the Grip of Stronger Stuff Instrumental inspired by former Tull guitarist’s legendary taste for booze. By the way, Ian himself is quite well-known for his anti-drug stance. He did not glamorize his bandmate’s self-destructive behavior. Instead, he commended him for eventually drying out and for still playing today with a different group.
- Set Aside Having to do with a government program paying farmers to leave a portion of their fields fallow.
- Hare In the Wine Cup A rabbit crawled under the fence and into a water feature in the back yard.
- Wond'ring Again Update on an earlier song, Wond’ring Aloud. Ian admitted that he had a hard time getting his mind around the lyrics and is not entirely sure where they came from.
- Adantino German guitar phenom Florian Opahle composed and performed this dramatic Classical / Flamenco guitar tune.
- Adrift and Dumbfounded About his rocky relationship with his daughter.
- Hare that lost his speCtacles Performed as a dramatic reading as he pranced and paced on stage, saying speck-a-ta-cles. He made it look like he was reading, but he never turned a page. I couldn’t see the book cover, but am convinced it was just a prop.
- Bach Prelude in C Minor Once again featuring Florian’s guitar finesse
- Bourèe A brilliant end to the acoustic portion of the show.
[intermission]
- No name song Nothing sharpens the mind, says Ian, like springing a new song on your band and telling them learn it fast, because we’re going to play it live tonight! He did say that the band offered a name for the song, but it was unrepeatable.
- Thick as a brick--long version. Classic: “Sand castle virtues are all swept away in the tidal destruction, the moral melee.”
- Jam instrumental with guitar solo. This was a delight. Imagine the old icon, Ian Anderson, in an instrumental dual with the young upstart. A battle of flute and guitar.
- A Change of Horses. Never change horses in mid-stream.
- Budapest. Hauntingly familiar tune, and an obvious crowd favorite.
- Bach Toccata and Fugue in D Minor. You know the piece as the quintessential Hallowe’en scary organ number. Florian’s treatment on guitar was powerful and enchanting.
- Aqualung. Crowd favorite and everyone was on their feet and jamming.
- Locomotive breath--encore Complete with unique kung fu playing posture, wild gyrations and gesticulations, and plenty of snorting and scat notes—a dynamite finish!
Life Is A Long Song (1)
ReplyDeleteWhen you're falling awake and you take stock of the new day,
and you hear your voice croak as you choke on what you need to say,
well, don't you fret, don't you fear,
I will give you good cheer.
Life's a long song.
Life's a long song.
Life's a long song.
If you wait then your plate I will fill.
As the verses unfold and your soul suffers the long day,
and the twelve o'clock gloom spins the room,
you struggle on your way.
Well, don't you sigh, don't you cry,
lick the dust from your eye.
Life's a long song.
Life's a long song.
Life's a long song.
We will meet in the sweet light of dawn.
As the Baker Street train spills your pain all over your new dress,
and the symphony sounds underground put you under duress,
well don't you squeal as the heel grinds you under the wheel.
Life's a long song.
Life's a long song.
Life's a long song.
But the tune ends too soon for us all.
Nursie (3)
ReplyDeleteTip-toes in silence `round my bed
and quiets the raindrops overhead.
With her everlasting smile
She still my fever for a while.
Oh, nursie dear,
I'm glad you're here
to brush away my pain.
Wond'ring Again (7)
ReplyDeleteThere's the stillness of death on a deathly unliving sea,
and the motor car magical world long since ceased to be,
when the Eve-bitten apple returned to destroy the tree.
Incestuous ancestry's charabanc ride,
spawning new millions throws the world on its side.
Supporting their far-flung illusion, the national curse,
and those with no sandwiches please get off the bus.
The excrement bubbles,
the century's slime decays
and the brainwashing government lackeys
would have us say
it's under control and we'll soon be on our way
to a grand year for babies and quiz panel games
of the hot hungry millions you'll be sure to remain.
The natural resources are dwindling and no one grows old,
and those with no homes to go to, please dig yourself holes.
We wandered through quiet lands, felt the first breath of snow.
Searched for the last pigeon, slate grey I've been told.
Stumbled on a daffodil which she crushed in the rush, heard it sigh,
and left it to die.
At once felt remorse and were touched by the loss of our own,
held its poor broken head in her hands,
dropped soft tears in the snow,
and it's only the taking that makes you what you are.
Wond'ring aloud will a son one day be born
to share in our infancy
in the child's path we've worn.
In the aging seclusion of this earth that our birth did surprise
we'll open his eyes.
Budapest (17)
ReplyDeleteI think she was a middle-distance runner...
(the translation wasn't clear).
Could be a budding stately hero.
International competition in a year.
She was a good enough reason for a party...
(well, you couldn't keep up on a hard track mile)
while she ran a perfect circle.
And she wore a perfect smile
in Budapest... hot night in Budapest.
We had to cozzy up in the old gymnasium...
dusting off the mandolins and checking on the gear.
She was helping out at the back-stage...
stopping hearts and chilling beer.
Yes, and her legs went on for ever.
Like staring up at infinity
through a wisp of cotton panty
along a skin of satin sea.
Hot night in Budapest.
You could cut the heat, peel it back with the wrong side of a knife.
Feel it blowing from the sidefills. Feel like you were playing for your life
(if not the money).
Hot night in Budapest.
She bent down to fill the ice box
and stuffed some more warm white wine in
like some weird unearthly vision
wearing only T-shirt, pants and skin.
You know, it rippled, just a hint of muscle.
But the boys and me were heading west
so we left her to the late crew
and a hot night in Budapest.
It was a hot night in Budapest.
She didn't speak much English language...
(she didn't speak much anyway).
She wouldn't make love, but she could make good sandwich
and she poured sweet wine before we played.
Hey, Budapest, cha, cha, cha. Let's watch her now.
I thought I saw her at the late night restaurant.
She would have sent blue shivers down the wall.
But she didn't grace our table.
In fact, she wasn't there at all.
Yes, and her legs went on forever.
Like staring up at infinity.
Her heart was spinning to the west-lands
and she didn't care to be
that night in Budapest.
Hot night in Budapest.
Aqualung (19)
ReplyDeleteSitting on a park bench --
eyeing little girls with bad intent.
Snot running down his nose --
greasy fingers smearing shabby clothes.
Drying in the cold sun --
Watching as the frilly panties run.
Feeling like a dead duck --
spitting out pieces of his broken luck.
Sun streaking cold --
an old man wandering lonely.
Taking time
the only way he knows.
Leg hurting bad,
as he bends to pick a dog-end --
he goes down to the bog
and warms his feet.
Feeling alone --
the army's up the rode
salvation a la mode and
a cup of tea.
Aqualung my friend --
don't start away uneasy
you poor old sod, you see, it's only me.
Do you still remember
December's foggy freeze --
when the ice that
clings on to your beard is
screaming agony.
And you snatch your rattling last breaths
with deep-sea-diver sounds,
and the flowers bloom like
madness in the spring.
Locomotive Breath (20)
ReplyDeleteIn the shuffling madness
Of the locomotive breath
Runs the all time loser
Headlong to his death
He feels the piston scraping
Steam breaking on his brow
Old Charlie stole the handle
And the train, it won't stop going
No way to slow down, o-oh
He sees his children jumping off
At the stations one by one
His woman and his best friend
In bed and having fun
Oh, he's crawling down the corridor
On his hands and knees
Old Charlie stole the handle
And the train won't stop going
No way to slow down, hey-ey
He hears the silence howling
Catches angels as they fall
And the all time winner
Has got him by the balls
He picks up Gideon's Bible
Open at page one
God, he stole the handle
And the train won't stop going
No way to slow down, ow
No way to slow down
No way to slow down
No way to slow down