Car Filler, alternatively titled "Steve McQueen and Jerry Seinfeld Walk Into a Porsche Dealership"

As I have written here before, Jerry Seinfeld is widely known as one of the world's most prominent Porsche collectors and owns one of the world's largest collections of Porsches.  The crown jewel of his collection is a 1970 Porsche 917K.  Only 25 of these were made--the car was created solely to race at LeMans, and the rules at the time allowed you to use a bigger engine only if you made 25 copies of the car, ostensibly making it a production vehicle as opposed to a prototype.  You can learn more about it in this (long) video.

Seinfeld's 917 is extra special because Steve McQueen owned it and used it in the movie LeMans.  You know Steve McQueen, the coolest goddamn motherfucker on the silver screen.

 

And it can be soon be yours, assuming you have an extra $20 million or so.

Getting Over It... Together

Last year our tiny dictator posted a post about posts. Unpublished G:TB posts. Well, this one has sat in the hopper for quite a long while. It never really come together, it sounds thoroughly preachy, and it wasn't finished. But with a semi-local milestone in the news this morning -- which will undoubtedly elicit some of the same shopworn outcries from traditionalists, rednecks, and racists -- well, here we go...

Studying people is interesting.

I was a Sociology major who also took a number of Psychology courses. I earned full Psych credit by completing the requisite guinea pig assignments for upperclassmen's Psychology dissertations... including double-dating with Dave and some unlucky co-eds, then writing about whether we remained "date-anxious" after the encounters.  It was an ordeal, but I got through William and Mary by learning about humans, our crazy cultures, and the ridiculous stuff we say and do. Despite my marks, I learned a lot.

People love to root for a cause.

A football team.
A political party.
A god, and and a very particular strain of dogmatic do's and don'ts that go with that god.
A cure for cancer.

You can levy your own opinion on whether time, money, and emotional energy being poured into each of those four things in equal volumes is a societal ill or just the way we homo sapiens are.  But we root for a million different things out there, and we root hard.

We cheer.  We congregate.  We celebrate.

We bemoan. We bitch. We abandon, only to identify with another "home team" and start anew.  Not very often, but it can happen. (Rob, TR.)

Such identification gives us joy and pride.  Go ahead, posit the argument that it "shouldn't" because groupthink is potentially dangerous and frequently mindless.  Share a post about that on Facebook, counting the hypocritical Likes.  

Doesn't matter, this instinct has pervaded our world from the time we donned cave skins to tunics to knickers to zubaz pants (cave skins to zubaz is not an evolutionary marathon, mind you) and beyond.  That's just how we are. We sign on with a group of like-minded nitwits like ourselves, rally and cry for the good guys, boo and beat on the bad guys, and talk about it afterwards for the rest of our silly, little lives.

Enter Southern pride and the joy of being identified as a rebel.

You could study US history between the Reconstruction period through the modern era and delve into the phenomenon of Southern humiliation-turned-hubris as a coping mechanism.  (I'm sure I was supposed to study that at some point in my illustrious undergrad career.)  Or you could just watch "The Dukes of Hazzard," an Ole Miss football game, or Deliverance in a bar in the Bible Belt.  (Ever think you'd hear that Ned Beatty got what he deserved?)  Tradition, honor, glory, and the beating back of oppressive aggressors is part of the charade of revision history over the last hundred-fifty, but no truths can be heard over the hoots and howls of revelry in certain parts of the country, not to mention the Dixie horn from a '69 Dodge Charger with stars and bars on the roof.

Not all association with the Confederacy is an approval of human bondage and enslavement.  In fact, a hell of a lot of has nothing to do with that.  It's just belonging.  Banding together with fellow humans to navigate our lives as part of a team.  Our team.  With symbols like sweet tea and cornbread, trucks and tractors, Lee and Jackson. Ignoring images, memories, and any true ties to the hatred and evil and oppression of our fellow humans from days gone by.  We aren't anything about that horrible stuff; we just want to break bread, love the Lord, and get down the dusty road that is Life with folks who see shit like we see shit.

There can be energy and positivity in such affiliations and groupings. The endearing image of the underdog... the humble survivor... the rebel... this draws in most humans.  Hell, Princess Leia and Luke Skywalker were rebels! (So is Luke Skyywalker.)  Massimino to Tarkanian, Stirling Bridge to Rorke's Drift. It's natural, and people can't help but want to be a part of it.  Don't assign that horrible history to us because we embrace and honor the best in those rebellious confederate symbols while living the best lives we can, being the best we know how to be to our fellow humans in this century.

Yeah, I do get it.

The thing is, right now, that doesn't really matter.

You see, good people, you and I do not get to decide what logical associations exist between our identified groups, teams, leaders, or heroes and some very bad things.  And once those associations become ubiquitous, I'm sorry, but we're screwed.

You can be a huge fan of someone or something for a very long time -- all your life -- and then one day it's impossible to appropriately acknowledge rooting for them.  This happens seemingly all the time. 

• You loved Fat Albert and the Cosby Kids?  You're like school on Thanksgiving... no class, turkey. Love it! And he was commencement speaker at my college graduation! Tough shit. He's a rapist. (A free one now.)
  
• You love the Washington pro football team through and through and through and through (despite common sense and your utter disdain for the owner)? Yeah, about that... turns out that team name is pretty friggin' racist. Caricature out front shoulda told you. Oh, and Chris Rock in 1991. (NSFW)
• You were wondering whether your alma mater's best football player ever (by a substantial margin) will get in the NFL Hall of Fame? Sorry, he's also a rapist. And in prison. For a long time.
• You loved Mad Max and Lethal Weapon? Well, Mel's a huge bigot.
• You look like Kevin Spacey, according to too many people you meet? Bummer, Whitney. You look like a sexual assaulter.

Dammit, man! How is any of that fair? I had nothing to do with that crap.

What if you grew up of meager means in the Deep South, where one of the things that brought you rare joy was a sense of pride in a community that has as its emblem a Confederate flag and extols virtues like bravery and courage and heroism from names such as Lee, Jackson, Stuart, and Davis? And you're even named after one of them? And you have no hate for any race, you just want to get along and keep feeling that pride?  You just want the feeling of belonging to a like-minded congregation of good people with family values and decency, a feeling that takes you back to those glorious days of yore?

I'm sorry. Doesn't matter at all. Today is Wednesday, and as Ronnie told you, Tuesday's gone with the wind. All those days are gone.

Today another nail was hammered into this particular coffin. The statue of one Robert Edward Lee was removed from its perch on Monument Avenue in Richmond, Virginia. You know, there are symbols everywhere, good and bad, and the elimination of this increasingly electric lightning rod of a symbol of the Confederacy is in itself as powerful a symbol of change as I can conjure from my vantage point here in the Commonwealth. Lordy, I would never have believed it if you'd bet me even 10 years ago -- with a Black President in office at the time. No, sir. No, ma'am. No how no way they'll let that happen on that street in that town.

Here we are. Nobody said or sang it much better than Sam Cooke: 

It's been a long / A long time coming / But I know a change gonna come / Oh, yes it will

And with such change, it's not all that rosy when it happens, where it happens. Relief and a renewed sense of optimism that things can get better, yes, for sure. But it's not rosy. For both sides of the coin, there's just reflection on the wretched things that have gone on. For one side in particular, there's also the stark absence of the point of personal pride on which you've hung a whole lot for a very long time.

And that doesn't feel too good. And it's not any of their faults that things have changed. It's not fair, in a lot of ways.

Doesn't matter. Tuesday's Gone and it's Wednesday morning.

Many bemoan "cancel culture" with a broad brush, citing micro-detail-paintbrush lines as instances of fallibility therein; it's true that with FB as mighty as the AK these days, occasionally scenarios exist where loud axe-grinders and bitter bastards manipulate public thinking maliciously and erroneously. But by and large, we'd all rather live in a world where people are truly held accountable for dirty deeds like never before.

Of course, there's heavy-handed, condescending advice about not attaching yourself so permanently to any one person or group or team or cause or band (Dave, with permanent ink) or what have you. Because whether you like it or not, a change is gonna come. Yeah, well, that's easier said than done.

But as you see people these days aligning themselves so completely with one political faction or another that they lower themselves to spitting gobs of venom and vitriol all over their own neighbors very publicly for the crime of carrying a differentiated outlook . . . well, I gotta believe that there may come a day that there will be bales of regret stacked up out back on those folks' lower forty. Anyway, I'll keep studying people as I do, and they'll keep doing anything except making that habit boring.

In the meantime, I don't need to bash people over the head with "Get Over It" like the reconstituted Eagles did in 1994 via that clownish single. Bleh. If you really want us all to just get along, like Mr. King (not Dr. King) said, then we have to encourage us all to get over it together. Collectively. Moving to a new era of peace. And cornbread. Sweet tea and unsweet tea. And Ronnie Van Zant. And Neil Young.

And thoughtful, thought-provoking monologues like this one. And the song that follows it.  Enjoy.

Bleak on Bleak

I came here this morning to elevate the mood, moving on from the darkness of the previous post and ignoring the Democratic Party clusterfuck in Iowa. And then I read this interview with Patterson Hood about Drive-By Truckers' new album, The Unraveling.

Rolling Stone's review of the album features a headline that reads, "Drive-By Truckers Channel Their Disgust With Trump’s America on ‘The Unraveling’" So Hood, et al, are kinda feeling it, too. "Stick it up your ass with your useless thoughts and prayers" from the aptly named "Thoughts and Prayers" may well be the rallying cry for the frustrated and increasingly less silent majority.

So here's that song for your listening pleasure(?):



There's a little bit of hope peeking out, which I suppose describes our time well. In the NPR interview linked above, Hood says, "The last line of the song, "Awaiting Resurrection," that ties in with the album cover, which has the two little boys standing on the beach watching the sunset. I'd like to think that somehow that is the ray of hope at the end."

We need a ray of hope, for sure.

A Little Gheorghemas Wrapping Paper Left Over

Didn't want to clunk up Day 12 with too much inanity, so we have some leftovers. 

First, another thing I always enjoy seeing: artists giving a shout-out and going to see other bands. I remember standing next to comedian Lewis Black and watching him gleefully watch Tedeschi Trucks in Golden Gate Park minutes after he delivered a side-splitting comedy set.  Good stuff.

I saw both of the bands below (all three. technically) in 2020, and they were terrific. Glad we have some crossover appreciation, and I agree with the DBT assessment.  (Camper/Cracker in DC in 10 days.  DBT's there in February.)

On another note, I thought I would issue the year-end report card, not as a means to scold people, but as a sincere shout-out to the tiny dictator who keeps this sputtering engine chugging along.  Seriously... our boy contributed 57% of the postings on Gheorghe: The Blog.  Major kudos to Rob. And thanks.

And finally, year-end playlists of the best tunes of the previous 365 are a dime a dozen, but here's 9 cents' worth of good music from 2019.  As a bonus, here are also 100 songs I enjoyed from the past decade.

Gheorghie Service Announcement

I guess I could've just texted this to a couple of guys, but I'm sitting here with a killer case of writer's block and trying to reverse jinx the Red Sox by sort of ignoring the first game of the ALDS, so...anyway.

Those of you who dig Drive-By Truckers undoubtedly know about their new record, American Band. NPR Music, which, if you haven't heard us say it enough, is one of the best outlets on the internet for killer music of all kinds, got the band to play the new tunes in front of a live audience. Though the P stands for public, they don't let you embed the video, which is a bit ironic. But you can find it here.

The Houston Press hails the record as not just another terrific rock album, but the culmination of the Truckers' political evolution into the progressive voice of the modern South. From the review, "And some might say that we should have seen this one coming. The Drive-By Truckers have never shied away from pissing people off or addressing the tough issues, but this album represents something much bigger than political ideology or commentary on the state of the South. With American Band, the Drive-By Truckers are ultimately redefining the Southern identity."

"What It Means", the first single from the record pulls no punches, going in straightaway on Trayvon Martin and racial inequality. Judging from social media, it pissed off a lot of Truckers fans. Which may well have been expected. But as The Houston Press concludes, "...being “Ever South” doesn’t have to mean being quite so ass-backwards."

Chicken Friday Steak

Pop Culture for today...


New book out this week - Bruce Springsteen, Born to Run.
Read it.  NYT Review.



New movies out today - American Honey, which didn't catch my eye in a trailer but reviews quite well, and Masterminds, which I was hoping would be good but which has reviewed somewhat poorly.
View it at your own peril.


New album out today - Drive-By Truckers, American Band 
Hear it.  Reviews thus far.  (All are very positive, but we wait for Z's.)


Dave hasn't reviewed much lately, so we thought we'd sub in here.

The 12 Days of Gheorghemas: Day 12

On the twelfth day of Gheorghemas, Big Gheorghe gave to me...

 


Twelve Appreciations
Eleven Months of Awesome
Ten Reasons Being
Late Gifts Still Worth Giving
Eight Chapters on Music in a Post 
Seven Books For Reading (Seriously) 
Six Beers Worth Drinking 
A fiiiiifth Golden Ring..... (please?) 
Four Years of Marcus
Three Scummers Picking
Two albums to look forward to 
and 

A fat guy in a jersey 

It's that time of year again.  Yes, that special part of the calendar when you come to G:TB and ask, "It's still Gheorghemas??"

I'm drawing the curtains on another fine Gmas season, this time before Chinese New Year.  Cue the fireworks and dim sum.

As always, I intend to pair a dozen of the many things for which I am grateful with my favorite songs released in 2014.  Mainly I'm lucky to still be alive, employed, and with children at age 44, but as I was compiling this year's list of aspects of my life that make me particularly appreciative, I noticed something. They were the same things as I write every year. Friends, family, music, beach trips, Dale's Pale Ale, etc.  Kind of boring, even for me.

So here it is: I'm really very thankful for you clowns.  All of yous.  Don't let it go to your heads.

I listened to enough good new music this year that my end-of-year compilation stretched to two discs, the Upside faster stuff and the Downside mellow stuff.  Available upon request and via Spotify playlists below, but here's how I map them to my friends in the microblogosphere known as Gheorghe.  Come with me now and hear some of it.

Kongos, "Come With Me Now"


Marls
Cracker, "March of the Billionaires"

Dreamers, "Wolves"

Marls is a good egg.  He's a generous sort with whom I have had some fairly indulgent fun lately (Springsteen Row 1, Mets 15th row, Hamptons rollicking, New Orleans debauching).  Makes me feel like the billionaire I won't ever be, and I appreciate it.  Also, every 5th word out of Marls' Long Island mouth is the F-word, and the Dreamers song is blatantly NSFW.

Jerry
Modest Mouse, "Lampshades on Fire"

At the 2004 DC Santa Stumble, Jerry called me a music snob.  I protested and asked for evidence to support his claim. Without hesitation, he replied, "Okay, I bet you liked Modest Mouse way before they got popular."  I laughed really hard.  But dammit, their 1996 song "Talking Shit About a Pretty Sunset" is six minutes of slow-moving indie melody not to be missed. Jerry, thanks for always calling me on my bullshit in a way that makes me laugh.

By the way, "Lampshades on Fire" was released in December and may be my favorite of the year.

Zman
Drive-By Truckers, "Made Up English Oceans"
The Black Keys, "Fever"


Z, thanks for keeping me up to date on the bands I like and the shoes I don't.  Better reviews of music than in any publication people pay for, and a willingness to open your doors and couch and Tonka trucks and mustard for a great show.  Many thanks.


TR
alt-J, "Left Hand Free"
Painted Palms, "Spinning Signs"

The title of one of these and the band name of the other seem vaguely to be onanistic references.  For some reason, that makes me think of TR -- especially the mustachioed version.  TR, thanks for eagerly lampooning yourself for a good GTB laugh.  It underscores the premise of why we congregate here.

Mark
The New Basement Tapes, "Kansas City"
Tove Lo, "Habits (Stay High)"


Here's why I like Mark: usually you have two friends, one who has the storytelling skill, penchant for poignancy, and depth to share personal stories like the one about his dad playing soccer at Rockhurst University in Kansas City, another who breaks bad here and there and can serve as an audience so Clarence can relate bawdy tales of pale ales and large rails off medium bosoms.  Mark has broad enough shoulders to be both of those guys when he wants.  Quality.

Dave
Mike Doughty, "Light Will Keep Your Heart Beating in the Future"
Ray LaMontagne, "Supernova"

I am usually appreciative for the diverse array of Greasetruck music Dave, Mr. Truck, and the Almighty Yojo release. 2014 was a lean year for that.  But in his stead, I submit the Mike Doughty tune as the best banjo rock song since "The Bear" in 2009, and the Ray LaMontagne song as the best song to use that word since "Anna Kournikova Supernova" in the early aughts.  I thank Dave for serving as the foil of mine like no other for over 25 years.  May the Idiots record something in 2015.  Or release a dance remix.

Rootsminer
Hozier, "Take Me to Church"
Stereo Explosion, "Now or Forever"

Rootsy met me out in a Roanoke bar this year and had his drinkin' shoes firmly afoot. The night was blurry, but one thing is clear: I gotta get me back to the Star City for more fun with my little little little little brother -- and return to his recording studio which resembles a church music room.  2015, the year Clarence and I record a Duets album.  I need to do it now or forever hold my piece. Stay tuned. Cheers, Rootsy.

Dennis
Future Islands, "Seasons (BADBADNOTGOOD Remix)"

While this version of the song sounds très Zman, the chorus is all Dennis, as we await his return from an anarcho-syndicalist commune.

Danimal
Sharon Van Etten, "Taking Chances"
Milky Chance, "Stolen Dance"

Though several dabble, Danimal seems to be the resident bookmaker at G:TB. Perhaps his old pal Jean Pierre factors into that. But thank you, Danny Boy, for showing me how someone very much in the know can get consistently burned by the outcome of games so I don't add this vice to an already long list.  (He's also the resident bartender.  Those recommendations I dive into willingly.)

Mr. KQ
St. Paul and the Broken Bones, "Call Me"

"Core principles" is a term coined a decade or so ago by a wise person among our circle of friends to describe the notion that if you happen upon one of our gang's hometowns, you call them up and go have a beer.  While newer to our group, Señor KQ seems to have mastered core principles since well before we were even born.  And although his favorite activities include crouching, touching, and engaging, we will still take his calls and drink his booze every time out.

Greg
Death from Above 1979, "Trainwreck 1979"

Greg's about the youngest among us. If he was born in 1979, this song title is perfect.  Either way, it's good rock.  And Greg is, too.

Mayhugh
Cheap Girls, "Knock Me Over"

I don't know anybody in my town who's a boxing fan.  If the sport is ever mentioned, everyone bemoans its deep decline and irrelevance in the modern sporting world.  I'm able to contribute some counter-evidence in the argument thanks to Mayhugh (and Mark) as the champion of a not dead yet sport.

Squeaky
Catfish and the Bottlemen, "Kathleen"
Interpol, "All the Rage Back Home"

The Squeaker keeps me up to speed on new music.  Catfish and the Bottlemen is a little known Welsh alt-rock band, just the type of thing Squeaky would unearth for me.  And if he'd sent it my way, Squeaker would be sure to note that the song is all the rage back where they're from.  Keep 'em coming, little buddy.


Gheorghe's Ladies
Ingrid Michaelson, "Girls Chase Boys"
Jenny Lewis, "Just One of the Guys"
Meg Myers, "Desire"
Alvvays, "Archie, Marry Me"

Ladies love cool James.  Whitney loves cool ladies.  We have more than a few of them in our midst, which we would have figured impossible when we were in college.  They lend credibility and context to our boys' locker room, even as we (really I) bug Shlara with dick jokes and dipshittery.  God bless you, fair ladies, and here's to the lot of you.  The hole really is greater than the sum of your lady parts.

Geoff
Sun Kil Moon, "Ben's My Friend"

Ben "Boots" Brubeck is his friend.  And we all remember the Boots blogpost.

TJ
First Aid Kit, "Silver Lining"

Lykke Li, "No Rest for the Wicked"

Beck, "Blue Moon"

Not one but two Swedish indie pop acts make the 2014 list.  Pretty rare.  As were Teej blog appearances in 2014.  He checks in only once in a blue moon, but (a) he's earned a reprieve after shouldering the load (ngs) for the early era of Gheorghe, and (b) we appreciate him getting schooled now so he can get a cushy job that will allow him to blog at will.

Rob
Old 97's, "Longer Than You've Been Alive"
Counting Crows, "Scarecrow"
J. Mascis, "Every Morning"

Plenty to thank Rob for, as has been the case since 1988.  Performing more heavy lifting 'round these parts than any of us -- truly one of the best bloggers ever, pound for pound.  His core principles are in the 95th percentile, and he keeps Clarence humble while absorbing every last stupid, trite short joke. Not bad for a wee one.  Just as deep down "Cheers" was really about Norm Peterson, as evidenced by the theme song and the fact that he was the only character to appear in every episode, this place is mostly about Rob. With some Teej, Dave, and other goofy characters thrown in for comedic effect.  And we like it that way.  Every morning I check gheorghe77.blogspot.com to see if Rob's posted, and more often than not he has answered the bell.  Cheers, my friend.

Clarence
Sleater-Kinney, "Bury Our Friends"

I am grateful for having Clarence on the blog, if only because he says the things I really shouldn't.  Here's hoping he sticks around and we don't have to bury this friend like we have had to bury too many already, including one whose Gheorghie self-proclamations were appended by multiple exclamation points. 

Miscellaneous
Strand of Oaks, "Goshen '97"
Cold War Kids, "All This Could Be Yours"
Aer, "Says She Loves Me"
Ex-Cops, "Black Soap"
The Asteroids Galaxy Tour, "My Club"



Gheorghe Muresan
Aloe Blacc, "The Man"

Of course.  And we are doing this in 2015.  (The second item on the menu.)







Say goodbye to Gheorghemas.  Say goodbye, my baby.

One Night, Two Shows, Three Dimes Down, Four Strings

Big night of music last night. Don’t know if you guys heard, but I went to two concerts.

Nearly eight years ago I goaded our old friend and fratre Herb to contribute to our short-lived music blog. I hadn’t thought about his first entry there in many moons . . . but I did last night. Here it is:

August 11, 2004

Get yourself a ukulele
My name is herb and this is my first blog. I can't type worth a shit, nor can I really write but I'll try this gig for a while at least. Please bear with me, as it were.

I've been learning to play the ukulele. I've got a nice little Lanakai concert size model that my wife gave me for Christmas. Not a handmade Koa wood beauty but definitely not a toy. The reason I bring up the ukulele, which means "jumping flea" in Hawai'ian, is not to be braggardly or pompous (never!) but because it has enhanced the experience of music for me in the same way that hearing "Jump" covered by Aztec Camera or "I Need Love" covered by Luka Bloom does. So far I've learned to play a few Dan Zanes songs (for my kid of course) and a few old standbys (Crazy Love, Blue Sky), but the real tunes that have given me the most fun are "Rudie Can't Fail" and "God Only Knows." As I'm sure that playing any number of tunes with an instrument (or collection of instruments) different than in the original one becomes closer to the true essence of the music in question. Not the words necessarily, but the song itself. The chords, the changes, the meter and yes, the words. So, a Clash tune played on a ukulele is excellent in its own way. You know it's The Clash but it can be used as a lullaby. Playing a Brian Wilson mega-layered masterpiece on a uke is also a treat, much like a grape – simplified and beautiful.

Paring a song down to the bare minimum is not always a good thing, however. I think that Dylan's "Isis" from Desire is one of the best pieces of art ever. It can't be pared down or covered though, unless of course you have a witch who can play the violin, a piano that you can bang on and a seriously stuffed-up nose all at the same time.

There's really no point to this rambling, as you might have guessed, except the non-musical may want to consider getting a simpleton's musical instrument to become musical with. I would recommend against an accordion (thought about it, looks WAY too hard) despite its freaky cool cache. I've got a mountain dulcimer that is cool looking on the wall but I didn't ever manage to really get into it. I've gone through the motions w/ piano, harmonica and guitar – none of which were easy enough to learn to the point of enjoyment before I got fed up.

The ukulele is a good bet. It's small, very affordable, and it has only four strings so it's much easier to play a great diversity of chords – F#m w/ a dim 7th? No problem. It's got indie-cred, street-cred and aloha-cred. I thought about learning the penny-whistle but the idea of hanging out in my backyard tooting on a tin whistle sounded annoying to my neighbors. The uke is relaxing to those around you and easy to play. Bruce Springsteen probably has a ukulele.

So why did this spotlight on ukes resurface in my brain last night?

Because my night began with watching this guy kick some serious ass on ukulele. Jake Shimabukuro is a uke virtuoso, and he is amazing. His story, as he told it, is that he was just a Hawaiian kid who picked up the ukulele (pronounced oo-ka-lay-lay) because his mom had played it, got proficient, played in a few bands to some local success, then posted a YouTube video of himself playing a Beatles cover tune. 10,000,000 views later, he’s touring the world. That was six years ago, and here it is:



Bad-assed and ukulele don’t really fit, and in his thoroughly self-effacing banter Jake mentions that part of the reason for his touring success is that “solo touring ukulele player” sets the bar pretty low for people’s expectations. The dude is pretty daggone Gheorghey.

The originals he played featured an array of styles, from typical Hawaiian sounds to traditional Japanese music to bluegrass to rock and roll. The covers were outstanding; Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah,” Queen’s “Bohemian Rhapsody,” Adele, Journey, and yes, the rendition of “While My Guitar Gently Weeps” that put him on the map.

There's even a forthcoming documentary:



Like Herb said, get yourself a ukulele. Short of that, if you get a chance to watch Jake Shimabukuro, don’t pass it by.

* * * * * *

Part Two of the evening was less revelatory but even more rocking. I walked a block and a half from the Virginia Arts Festival Building over to the Norva, where the Drive-By Truckers were just about to come onstage. A “short but great” set according to an old friend who’s a DBT’s superfan. This was the setlist:

I Do Believe
Uncle Frank
Puttin' People on the Moon
Where the Devil Don't Stay
Used to Be a Cop
Marry Me
Ronnie and Neil
72 (This Highway's Mean)
Cartoon Gold
My Sweet Annette
Box of Spiders
Carl Perkins' Cadillac
Everybody Need Love
Get Downtown
Birthday Boy
Girls Who Smoke
Hell No, I Ain't Happy

Encore:
Aftermath USA
3 Dimes Down
Let There Be Rock
Shut Up and Get on the Plane

As always, my favorites were “Where the Devil Don’t Stay” and “Let There Be Rock.” There was a good deal of tribute to Levon Helm (because of Levon’s imminent passing) throughout the night. Mike Cooley has about the most appropriate surname in rock and roll, and Patterson was sweating to the oldies. Here's the DBT's first steps towards selling out -- meaning getting off the road 200 days a year in order to be with their kids. That's Cooley narrating.



I guess the boys had had a humdinger of a Patron night in Charlottesville the night prior, playing until 12:30, so they were a bit more subdued onstage last night. (And based on the C-ville setlist, the Jefferson Theater show was the crown jewel of this leg of the tour.) That said, the Truckers always bring it. Never seen anything less than a damn fine show. Check ‘em out.

G:TB, D-BT's

Dave never asked for this much detail, but here we go, anyway . . .

Drive-By Truckers

Formed: 1996
From: Alabama / Athens, GA

Style of music (not that we like to pigeonhole bands with labels): Southern Rock, Alt-Country, Rock and Roll
You might like if you dig: Skynyrd, Molly Hatchet, Old 97's, The Black Keys

Albums

Dave asked specifically about albums, which some of our younger readers find to be an antiquated way of acquiring and listening to music. (Teej thinks it’s very silly when I tell him I’m going to the “record store.”) Still, here’s what Zman and I have to offer on their albums.

Zman: The Dirty South; Brighter Than Creation’s Dark; Decoration Day

Igor: I’d start with Southern Rock Opera, the double album that first got them acclaim. Listen to it straight through, including the awesome and educational “The Three Great Alabama Icons.” Then The Dirty South. Then Brighter Than Creation’s Dark.

Songs

Harder to pick, as there are so many good choices. There are have been four vocalists on Truckers songs, each with highly discernible voices:

• Patterson Hood


• Mike Cooley


• Jason Isbell


• Shonna Tucker

The latter two have left the band (and each other), but as you sift through DBT tunes, you will be able to identify whose song it is, and which of the four you like best. In the modern age, Dave, it’s easy to download individual songs, so here’s a list of recommendations.

Zman:
Outfit
Sands of Iwo Jima
Lisa's Birthday
My Sweet Annette
Self Destructive Zones
Putting People on the Moon
Daddy Needs a Drink
Dead, Drunk, and Naked
Everybody Needs Love
Boys From Alabama

Igor (in order, sort of):
Where the Devil Don't Stay
Let There Be Rock
The Righteous Path
Women Without Whiskey
Puttin' People on the Moon
Easy on Yourself
Two Daughters And A Beautiful Wife
Daddy Needs A Drink
Hell No, I Ain't Happy
Everybody Needs Love
Danko/Manuel
Ronnie And Neil
The Southern Thing
Sink Hole
A Ghost To Most
Used to Be a Cop
Lookout Mountain
Carl Perkins' Cadillac
This Fucking Job
Feb 14

Upcoming Shows

Fri 04/06/12 …………Birmingham, AL …………WorkPlay Soundstage
Sat 04/07/12 …………Birmingham, AL …………WorkPlay Soundstage
Tue 04/10/12 …………Pensacola, FL …………Vinyl Music Hall
Wed 04/11/12 …………Gainesville, FL …………Florida Theater Of Gainesville
Thu 04/12/12 …………Tampa, FL …………The Ritz Ybor
Fri 04/13/12 …………Orlando, FL …………The Beacham
Sat 04/14/12 …………Charleston, SC …………Music Farm
Tue 04/17/12 …………Charlottesville, VA …………Jefferson Theater
Wed 04/18/12 …………Norfolk, VA …………NorVa
Thu 04/19/12 …………Carrboro, NC…………Cat's Cradle
Fri 04/20/12 …………Wilmington, NC …………Greenfield Lake Amphitheatre
Sat 04/21/12 …………Atlanta, GA …………The Tabernacle

Appearing at "Floydfest"
Fri 07/27/12 …………Floyd, VA …………FloydFest

Enjoy.