Right toward the end of the first round of acts, a nice shower has started here at the park, so I figured it was time for the first post.

Super Chikan & the Fighting Cocks opened up the blues tent, with lead man James Johnson’s tasty guitar licks riding high over the shuffling groove of his three-woman band. The Clarksdale native and New Orleans habitue lives up to his name with an unorthodox “chicken-pickin’” technique that uses his thumb and forefinger to make the strings pop and the notes crackle. He ranged from clean, Albert King-style lines to overdriven and wah-pedal-flavored passages in the Jimi Hendrix vein as his guitar kept a constant dialogue with a rollicking barrelhouse piano over the driving beat (provided by Super Chikan’s drummer daughter). “Somebody shoot that thang” indeed! Super Chikan’s appearance hadn’t been announced in listings I had seen, so he might have been a fill-in, perhaps for the scheduled Lurrie Bell.

As the Tennessee Lottery Blues Tent filled up, I headed to the Sam’s Town Stage for a few songs by red-hot rootsy singer-songwriter Amy LaVere, and her crack sidemen Paul Taylor and Steve Selvidge. I confess I hadn’t caught her most recent act until this evening, but I was impressed. Her songs carry enough melodic and lyrical weight that Taylor and Selvidge can subtly fill in the the framework of the composition, with the music sounding as complete on a huge festival stage as in a coffeehouse.

After that, I was off to catch “aristo-crunk” superstars-in-waiting Lord T. & Eloise, who are looking forward to their slot at next month’s Bonnaroo festival. They’re also gearing up for the release of their new album at the end of June. I’m about to try to catch up with the boys for a backstage interview. Check back in a few!

The Commercial Appeal has plenty of people walking around Tom Lee Park to cover Music Fest. Of special note, however, is Michael Donahue who will be doing audio blogs throughout the weekend.

Check out his first two. We’ll make sure he sees any comments you want to leave him.

 Michael Donahue Podcast 1 [0:56m]: Download
 Donahue Podcast 2 [1:39m]: Download

I understand that this event is not really marketed towards “me,” per se. I think it’s marketed to the Cordovians and Arkansians and whatnot who are willing to come downtown and drop some serious loot on hotel rooms, the festival itself, and other local businesses. That makes sense. Hence we have headliners like Santana, Sheryl Crow (again), and The Black Crows (again).

Then the organizers throw in a smattering of headliners that radio stations and record execs believe appeal to the “kids.” My Chemical Romance, Disturbed, Seether, etc. (Not great choices in my own meager opinion, but what do I know? I don’t understand the kids, either.)

Then a little pop garbage I won’t even acknowledge.

So, for myself and people like me, Music Fest has to be cherry picked. You pay to get in and see a few bands you already like, and if you’re lucky, stumble on to something new.

Sometimes you even see something completely amazing. (Think that empty Sonic Youth show a few years back.)

It’s a little random, but there you go. Fortunately there is usually, simply “enough stuff” to find something that isn’t terrible. I almost always end up having a good time.

Maybe if you really luck out tomorrow you will like something new.

I will be at The Roots. Maybe Project Pat and Ben Folds. We’ll see.

I’m mustering at the office before heading down to Tom Lee Park, and I’m testing my mettle on the content management software. So bear with me for a moment.

Check back here later in the evening for more exclusive content. And while you’re poking around, be sure to stop by my blog, The Memphis Scene, and read about some of the non-Music Fest-related shows going on this weekend.

The incomparable Muck Sticky and his cohort Hollywood bid you welcome to the Music Festival…Muck Sticky welcomes you

I was finally giving this year’s list of artists a cursory look.

“Hey Bryan did you put the 2008 line up on the site yet or am I looking at last year’s?”

“That’s this year.”

“Oh…”

Not a great prologue. Honestly I don’t understand why anyone would want to hear my opinion on most of these bands. But lucky me, lucky you, guess we’re all going to.

There’s a couple of acts I might not mind sitting through, but I also feel a powerfully less-than-thrilled rant forming at the base of my spine.

But not today, grasshopper.

I was just checking in to make sure I remembered my password anyway.

I don’t know this young lady’s name, but she expressed a strong interest in having her likeness plastered all over the tubes. I’m happy to oblige.

The woman on the left (I didn’t get names, sorry!) is from Michigan, I think, and the woman on the right is from Memphis. The Michigan native wanted me to be sure I knew that there were people from all over the country at this festival.

Here we have Justin and Moses. I went to high school with these guys and haven’t seen them in a very long time. They were enjoying the Taj Mahal show. Moses gave me a big hug and saw me taking photos. “Is this what you love to do?” he asked, smiling. “Yeah, man! Is this what YOU love to do?” I asked, gesturing toward the crowd. “Hell yeah, man!” he said.

Which brings us to Sam Ramirez, a New Orleans native who spent several harrowing nights in the Superdome during the Katrina aftermath. He said he was never interviewed. So I told him to check the CA’s website for his big MSM debut. Sam’s a big music fan who said Wolfmother reminded him a lot of old Ozzy.

So many faces, so little time.

Crowd Shot

Dog Shot

Brain Shot

“I want that one.”

yeah… me too buddy.
rawk.

Katrina victims aren’t the only New Orleans refugees in Memphis. Ever wonder what happens to those crude, lewd souvenir T-shirts on sale in the French Quarter? Apparently, a lot of them end up on the backs of patrons of the Beale Street Music Festival. I hadn’t been in Tom Lee Park more than about seven seconds Friday afternoon before I saw a guy wearing a black shirt with white lettering that read: “Will (rhymes with truck) For Beer.” Sorry, buddy, but I don’t think you’re getting a free beer OR getting laid.

My head feels like an Amtrak train derailed in there somewhere.

So what happened last night?
Seriously… you tell me.

(sigh …well I guess its a good thing I write this stuff down.)

I caught the last half of Chevelle, which was surprisingly good.
It was heavy. Not impressively heavy. Not bleeding out the eyes heavy, like I like. But heavy enough to where I didn’t immediately turn around and walk away. I think the influence/inspiration for this band is pretty obvious just from their tone. They’re going for the abrasiveness/complexity/texture of tool, and I think they take a decent swing at it.
Its not easy to pull off. I can’t hate too much.

Red Jumpsuit Apparatus was laughable.
I mean I stuck around for all of 10 or 15 minutes… so maybe it was really, really good after I left. But I doubt it.

And besides, I was on my way to catch the band that influenced the bands that probably influenced them in the first place.

“It’s dangerous to roam the streets of Memphis as a punk rocker.” ~Mike Ness

Social Distortion is one of those acts I didn’t really think I would ever get the chance to see, and it definitely made my night. I don’t typically get too excited about bands that are pushing greatest hits records, but they put on a great show.

Social D played some of the tracks that helped forge the OC punk scene, a couple of new ones, and a bunch of the stuff in between. And Hank Williams’ Six More Miles.

None of it came off as stale or tired, just as a seminal punk experience.
If you missed out, you missed out.

And speaking of acts that I never thought I would see…
I hung out with the other old folks at Iggy’s show long enough to see his stage dive routine, and that he hasn’t changed much in 30 years. (”Salamander on crack” is an awesome description, btw)

The Iggy extravaganza is already well chronicled on this blog, so I’ll leave you to it.

I don’t go to the Allman Brothers anymore, not since they “fired” Dicky Betts. I don’t even understand how or why they still have shows and play “Blue Sky.” I just don’t get it.
I kept walking.

I didn’t want to miss the angry mob at… hey, where’s the angry mob?
I was hoping for a flock of grim faced farmers wielding torches and pitchforks shouting “repent, for the end draws nigh!!”

(turns out those guys were actually standing in the middle of Beale Street wielding placards and megaphones instead)

I usually like to talk to these guys, but it was already getting kinda ugly so I put that on hold.

Anywho! Triple six was crunk, like they usually are. Dance contests, “beer breaks,” and one minute verse/chorus versions of most of their songs, you guys know the story.
And there was definitely a persistent element of gloating.

“How many people are mad that we’re here?”
“How many people want us back next year?”
“And the year after that?”
“And the year after that?”
“And the year after…”

I wouldn’t put it past them. Their crowd absolutely dwarfed the crowds at Allman and Iggy. It was huge.

The funny thing about three six’s “clean show” is that the audience already knows the freakin words to the songs.
So any words the band is forced to omit, the audience gratefully fills in at maximum volume.
Am I the only one who finds that whole situation a little ironic?

And finally I had a little fun with the police.
There was a 16 year oldish girl standing next to me, shakin what her mama gave her like she was trying to hurt someone.

I tapped one of the nearby cops on the shoulder and said,
“Excuse me officer, but that has GOT to be illegal.”
He looked at me for a second like he wanted to get mad. And then he looked at her and completely broke down laughing. All four of them did.

I hate trying to be funny when there’s no one around to appreciate it…

Now I’m going to lay back down for a spell.
I’ll catch up to you guys later.