I’m counting down a dozen (or possibly a Baker’s Dozen) of my favorite shows I caught this year around the country (I have not yet caught a show outside of the U.S. this year, though I am planning on seeing Mac DeMarco in Winnipeg next Friday).
I’ll be updating this post — and hopefully will actually complete this task, as last year’s list was one of my latest ADHD casualties — as I countdown to the top dozen. I’m hoping this format makes it easier for me to complete it this time.
I’m putting them in chronological order, and I do already have a dozen shows picked out. If I catch a show that I feel must be included on this list in December, I will add it (as the baker’s dozen) no sooner than Jan. 1.
So keep coming back to this link — and also look out for updates to be noted on my social media channels at Instagram and Facebook. The latest addition will be featured first just below.
Ty Segall let a fan play guitar on “You Make The Sun Fry” in the encore of his Nashville show at The Basement East, April 10. PHOTO BY JAVIER SERNA/@jaminthestream
No. 10: Ty Segall, The Basement East, Nashville, April 10
I’ve seen some weird shows in terms of interactions between fans and artists but none have worked out as well as Ty Segall’s acoustic set at this intimate Nashville venue.
Fans awkwardly pierced that intimacy, but Segall brilliantly went with it and made it a part of the show.
One of the most awkward of interactions was early when a fan, parked at the end of the rail, kept pointing directly at Segall. It seemed to, understandably, make Segall a little uncomfortable. Eventually, Segall just went with it and asked him to move to the center rail spot directly in front of him, a spot that happened to be illuminated by a lot of stage lighting.
The man’s girlfriend was the first to bail, and he didn’t make it much longer. It seemed like spotlight was just too much for this guy — weirdness diffused.
One of the funnier interactions was from one fan who kept emphatically shouting “Thank you, brother,” from the back of the room, between songs. Segall noticed, and I’m not sure he knew what to do with it. Late in the show, the refrain grew on Segall, who said something like, “I love this guy.” Which was all of the approval the man needed to move from the back of the room to in front of the stage, where it was said one more time, drawing the approval and excitement of Segall.
But maybe the best part of the show came in the first of two encore songs, when a fan convinced Segall to let him play guitar on “You Make The Sun Fry,” freeing Segall to sing.
It was a banger, and the cherry atop of weirdly dripping sundae of acoustic rock.
Øyvind Blomstrøm and Chris Holm of Orions Belte, which played 7th Street Entry in March.
PHOTO BY JAVIER SERNA/@jaminthestream
No. 11: Orions Belte, 7th Street Entry, Minneapolis, March 12
Sometimes the best shows happen at the most intimate of venues. I was super stoked that Norwegian instrumentalists Orions Belte had scheduled a show at 7th Street Entry, but, honestly, this level of anticipation can sometimes set me up for disappointment.
Orions Belte more than managed to exceed my expectations with their “Norwegian mountain jazz.”
The trio brought genuinely positive energy, despite having had some of their gear jacked earlier in the tour while on the West Coast.
But I already knew they were good people. I had interviewed lead guitarist Øyvind Blomstrøm (check that out here). I actually caught them twice that particular week — taking pictures at this show and at Schubas Tavern in Chicago.
7th Street Entry holds in the energy so well.
I was able to catch three amazing psychedelic rock shows here this year, including Los Bitchos and Hannah Cohen. All three were great shows, but Orions Belte was my favorite, and it probably was their incredibly touching cover of the late Mac Miller’s “2009,” that left the biggest impression and singed my memory.
Charlie Parr singing “Ain’t No Grave,” at Turf Club, Jan. 26. PHOTO BY JAVIER SERNA/@jaminthestream
No. 12: Charlie Parr, Turf Club, Saint Paul, Minn., Jan. 26.
I was fortunate to catch the first and last of the four residency shows that Charlie Parr played at Turf Club last January. Parr, who is cut from a bonafide line of folk artists from Minnesota, is a state treasure. He has the ability to touch raw, emotional nerves — and thankfully he writes from a place that is kind, real and pure.
The sound of Parr’s voice comforts many of us, even when he sings about the sadness that we all experience in life and death.
His song “Blues for Whitefish Lake, 1975” is one such song that has personally pierced my soul and echoed the feelings of loss I have for my own father (who died this year), and he did play this song at one of these two shows, but it’s still too soon for me to delve deeper on that with you all here.
At the first of these shows, Parr mentioned the recent passing of his mother and as a result he didn’t know when he’d again feel comfortable performing “Ain’t No Grave,” a traditional song on which his vocals thunder. He knew it would hurt him.
But he proceeded to encore the month-long residency with this song after expressing gratitude for the intimate tradition of these Turf Club shows. He holds this recurrent residency dear, like the 12-string guitar the late Spider John Koerner gifted him. He dug deep on this song, and the pain, which could see in his face, hit all of our hearts.