Smirkusology: The Science of “Circus Smirkus”

I’ve always liked the circus, and, like many, have considered running away to join it from time to time, as the old adage goes.

For those who haven’t seen Vermont’s very own “Circus Smirkus,” it is a unique one-ring show, featuring teenagers trained at the Greensboro-based circus camp in all kinds of Big Top-related activities – juggling, clowning, tumbling, and hanging by various parts of one’s body from all manner of contraptions suspended from the top of the tent.

Having been to “Circus Smirkus” for five summers running with my kids, I was feeling, on my sixth visit to the “big top” at the Bundy Center for the Arts, a little less like an open-eyed kid, and more like a long-suffering parent, recognizing many of the names and faces in the program, and knowing that, at the end of the day, much of what I was about to see I’d seen before. This feeling was compounded by the theme of this summer’s “Smirkus” event, entitled “Smirkusology - A Science Extravaganza.”

“Science at the Circus?” I thought to myself? Sounds like a yawn fest, even after reading creative director Jesse Dryden’s breathless program description:

“Circus (he writes) is not an exact science. It is a volatile combination of danger and amusement, with a delicate balance of laughter and awe. Take some young artists with endless energy and astronomical skills. Put their hopes, their hearts and their lives into the ring. Mix in plenty of mirth and mayhem. Coat with whimsy and a pinch of artistry and emotion. Stir in some silly, and magnify it all under the Big Top. Just add an audience and let the chemical reaction inspire. The results are truly magical.”

OK, I thought. But science at the circus?

This slightly-jaded parent couldn’t have been more wrong. This summer’s 21st annual “Circus Smirkus” program may be the best “Smirkus” show to date.

One reason (as always) has to do with the hard-working members of the Smirkus troupe, who somehow manage to keep their energy up for more than two hours of big top fun. And there was some new stuff, too – like acrobatics on this dangling rectangular (sort of) cube structure, and the couple from Cali, Columbia (Francisco Javier Hartado and Leidy Tatiana Zainiga Vidal), who finished the first act with a stunning double display of balancing virtuosity involving a giant circular metal ring (It must be seen to be fully believed).

But there was more going on here than I remember, theme-wise. Seeing clowns dressed in scientific lab coats and glasses proved remarkably amusing throughout the show – a sort of visual cognitive dissonance that made their antics even more goofy – and the writers made some seriously funny hay out of this ongoing visual gag, featuring, for example, a nerdy-looking clown kid pulled from the crowd at show’s beginning who metamorphoses into a “wonder juggler” (complete with shiny jump suit) at the beginning of the show’s second half. New juggling tricks – including a wonderful moment involving 3 clowns juggling the same series of multi-colored balls and some serious fun with unicycles and uber-stilts – kept things fresh, too.

And then there was the sonics of Smirkus. The sounds of the 2008 summer show proved vital to its freshness this time around, and a big “hats off” to music composer Tristan Moore and sound technician Mike Cress for melding sound and story in such a compelling way – gadget noises, robotic and experimental mood music, and sonically-driven sight gags (my favorite involved some out-of-control robot hands, in reality, a pair of over-sized ice hockey gloves) kept audiences howling, and gave the clowns additional support and a sonic “foil” to play off of. Really nifty.

If you missed “Circus Smirkus” in Mad River and are kicking yourself – have no fear. You can catch them all over New England this summer – check out the schedule online at www.smirkus.org. They’ll be back in Vermont on July 3-6 (Essex) and August 11-13 (Montpelier) and August 15-16 (Greensboro) for their grand finale. The scientist, the clown, and the kid in you won’t want to miss it!

Remember that old TV show “Happy Days”?

The one starring Henry Winkler as “the Fonz”?

Late in its run, the show featured an episode with Fonzie jumping a shark on water skis (and yes, he was wearing his trademark leather jacket).

Those of you who may have missed this magic moment can now watch it on YouTube – just search for “Fonzie Jumps the Shark.”

In pop culture parlance, the phrase “Jump the Shark” now refers to that moment in the life of a series that marks a low point, signaling the beginning of the end of what used to be a compelling story.

With the fourth installment of Indiana Jones, we have arrived. It’s curtains for Indy, for good. At least, let’s hope so.

How bad is “Kingdom of the Crystal Skull”?

Aside from one very cool scene involving an army of fire ants, it is a stinker, and for so many reasons.

Here are ten.

1. The hero: Harrison Ford is back and older. Ford looks good, but he delivers his lines with all the aplomb of a man who’d rather be practicing carpentry at his Montana getaway home.

2. The damsel: Karen Allen returns as Indy’s former love interest from the original. She, too, looks great – but seems embarrassed to be on screen. Whatever frisson there was between the two characters is gone, replaced by a series of silly one-liners about “coulda woulda shoulda” stuff. Bleah.

3. Son of Indy: Turns out, our couple sired a son, who arrives via motorcycle in the film, and who mostly gets to comb his hair, drive his bike around, and crack stupid one liners. He also wears a leather jacket just like Fonzie. Coincidence? You decide. Where’s a shark when you need one?

4. The villain: The usually-magnificent Cate Blanchett is utterly wasted here as a rapier-wielding Russian diva with a bad haircut and an accent to match. Snoresville.

5. The bad guys: I did say “Russians,” didn’t I? C’mon now, the Cold War’s been over for two decades. Can’t we come up with a more intriguing set of villains to demonize, like the Chinese or maybe some evil Arabs? This is Hollywood’s stock-in-trade, and they blow it badly here.

6. The side-kick: Indy’s old friend Marcus is back for a run, and he swaps sides and allegiances no fewer that four times in the film, with absolutely no explanation as to why. Get the bullwhip!

7. The bull whip: Speaking of Indy’s signature weapon, you can count on one hand the number of times it gets cracked, mostly in the first ten minutes of the film. Lame.

8. The plot: Plot?

9. The space aliens: I kid you not. “Close Encounters,” anyone?

10. The waterfall: Three falls, three plunges, three opportunities to do something interesting. Um, nope.

I could go on, but space does not allow me to. Let’s hope that everyone involved in this travesty water skis away from any possibility of making a fifth installment as quickly as possible. In the meantime, if you’ve already seen “Crystal Dull,” I suggest renting the original “Raiders of the Lost Ark” film immediately, to remind yourself just how fun Indiana Jones used to be.

Once upon a time Walden Media teamed up with Disney to make a film version of C.S. Lewis’ classic children’s tale: The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.

Despite this cumbersome title, the film quickly became Walden Media’s biggest grossing movie of all time.

And if there is anything Hollywood likes, it is a good sequel, especially when there’s money to make.

Now, the four Pevensie kids are back in The Chronicles of Narnia: Prince Caspian, the second installment in director Andrew Adamson’s attempt to recast the Narnia stories as “Lord of the Rings lite” for a slightly younger audience. The film is long, clocking in at 145 minutes, and bereft of anything but the barest whisper of a plot, so, for those of who care about such things, let’s quickly review the storyline.

In Narnia, 1,300 years have passed since Peter (a dour William Moseley), Susan (a full-lipped Anna Popplewell), Edmund (a pragmatic Skandar Keynes) and Lucy (the ever-sprightly Georgie Henley) left Cair Paravel and their four thrones behind. Yanked in full dress school uniforms from a London tube station, the four arrive back in Narnia to discover that the land now lies under the control of the Telmarines, led by the evil Miraz (Sergio Castellitto), who has murdered the uncle of young Prince Caspian (a well-coiffed Ben Barnes) and usurped the throne. Aslan (voiced by Liam Neeson) and the White Witch (the deliciously scary Tilda Swinton) make (too?) brief appearances.

But the film really belongs to two major actors. One is the New Zealand landscape, which steals the show from the opening minutes. “Lord of the Rings” director Peter Jackson thrice put “down under” on the map as visual spectacle, and director Adamson follows Jackson’s lead, with an opening scene at Cathedral Cove that is simply breath-taking, and forest and landscape shots that make you want to call your travel agent immediately.

The other group celebrated here are the various centaurs, badgers, giants, and other creatures of the forest who spring to Caspian’s aid. The dwarf actor Peter Dinklage (last seen as the gay lover in Death at a Funeral) does dour due diligence as Trumpkin, and Reepicheep (voiced by Eddie Izzard), the swashbuckling rodent of Lewis’ invention, dominates the screen as a sort of “Puss In Boots” meets “Ratatouille” ur-sidekick, but he’s not on the screen enough to matter much.

And here’s the odd thing about this film. Strangely, the human actors are almost incidental, relegated to running through the forest and engaging on one battle scene after another, to the point where the whole story starts to blur. There is the barest quiver of frisson between Susan and Caspian, but mostly she spends her time launching arrows at the enemy, while the tension between High King Peter and Prince Caspian fizzles almost as soon as it gets started. Aslan appears long enough to deliver a small helping spiritual advice to Lucy – “things never happen the same way twice” (or something like that) – and drown the Telmarines, Moses-like, in a nearby river (with the help of a CGI-driven Neptune-like creature).

Maybe I’m getting old, but I’d like to think that a film based on one of the most popular children’s series of all time might have a bit more depth and complexity. Or maybe I should just give in to the mindlessness that makes up the summer blockbuster movie season and enjoy the ride. Go see it and give me some advice.

Eating Oil: “The War On Bugs” Sounds A “Pharm Alarm” About the Toxic History of American Agriculture

Read more about this book at www.chelseagreen.com

East Thetford, Vermont’s Will Allen of Cedar Circle Farm is no ordinary tiller of the soil. The former marine, jailed for anti-war protests during the Vietnam Era, also possesses a Ph.D. in Anthropology, a long track record as a citizen/activist, and now, a new book brilliantly entitled The War On Bugs. Allen’s story is a remarkable expose, ten years in the making, that highlights the often-sordid relationship among what might be awkwardly termed “corporate agricultural interests,” Madison Avenue, and the U.S. Empire’s military/industrial complex. Let’s collectively call this trio “Big Pharm.”

As always, history is a useful starting place. In his Pulitzer Prize-winning book Guns, Germs, and Steel: The Fates of Human Societies, author Jared Diamond coined the term “farmer power” to describe the dramatic increase in land productivity (and economic and political might) that emerged with the Neolithic Revolution in agriculture roughly 10,000 years ago, a series of processes that gave us the very best and worst of human civilization. Allen’s analysis in “The War on Bugs” charts the arrival of a second agricultural revolution, which began around the time of the so-called American “Civil War” during the 1860s, when U.S.-based chemical companies declared war on two scourges: bugs of every description, and declining soil fertility.

Allen’s great strength lies in combining short and pithy analytical vignettes detailing the various tools and tactics used by an evolving “Big Pharm” industry with a cornucopia of visual material. Each chapter features fascinating historical reproductions harvested from a wide range of U.S. media – newspaper articles, old editorials from farm journals, pseudo-scientific testimonials bought and paid for by Big Pharm interests, and, of course, ever-ubiquitous advertisements (including some early head—turning work by Theodore Geisel - a.k.a. Dr. Seuss - who was employed by the chemical industry early in his career to sell Pharm toxins to an unsuspecting U.S. public. Who knew?).

What makes Allen’s work so vital is his exploration of the historical and cultural intersections among a variety of forces: Madison Avenue media marketing, science, corporate power and, most importantly, the process of “farming” itself, a complex and rigorous activity so full of mistaken mythological holes within the fabric of U.S. history that you can drive a John Deere combine harvester through it. Simply stated, farming is incredibly hard work, made more so by forces way beyond the control of individual farmers –weather, crop prices, and the price of fuel – to name but three. The great genius of Big Pharm interests, and “The War On Bugs” highlights it, comes with their use of what Allen calls a “four part sales model” to get farmers “hooked” on their products. To whit: beginning in the mid-19th century, Big Pharm editorials in various farm journals planted the seeds of interest in new chemical-intensive products and processes; scientific testimonials by so-called “experts” (often citing studies paid for by Big Pharm interests) watered the seeds; saturation advertising by well-funded marketers nurtured interest even further; and finally, farmer testimonials about “Big Pharm” success helped seal the deal.

And, let’s be honest about the results. In one sense, oil/chemical based fertilizers and pesticides ushered in a remarkable era in food productivity during these past 150 years. The only reason why today’s 21st century planet can afford to carry close to 7 billion human inhabitants is because of the so-called “Green Revolution” in agriculture. Literally, as Dale Allen Pfeiffer states, we in the West “eat oil,” as consumers eating in the midst of the most fossil-fuel-intensive agricultural system the world has ever seen. Allen’s book makes it clear that we’ve been “eating oil” for longer than most of us realize, and that the high costs of doing so – from rampant toxin-related illnesses and death; to the chemical poisoning of our air, water, and landscapes; to the centralizing of corporate commercial political and economic power – are worth considering.

It would be a mistake to romanticize small-scale subsistence farming. Perhaps more of a mistake, however, is to ignore the history and the trade-offs of Big Pharm’s “war on bugs.” If ever there was a historical argument for cultivating thoughtful localvore living, food sovereignty, and homestead security moving into the 21st century, this book is it.

Spring is just around the corner.

I know, because Rani Arbo and Daisy Mayhem will be at the Valley Players for an upcoming Saturday night performance.

And if you haven’t yet heard their newest CD “Big Old Life,” you’ll feel spring blowing in on a warm musical wind by the time you leave downtown Waitsfield this coming week-end.

For those of you who haven’t yet heard Rani Arbo and her threesome (“Daisy Mayhem” doesn’t do justice to these rascals), you are in for a real treat. While she cut her teeth with a Boston-based trio called “Salamander Crossing” (back there in that last millennium), Rani has come into her own with “Mayhem.” Her mature vocalizing and straight-ahead fiddle work are a wonder to hear, especially on the band’s third project together, released in time to celebrate 3 children, two marriages, four mortgages, 34 pounds gained, innumerable miles on the road, and one round of breast cancer.

We’ll get to that.

Part of “Mayhem’s” brilliance lies in tune selection. As always, the band blends a judicious mix of originals and cover numbers. As a CD, “Big Old Life” wins the “best book-end” award. Kicking off the record is one of my new favorite tunes called “Joy Comes Back.” Written by Sean Staples, a staple of the Boston acoustic songwriting scene, the song is an uplifting testament to joy itself, and the band’s four part harmony and vocal “pass around” on the verses makes it more so. “When I heard that song, I loved it,” explained Arbo. “A month later, I needed it.” Being diagnosed with a potentially life-threatening illness, as Rani has, is enough to sharpen anyone’s focus, pushing one to seek out songs that can inspire. And hearing “Joy Comes Back” live from this foursome is well worth the price of admission.

And, on the other end of the “book,” the band finishes the CD with the hopeful “Shine On,” penned by an woman named Daisy May Erlewine whom the band met in their travels, and one of the most beautiful and hopeful songs I can imagine for moving this weary world forward.

And let’s not forget “Big Old Life’s” other covers: Leonard Cohen’s “Heart with No Companion”, the traditional “Oil In My Vessel” (with a quick “shout out” to “Amazing Grace” nestled in the middle) and Bob Dylan’s “Farewell Angelina.” My favorite, though, may be the band’s interpretation of the old traditional “Red Haired Boy.” With Rani’s rollicking fiddle work, it is a tune made for “Mayhem.”

And these musicians can write, too. Philosopher/guitarist Anand Nyak is back with “What’s That,” a signature number by the band’s heady and talented front man. Bassist Andrew Kinsey weighs in with “Mother of our Dreams,” and Rani is responsible for no fewer than three of the albums’s tunes, including the beautiful “Roses,” the show-stopping “Hole in Heaven,” and the CDs’ title track.

But here’s the thing. “Big Old Life” is a tasty new recording. Seeing “Daisy Mayhem” live, though, is a quintessentially fun experience for folks of all ages. The band loves playing together, and it shows. Drummer Scott Kessel plays the “Drumship Enterprise,” a percussion set comprised of cookie tins, tin cans, and a vinyl suitcase. Bassist Andrew Kinsey weighs in at half the size of his bass, but brings a giant sense of playfulness and musical sensibility to the stage. And Anand Nyak’s combination of musical and philosophical chops are a treat. Holding them all together is Rani’s calm and commanding presence – she radiates equal parts joy and serenity on the stage, and helps to keep the boys in line.

I’ve seen “Mayhem” four times now, but I never tire of their shows. In a world of electronic and often-soulless music, this is one band that reminds us how fun live performance can be.

Don’t miss ‘em!

Hollywood’izing “Horton Hears a Who”

Here’s the problem facing any Hollywood production team charged with turning a Dr. Seuss story into a full-length celluloid feature.

How do you even think of messing with what is already a great tale?

Think about it.

Theodore Geisel, the good doctor S himself, is universally recognized as one of the most gifted children’s storytellers of the 20th century (if not in all of world history). His ability to string together clever and accessible rhymes, combined with his unique and wacky illustrations, have made his beloved books a favorite of children across the world for decades.

So how do you go about improve Seuss (or even translating Seuss) for the silver screen, without falling flat on your face?

The challenge facing a Seuss-focused directorial team is the opposite of one facing, say, a J.K. Rowling “Harry Potter” directorial group. In the latter, directors have to figure out how to shoehorn the first 150 pages of a Potter novel into the first 10 minutes of the film: like director Chris Columbus working desperately to sandwich the entire story of the “Quidditch World Cup” into a lightning-quick montage (See “Goblet of Fire” on film).

With Geisel, writers and directors have to essential invent an entire other story as a cache for the Seuss-ian tale – going head to head with Dr. Seuss, in a way, while trying to be as inventive as he was.

Not an enviable task.

Those who have seen director Ron Howard’s adaptation of “How The Grinch Stole Christmas” (featuring the gifted Jim Carrey as the ghoulish green guy himself) know what I am talking about. Trying to stitch together the Seuss-ian script with some other larger story to contextualize it ain’t easy – and anyone who has made it through Howard’s “Grinch” – my kids watched it six times this past holiday before we issued a gentle but firm moratorium - know what I am talking about.

So how does “Horton” measure up?

Even with the latest and greatest in Pixar-driven animation, and the vocal work of the likes of Jim Carrey, Steve “Over the Hedge” Carell, and Carol Burnett, the problem remains glaringly apparent.

How to tell the story?

In Seuss’ tale, the story is all about Horton – that trustworthy if somewhat punchy pachadyrm whose compassion, tenacity and essential humanity (for an elephant) rise to the fore when he discovers an entire world – Whoville – existing on a small dust mote.
“A person’s a person – no matter how small.”

Remember?

“I meant what I said and I said what I meant.
An elephant is faithful, one hundred percent.”

(Which, as my good wife pointed out, is actually from “Horton Hatches An Egg.”)

But I digress.

In the movie version, all of this focus on Horton gets lost, trampled by the speed of digital animation, a script that bends over backwards to try and create a larger story where one may not exist, and a whole menagerie of other equally-as-interesting jungle animals – purple chimpanzees, an epistemologically-challenged ornery kangaroo (go Carol Burnett), and an entire cast of Whos (the Mayor, his young Goth son JoJo, and a mysterious “old man in a bathtub.”)

Will the kids like it?

The film is a visual spectacle, for sure, and the climactic scene featuring Horton versus the monkeys is a nail-biter. And the use of REO Speedwagon’s “I Can’t Fight This Feeling Anymore” as the climactic song – well, let’s just say I wasn’t expecting that twist.

And, as my daughter Anneka pointed out when asked about the meaning of the film: “The lesson I learned was that small people like JoJo could still do amazing things – he really was capable in the end.”

Can’t argue with that.

But as someone who grew up on Seuss, I’d vote for the book every time.

Come see for yourselves.

Valley Players Double Shot:
Two Powerful Women, One Great Evening of Music

By Rob Williams

I know I always get a little excited when acoustic musicians show up in Mad River.

But let me just say, for the record, given this week-end’s line-up…

Our very own “Valley Players” Acoustic Showcase Series maestro Bruce Jones has outdone himself.

This Saturday night’s stellar double shot – Anais Mitchell opening for Catie Curtis - is yet another indication of how fabulous our local Valley music scene is, thanks to Jones’ hustle and hard work on the booking front.

“Valley Reporter” readers may remember previous columns in which I have sung the praises of Anais Mitchell, one of the national acoustic music scene’s up-and-comers. A longtime Vermonter who has worked with “Viperhouse” legend Michael Chorney, Mitchell’s newest CD, “The Brightness,” is now being promoted by Ani DiFranco’s “Righteous Babe” label, and with good reason. Mitchell’s compelling song-writing, her stripped-down guitar work, and her gorgeous voice – by turns ethereal, poignant, and haunting – makes her a must-see, and the Valley Players’ intimate space is one of the best venues I can think of to drink in her music.

I first met Catie Curtis, Saturday night’s main act, at the Telluride Folks Festival in 1992, and have been a big fan of her songwriting ever since. She won the emerging songwriters’ contest at Telluride that year – no easy feat, given the prodigious number of talented songwriters working these days - with a moving song called “My Dad’s Yard,” and twenty years later, I can still call that beautiful tune to mind.

And that is Catie’s great genius – her knack for spinning deceptively simple tunes, hooky without being predictable or cheesy. Her lyrics have a way of easing their way into your brain, traveling along with you like new friends, becoming a part of your emotional landscape – in the neatest of ways.

Her new CD – “Long Night Moon” – is classic Catie. Simple tunes, sophisticated lyrics, gorgeous vocalizing – in a clear and wonderfully unpretentious manner. And she’s an incredibly sweet and kind person, to boot.

Don’t miss this wonderful acoustic “double shot” opportunity on Saturday night. Tickets go on sale at 6:30. The show starts at 7:30.

And thanks, once again, to Bruce Jones and all of the local sponsors that power Valley acoustic music. We are lucky to be able to imbibe such talent here.

“Bruce Juice”: A “Magic” Night In Montreal

True confessions.

I haven’t been to a rock and roll show in twenty years.

I mean a real rock and roll show – the kind of pulse-pounding adrenaline-charged experience that finds you in the midst of thousands of amped-up fans swaying to that primal 4/4 rhythm, chanting lyrics or nonsense words – “na na na na” – at the top of their (our!) lungs.

Anyone who has ever been to a real rock concert knows.

The mid-eighties was my decade for arena concerts – “Dire Straits” on their last US tour for “Brothers in Arms” (Play “Romeo and Juliet,” Mark! I remember yelling at the stage, along with the drunk biker guy next to me) and U2, Bono and the boys, giving it up for 50,000 screaming fans at Giants Stadium – stand out as highlights.

And then, driven by reasons I still can’t quite fathom – high ticket prices? Responsibilities of work and family? - I stopped going to the big shows.

Until two weeks back, when my neighbor Phil Huffman e-mailed me saying – Montreal? Springsteen? The Bell Center?

I couldn’t say no.

In my travels, Bruce Springsteen’s live shows are the stuff of legend – I had a roommate in college who worshipped “the Boss” (yes, he was from New Jersey) and would routinely crank “Rosalita,” “Thunder Road” and other now-classics at odd hours, belting out the lyrics for everyone in the quad to hear. And I soon understood that, like all great musicians with staying power (his first big album, “Greetings from Asbury Park” arrived in 1971), Bruce has a huge following – fans routinely compare notes on shows and do whatever it takes to get to a Springsteen event.

So it was that I found myself driving north on a Sunday afternoon in early Marc, sick as a dog with the “crud” everyone else in the Valley had but not caring, in my friend Phil’s salt-splattered Prius, fully equipped for a forty-something road trip to the Boss. (At least we’d keep our carbon footprint traveling to the show low.) Phil was sick, too, but when the Boss comes to Montreal, you have no option but to go, so with his new CD “Magic” cranking away, we headed north.

At the border crossing, the guard asked us the usual questions – where are you going? How long will you stay? Are you carrying any alcohol or tobacco products?

We chortled to ourselves – looking around the car at our bag of Ricola all-natural HoneyLemon throat lozenges, laced with Echinacea, and our steaming thermos of herbal tea – joking about how times have changed for us as concert thrill-seekers, and made Montreal by 4:45. With 2 choice floor tickets, we were gunning for bracelets for the coveted “pit” directly in front of the main stage, but missed the cut-off literally by seconds. Resigned to a bottle of wine and a light dinner in a warm and crowded nearby pub, we found ourselves well-fed and on the Bell Center floor by 6:45.

Bruce and his eight person E Street Band arrived on stage promptly at 8:25, and true to legend, gave themselves over to the crowd for the next 2 ½ hours. They kicked it off with “Night,” a classic off of the 1975 “Born To Run” record that put Bruce on the map. A sick Phil went nuts , it being his all-time favorite opening tune (did I mention Phil has seen Bruce in concert maybe twenty times?) – and then ripped into the pop-tinged rocker “Radio Nowhere,” the haunting first track from his new “Magic” record. From there, the show soared.
How to capture an evening with the Boss?

Having never seen him before, I was astounded at how much energy he put out. At the tender age of fifty-something, he set the place on fire. Switching from guitar to harmonica to guitar and back again, he wailed, yelped, crooned and sung his way through new tunes and old classics with the confidence of a veteran rocker still in his prime. He managed to fit into his set a full eight of the eleven tunes on his new project, including haunting stripped-down versions of “Devil’s Arcade” and “Magic,” and rip-sawed through “Last To Die,” while performing more playful versions of “Livin’ In The Future” (with just a few brief words about “winds of change” blowing in America) and, as his first encore number, “Girls In Their Summer Clothes” (and I swear this tune, strangely, felt like an homage to the “Beach Boys”).

And, as always, Bruce’s classics carried the evening, including an anthemic “Thunder Road,” a subdued “Jungleland,” a harp-driven bluesy version of “Reason to Believe,” and the rollicking crowd-pleaser “Dancing In the Dark.” The most inspirational moment of the evening for me, though, proved a transcendent performance of his post-9/11 tune “The Rising,” from the album of the same name, a song that pays tribute to the fallen heroes of that fateful day.

At once energized and exhausted by show’s end, Phil and I left the Bell Center and spend an hour in the Sheraton bar reflecting on Bruce’s performance, Phil sharing stories from previous shows he’d seen over the years. As a musician myself, I continually marvel at music’s power to weave together the disparate threads of our lives, as well as marking major milestones along the way. And I give thanks for musicians like Bruce Springsteen, who write about what they love and believe in, and pour themselves into their performances, night after night, album after album, year after year, helping to give all of us a “reason to believe.”

WMRW 95.1 “Green Mountain Globa-local”

Featured Vermont artist: Lewis Franco (and the Hepcats)

Swinging in Daddyland/Lewis Franco (Swinging in Daddyland)
When Did Your Heart Go Missing?/Rooney (Calling the World)
Home Grown/Lewis Franco (Swinging in Daddyland)
I’m Standing in the Light/Dr. Dog (Paste Live)
Have You Looked?/Lewis Franco (Swinging in Daddyland)
To Beam/Hank Vegas (The Things You Are)
Swing 42/Lewis Franco (Swinging in Daddyland)
Heirloom Projector/Sweet To Mend (slightly by your side)
Lewis Franco/Become a Man (Swinging in Daddyland)
Blind Boys of Alabama/Free at Last (Down in New Orleans)
Lewis Franco/Rude Awakening (Swinging in Daddyland)
The Sundogs/Desperation and Borrowed Time (Instrument of Change)
Lewis Franco/Annabelle (Swinging in Daddyland)