I Remember “Danny Boy”

I remember the piano in the patients’ lounge down the hall from Dad’s room.

I remember how I was aimlessly plunking the keys when an old man came in to play.

I remember when, two months earlier, Dad told me he didn’t have much time left.

I remember how he made a point of telling me that there was one particular song he wished to be remembered by.

I remember how he referred to it as my song.

I remember the curiosity of this moment, as he had never so much as hummed a bar of my song in my presence.

I remember how non-musically inclined he was.

I remember how he hardly ever called me “Dan.”

I remember how the news hollowed me with fear.

I remember the new He-Man figure he gave me when I was in the hospital eleven years earlier.

I remember how that piano was a cheering distraction from what was mounting down the hall.

I remember that I was just beginning to figure out how piano playing works.

I remember watching the old man start into a seasoned rendition of a song he knew from memory.

I remember leaving the room before he was done, but I don’t remember why.

I remember that twenty minutes later I was at the foot of Dad’s bed watching him give his last breath.

I remember Dad’s love of all things Irish.

I remember the old man’s pitch-perfect intro.

I remember the uncanny moment and the familiar emerald air.

I remember the gentle cadence.

I remember wondering if the old man had any idea who that song belonged to.

Wayne
Wayne Thies, March 18, 1945 – April 4, 1995
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Five Great Billy Joel Songs About New York City

I’ve seen Billy Joel in concert seven times. Yes, SEVEN. And while every one of those on-the-road shows was magical in its own way, I’ve never seen him play a home game. Apparently, his New York City shows, charged with the energy of an adoring hometown crowd, are incredible.

Well, as luck would have it, things are about to change for me. Tonight the Piano Man will be ringing in the new year at the Barclays Center here in Brooklyn, and Mike and I will be there! (Also, Ben Folds Five is the opening act! I can’t friggin’ believe it. More on this later.) I am pee-my-pants excited about tonight’s show, so in celebration, I thought I’d share my own BuzzFeed-style listicle of five quintessentially “New York” selections from the Billy Joel catalog. I hope you enjoy.  

(Also, be sure to tune into “Dick Clark’s New Year’s Rockin’ Eve with Ryan Seacrest” on ABC tonight. They’ll be cutting to the concert after midnight, as Billy will be performing the first song of the new year.)   

Have a happy New Year, and I’ll see you all in 2014!  

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“Why Should I Worry?”

Performed (though not written) by Joel for the 1988 Disney animated film Oliver and Company. Dodger, the shades-sporting mutt who rules the streets of New York, cockily boasts about his “street savoir-faire.”:

 

“52nd Street”

Named for the Manhattan street on which Joel’s record label and studio were located at the time of its recording (1978), and a tribute to the street’s history as a famous jazz-performance corridor. Despite being the title track from one of his best-known albums, this little number remains a relative obscurity in the Billy Joel catalog:

 

“Big Man On Mulberry Street”

A big-band inspired highlight from the 1986 album The Bridge. Joel self-referentially conjures a “Mr. Cool” poser strutting around lower Manhattan “like he’s the King of Mulberry Street”: 

 

Miami 2017 (Seen the Lights Go Out On Broadway)”

From 1976’s Turnstiles, and inspired by the infamous “Ford to City: Drop Dead” headline in The Daily News. Joel’s lyrics imagine the Big Apple’s apocalyptic demise from the perspective of an aged survivor who watched it all go down. (Note: the “distant” future from which this old-timer gives his account is now only three years away. Yikes): 

 

“New York State of Mind”

Joel wrote this number to celebrate his New York homecoming after living in Los Angeles for several years. Said to have been composed within 20 minutes of his return, the 1976 release has since become an extensively covered standard and Joel’s own definitive NYC anthem:

Are You a Vampire Weekend Fan?

Well if you aren’t yet, I think you should become one. They’re really one of the best things going on in the whole alternative/rock/indie/pop/whatever-music scene right now. And if you put any stock in what the critics say, the New York band’s latest album, Modern Vampires of the City, is their best work yet, and among the best albums so far this year. (I have yet to decide if it’s my favorite VW album, but still, it’s pretty fantastic.) Anyway, check them out:

Ben Folds Live

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I never saw the Beatles in concert. It’s a stunning oversight, I know. But tickets were always hard to come by, what with the Fab Four permanently disbanding a decade before my birth and all. Now the only way I’ll ever get to hear the Beatles playing Beatles songs is by listening to their albums. Granted, the fact that Abbey Road and Sgt. Pepper are always just the click of a “play” button away is no small consolation. But somewhere in the world there’s a sixty-year-old version of me who can actually tell people, “I once saw John, Paul, George, and Ringo do their thing live.” How can I not envy that person?

That’s one of the great privileges of experiencing live music. Even the best recordings, however polished or pristine, are only artifacts – preserved evidence of moments past. But a live performance is the moment. It’s an event that closes the distance between music makers and music lovers, turning once-remote listeners into first-hand witnesses. It’s a real-life experience where memories are recorded as much by the senses as by any camera or microphone. And it’s a chance to say, long after your favorite performer has taken their final bow, “I was there.”

One artist keenly attuned to the magic of these live-music moments is an ivory-tickling idol of mine named Ben Folds.

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I first saw Ben Folds Five play in the spring of 2000, during their last tour before splitting up later that year. They were easily my favorite band back then, and I still consider Mr. Folds one of the finest pop-musicians out there. Needless to say, it was a huge thrill to see them play. And though I managed to catch another four of his solo shows over the next decade, it was always a special privilege to be able to say I saw Ben Folds back in his “Five” days. I felt like I’d witnessed a bit of 90s pop-music history, because, that’s right, I was there.

Likewise, Ben Folds Five played an important role in Dan-history, coming along at an especially pivotal moment in my life. I bought my first BF5 CD in early 1998, during my senior year in high school. I was your typical shy, awkward teenager full of adolescent angst and confusion. But I was also growing into a more open, more aware individual that year. It was a crucial period of self-discovery and personal awakening. Yup, that was the year I realized I was a gay guy. And this sweet new CD, Whatever And Ever Amen, was its non-stop soundtrack.

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Of course, Ben Folds Five weren’t the reason I came out as gay. But my instant affinity for the group reflected a new facet of my emerging identity. They were the first band I’d discovered entirely on my own, signaling a newly independent and daring shift in my musical tastes. Where my prior preferences had been relatively tame (that’s tame, with a “t”, friends), BF5 were loud, smart-alecky, and did just enough cussing to make me feel like a total badass when I listened to them. Their catchy, piano-driven “punk rock for sissies” was an exciting new sound for the newer, edgier (but forever geeky) me.

Ben Folds Five split up soon after that, but twelve years later, the trio has reunited for a new album and tour. So when they made a stop in Seattle earlier this month, I got to relive the thrill of seeing them play live.

Their set, though featuring a bit of the new stuff, consisted mostly of songs from their late-90s heyday. It was a great show, with a nice blend of nostalgia and in-the-moment musical bliss. Indeed, even though I found myself drifting happily back to 1998 for much of the night, Mr. Folds has an uncanny knack for keeping his audience present for the here-and-now moments that make live performances so magical.

There’s nothing new about a good ol’ fashioned audience sing-along. But where some performers might simply encourage this kind of participation, Ben Folds relies on it. Take, for example, the BF5 classic “Army” – a song largely defined by its robust horn section. Instead of cutting this brass-heavy number from the three-man band’s set-list, Folds simply enlists the eager voices in his audience to fill the void. At the key moment, Maestro Ben gives his cue, and a thousand-person chorus erupts with a boisterous and surprisingly spot-on counterpoint of “bah-dap-baahs,” delivering the most rousing moment of the entire show.

This clever audience-as-horns bit goes back at least as far as Folds’s 2002 solo tour, and it has since become a staple of his live shows. But apart from the expected delights of a given concert, it’s the more spontaneous moments that really make each show unique and interesting. At this last BF5 show, it was things like the band’s impromptu, tongue-in-cheek rendition of “Reunited.” Or the amusing moment when Folds blanked on his lyrics mid-song and had to slowly backtrack to the preceding verse (rather than bullshitting his way through, as he confessed to often doing). And past surprises for me have included a fun cover of this 80s classic, a sweet onstage cameo by Moby, and a killer duet with one-time tourmate Rufus Wainwright.

But if there’s any one thing that draws me to a Ben Folds concert, it’s the piano. Folds may be a fine singer, and an exceptional songwriter, but the man is a freaking brilliant pop-pianist. As a quasi-passable player myself, I feel like I have a little extra appreciation (and no small amount of envy) for his ridiculous piano chops. When I see him play live, I find myself mesmerized by his dancing fingers, watching them bounce from graceful arpeggios to layered glissandos to full-bodied, key-smashing chords. I stand completely in awe of the man’s formidable talent, entranced by each deftly pounded keystroke. And I only snap out of it when Folds cuts out with his signature post-game sign-off: hurling the piano stool clear across the stage and nailing the baby grand squarely in its 88-tooth grin. It’s a final flash of rowdy, carefree showmanship – a piano man’s answer to the guitar-smashing rockers of yore – and it effing rules.

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A sweet commemorative Frisbee I scored back in ’08

I’ve now seen Ben Folds in concert a total of six times, and counting. Maybe that’ll impress a few folks thirty years from now, but I’m not holding my breath that BF5 will be remembered as my generation’s Beatles. Nevertheless, for an artist safely regarded as one of my personal favorites, I’ve checked the “I was there” box, and then some. (I was even in the audience for the version of “Philosophy” that appears on the Ben Folds Live album. Check it out!) But bragging rights aside, the reason I do my best to catch Ben Folds whenever he’s in town is that he consistently rewards me with fantastic performances. I’ll always have his albums to listen to, and his songbooks live perpetually by my piano’s side. And as long as he’s the guy who puts on a terrific show, I’ll be the guy looking to score tickets. Because each live performance is a unique experience for which there is no substitute, and the memories of having beenthere are priceless.

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Regina Spektor at the Paramount

Regina Live

I saw Regina Spektor in concert for the first time back in 2009 at the Paramount Theater in Seattle. Ever since, that performance has ranked high among my all-time favorite shows by a popular musician. I straight-up adore Regina Spektor, and if only I were heterosexual, and not madly in love with this guy, I would totally make it my life’s mission to woo and marry her. She is a delightful performer who seems genuinely delighted to be on stage. And, as you might imagine, girlfriend’s got some serious chops as a pianist, vocalist, and composer of music. There’s really nothing not to love about her.

The one thing missing from that otherwise outstanding show three years ago was Mike. Like so many things of entrancing beauty, I feel Miss Spektor’s music is best enjoyed in the company of one’s true love. (I know. Barf). I take full credit for eventually turning Mike on to her music, but at this early-ish point in our relationship, she had yet to take hold.

Fast-forward to last week, and we find Mr. Curato gleefully humming tunes like “On the Radio” and singing along with “Us” as he purchases our tickets to Regina’s latest show at the Paramount. He’d fallen for her at last, and was now coming with me to see her. Mission accomplished.

I’ll spare you a long, wordy review of the performance itself, except to say that Regina was as delightful as ever. She was in top musical form, and seemed to be truly enjoying herself and all the affection from her doting audience. She played every song I was hoping to hear (well, almost), and there were more that a few “I’m so happy to be here with the person I love” moments. (I know. More barf). And despite Mike’s being stuck behind a big-haired, busy-headed gal, and my being stuck next to an annoyingly fidgety tween, the view from our seats was terrific. We even spotted the lovely Kimya Dawson kickin’ it in the audience (the opening act had been the lead guitarist for the The Moldy Peaches), so that was big bonus thrill for us.

So yes, all in all, it had been a lovely and satisfying evening of music. I haven’t been much of a concert-goer lately, so it’s always a pleasure when the ones I do make it to prove to be truly worthwhile. And I feel particularly lucky to have such a willing and musically compatible partner in Mike. It really makes the experience that much sweeter.

Now, a video clip from Regina’s 2009 Seattle show. Enjoy!