The Laid Back Festival- ​A Night of Tributes and Collaborations

As a music fan, it was difficult to stay laid back at the Laid Back Festival in New Jersey. Even without the not-so-surprising walk-on appearance by Bruce Springsteen, the festival lifted the crowd and sent them into orbit during some of the most memorable collaborations of the year.

It started with Steven Van Zandt and his sideband the Disciples of Soul. To watch Little Stevie lead his 16 member group that, sorry fellow BruceBuds, rivals if not surpasses the E Street Band's power, was truly amazing. Starting with The Breakers' "Soulfire" to Southside Johnny & The Asbury Jukes' "Love on the Wrong Side of Town" to The Allman Brothers Band's "It's Not My Cross to Bear", Van Zandt powered through a setlist that, if he was the only act of the night, would have been satisfying enough.

But 11 songs in, Van Zandt invited back former J. Geils Band member Peter Wolf who had already played an exciting and energetic set of his own.  In the first two beats of "Freeze Frame", Wolf was bouncing on stage, slapping Stevie's hand, playing a drum roll, clapping, dancing, and tossing his jacket onto the ground.

Afterwards, it was Wolf who paid tribute to Van Zandt. "Rock 'n Roll is like a religion and every religion needs its minister, needs someone to protect it and we have it right here, Little Stevie and the Minister of Rock 'n Roll." No sooner had Wolf left the stage, than the crowd erupted at the sight of Bruce Springsteen, appearing with his guitar, looking casual and relaxed, and standing next to Stevie who together launched into the Southside's "It's Been A Long Time".

Honestly, one song with Bruce would have been enough on this night. After all, he's busy rehearsing for his Broadway debut starting in a few weeks. But the crowd frenzy continued as he and Stevie transitioned to the fun-filled, sing-a-long "Tenth Avenue Freeze-Out". Maybe Bruce was so excited being back on stage with his friend or the fact that he was now standing in the unfamiliar stage-right to Stevie, that he jumped the gun and started singing just as the horns launched into their familiar anthem. Without missing a beat, Bruce made up for his mistake, reset, and instructed the band "let me hear it one more time."

Festival shows force musicians to truncate their set lists but on this night it felt as if Jackson Browne had put on a full show. Browne had picked up the torch for the three year old Laid Back Festival from his good friend and festival co-founder, the late-Gregg Allman who passed away just four months ago. Jackson opened on a nostalgic note with "You Love The Thunder", the song off of his album "Running On Empty", which he recorded at this venue 40 years ago almost to the day, before naming rights turned the Garden State Arts Center into the PNC Bank Arts Center. Browne mixed in his hits with a beautiful tribute to Allman and The Allman Brothers Band with "Melissa".

Honoring one another was a recurring and powerful theme for the musicians on this night. As Jackson brought out Van Zandt, he told the crowd that Little Stevie gave him this next song "I Am A Patriot" when he "really needed it." Given the polarization in the United States today, the song's message, that dissent doesn't mean disloyalty, rings true as much today as it did 28 years ago when Jackson covered it on his album "World in Motion".

The night was complete, right? Wrong. As the concert curfew was setting in, Jackson brought back Springsteen to the chants of "Bruuuuce".  "This is a song I learned off the radio, then I learned it again, I learned it several times. I also learned it one time when I heard Bruce sing it. Though I wrote this song, I wrote it with Glenn Frey so it was a while before I learned to sing it. This is for Glenn, this is for Gregg." And then after the opening guitar lick, Jackson welcomed the crowd into "Take It Easy" with a fun-loving "you're gonna sing it too, right?"​

It's a song both Jackson and Bruce performed soon after Frey passed away at the start of 2016. On this night, it was more festival especially when Jackson's lead guitarist Val McCallum and lap steel specialist Greg Leisz clearly impressed Bruce by showing off their stuff and alternating guitar solos with Bruce (starting at 4:50 mark of the following video).

Everyone of these musicians continue to challenge themselves, put their work before us, and hit the road at a time in their lives we would grudgingly forgive them if they slowed down a bit. But they're working overtime, literally. After Bruce watched in amazement as Jackson and his band flowed from "Take It Easy" into their classic "Our Lady of the Well", Browne acknowledged the festival ran long, 25 minutes long. In many venues, this would be impossible. But on this night, Jackson thanked the crowd, his fellow musicians, and the union who allowed the show to finish with a flourish. Not that anyone in Jersey was going to cut the power with Bruce on stage.

I Took Prince For Granted- Remembering Prince, One Year Later

I miss Prince but not for the reasons you probably do. For years, I lived in Minneapolis and followed along as he defined outrageous and seemed to outdo himself in that category as time went by. I recall his face scrawled with the word SLAVE to protest his record label, two marriages and an annulment, the sudden and mysterious death of his seven-day old son, the changing of his name to a symbol (what?!) and back again (whew!). All this carried little weight as he turned to music again, breaking records with 21 shows at London's o2 arena and releasing his 33rd studio album. 

The music and intrigue that Prince provided to Minnesota made him a favorite son and filled everyday with the possibility of the unknown; would Prince appear in public, perform at a club, or do something that, at first, we wouldn't understand but then realize was his genius. This genius sometimes occurred at the strangest hours which frustrated even his most devoted fans, like the time he didn't take the stage at First Avenue until 2:45am and cops closed the place down about an hour into the show. Bleary-eyed co-workers provided testament. 

​Prince and I loved First Avenue for similar reasons but from different views: the crowd standing close, buying beers from club employees snaking their way between hot, dancing bodies, and a show that stays with you long after the night is out. But Prince also liked First Ave because it didn't just book white rock 'n rollers. Music writer Chris Riemenschneider recalls the love affair between Prince and First Avenue and the sweaty, summer night in August 1983 when he debuted Purple Rain, all 13 minutes of it (rare video).

I miss Prince because I really didn't appreciate him when I should have. And sadly, it took his death to realize this. Two nights after Prince died, I was standing by the stage at Barclays Center in Brooklyn waiting for Bruce Springsteen & The E Street Band to start their final two shows of the U.S.-leg of The River tour. It was the same spot in which I stood in Pittsburgh three months earlier on opening night. That show was filled with world-premiere excitement and came within days of David Bowie's death, a loss Springsteen and the band memorialized by starting their encore belting out a ferocious Rebel, Rebel.

So in Brooklyn, 19,000 of us knew Springsteen would pay tribute to Prince, we just didn't know how or when. Every show of the tour started with the house lights on and the hard-charging welcoming anthem Meet Me In The City Tonight. But on this warm April night, with anticipation growing by the minute, the band walked onto the stage in the dark with only their silhouettes illuminated by purple lights shining down and Purple Rain at the top of the setlist. From the very first chords, we felt we were attending a memorial service, truly THE memorial service since it was the first major concert since Prince's death. Springsteen's voice rose with emotion as the band lifted us musically. We were transfixed watching Nils Lofgren rip into a passionate minute-long guitar solo. We were transported by Springsteen's verse. And we were transformed as together we cried out the final "oh, oh, oh, oh's", hoping that if we could just keep it going, Prince wouldn't be gone. Before the final beat, Springsteen cloaked us in a communal embrace by calling out "Prince forever, God bless". Purple Rain was a fitting eulogy, filled with respect and reverence and served up with honor by a preacher whose tribute was cathartic. 

It was also a public mourning in the age of social media that may set the standard. Caryn Rose, a long-time Springsteen chronicler, author, and fan recalls how on this night, Bruce's voice "felt like it originated from a sense of loss....Springsteen knows the value of working your grief out communally, and the power of expressing that despair through live rock and roll." 

Springsteen returned to Prince after his second song. "We'd like to dedicate this show to Prince. There's never been anyone better...Bandleader, showman, arranger...Whenever I would catch one of his shows, I would always leave humbled. I'm going to miss that. We're going to miss that." For those of us who returned to Barclays two nights later, we were treated to Purple Rain once again, but not to start the show; this time it was the first encore, placed high atop the musical alter between Springsteen's two greatest hits, Thunder Road and Born To Run.

​In a 1990 Rolling Stone interview, Prince admitted he's "not real into Bruce Springsteen’s music, but I have a lot of respect for his talent.” When watching Springsteen from backstage, Prince said “I admire the way he holds his audience — there’s one man whose fans I could never take away....at one point, his band started going off somewhere. Springsteen turned around and shot the band one terrifying look. You know they got right back on it!”

​Months after Prince died, Springsteen had time to reflect during another Rolling Stone interview. "​Any death gives you renewed sight. It's a part of what the dead pass on to us. A chance to look at our lives and look at the world again. It's just a powerful experience.....I felt a great kinship with Prince. And he was a guy, when I'd go to see him, I'd say, "Oh, man, OK, back to the drawing board."​​ ​

​Musicians teach us a lot of things through their lyrics and how they interact with their fans. But when one musician dies, we rely on others to help us through the loss, whether it was Springsteen's tributes to Prince and Bowie or Jackson Browne's friendship for Glenn Frey. Respect, admiration, humility, self deprecation. For musicians who have lives we only dream of, death among their ranks makes the surviving musicians more ordinary, puts them next to us, and makes them a grieving fan just like us.

Delta Rae- Holding On To Good

Brittany Holljes and Liz Hopkins belt out the harmonies as Delta Rae brings down the house at The Bowery Ballroom. May 2, 2016

I have a group of favorite bands that I would run away with. Bands that work tirelessly on stage, exposing raw emotions that elevate their music to a mystical level. Bands that go from zero to 100 and back to zero within a four minute song. Bands with whom, during the course of a live show, I turn to no one in particular and say out loud, "Do you see this, DO YOU SEE WHERE THEY JUST WENT?!!" 

Delta Rae is one of these bands. They perform as a family, perhaps because half its members are a family. But more than that, they have genuine love for one another. No one member is the star; they take turns singing lead vocals on songs that highlight their unique voices and personalities. ​Their music is all about relationships, the personal ones and the ones we have with our country. Their lyrics help navigate from our pasts to the sense of hope for our futures.

When Delta Rae was just getting started in 2010, the band would drive up to New York City every month to perform. Six years later, they returned to the Bowery Ballroom in May with 2 acclaimed records in hand and a third one in the works. But as one song ended, every band member but one left the stage. For a casual fan, it was just typical choreography to signal a solo was coming up. But for someone who has followed the band for years, there was more than the smell of weed in the air when the lone spotlight shined on Eric Hölljes.

“It’s time for us to be just a little bit honest with our fans and the people who have followed us for so long."

Anything could have followed but my gut knew it had to do with the future of the band and my gut was telling me the party was over.

"I’ve never talked about the meaning of this song until this tour....We were on the doorstep of breaking up."

Keeping a band together is no small feat. Taylor Swift is making a killing on $0.99 downloads but that's about it. For the rest, it takes touring and not like Springsteen touring. Most bands drive their own van from town to town with their trailer in tow carrying their most expensive belongings and praying they'll see familiar faces somewhere in the sold out crowds. For every E Street Band, there are thousands of aspiring musicians who are trying to figure out how to make a living doing what they love. They crash on couches, meet their loyal fans, and post behind-the-scenes photos to build fandom on social media. And when the cheering stops, they say their goodbyes, load their trailers, and head to the next town to do it all over again.

"I’m in the band with my brother and my sister and that’s a very important relationship to me. And then the struggle that you can go through while you're in a band can be really challenging. So anyway, I wrote this song in the midst of that struggle."

When the song was over, Eric's bandmates walked back on stage one by one, smiling. It wasn't clear who was more relieved, the musicians or their loyal fans.

Fan: "Liz, we’re glad you didn’t break up!"
Liz- "Eric decided to let us back in the band, we’re grateful."​

So. Are. We.

Jackson Browne- Paying Tribute to Our Musical Heroes

“It’s a strange thing when your friends become your heroes and I’ve been lucky it’s happened to me a lot.”

The news hit us like a brick wall, twice. None of us knew how close to death David Bowie and Glenn Frey were. With their final months living away from the public spotlight, their deaths started the year with a grim reminder of the mortality facing our legends. Bowie was 69; Frey 67. Just days after Bowie died, Bruce Springsteen, 66, opened his River tour in Pittsburgh. The only question before fans was which Bowie song would he play.

There was no question what Jackson Browne was going to play.  After postponing three shows in South Carolina, North Carolina and Virginia due to illness, many fans were eager to see him perform at the Bergen Performing Arts Center in Englewood, New Jersey. Browne immediately put the sold out crowd at ease. His voice was clear, his music was spirited and his interactions with the audience were funny.

Usually Browne saves Take It Easy, a song he and Frey collaborated on, for later in his concerts. But with Frey's death occurring just one week before, the song took on a more poignant meaning than placing it along Browne's other hits to close out the show. As Browne strummed his guitar before the song, he took a brief moment to give Frey the highest of praises. “It’s a strange thing when your friends become your heroes and I’ve been lucky it’s happened to me a lot.”

This was no ordinary performance. Jackson was clearly moved and called on his community to sing along, or as he sings in another song, to pull him through. "Are you gonna sing it with me, or what?

Browne is like no other singer/songwriter. A lifetime of activism and providing a playlist for love, sorrow, the road we've left behind and the road we're about to take. At 67, Browne still has a fire in his belly as he produces original music. He's added young backup singers on his album "Time The Conqueror" while influencing the next generation of musicians like Dawes and Sara Watkins. Known for so long for his melancholy lyrics, Browne jokes that he even has two happy songs, before going into "Just Say Yeah."

Browne was astoundingly 16 years old when he wrote These Days, a song first recorded and released by Nico in 1967. 

Browne's music is filled with civic engagement. Sitting alone at the piano, he sings The Load Out, a tribute to his fans and roadies. In concert, it's as if he's sitting in your living room, with you tapping your feet, clapping your hands, and singing along. Being one with his audience who are in no rush to end the night, Browne flows right into Stay, the 1953 doo-wop song written by Maurice Williams when he was 15, one year younger than Jackson was when he wrote "These Days."

Many of Browne's songs look to the past and none balances nostalgia with the future as the journey Looking Into You, the story of a man returning to the home he grew up..."to see where my beginnings have gone." He was welcomed inside by the family now living there, and "when it left me so warm and so high" it was time to leave while asking "are you ready to fly?"

Jackson's second album was filled with backup vocals from David Cosby, Bonnie Raitt, Glenn Fry to even Elton John. For Everyman was Browne's response to Crosby's dream of sailing off to a utopian island. Browne wasn't ready to give up.

Many of Browne's songs have to do with our place in society. But his trademark is coming up with the words that speak to the heart and soul of relationships with the world, with another person, and with yourself. No song does this better than For A Dancer.

"Go on and make a joyful sound
Into a dancer you have grown
From a seed somebody else has thrown
Go on ahead and throw some seeds of your own
And somewhere between the time you arrive
And the time you go
May lie a reason you were alive
But you'll never know"

Bruce Springsteen- The King of Civic Engagement

Musicians can teach us a lot about civic engagement. And perhaps no one proves it all night better than Bruce Springsteen. When Springsteen and his E Street Band deliver their front porch messages, you hear stories of love and family, defiance and victories, hope and resilience, responsibility and forgiveness and growing up. 

The group opened their latest tour in Pittsburgh Saturday night so there's no better time to declare Springsteen "The King of Civic Engagement." It is not just one thing he does in one song, it's the variety of ways The Boss makes a deep and powerful connection. He captivates and engages everyone in sight.

The tone is set in the very first song Meet Me In The City Tonight. With the house lights on to signify we are all invited in, Bruce launches into the first verse, then the chorus and then...the song surprisingly all but stops. Springsteen pauses, faces the fans sitting behind the stage and then turns to face the full house.

Bruce: Pittsburgh!!!! We're so glad to be in your beautiful city tonight. We're here to rock 'em and sock em, we're gonna take you to the river. I want to know are you ready to be transformed?
Crowd: YEAH!!
Bruce: Are you ready to be transformed?
Crowd: YEAH!!
Bruce: Are you to be transformed?
Crowd: YEAH!!
Bruce: Let's Go!!!

And off we go. And there he went...into the crowd!

During Hungry Heart, Bruce leaves the stage to get even closer to his fans. He continues to sing while interacting with the crowd along the way. When he reaches what would be half-court, Springsteen is surrounded on every side and at every level facing 18,000 screaming fans.

Springsteen slowly turns his back and first leans his rear end and then his back as he falls into the faithful's outstretched arms. Talk about trust. It takes over a minute for him to be carried like a God to the front of the stage where he grabs the hand of band mate Jake Clemons as Jake plays his saxophone without ever missing a beat.

The mood changes but the connection continues during the soft and romantic I Wanna Marry You. Springsteen stands bare and vulnerable, alone at the front of the stage playing maracas. As he sings, it feels as if you're the only one there.

Now, honey, I don't wanna clip your wings
But a time comes when two people should think of these things
Having a home and a family
Facing up to their responsibilities
They say in the end true love prevails
But in the end true love can't be no fairytale
To say I'll make your dreams come true would be wrong
But maybe, darlin', I could help them along

In his famous anthem Badlands, Springsteen leads the fist-pumping crowd to near exhaustion.

Let the broken hearts stand
As the price you've gotta pay
Keep pushin' till it's understood
These Badlands start treating us good
Whoa, whoa, Badlands
Whoa, whoa, Badlands
Whoa, whoa, Badlands
Whoa, whoa, Badlands
Whoa, whoa

The show ends three hours and twenty minutes after Springsteen asked the crowd "Are you ready to be transformed?" The answer was never in doubt.

In Search Of A Front Porch

After a full day at work and the nighttime ritual of walking my dog Sally, I could have easily walked inside, shut the door and stayed put for the rest of the night. But something was drawing me to another ritual occurring a mile and a half away. Inside Central Park, people were gathering all day singing Beatles songs as a tribute to John Lennon on the anniversary of his death. So that's where I headed, in search of meeting someone with a front porch story.

When I arrived at Strawberry Fields, I walked down the path to a group of fans, some playing instruments, others singing out, and everyone standing in a tight knit circle. I took in the scene, walked around the circle three times, and jumped on a park bench to get a better view. I looked to my right and standing a shoulder's length away was Marty Trent, a father from New Jersey who has attended every one of these December 8th tributes for the last 35 years. Nearby was his 22 year old son Paul and together we walked down the path to talk.

Like many baby boomers, Marty grew up on a front porch drinking lemonade and playing monopoly and cards. But life is different today and not just for his family.  "Those days are over for this country as far as I can see. Maybe in other parts of the country it may persist but the metropolitan areas, we're very high speed oriented, the kids of today, young adults are all into the internet, their phones. There's very little conversation going on these days," Marty added.

Conversation. Engagement. Community involvement. It's easy to look at the past as simpler times especially with the technology explosion we face every year. But Marty offered some helpful perspective.  "You know what? My son Paul here who is 22 years old, 35 years from now will be saying boy I wish we could get back to the old days of 2015 and the way we used to communicate. Can you imagine what it'll be like in another 35 or 50 years from now?"

Over the years as I've gotten older and had a son, I wondered if nostalgia was wasted on the young...that the younger generations haven't lived long enough to value 'what was' versus 'what will be.' But I'm learning that's not always true. On this night, Paul shared perspective well beyond his 22 years. "I even remember growing up in the early 90s even saying 'oh remember 10 years ago that TV show' or even with internet 'remember dial up.' I love to see the world keep growing but I don't want technology to totally consume the human race. It's important to have human-to-human contact."

A millennial speaking off the cuff about what he would love to see. A proud father standing by, happy his son joins him each year for this Lennon tribute. Lasting legacies that will undoubtedly continue into this family's next generation.

As we finished our front porch conversation, Marty tied it all together by coming full circle as to why we are here. "This is John Lennon's legacy. You have hundreds and hundreds of people standing here singing Beatles songs. The man had an impact upon people's lives. As a parent we have impact on our children's lives. 

Memorial At 36,000 Feet

Today I attended a memorial service for the victims of 9/11. Not in a church. Not in a park. Not even on the ground. I was on board a plane that took off from Boston, just as two of the four other jets took off 11 years ago.

My departure from Logan was delayed, strikingly, until 9 a.m. Once situated in 13C, I was greeted by an odd reminder of the September 11 attacks: In the seat back in front of me was a live feed of the memorial service taking place in lower Manhattan. At first I thought this was a cruel reminder. Airports aren’t known for showing images of plane crashes. So it was odd being inside a plane and reliving memories of the worst day in U.S. airline history. But for some reason I didn’t change the channel. I didn’t even look for a switch to turn it off.

Settling in for a long flight to a business conference, I opened my summer read to where I left off — Chapter 29. “The Art of Fielding” is many things baseball. As I recommitted to finishing the book as summer temperatures make way for the fall, I realized this book is about life, adversity and life’s expectations.

As I combed through pages, I couldn’t help but glance at my monitor from time to time to see the memorial continuing at ground zero. Work colleagues sitting on each side of the aisle kept me away from the screen. I even tried to obstruct the monitor with my book. But it was no use fighting my impulse. Fiction lost out to reality.

Without headphones, I watched in silence. And in this silence, perhaps my sense of sight was stronger. While I saw the victims' names and faces at the bottom of the screen, it was the cumulative effect of seeing this ritual go on for hours that impacted me. The choreography was simple, yet without hearing a word I could tell what was being said: families alternating their words from two podiums; the stoic stare of firefighters and police standing guard just over their shoulders; the tired eyes of speakers whose tears resurface before us on this day; the soft, comforting touch on a speaker’s back just as the roll call gives way to a personal, loving and longing, tribute.

I wondered if anyone else on board my flight was watching this unfold. Cameron Diaz was on some monitors, “Men in Black” on others. A row ahead sat what appeared to be a retired couple whom I bet was headed to Vegas to play blackjack. With matching headsets and their eyes glued to CNBC, the couple's ”outside” voices carried their disbelief of Coke’s stock price. But nothing about the memorial.

I continued to watch as family members alternated and read the names of the victims of the Twin Tower attacks. I was drawn more and more to their names, ages and photos, and the communities where they lived. As a native New Yorker, I knew these places well; more than a few victims were from my own hometown. Somewhere in the roll call were people whose wakes my family attended 11 years ago. Families with husbands, wives and children. Families whose kids were young back then, who grew up without a parent and who have since walked down the aisle at weddings with a father missing from their arm. Families with big, gaping holes in them.

I was struck by how many victims were in their 20s and 30s and I couldn’t help but think how old they’d be today, how close to my age they’d be, what they missed out on in the past 11 years and what their loved ones truly missed out on too.

Hours into my flight and I was still watching the roll call. As the “T"s turned to “V”s, a name from my childhood appeared: a cousin of a classmate I’ve known since junior high. I wondered where they were grieving today.

Before my flight left the gate a few hours before, my son and I exchanged texts about today’s anniversary. He was only 8 back then and, on that day, we were doing all the things we did to get to school and work on time. A morning we stopped, watched and talked. Today he wrote “I remember sitting on your bed seeing it on the small TV.” I replied, “Me too. Me too. Have a good day. I’m taking off now. Luv ya. Dad.”

If I were on the ground this morning, there’s no doubt I would have experienced today’s anniversary in a less significant way. I would have glanced at the TV, listened to a radio report, seen a photo online — and certainly not written about it. But being on a jet out of Boston put me in a different seat … one of their seats for a few minutes. When I finally set aside my distractions, I savored the solitude to remember. No matter where you sit, today is not an ordinary day.