Jack Johnson RAWKS!

I once read a review which described Ani DiFranco’s voice as rocking the house one minute and rocking the cradle the next, which is a damn near perfect description.  That’s not exactly what has kept me from making the leap from liking Jack Johnson to loving Jack Johnson, but it’s a start.

I do cushy, okay.  I happen to like David Gray, who has been called my generation’s Enya.  But listening to David Gray croon over melodic soundscapes, you know he’s not going anywhere with it.  Each album will sound like every other, and that’s fine because you love butterscotch pudding, and when you’re in the mood for butterscotch pudding it’s the most delicious thing you’ve ever put in your mouth.

Jack Johnson frustrates me because I hear glimpses of the musician he would like to be.  

He kept coming up on my Pandora Cake radio station, but he never gave me pause until the end of "Flake."  His voice aches into the higher registers while his guitar starts to walk and talk.

Please, please, please don’t pass me

Please, please, please don’t pass me

Please, please, please don’t pass me by

Whoa, who is that?  Former surfer Jack Johnson?  Let me check him out. 

You can have his gorgeous voice, mellow vibes, and upbeat guitar riffs playing in the background for hours before you hear a minute which demands attention.

Of course, Leonard Cohen is a favorite of mine, and no one in his audience points stiff fingers in the air and squeals “Cohen rawks!”  If you’re not listening to the lyrics, he can easily fade into background noise.  But his music is fully formed in a way Johnson’s isn’t.  I say the musician Johnson wants to be rather than the musician I want to hear not only because of those moments he lets loose, but because he tours with G. Love.

Why else would a tight musician with such a rich, pitch perfect baritone tour with a whiny-voiced slopbucket blues musician like G. Love?  I hear legions of fans shouting weed! but I don’t buy it.  If you could put Jack Johnson’s voice over G. Love’s funk, or inject G. Love’s wild puppy playing into Johnson’s veins, you’d have a music legend.

As it is, Jack Johnson has his fans, G. Love has his, and some folks who dig music will still make faces when their names come up.  

Becky took me to see Jack Johnson in concert.  He seldom plays outside of Hawaii unless it’s with a festival, so it was a rare treat.  For her, who loves Jack Johnson.  For me, it was the closest I’ll come to a hippie jam festival.  When the sun went down, the pot came out.  You’ve never seen so many thousands of people gathered in one place being so mellow.  G. Love shook us up a couple times, and Jack Johnson wrapped us in a sonic hug.  As a bonus, Johnson is also one of those performers who sounds exactly as beautiful live as on CD.

Which means I can stick to the CDs.

The Best Concert I've Ever Seen

Leonard Cohen was amazing Saturday night.

“I don’t know when we’ll be back through this way, so we’re going to give you everything we’ve got tonight.”

And they did, from 8:10 to 11:30, with one 10 or 15-minute break. Moody, atmospheric, sexy, sprightly, and 75 years old. He performed "If It Be Your Will" as a poem, before Sharon Robinson and the Webb Sisters took over and gave us some gorgeous harmonies. It was his third encore. The extremely moving movement was marred by a group of women at the top of the seating area who were used to the hockey games at Bank Atlantic Center. They were shushed, hushed, screamed at, and heckled on numerous occasions, but they could not stop blathering drunkenly on about nothing. They could not shut up long enough to allow beauty in. They will miss all the lovely things life has to offer and die confused, fearful, and angry.

Leonard Cohen did another poem, A Thousand Kisses Deep. He is a world-class writer. I have a blog. Still, the stab of jealously over that refrain, repeated in his trademark rumble, a thousand kisses deep… I want to have written that line. It perfectly describes being consumed by love, and in only three words.

His music is so complete, so fully-formed, it’s like it’s being drawn from the air. It was odd seeing a man on stage. I was glad for the distance, so he could still remain more force than person. He is also undeniably a man. “You handled me like meat,” he said, “you’d have to be a man to know how good that feels, how sweet.” He is vulnerable and sensitive without being weak, he is weak without being cowed, he is lustful without being vulgar, he is funny without being glib. Seeing him live has long been a dream. That concert fed my soul. I wanted to waltz into the night.

I would be remiss if I didn’t thank JC and Laura Moya for bringing me with them. Laura’s brother-in-law gave them seven passes to the ADT VIP lounge. Rather than inviting me and three other friends, the Moyas gave me four tickets to invite whoever I wanted for my birthday. I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve friends like them, but I’m grateful. The Moyas have been supportive and loving, as everyone has been during this difficult time in my life.

I survive, and thrive, by the grace of those close to me. Daily, their generosity of time, spirit, and warmth humbles me.

It’s the cracks which let the light inside.