Author: Ira

Four years ago today, we were in Lincoln Center, participating in a three-night series starring the Blind Boys of Alabama.  We play three songs, all rearranged for the occasion, concluding with a version of “More Stars Than There Are in Heaven” accompanied by the Blind Boys singing backup, Marshall Allen and a half dozen members of the Arkestra wailing away, and Lambchop’s Tony Crow on Hammond.  Then we backed Lambchop, Exene Cervenka and Jim James.  Was Jesse from New York there?  I’m guessing yes, though it doesn’t come up in his email about a show eight years earlier: Not being hep enough to make my way to Hoboken for the first Hanukkah, Prospect Park in the summer of 2002 was my second YLT show since moving back to New York the previous summer.  What I remember quite fondly: Running into very old friends on the lawn, hearing lots of songs I didn’t recognize, a Monkees cover I did, as well as a cool segue into a beautiful Sounds of Science piece, and coming to the realization that I should probably make an effort to see YLT way more often.  What I remember mostly: That I somehow sat in gum, which affixed itself to my beloved desk chair when I got home that night and never quite came out, leaving a rubbery black splotch that I looked at every day subsequently when I sat down to work.  The chair may or may not have later been thrown out a window.

 

We’ve printed a lot of your memories over the last six months, and have yet to include any correspondent’s full name.  But then we heard from Luscious and Stotto Cretin and to quote their email: well, you know.  11 July 2003 is the date we most remember in our YLT history.  We have seen you play since then (Chicago, Des Moines, Iowa City, Los Angeles, Omaha) and have enjoyed each and every second of every song played ever . . . and we fucking mean it.  Anyway, in 2003, we had recently moved to Basel, Switzerland and, as avid bicyclists, when we found out that YLT would be playing Montreux on 11 July and the Tour de France would be having Stage 7 finish in Morzine on 12 July, we thought . . . THIS is harmonic convergence . . . we can see both!  It just could NOT get any fucking better than this!  We really mean it.  WE REALLY FUCKING REALLY MEAN IT!

This was to be our first YLT show . . . we were “YLT virgins” . . . hoping that Summer Sun would be played from start to finish . . . or, at a minimum, “Tiny Birds” would be played, which every time we hear it feels like you nice people are reaching into our chests and gently holding our hearts.

So . . . we work out our schedules and make all the arrangements . . .and when the day comes to board the train in Basel to head for Montreux we feel we are the most fortunate people that have felt the earth’s dirt between our toes.  We reckon that we should over-party this because, well, you know.  We buy food and beers at Basel SBB and party the hell out of the train ride . . . when we arrive in Bern we get a bit disoriented (party induced) and miss the fucking train to Montreux . . . which we reckoned would not be a problem as, well, YLT would clearly close the show in the Miles Davis venue so we had plenty of time!  Anyway . . . we do get on the next train and upon arrival in Montreux take a taxi to our B&B . . . throw our bits out of the taxi and head to the festival!

When we arrive at the festival, we set our priorities . . . 1) we need cash to buy alcohol and 2) we need to see YLT rip apart the universe.  As we stroll around the venue looking for a cash machine we hear in the distance a few riffs that suddenly have us a bit worried. . . .

Stotto remembers it as: “Double Dare”
Luscious remembers it as: ‘I Heard You Looking’

. . . but it does not really fucking matter as we have absolutely no idea now what the set list was (we are in our 50’s . . . and the shit we don’t remember!), but to the best of our recollection this is the conversation that then occurred:

Luscious: They are playing now!
Stotto: No fucking way, they would not be on stage now, it is too early!
Luscious: Can’t you fucking hear that!
Stotto: It is an advertisement for later!
Luscious: Let’s get the fucking beer and go in now!

We get the beer and by the time we get in the venue we see you wonderful and most excellent people play “Nuclear War” in its entirety . . . and then walk off the stage finishing your set.  Please do not misunderstand us . . . please do not get us wrong. . . it was great!  But if we could pick one song we would hear you play . . . Luscious would pick “By the Time It Gets Dark” and Stotto would pick “From Black to Blue” . . . such magic.  BUT if we could only hear you play one song . . . anything you played would be, in the words of Phil Lesh, “just exactly perfect.”

I hope you each remember the lovely moonset on Lake Geneva that night.  It was spectacular.

With absolute love and adoration from your Cretin Family . . .

Luscious and Stotto Cretin

We were the first of three that night at the Montreux Jazz Festival, opening for Mogwai and Tricky.  “Tiny Birds” was in the set, but we played neither “Double Dare” nor “I Heard You Looking.”  I must admit I remember the Fredde Mercury statue a lot better than the moonset.

 

On this day over the years we’re in the midst of:

1992 – playing our way home from the My Bloody Valentine tour, tonight in Columbia MO.

1995 – broiling our way through Lollapalooza, today due west of Columbia in Kansas City.

1997 – Europeaning our way through Europe; outdoors in Groningen NL we convince Vera‘s Peter Weening to sing “Action Time Vision” with us.

2012 – recording Fade in Chicago with John McEntire

2013 – touring with Belle & Sebastian, tonight’s set Philadelphia complicated by our rental van breaking down one agonizing mile before we reach the venue.

 

Fourteen years ago today, we’re playing a short run of shows in Europe, traveling in a van and a car.  Georgia and I arrive in Duisburg, Germany and are told that while driving on the autobahn, the van was flagged down by a passing motorist, who somehow communicated that the back door was open.  Luckily, whatever carelessness led to no one actually latching the door was offset by a painstakingly solid pack, and not one piece of our equipment fell out.  Nevertheless, the mood was tense, and not being helped by the combination of an outdoor show, pouring rain, and a roof over the stage leakier than the Brazilian football team’s defense (pow!).  We hedge our short-circuit bets by leaving the keyboards for a dryer day and play without a set list.  No such problems at Mass MOCA five years later; when the threat of inclement weather forces our outdoor performance of The Sounds of Science inside, the only water is on the screen.

 

Let’s start today’s post with an apology to our old buddy Jeff from NYC.  I neglected to include his reminiscence in my July 6 post.  Better late than never, and I hope Jeff will agree: At the risk of being like about a million OTHER Yo La Tengo fans, “Our Way To Fall” was our first wedding dance, back at Kilkea Castle, County Kildare, Ireland, July 6, 2003.  I get a bit misty whenever I hear it but that’s a product of getting older, I am sure.  And sure enough, fellow New Yorker Matt writes: The first album I bought my now wife was And Then Nothing Turned Itself Inside Out in 2000.  Six plus years later when we were married (July 8, 2006), “Our Way to Fall” was the song chosen for our first dance.  It was the perfect song for a wonderful day in our lives.

That July 6 post, you’ll recall, found us on tour with the Sundays, but playing different rooms in Minneapolis due to a scheduling snafu.  There was no show the following day, but it was hardly time off.  We spent most of it hightailing our way to Denver, where we were to be reunited with the Sundays at 23 Parrish on this day 24 years ago.  We got within striking distance of Denver on the 7th, splurged on a single hotel room for the five in our traveling party, and hit a flea market on our way into town on the show day.  It was only then that we bothered to call the club, to find out what time we should arrive.  And therefore it was only then, in that time long long ago when dinosaurs walked the earth and cellular telephones did not, that we found out that the Sundays had been forced to cancel not just Denver, but the remaining west coast dates of their tour.   We were looking at an unscheduled trip home having unnecessarily added a 550-mile detour.  After much cajoling, the club agreed to let us play anyway, making the whole thing worth it.  I’m kidding, of course–nothing was going to rescue that drive back to New Jersey.

 

The following is by no means the worst thing that ever happened to the band, and in fact, if you want to tell me it barely qualifies as a thing at all, I won’t argue.  Fourteen years ago today, we appeared at the Quart festival in Kristiansand, Norway.  When Pan Am went out of business, they took the direct flight from New York to Kristiansand with them, so our route to Norway on Air France included not one but two connections.  Unfortunately our bags took an even more circuitous route to us, and by the time we went on at the Quart festival, one of Georgia’s cymbals had still not arrived.  Nor did it reach us during the ensuing week we spent in Europe.  (We were given the opportunity of looking through an unclaimed/lost baggage room in .  . . Copenhagen? . . . and not only was the search fruitless, but looking at the mountains of luggage, it was hard to believe that anyone in the history of commercial aviation had ever met their suitcase on the carousel.)  We filed a lost item report (never responded to), and Georgia replaced the cymbal.  Three months later, we came home to a message on our answering machine from Air France, saying–in a tone that suggested that they had been out of touch for three hours instead of three months–they had found our bag and would be delivering it.  Not even a fake “sorry for your inconvenience.”  Can’t remember which Bob Newhart Show it is where his mild-mannered to a fault patient Mr. Herd finally snaps, over nothing.  “I was red with rage,” he says with glee.  I know the feeling.