Category: News

Twenty-one years ago today we check out the scene in Newport News, VA, performing at the current home of The Alley.  Back then it was known as Heartbreak Alley.  Upon entering, one could make a left into the country bar packed with line dancers, or turn right to find us in the Happy Days-inspired rock room, with its stage modeled after a giant jukebox (my memory may have switched left and right).  At the time we frequently began our sets with Georgia by herself making a racket on a guitar, eventually joined by me, and finally by James before finding its way into a song.  But first, the promoter wanted to introduce us.  Though never our preference,  I must admit he knocked it out of the park.  Describing us as “MTV recording artists,” he kept up the play by play even after Georgia’s entrance: “It’s the drummer!  Playing guitar!”   We provided our own absurdity seven years later in Schondorf, Germany, encoring for some reason lost to time with “Ca Plane Pour Moi,” and then playing it again when we returned for a second encore.

 

Recently, I recollected the debut of “Big Day Coming” at Maxwell’s, Tim Harris on bass.  Even more recently (minutes ago), I realized that that was in fact the second time we played the song–the first one being exactly a month earlier, with Gene Holder on bass, opening our show at Club Babyhead in Providence.  Obviously we need a little more research and a little less development here at YLT R&D.  Consequently, no unsupportable claims for our appearance at Reckless Records in Chicago 22 years ago today.  Instead of our usual acoustic record-store strategy (as heard two days earlier at Let It Be in Minneapolis and two days later at Used Kids in Columbus), we play electric: a one-song set comprised of a l-o-n-g “Big Day Coming.”  How else did we spend our day off between Lounge Ax and Champaign?  Cubs-Pirates?  Leon’s?  I must yet again admit inadequate research.

 

In 2007, we were asked by someone at NYU to deliver a lecture, and yes, that’s “we” as in the three of us, not in the royal sense.   Confused about what this could mean, we were assured that we had free rein to define lecture however we chose.  How could we turn this down?  On this date seven years ago, the three of us assembled at the Skirball Center, with an acoustic guitar, an electric bass, a snare drum, a floor tom and a cymbal.  We played two songs, and then announced that the lecture was over, leaving us time for a Q and A (seems to work for Jerry Lewis).  For the next 90 minutes,  we answered questions and let the conversation steer us to another nine songs, at least one of which we’d never played with that instrumentation.  It was slightly terrifying and a lot of fun.  Six months later, we took the “lecture” on tour, and have been doing it off and on ever since, dubbed “The Freewheeling Yo La Tengo.”

 

Four years earlier, we were booked to play the Beacon Theater with Portastatic.  A week earlier we had played for the first time with members of the Sun Ra Arkestra, and we wanted them to join us in New York as well.  Arriving so late, we were seconds away from going on without them, Tyrone Hill, Danny Ray Thompson and Dave Davis joined us on the opener, “Nuclear War,” and two more songs, then returned later for four more.   The set concluded with a second version of “Nuclear War,” accompanied by nearly a dozen nieces, nephews and other teens and tweens (I believe that’s the first time I’ve ever used that word).  I hope every one of them remember the night as fondly as I do.

 

The San Francisco International Film Festival invited us to score a silent film for their 2001 edition.  We batted around ideas for awhile, and then someone suggested the underwater documentaries of Jean Painlevé.  We weren’t familiar with his work, but as soon as we watched them on the VHS tape the festival provided, we were sold.  Beautiful and hilarious . . . but not silent.  Not to worry, they were the next best thing: French.  Thanks to subtitles, we had the option of turning the sound off, sparing the audience the work of hacks like Pierre Conté and Darius Milhaud.  Our performance, dubbed The Sounds of Science in a transparent attempt to fool people into thinking the Beastie Boys were involved, took place 13 years ago today at the Castro Theater.  Georgia and I did a little location scouting the night before, enjoying the pre-show medley of organ hits, followed by Cobra Woman introduced by Kenneth Anger.  In fact, the whole festival was a blast–the highlight may have been when we found ourselves pretty much the only people not dressed for the opera at a reception for Clint Eastwood at a Bulgari store.

 

Stephen from Boston writes to us about 11 years ago today.  (Actually, he thinks it was 12 years ago so I’ve done some very minor editing–anybody with the semicolon skills of Stephen requires only the least bit of tweaking.)

This stands as my favorite concert memory of all time, Yo La Tengo related or no:

In 2003, when I was an undergrad at UMass Amherst, I managed to get tickets to see Yo La Tengo.  Without belaboring the anecdote with too much needless personal context, I’ll say that being able to go to the show was deeply personal to me, and that my excitement for it preceded the show by several days.  It didn’t let up, either; by the time I took my seat near the back of the theater I was already grinning in anticipation.  The couple seated next to me asked politely, “Would you be offended if we made out during the show?”  I think I told them I would be “too happy to notice.”

So Beachwood Sparks, I think, played [not according to my memory or my notes], and then Portastatic played, and finally Yo La Tengo took the stage, and I immediately became unable to stop smiling.  I laughed when they ad-libbed in “Nuclear War”  and I wept when they played “Tom Courtenay,” then my second-favorite song of all time, and the whole time I couldn’t help grinning like an idiot.  Remember that I hadn’t seen them yet—hadn’t even heard whether they were good live—so primed though I might have been for disappointment, I was instead on cloud nine, the band peeling off song after perfect song.

When they came out for encores, I don’t think I could have asked for anything more than a cursory pair of hits and a “goodnight.”  To my surprise, though, they started asking the audience for suggestions.  I completely forget what the first request was [“Artificial Heart“], but I’ll forever remember what Ira said after they finished it:

“OK, wait a minute. I want to know what the guy in back who’s been smiling this entire time wants to hear.”

It took me a second, and then I remembered why my cheeks hurt so much.  “M-me?” I asked, experiencing the disbelief particular to every audience member who’s ever hoped against hope to be selected, and is.

The band nodded: Yes, you!  So I told them: I wanted to hear “Deeper Into Movies,” which was my first-favorite song of all time.  Ira joked that he’d have to retune his guitar to play it, and I immediately apologized, racking my brain for a less imposing request.  “Well, no, that’s okay—but if I have to retune,” he reasoned, “then you’ll just have to come up to the front while I do it.”

I cannot adequately express how it felt to walk from my budget, rear-of-theater seat, all the way down the aisle, and through the crowd gathered at the front of the stage, only to look up at the band that meant so much to me, and to realize that they, too, were happy to see me walk up to greet them.  I tried to write them a letter that night to express my gratitude, and it was beyond impossible.  Eleven years later, I have experienced nothing comparable to being given such a personal gift, from a band who mean so much to me, and who only knew me fleetingly as “smiling guy in rear of venue.”

It’ll be my favorite song for the rest of my life.

 

Seventeen years ago today, I Can Hear the Heart Beating as One was released.  Inspired by inner sleeves from our various record collections, we decided it was high time that Matador had its own custom dust jacket.  Unfortunately, between the three of us, we couldn’t recall a single record on the label other than our own.  Mother of invention: James and our buddy Peter Walsh came out to our Hoboken apartment one night and we spitballed a fake Matador catalogue.  I can still see the face that Matador’s overworked art director Mark Ohe made when we told him that we wanted to create 12 imaginary record covers.  We tried to calm him down with the assurance that they’d be so small that they didn’t have to look that good, and it must have worked, because Mark Ohe poured himself into the job, slaving over details that neither you nor I have ever noticed.

If only we had the benefit of Mark Ohe’s attention to detail with the posting of these recollections.  Two weeks after the fact, I just discovered that I neglected to mention Shawn from Apex, NC’s letter: When my wife, Beth,  and I were married after dating for 7 years (4 of which was long distance – Ft. Worth, Texas to Washington DC and later to Raleigh NC) our first song we danced to at our wedding was Our Way To Fall.  Probably 5 people total at the wedding knew the song (our parents and family aren’t too hip) but the song wasn’t for them.  It was for us!  We were married on April 7th, 2007 and she still hasn’t gotten tired of me yet.  We were married near Raleigh, NC and we live in Apex now.  I’m happy to say I’ve never missed YLT when they come to town (Cat’s Cradle in Carrboro) but my wife takes one for the team and stays home with our two kids.  I’d watch them if she’d go to a show by herself but she won’t.   . . . What are you gonna do.
 
Other favorite YLT memories are just show specific.  Tom Courtenay and Sheena is a Punk Rocker performed at Trees in Dallas about 13 years ago . . . WOW! Walking to the front row of Memorial Auditorium (general admission) in Raleigh after the Jesus and Mary Chain’s performance in the main plaza at Hopscotch 2012 in Raleigh . . . unbelievable.  The Dump set at Cat’s Cradle . . . great!  Can’t wait to see them again.