Concerts are a referendum on living. Are you present? Can you be swept up in a moment? Will you lay aside needless inhibitions? Not only can a great show lift you up, help
you feel the buzz of life, it can let you in on your own secret pulse marking
the beat of time. This year was no
different for The D Man, as a slate of shows reminded me to
grab fleeting moments, hold them by the collars, and shake the life out of
them.
In the spring, The D Man flew to L.A. to catch the Sting/Paul Simon show, which delivered polished musicianship and decades' worth of culturally significant pop hits. Sting’s voice sounded better than ever, Simon
was still light on his feet, and the wealthy Jewish couples sitting next to me
shared my overreaction when “You Can Call Me Al” burst to life like, yes,
angels in the architecture.
Rizzo and The D Man hit Kip Winger's solo acoustic set at
some SLC dive. Kip freaking Winger. The people watching was simultaneously
sublime and depressing, but we believed it our hair-metal duty—with free tickets in
hand—to check this one off our bucket list.
Mrs. D Man escorted
me to the Matt Pond show, where the veteran power-pop statesmen played Emblems in its entirety on the album’s
tenth anniversary. Real Estate wielded their ambient suburban guitars while Stark the Vinyl Shark nodded approvingly, solidifying the band's place as unassuming indie rock royalty. My brothers and I sat at a back table as The Antlers’ nocturnal dirges wafted over
the club; as Peter Silberman’s falsetto floated over stately horn arrangements, an intimate shared experience was inevitable. Later in the summer, Rizzo's date bailed on him and so we snuggled together for The Avett Brothers' usual hard-stomp Appalachian affair. I am a human time machine!
Future Islands were the year’s high-water mark. The Baltimore band's Twilight Series appearance was a testament
to earnest showmanship and groovy synth-rock. Samuel Herring sweated, danced, and preached the
righteousness of romantic relationships, his hand open in conversational invitation to both live
and love better. Beck closed out the evening with a
festival-worthy set of drop-out alt-rock, retro pop, and honey-voiced folk. Two turn tables and a microphone
gave way to lush harmonies and then circled back again to bottles and cans, and it was readily apparent that the ageless musical chameleon is an authentic American original.
While celebrating our wedding anniversary in SoCal, Mrs. D Man and I hit
The Forum for a massive-sounding Arcade Fire show, experiencing the fulfillment
of the band’s prophetic march to arena sing-along greatness. During our man trip over Labor Day weekend, we teamed up with Bones and enjoyed the hilarious riot of a Spazmatics show in a hopping Hermosa
Beach club.
In the fall, The D Man survived the icy assault
of Interpol alongside Rizzo, Rip, and The Deuce. The band’s unironic guitar swells left our ears ringing. With an even larger group of friends,
including an unobservant Hans pushing right past us to grope next to the stage, we enjoyed the
double bill of The Pains Being Pure at Heart/The New Pornographers. We met Kip Berman by the merch table and watched
Dan Bejar slink around on stage like a backstreet prophet teeming with
poetry and urban living tips.
With over a hundred shows in the books, 2014 added fun new chapters to The D Man's collection. Hey, if my knee holds up, there is still a chance to catch Billy
Idol this month. It's a nice day to start again . . .
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