Memories

One year ago yesterday (May 18) I graduated with my Ph.D. in Biology from Case Western Reserve University.

Less than six months prior, Cara had undergone major surgery and in fact it had looked like she might not have much time left to live. Instead, the clinical trial she started resulted in a dramatic improvement. One year ago, I'd say she was probably in the best shape of any time post-diagnosis.

That morning, I had to go to the school early to get ready for the ceremonies. I walked to school, as I always did. Cara herself then walked the nearly one mile from our apartment to attend the commencement ceremony. (She normally rode her bike to the school, where she was employed, but on this day she was too dressed up to ride.) During the invocation at commencement, the speaker included a line about how we should appreciate being able to "breathe deep" of our surroundings. He, of course, had no clue how poignant this remark would be to Cara and me. On this day, she was able to breathe very well, after having had so much difficulty breathing not such a long time before.

In between the morning university-wide commencement and the afternoon Graduate Studies diploma ceremony, there was a lunch in the University Hospitals atrium. The food was nothing special, so Cara and I decided to head over to the Hessler Street Fair, one of our favorite annual events. It was a gorgeous day for a walk. At the fair, which is something of a hippie event, we made quite the couple - Cara in her polkadot blue swing dress and me in my fancy Ph.D. robes - and we attracted a lot of attention.

We both got the famous Hessler Street Fair lemonade and we both both pizza from Fire Truck Pizza Co. In fact, we had gone to the fair the previous day and Cara also got pizza that day - it was so good that we had to get it again!

At the diploma ceremony, Cara joined me in walking across the stage as I received my diploma. It was a very exciting moment for both of us, the culmination of a long journey we had taken together, for I was but a first year graduate student when we initially met.

That day is a very good memory.

Someone told me recently that they hoped that with each passing day, things for me were getting just a little easier.

Now don't get me wrong, I can appreciate the sentiment and am not upset with the person who said it, but I find it a little misplaced. Actually, the idea that things would start to get easier within less than a month of someone losing his wife and best friend seems fairly outlandish. The reality is I miss her more as more time passes. I hope it doesn't sound like I'm wallowing in self-pity, because I'm not, but it's a very hard thing to deal with. There will always be a void in my life. I still have a lot of really great things going for me, even without Cara, and I can be grateful for that, but I can also choose to do all I can to keep her memory and spirit alive. And that I will continue to do, and I will continue to share it with the world.

In many ways I've spent the last few days paying tribute, in my own personal way, to Cara.

Friday was National Bike To Work Day. Cara always rode her bike to work, as long as she was healthy enough. Even last year, while she was undergoing treatment for lung cancer, she rode to work many times. Me? I always walked, until we moved farther up in the Heights last summer, so now I drive. But on Friday I did ride my bike to work. It was raining in the morning, but Cara didn't let a little rain stop her from riding to work, so I didn't either. (This is despite the fact that I once fractured my pelvis in a cycling accident that happened on a wet road. This time, I was very careful!) The local ice cream shop Mitchell's (a place Cara and I enjoyed) was offering one dollar cones for cyclists, so I stopped there before going home in the evening. Fortunately, it was no longer raining.

Saturday brought the first day of this year's Hessler Street Fair. I rode my bike there as well, meeting Jessiye, a good friend of ours (especially Cara's) who Cara had actually first met on Bike To Work Day last May. I got the same lemonade and pizza (a delicious white pizza with bacon and honey) that we had enjoyed last year. Before Jessiye showed up, I also took a little walk in the surrounding neighborhood. I walked by the apartment I lived in when Cara and I started dating. I walked to the stadium at Case's North Residential Village, to the spot where we first held hands.

So many memories.

I took yet another bike ride on Sunday. I had seen that Jukebox, a fairly new bar in Ohio City, had a weekly brunch by a different local chef each week, and this week's chef was Saucisson. That's not the name of a person, it's the name of a company - actually, just two women, "lady butchers" as they like to call themselves, whose products Cara and I loved getting at the local farmer's market. I thought this sounded nice, so I set out on my bike toward the other side of town.

I rode most of the way along the Euclid Corridor, thinking of Cara the whole way. From 2008 to 2011, Cara rode to and from work (downtown at Medical Mutual) on that same bike lane. Over time, she came to despise that job - providing customer service for a health insurance company that is always looking for ways to make more money by denying its customers' claims is a demoralizing task - but that daily commute was so great for her. She found such joy and freedom in those twice-daily five mile rides. I can remember her proudly telling me how her speeds were improving as she rode more and more.

As I entered downtown, I imagined what it was like for Cara to do the same. I rode all the way to East 9th, turned left and rode past the front entrance of her old building, where I had occasionally picked her up at the end of the work day. Then I turned onto Carnegie and crossed the bridge to the West Side.

Riding across that bridge to Ohio City was something else Cara did many times. Unfortunately, due largely to a number of injuries I suffered, it was not something I often joined her in doing. So again, as I crossed the river, I imagined Cara, the wind in her face, looking out at the river and at the city she loved.

Jukebox is in the Hingetown neighborhood of Ohio City, which, in the summer, has a Sunday Market that Cara and I also enjoyed attending. We had never been to the bar itself, which is too bad because it's a neat little place. I got the Corned Beef Hash with Saucisson's corned beef, Cleveland Kraut (another local company that Cara and I enjoyed patronizing at the farmer's market), Montana Girl Mustard (another great local product!), potatoes, and an egg. I also got a Cleveland Mule, a drink with local whiskey, ginger beer, and lime, similar to a drink that Cara sometimes liked to make at home. Both were delicious.

Not surprisingly given the establishment's name, there is a jukebox there with a nice eclectic music selection. I played four songs. First, "I've Got Dreams to Remember" by Otis Redding. I don't think I'd ever heard the original version of this song before; however, there is an Okkervil River song called "Listening to Otis Redding at Home During Christmas" that is one of my favorite songs ever, an incredibly nostalgic and emotional tune, and it quotes the chorus of the Redding song. Second was "Home" by Edward Sharpe & the Magnetic Zeros - one of the happiest love songs ever, and a song that Cara and I sung together in the car on the way home from seeing the Magnetic Zeros play a show in Kent. Third was "That Teenage Feeling" by Neko Case, a song that Cara once put on a mix tape (we used to make mix tapes - well technically mix CDs - for each other). Last, I played "A Day in the Life" by The Beatles, which doesn't actually have a connection to Cara for me but is a very emotional song that was one of my favorites around the time I finished high school and started college. How the years go by...

Of course, I thought of Cara the whole time, but I felt happy. I rode home feeling invigorated. Cara loved riding her bike so much, and even though I didn't ride as often as her, I now appreciate even more what a great feeling it can be. Instead of going directly home, I completed Cara's old route home by riding into Little Italy and past the place we first lived together. I then rode up Mayfield and stopped for frozen yogurt at Piccadilly in Coventry, another place we loved.

It was a weekend full of bike rides. It was also a weekend in which I went to two shows at the Beachland Ballroom, both Saturday and Sunday nights. On Saturday I met our good friend Troy to see local indie rock duo Mr. Gnome (a really great band who I had somehow overlooked for many years!) and on Sunday I went by myself to see singer/songwriter William Fitzsimmons. Although Cara did not go to nearly as many shows as I did, I have many great memories of going to the Beachland with her. Foremost would have to be the annual prom that the Beachland used to hold in May, a chance for adults to dress up and pretend they were kids again (without the hefty price tag). One year, Cara and I were voted the Queen and King of the prom! This was remarkable considering we did not actually know anyone else there, but we must have stood out as an amazing couple.

We danced at prom, of course, but some of my other best memories there also involve dancing. The first dance at our wedding was to the song "Northern Lights" by Bowerbirds. On our first wedding anniversary (to the day!) we saw Bowerbirds at the Beachland, and got to dance together to a live performance of "Northern Lights." Another time, we enjoyed dancing to Snowblink's cover of Whitney Houston's "I Wanna Dance With Somebody."

Another fond memory comes in the fall of 2013, little more than a month after Cara was diagnosed. We saw Okkervil River, my favorite band of all and one that was very significant in our relationship. Cara, at the time, would have gotten too tired from standing for the whole show, so we brought a wheelchair and I wheeled her up to sit front and center below the stage. Although she couldn't stand, she sang her heart out along to some of the songs.

The last time we went to a show at the Beachland together was on my birthday last year. It was a stunning performance by Sharon Van Etten that we both very much enjoyed.

Spending so much time doing things that remind me of Cara is kind of a mixed bag in the emotions it brings, but I think, in the long run, it is better to do this. And it is important for me to share it with other people. I don't want anyone who knew her to ever forget what an extraordinary person she was.

Yesterday I was shocked to learn that the mother-in-law of one of my co-workers had just passed away.

From lung cancer.

Only ten days after being diagnosed.

Life is a very amazing and a very fragile thing.

Typhoon lyrics that make me think of Cara

Music can be a very powerful thing. In case anyone reading this doesn't know us personally, my wife Cara recently passed away from lung cancer. Music was a big part of our relationship. At the funeral service, we started and ended the proceedings with two songs I had gotten from Cara's starred tracks on Spotify, Cat Power's "Sea of Love" and Death Cab for Cutie's "Stay Young, Go Dancing," and they perfectly rounded out an already profoundly sad yet beautiful occasion.

This post, by the way, is not so much about Cara herself but rather about the role music played in my own handling of the whole ordeal. However, rest assured I fully intend to write a lot more about Cara in the weeks and months ahead.

Now that she is gone, I find I suddenly have the desire to share a lot of thoughts and feelings that were previously private. Some of them were things I only talked about with Cara, others were things I talked about with no one at all. This is one of the latter.

It's kind of eerie looking back. On July 1, 2013, my mother sent me an email with the title "Typhoon | Wexner Center for the Arts" and body as follows:

Have you heard of this band? The blurb makes comparison to Arcade Fire. I was wondering if you think Cara might enjoy going to hear them on her birthday. The 3 of us could go (Dad would be playing hockey.)
I'll also send link to their performance on Letterman.
http://wexarts.org/performing-arts/typhoon
Mom

I replied:

I have heard of them, but not listened to them much yet. I had thought they sounded interesting and was planning to listen to them more some time between now and September. They are playing at the Beachland the day before that show. I'll have to ask Cara whether she would be interested. She might like to visit Columbus for her birthday but I'm not sure.

Now, here's the thing. Asking a question like this wasn't something my mom ever did. I can't remember ever going to a rock/pop/folk concert with her and not my dad (we did go to an orchestra performance once but that's different). What was it that made her ask this, just this one time, about this one specific band, for a show on Cara's birthday?

We didn't end up going to that show, of course, because a month before Cara's birthday she was hospitalized leading to a diagnosis of stage IV lung adenocarcinoma. I did, though, go to the Typhoon show in Cleveland the day before her birthday that I mentioned in my email. It would be the first of three times I would see Typhoon live during the time that Cara was battling cancer. I did not start listening to Typhoon in earnest until shortly after Cara was diagnosed, and I quickly found that there was so much in their music that spoke to me. Their music became therapeutic to me in a way. You see, the band's lead singer Kyle Morton contracted Lyme disease as a youth, nearly died, had to spend a long time in the hospital, and has continued to experience the effects of this throughout his life, and this ordeal has had a huge influence on his songwriting. Thus, I could see reflected in his lyrics many of the same things Cara and I were going through. I never talked about this with anyone, because I didn't want Cara to know how much I was thinking about the possibility of her dying. In fact, although Typhoon is the band I've listened to by far the most in the 20 months since she was diagnosed, it was rare that I even listened to their music in her presence.

To better explain this, I wanted to just share some lyrics from Typhoon songs that really stood out to me. In most cases, the reasons should be clear, but for some I'll provide an explanation. By the way, I do find the Arcade Fire comparison apt, especially for the most recent Typhoon album White Lighter. It's not that Typhoon are aping Arcade Fire's sound, but rather that they also have the whole "band with a large number of members, many different instruments, rousing group vocals, and lots of cathartic moments in their music" thing going.

Some lyrics from the song "Artificial Light":

I woke up in the morning
To a pale light tangled in your hair
And I never wake before you
But this time I caught you sleeping there
[Note: I related to this part because, for most of the time we were together, it was very unusual for me to wake before Cara. On those rare occasions, I liked to watch her sleeping. But then, in the last 20 months, it became normal for me to wake before her.]

Yes, you are my sunlight
You are my last breath of air
I would try to hold it
I would try to keep the moment
Like a photograph of the sunset
Like a little kid with a bug net
Like a dying man, I swear

You belong to me, you belong to me
If you belong to anyone then you belong to me
But I have no other place to keep you safe
But in my shaky, ever shaking melody

From "Young Fathers":

Now I'm as old as you were when you had me
Should I be afraid? Should I start a family?
Raise them in the wild 'cause up against the city
My love is such a small thing
[The above is not really so much related to Cara, but sticks out to me because I am in fact now as old (31 years) as my mother was when she had me.]

...

I was born in September [Cara was born in September]
And if I died today
Just know I don't regret you
Some things I can explain

From "Morton's Fork":

Turns out that we are shit out of luck
There are things in the woods 
That will prey on the things that you love

And they'll come through the fold
This is the sound of a wild pack of hungry wolves
I won't lie to you
It'll be painful
It's in your nature to fear what is natural

From "Possible Deaths":

Count down the time that you have left
In a jar try to catch, try and capture it
Count down the time that you have left
In the dark try to catch, try and capture it
Count down the time that you have left
In a jar try to catch, try and capture it
Count down the time that you have left

From "The Lake":

And then as my body turned against itself
I prayed for death that I’d come back to be anyone else
As the sickness formed within my cells
You never loved me like the way you loved anyone else

From "Prosthetic Love":

Each time I wake I’m still alive
Outlived my expiration date imagine my surprise
[There was a time around Thanksgiving of 2013 when I thought Cara would die soon, but fortunately she was able to get better and live a lot longer than it first appeared she would, with a lot more happy memories.]

...

Of everyone I ever knew
I’ve gotten used to you
I’ve grown attached to you being here
Of everyone I ever knew
I learned to count on you
As my own fingers

From "Common Sentiments":

When am I gonna feel better?
When am I gonna feel better
When am I gonna feel better
I have been patient for a long time now
I’ve been a patient for a long time now
I’ve been a patient for a long time now
I’ve been a patient for a long time now
and I will never be a younger man now

O what am I waiting for
A spell to be cast or for it to be broken?
[What this line meant to me: "A spell to be cast" would be a cure for Cara's cancer, "or for it to be broken" would be if we were just under some sort of spell, like the whole thing was a dream, and it could just go away.]
At the very last some wild ghost from my past come to split me wide open?
No.  If I hold out my hand there is nothing at all because nothing’s the token
I will be good though my body be broken 
[The line "I will be good though my body be broken" then repeats a number of times, with the whole band joining in, building to one of those chills-inducing cathartic moments I alluded to. This line was a double whammy for me because, although it is not in any way on a similar level to what Cara went through, my own body has also been quite unkind to me over the years.]

I will be good
may I want for nothing at all

From "Summer Home":

Can we wait for the summer again?
Can we hold out for summer again?
Can we ever be whole again?
[During both winters Cara lived through with cancer, she was longing to get back to warmer weather.]

From "The Sickness Unto Death":

Life is for the living
I've heard tell that it is why we are young
In the morning sun
You take every year as it comes
But when your life is over
All those years fold up like an accordion 
They collapse just like a broken lung

Now I've only got one organ left and this old bag of bones it is failing me
And I try to tell people that I'm dying only they don't believe me
They say we're all dying, that we're all dying
But if you are dying, why aren't you scared?
Why aren't you scared 
Like I am scared?

...

Every bitter night into an empty room I plead my case
Every night I pray that in the morning when I wake
I'll be in a familiar place and find that I'm recovered and I'm sane
And I'll remember everything
I'll remember what I was like before that bug bit me

Well, that was a lot, but I guess it's pretty apparent why this music was and is so meaningful to me. I hope this journey into my mind was interesting.

I'd imagine some people who saw me recently might have been surprised at how composed I was staying. Well, I can say that the times I cried, it was mostly when I was by myself. I guess that's just the way I am. I have cried a lot, especially in the first couple days. Sometimes crying is important to do. When I was driving home from Columbus the day after the funeral, I listened to Typhoon's White Lighter album and that got the tears going again at some parts. Music can help us get in touch with emotions that might otherwise remain buried. That's part of its power.

The audio recording of the Michael Brown shooting proves Darren Wilson's story is false

This blog has been dormant for a while, and this is a topic quite different from what I normally wrote about on here, but I've had something on my mind that I had to get out there.

As we all know, the grand jury in the case of the Ferguson, Missouri shooting death of teenager Michael Brown by police officer Darren Wilson recently decided not to indict Wilson for the shooting. As we should also know, there are well founded concerns that Bob McCulloch, the prosecutor in charge of the case, has a clear pro-cop bias, did not want to prosecute a cop, and took the case to a grand jury that could be steered toward not indicting to provide himself political cover.

Another thing that should be fairly obvious is that Wilson's claim that a wounded, unarmed person fleeing from a gun-wielding police officer suddenly decided to turn around and charge at the police officer seems like a fairly far-fetched scenario, but of course, something being unlikely doesn't make it impossible. Is it possible to actually prove that Wilson's story is inaccurate?

The answer, as I'll demonstrate here, is yes.

Let's look at Darren Wilson's account of that final encounter. On the day of the shooting, Wilson gave a statement about what happened; the statement can be found in this document. Wilson later gave a statement to the grand jury. Certain details differed between the two statements, but the broad strokes of what he described were the same. Because the initial statement was given when the event was fresh in Wilson's memory, it should be more reliable.

According to Wilson, after Brown began to "charge" toward him in the street,

P.O. Darren Wilson continued to give Brown commands to stop; however, Brown ignored them. Once Brown got within approximately 15 feet of him, P.O. Darren Wilson indicated he discharged five rounds to stop the threat. According to P.O. Darren Wilson, this did not slow Brown down and he continued to advance. P.O. Darren Wilson discharged two additional rounds; however, Brown continued to advance.

P.O. Darren Wilson stated Brown then leaned forward and appeared as if he (Brown) was attempting to "tackle" him. P.O. Darren Wilson then discharged one additional round to stop the threat. Brown then fell to the ground, ending the threat.

 To summarize: Wilson claims that Brown was charging toward him, that Wilson began to fire his gun when Brown was about 15 feet away, and that Brown continued to advance without slowing down until the final gunshot stopped him.

Is there an objective timeline of these gunshots? Fortunately for us (and unfortunately for Wilson, had the prosecution actually been interested in prosecuting the case), there is. A nearby resident who was in an online voice chat at the time obtained audio of all the gunshots fired in the street (that is, the two gunshots that occurred at Wilson's SUV were not included). Here is a visualization of the recording:

We can see that six shots (marked in red) were fired within a span of approximately two seconds. There was then a three second pause before the seventh shot was fired. The eighth shot came one second later, followed quickly by shot 9 and then shot 10. The total time was 6.572 seconds.

To reiterate, Wilson claims that Brown was charging toward Wilson throughout the time that Wilson fired these shots. It seems a fair assumption that Wilson's use of the word "charge" would mean that Brown was sprinting. How much ground can a sprinting human cover in 6.572 seconds?

Let's start, just for curiosity's sake, with the fastest speed ever recorded for a human on foot: 27.44 mph by Usain Bolt. At that speed, Bolt would cover 264 feet in 6.572 seconds.

Obviously, Brown wasn't an elite sprinter; he doesn't look to have been much of an athlete, period. So let's try to get a more realistic estimate. Your average human isn't going to have a record of their sprinting speed available. One place where humans are regularly recorded sprinting short distances is the NFL combine's 40 yard dash. In 2014, the fastest 40 yard dash time was running back Dri Archer's 4.26 seconds; the slowest was offensive lineman Cyrus Kouandjio's 5.59 seconds. Kouandjio's listed measurements are 6'6", 311 pounds, so he's of similar proportions to Michael Brown's 6'4", 292. Still, Kouandjio is an athlete, unlike Brown.

Every year at the combine ESPN's Rich Eisen also runs the 40 just for fun, wearing a full suit. This year he ran it in 5.98 seconds.

The average speeds: a really fast NFL player, 19.2 mph. A really slow NFL player, 14.6 mph. A 45-year-old non-athlete, 13.7 mph. Because these dashes came from stationary starts, these are lower than the top sustained speeds, but I'm more interested in a low-end estimate, so that's okay.

Let's be really conservative and say that Michael Brown could only sprint at 10 mph. (For another point of reference to how slow of a "sprint" this would be, world-class marathoners can maintain 12 mph for two hours.) Even at 10 mph, he could have covered 96 feet in 6.572 seconds.

To summarize: Darren Wilson claims that he started shooting at Michael Brown when Brown was 15 feet away and charging toward him, and that Brown continued to advance without slowing until the final shot was fired. A conservative estimate of the distance Brown would have covered if he was continuously charging for the duration of the shots is more than 90 feet.

The bottom line: Wilson's description of the events is simply impossible given the physical evidence.

Humans, of course, have far from perfect memories. If someone recalled a distance as being about 15 feet when it was actually more like 20 feet, or was a little off on the number of shots fired, I wouldn't consider that a serious issue. But this, this is far more than a minor discrepancy. Wilson's account of what happened is different on a fundamental level from what actually happened.

This is a huge problem. There's no disputing the fact that Wilson shot and killed Brown. The grand jury's decision not to indict essentially means that they believed Wilson's explanation for why the shooting was justified. If that explanation was clearly not accurate, there has to be a trial to try to determine what really happened and whether Wilson committed a crime.

What did really happen? This part is more speculative, but I think that this summary of the various witness statements, in conjunction with the physical evidence, is useful. It's clear that no witnesses agree on 100% of the details. This is not an unusual problem about this particular case. It's just the nature of human memory. However, if sizable majorities of witnesses agree about the answers to certain questions, it makes it more likely that those answers are grounded in reality. In this case, large majorities answered yes to the questions of whether Wilson fired at Brown while Brown was running away, and whether Brown had his hands up when he was fired upon.

Let's put this in the context of the objective audio record that shows an initial salvo of gunfire, a three second pause, and then a second salvo.

I'd posit that the scenario best fitting the evidence is this: Brown was running away with Wilson in pursuit. As Wilson (almost certainly a faster runner) gained on Brown, Wilson fired the first six shots toward Brown's back. Brown, realizing that Wilson was attempting to kill him, stopped fleeing and turned around. He raised his hands in surrender and began to walk slowly toward Wilson. (It's important to note that the blood trail did show Brown moved a total of 25 feet back in the direction of Wilson before his body came to rest in the street.)

I'm willing to give Wilson the benefit of the doubt and say that he probably didn't intentionally execute an unarmed, surrendering suspect, but instead was panicking. He fired again, hitting Brown. Now badly wounded, Brown began to stagger forward, lowering his arms and head. At this point, Wilson fired the final shots that killed Brown.

Do I know for sure that this is what happened? No, I don't, but I do know for sure that what Wilson said happened is not what happened. Note that in saying that, I'm not relying on any sort of wild conjecture or conspiracy theorizing. I'm simply comparing Wilson's statement to an objective record of the events, and showing that the former directly and dramatically disagrees with the latter.

Did Wilson lie? Here, I can't be certain. It's quite possible that he did lie, because he knew that firing at a fleeing suspect was a crime, and he didn't know that the events would be recorded to show his statement was false. But it's also possible that, after a highly traumatic event, his subconscious mind, not able to process the fact that he'd just committed murder, reconstructed the events in a way that justified his actions and that he came to honestly believe.

Either way, Wilson's account is clearly false, and the decision to not put him on trial is a travesty.

Ohbijou's Farewell Show

Farewell concerts tend to be memorable occasions. Five years ago Cara and I went to Hamilton, Ontario, to see the final show by A Northern Chorus, and I still consider it the best concert I've ever attended (review here). On Saturday I again made a trip up north, this time to Toronto, to see Ohbijou's farewell concert. Over the past few years, Ohbijou became one of my favorite bands, despite my never having gotten the chance to see them perform live. When they announced they were going on "indefinite hiatus" and playing a single farewell concert on September 7 at Toronto's Great Hall, I knew that I had to go. As I anticipated, it was well worth the trip (a trip in which a period of about five hours spent at the concert venue was sandwiched between two five hour drives!)

I've felt for a while that Canada has a really disproportionate amount of great music coming out of it when you consider that the country has only about one-tenth the U.S.'s population. Many Canadian indie bands (Arcade Fire the most notable example) have gained great popularity here in the States, but at the same time, there's a whole scene of really exciting indie music in Canada that I feel most American indie fans are fairly oblivious toward. I've become familiar with more and more of this music over the past several years, largely through exploring similar artist connections on the website last.fm. The band that kicked this all off for me was Woodpigeon, but Ohbijou was another key in the discovery process. Other favorites of mine include Forest City Lovers, Evening Hymns, and Bruce Peninsula. What I didn't realize until fairly recently was that many of these bands were and are members of a Toronto music scene with Ohbijou at its center. Ohbijou's frontwoman Casey Mecija lived in a house on Bellwoods Avenue in Toronto where many local musicians would often gather, and this led to the creation of two "Friends in Bellwoods" compilation albums featuring songs by Ohbijou's many friends and collaborators, with proceeds benefiting a local food bank. I recently picked up the second of the two albums, and it's really a fantastic collection; I still need to check out the first album. With Casey Mecija and her band serving as the core of such an exciting community, it was only fitting that the members of Ohbijou were joined at their final concert by probably two dozen plus other musicians, who were both members of the audience and, at times, performers in the show.

The format of the farewell concert was unique. There was no opening band; rather, Ohbijou took the stage first, at 9:30, and played (sublimely, I might add) for about an hour, after which the concert was far from over. In the second portion of the night's proceedings, a number of Ohbijou's friends (mostly groups of two, with occasional solo or trio performances) took turns taking the stage to play Ohbijou covers. Between each song, there was a lot of talking about how the people on stage had come to know Ohbijou, and what Ohbijou meant to them. Admittedly, this section of the concert did drag at points, and I sensed that I was not alone among the audience in feeling this way. Some of the covers were better than others. But looking up toward the balcony and seeing the reactions of Casey and her bandmates made it all worthwhile. One of my favorite performances of this section came from Evening Hymns. Jonas Bonnetta, the lead singer and creative force behind the band, spoke of how his music career had essentially been kickstarted by Ohbijou asking him to open for them at several concerts in a row, and how if it weren't for Ohbijou, he wouldn't be a professional musician. Considering the two stunningly gorgeous albums Jonas has released as Evening Hymns, this is another reason to be very grateful toward Ohbijou! The best cover, I thought, was saved for last, a mesmerizing rendition of "Echo Bay" by Daniela and Dan of Snowblink.

After this interlude, Ohbijou took the stage again to play a second set, which lasted all the way until 1:30 in the morning. Between the two Ohbijou sets, they played a majority of the songs from their three studio albums, and there were memorable moments and marvelous musicianship throughout the night. As I mentioned, I'd never seen Ohbijou live before, so I couldn't help but be struck by what a small woman lead vocalist and guitarist Casey Mecija is - and what power she brings to her performances in spite of it. Her vocals are often sweet and angelic sounding, but when she wants to, she can really pack a punch. Her sister, violinist Jenny Mecija, added some wonderful backing vocals. Their two voices together were heavenly.

I thought that I knew every Ohbijou song, but they actually played two that I wasn't familiar with, and both were stunning. The first I don't remember the title of, but it was from the Zips and Zings EP, a release preceding Ohbijou's first full-length which I was previously unaware existed. (Does anyone know if it's possible to obtain a copy? Google didn't help me.) The second new song to me was a cover of Nathan Lawr's "Barking At Your Door." If you're an Ohbijou fan and don't know the song, check out this video of Ohbijou performing it - really gorgeous stuff. During the farewell concert, Casey and Jenny split the audience into halves and, toward the end of the song, traded off leading each half in singing the chorus.

A highlight from the first set was "Balikbayan," off of Ohbijou's last album, Metal Meets. A balikbayan box is a shipping container used by overseas Filipinos to sent items back home. Casey dedicated the song to her parents, who were at the concert and who she said had brought their children to Canada so they would have a better life. The string section of Jenny Mecija on violin and Anissa Hart on cello really shone on this song.

The numerous special guests from the local musical community were not just there for the set of covers, but also joined Ohbijou in performing many of their songs. This resulted in some really memorable performances. Rolf Klausener of The Acorn shared lead vocals with Casey on "Steep," an Ohbijou song that was also covered by The Acorn on a split EP with Ohbijou. Evening Hymns and Nils Edenloff of The Rural Alberta Advantage provided outstanding guest vocals on other songs. (I wouldn't have guessed that Nils's distinctive, somewhat nasal voice, so familiar to RAA fans, would work so well on an Ohbijou song, but it was a real thrill to hear.)

As the main set neared its conclusion, "Make It Gold" provided another standout song. It's one of my favorites by Ohbijou, and it was fantastic in person. The rich trumpet sound was great live. There's a moment toward the end of the song where Casey just takes her vocals to a totally different place than anywhere else in Ohbijou's catalog. I was anticipating this moment all night, and it was just as intense and thrilling as I'd hoped. "Turquoise Lake" followed as the main set closer, and Casey's guitar playing at the end of this song had even more intensity than her vocals on the previous song. Ohbijou left the stage to thunderous applause. A chant of "OH-BI-JOU! OH-BI-JOU!" soon resounded through the Great Hall, prompting the band to return for their final encore. And although the concert had been great up to that point, I have to say that the encore was what really set it apart. I'm ready to declare it the best encore I've ever seen.

The encore started with "Anser," one of my favorite songs from Metal Meets. Soon after the song began, Casey descended from the stage, carrying her microphone into the crowd. I've seen musicians do this before, but never in quite the same way as this time. As Casey wandered through the crowd, singing, she paused at each person she came to and looked at them with an expression of sheer gratitude in her eyes. She came to me, looked at me and touched my arm, and it was as if she was saying, "Thank you so much for being here and for sharing in this moment with us." As the song continued, she returned to the stage, and standing on its edge, urged the audience to clap in time with the music. "Louder! Louder!" she cried, even as the clapping was about as loud as it could possibly get. She continued to shout as the band continued to play and the audience continued to clap; most of what she said I didn't understand and I'm not quite sure how coherent it all was, but it was one of the most visceral emotional displays I can remember. And then she came back down to the floor, and laid down on her back in the middle of the crowd, singing, and looking like she wanted to capture that moment and bask in it for all eternity. Earlier during the concert she had mentioned that performing was like being in a dream. With her lying there on the floor (and me in the front row of the crowd encircling her), I had a strong sense for what she had meant. It was a staggering moment.

There was one final song after "Anser." Casey said she wanted that last song to feel like a house party, and urged all of the musical guests to come down from the balcony and onto the stage. So there were probably close to thirty people on stage, dancing and singing and banging on various objects, as Ohbijou concluded their final concert with "The Woods" from their first album, Swift Feet for Troubling Times. Although tinged with bittersweet emotions, this final performance was full of exhilaration and joy. It was a true demonstration of the power of community, and the power of music to bring people together. It was an unforgettable night, and I'm very grateful that I could be there.

Father John Misty at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame

"If there's a banter hall of fame, I'm available," Father John Misty (performing name of Josh Tillman, former Fleet Foxes drummer and J. Tillman for his earlier solo work) said at one point during his concert last Wednesday at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.

I, for one, would vote to induct him. Tillman is quite a talent as a songwriter and vocalist, but I think the biggest thing I'll remember from the concert is that he had the best stage banter I've ever heard. It's the main reason I was inspired to write a review. Tillman said some really hilarious stuff, and I'd like to preserve it for posterity.

The show, part of the Rock Hall's free summer concert series, was unfortunately moved indoors due to the threat of rain, which never materialized. In fact, the weather turned out be perfect for an outdoor concert. (I do wonder how far in advance the decision had to be made. The show started at 7:30, and a look at weather.com at 4 pm showed that there was 0% chance of rain through the time that the concert would be ending.) This move was especially problematic for opening band Night Moves, whose set was a fairly miserable experience for me. Nothing against the band, though; it's just that the museum lobby, full of chattering people and too warm from the sun streaming in through the large glass windows, provided a horrible atmosphere for a concert. Fortunately, during Father John Misty's set the crowd was more attentive, the music volume was louder, and once the sun went down, the general atmosphere of the room improved tremendously.

Tillman and his band played a great set of country-tinged folk rock, including either every or almost every (I wasn't keeping track) song from Fear Fun, the sole Father John Misty album thus far. As I said, though, I mainly wanted to write about Tillman's stage banter. I'm fully aware that a lot of this stuff won't come across as funny in writing. Tillman's acerbic delivery, combined with the often out-of-left-field nature of his remarks, really made it all much funnier in person. But I'll do my best at recounting some of his better lines.

Referring to the pictured signs, Tillman inquired, "Who the fuck is Gwen Moby?" (A good question, I might add.)

There's currently a piano set up outside the entrance of the Rock Hall as part of the Play Me, I'm Yours exhibit. Tillman complained about how many times he had to hear people play "that fucking Adele song" when he was outside smoking.

A large banner with a picture of the Rolling Stones hung from the ceiling off to one side of the lobby. In between acts, a spokesman from the museum made some remarks, including references to event sponsors. Early in his set, Tillman said something about wanting to thank another sponsor, the Rolling Stones, who had been so generous in sponsoring events like this over the years. Later, he gestured toward the banner and said, "Look at them. They're such bros." (I use quotation marks here and throughout although these are, of course, paraphrases.)

Tillman occasionally went off on rambling stories that were, quite frankly, fairly bizarre. He told one story about how the show we were attending was, in fact, the beginning of an exhibit about the career of Father John Misty. The exhibit was to show him working his way up to arena shows, then becoming a heroin addict, then going to rehab, then, twenty years later, releasing a "middling comeback album" which would win a Grammy.

In perhaps my favorite bit, Tillman said he liked to imagine the Rock Hall in a post-apocalyptic setting, 300 years in the future. The building, he imagined, would be the home base of a cannibal tribe. In this post-apocalyptic society, the surviving humans would wonder at the significance of all the trinkets in the museum. The leader of the cannibal tribe would wear Michael Jackson's jacket. And one day, someone would pick up Jimmy Page's guitar, and write a really great song, and this would be the beginning of the rebirth of human culture! Tillman remarked that he should make a movie using this concept - I'd go see it.

What else? At one point, Tillman asked the members of the band what item of theirs they'd like to put in their museum exhibit. (He came across as very cynical about the museum, and about a lot of things, for that matter. I wondered whether he genuinely disliked the museum and its corporate nature, whether he was just a bitter person in general, or whether it was simply his stage persona. I don't know, but it was entertaining as hell.) The first band member said he wouldn't want to give up anything to put it in a museum. Tillman said, "How about your attitude? But I don't think it would fit!" (Oh snap!) He continued by saying that his bandmate's "ability to put up with Josh Tillman" was worthy of being displayed in a museum. The response to the question from the second band member was a cheesecake, and Tillman said, "So now our exhibit is a fucking piece of cheesecake in a glass box."

Near the end of one song, Tillman went to the back of the stage and mocked strumming on the huge faux guitar visible in the background of this picture. After the song ended, he complained to the sound guy that his guitar wasn't turned on (at this point, I don't think most people in the audience got the joke). "You know, the giant guitar that I brought especially for this song," he continued. "That guitar back there. Come on. It's called professionalism!"

It's probably worth mentioning that Tillman commented several times on how drunk he was. There was plenty of professionalism on display in the musical performance, though. Fear Fun is a really solid album, and the music and Tillman's voice shone in the live seting. The end of the main set was stunning. After the band finished album closer "Everyman Needs a Companion" and the applause subsided, Tillman tacked on an additional verse to the song, playing alone on an acoustic guitar. This segued directly into the album's lead single and standout track "Hollywood Forever Cemetery Sings," a song with a much heavier rock sound than anything else on the album. The live performance was heavier still, and sounded fantastic - when the bass kicked in, I could feel it, and on top of the flashing lights and crashing guitars, it created a little moment of bliss. The song was a fitting climax for the concert. Incidentally, several times in between songs some people standing near me (one of whom was also fond of loudly exclaiming "Father John!") wondered aloud when Father John Misty would play that one song of his which they knew. When "Hollywood Forever Cemetery Sings" started, one of them said, "Oh, this is the one!"

The concert was capped off with an encore, two new songs sandwiching a cover of the Beatles' "Happiness Is a Warm Gun." I had been worried that the move indoors would ruin the evening, and the opening band's set greatly deepened my worries. But it turned out to be a fantastic show. Father John Misty is quite a performer, and I'd highly recommend seeing him live to anyone who has the chance.

The National at the LC Pavilion, 6/15/13

September 19, 2005.  Less than a week ago, I had gone to my first concert at the Beachland Ballroom, a spectacular performance by Sufjan Stevens and his band.  Before then, I hadn't been much of a concertgoer, but now I was eager for more.  A friend, who went to a lot of concerts and who I had run into at the Sufjan show, asked if I wanted to tag along with her and some other people to see Clap Your Hands Say Yeah at the Beachland.  CYHSY were the buzz band of the moment, thanks in large part to a glowing review from Pitchfork for their debut album.  I decided that sure, it sounded fun, and I went.  At that night's show, Clap Your Hands Say Yeah were opening for another band, The National (before the concert, I didn't know much, if anything, about either band).

Interesting sidenote about the malleability, and fallibility, of human memory: when searching Google to find the date of the concert, I came across a forum post where someone said, in reference to their "biggest Beachland moment," "I went to see Clap Your Hands Say Yeah and the opener was The National on what would be their big come up year for Alligator, in 2006. I don't know if they would agree, but it seemed to me they blew up after that. That night, I think they were better than CHYSY."  This is actually the second time that I've come across a reference on the Internet to a past concert that I attended where the person misidentifies which band opened for which (in this case, the year is also off by one, but that's not a big deal). It's really fascinating to me how humans have such a powerful ability to remember things, yet at the same time, can so often hold memories about events in their lives that are at least partly contradictory to the objective history of those events. Okay, so that's my neurobiologist side coming through.  Back to the main point.

That night, the ballroom was pretty packed for Clap Your Hands Say Yeah.  After they finished, some people began to filter out of the room.  The size of the crowd continued to diminish during The National's headlining set. Given the band's career trajectory, I think it's almost certainly true that some of the people who left early are now fans of The National.  I wonder if any of those people remember what they did, and now regret it?  To be fair, I also didn't appreciate the performance to nearly the same level I would now, but I did at least stay through, and enjoy, the headlining set.

The National have come a long way since then.  Last Saturday I saw them perform at the LC Pavilion in Columbus, and the outdoor venue, with a capacity of about 5000, was pretty close to full.  It was actually something of a last minute decision for me to attend the show.  Cara didn't want to go to Columbus that night because she was planning to do a bike race the next morning, so I'd be making the drive, both ways, by myself.  I decided I didn't want to miss the concert.  It was a good decision.

The event, dubbed the "Next at Wex Fest," featured three bands.  Openers Mount Moriah played a nice set of twangy alt-country. I enjoyed it, but didn't find it particularly memorable. The next band, Local Natives, was another one which I'd seen previously at the Beachland.

They played a really good hour long set with a nice mix of songs from their two albums. The band's sound is highlighted by strong vocal harmonies and at times exotic-sounding percussion. I expect they'll continue to grow in popularity.

The outdoor setting worked well for this concert. At about the time Local Natives were concluding their set, the sky was gorgeous, which the band remarked on.

Darkness began to fall as the excited crowd waited for The National to arrive on stage. That crowd would not go disappointed. From the start of "I Should Live In Salt," it was clear the band would be providing a thrilling experience both aurally and visually.  There were several cameras set up on stage, and live footage of the band was mixed with an interesting selection of other images and projected on a giant screen behind the stage.  The colorful display, with the band members in stark contrast in front of it, made for quite a sight.

But of course, the main draw at a concert should be the music, not the light show.  In that regard, The National delivered and then some.  They played a set heavy on songs from their two most recent albums, also throwing in a few songs each from their highly acclaimed earlier releases Alligator and Boxer.  This is a band whose members have clearly honed their craft to reach a great level of musicianship.  Matt Berninger's signature baritone vocals and the rest of the band's accompanying music sounded just about as great as you could hope for a band to sound.  In addition to the five normal band members, I have to give special credit to the trumpet player and trombone player the band brought along on tour.  The powerfully brassy notes emanating from these two added so much to the band's live sound.  On some of the songs, the brass created something of a reinterpretation of the original (The National do include some horn sounds on a few album tracks; by contrast, the haunting strings which appear on some of their songs were absent at this concert), and often the live version sounded even better than the album version.  On "The Geese of Beverly Road," the trumpet took the opening notes which are played by a clarinet on the album.  This song, from Alligator, was simply stunning, definitely one of the highlights for me - the guitar sound created such great atmosphere, and Berninger's vocals were really powerful.  Actually, if I could change anything about the concert, I'd ask for more songs from Alligator, an album I've recently realized, after many years of listening to it, is in fact one of my all time favorites.  But I guess getting three songs from an eight-year-old album isn't bad.

Another highlight was main set closer "Fake Empire," perhaps The National's most popular song and for good reason. I just love the piano intro and the trumpet part that comes in near the end, and it all sounded so great live.

The encore started with "Humiliation," a track from the band's latest album, Trouble Will Find Me.  The band tacked on an intense outro that's absent from the album version, with Berninger screaming the vocals.  (He screams more often live than on album - another example would be on "Squalor Victoria." It's a treat to witness.)  When the opening notes of Alligator's closing song "Mr. November" started up next, the crowd went wild.  I had a feeling this song would be something special - I remembered the last time I had seen the band, at the Beachland in '07, and how Berninger had climbed up onto one of the giant speakers next to the Beachland stage, so I wondered what he'd do this time around.  What happened easily surpassed any expectations I might have had!

The LC Pavilion's audience section is mostly a sloped lawn; in between the lawn and the stage is a fairly sizable pit section.  I was standing at the very back of the pit (I have to say that going to concerts is the main time that I really appreciate being tall).  I could see, after Berninger began singing "Mr. November," that he climbed down from the stage into the the audience.  Still belting out the vocals, he made his way through the crowd, his long microphone cord trailing behind him and being held up by audience members.  Soon, I realized that he was just feet away from me!  After that, he changed directions, went toward the side of the pit, and climbed into a beer stand, still singing.

Matt Berninger's journey through the crowd during "Mr. November."

I was definitely laughing at this point.  It was a giddy, exhilarated sort of laugh.  "Mr. November" had to be the biggest highlight of the evening, but it wasn't the last song.  The band followed it with "Terrible Love," which ended at 11:00, which is apparently the venue's curfew because Berninger announced that they had to stop, and said something about the people in condos nearby.  This was greeted with a chorus of boos.  Thankfully, Berninger, after consulting with the rest of the band, said they could play one more song, and it didn't count because it was quiet.  The band gathered at the front of the stage and performed "Vanderlyle Crybaby Geeks," with no plugged-in instruments (acoustic guitars and trumpet and trombone were played, and voices were sung, into the mics).  It was a perfect finale.

 This really ended up being one of the best concerts I've seen in a long time.  It was well worth the trip to Columbus, and it's hard to believe in retrospect that I was uncertain about going.  I realized that live music can really be something special, so if there's a concert you want to see, just go for it!  If you don't, you're throwing away the chance for a wonderful experience and memory.

Even if, over the years, that memory may diverge somewhat from what actually occurred.

Lucius and You Won't at the Beachland Tavern

"It doesn't always work that well," Josh Arnoudse, lead singer of indie folk band You Won't, remarked to me as I was chatting with him at the merch table after his band's show on Thursday night at the Beachland Tavern.

We were speaking of the portion of the band's set in which he and Raky Sastri, the other member of the duo, had stepped off of the stage and performed a pair of songs unplugged, on the tavern floor, in the middle of the audience.  Apparently, sometimes when they did this, a noisy audience ruined the experience.  I thought once more of how lucky I was to have such a great place to see concerts.  I've also seen bands like Megafaun and The Rural Alberta Advantage perform songs out on the Beachland floor, and it's always something magical.  You Won't took it to another level by actually bringing a harmonium out to the floor with them.  The first song saw Arnoudse playing the harmonium and Sastri playing the saw; for the second song, Sastri took over harmonium duties while Arnoudse climbed up onto a chair to sing.  And then, partway through the song, he went down to the floor, opened up a bag, and very dramatically (by which I mean, he almost hit a nearby audience member) pulled out a wind chime, of all things.  I'm sure that if a picture of me had been taken at that moment, it would have captured a wide grin on my face.  It's moments like that that make live music such a wonderful thing to experience.

The unplugged section was the top highlight, but You Won't's whole set was great.  I picked up their album Skeptic Goodbye after the show, and I'd highly recommend it (the whole thing is streamable on Bandcamp).  It's a catchy little folk/blues-rock album that, to me, really stands out from the crowd of modern indie folk.  Maybe it has something to do with being performed by just two guys, two guys who are clearly really passionate about their music.  It's an album with an intimate feel, even as there is at times a lot going on (check out the music credits - "Josh Arnoudse: vocals, guitar, piano, bass, mandolin, accordion, FX pedals, stomping feet and clapping hands! Raky Sastri: drums, harmonium, accordion, singing saw, bowed mandolin and mountain dulcimer, modified coffee can, cardboard boxes, washbasin, cellular phone, stolen road sign, stomping feet and clapping hands!").  Arnoudse's lyrics, his somewhat Dylan-esque vocals and the often fuzzy sound lend a nicely nostalgic air to the music.  Their live sound was heavier than the album's, and suited the concert setting well.

Sastri, in particular, was a joy to watch, playing (and switching between on the fly) a large assortment of percussion and keyboard instruments with great deftness and intensity.  Both members of the band brought enormous energy and talent to the show, and by the end of their performance I, having only listened to the band once before going to the show, was completely won over.

It was a great show - but You Won't were just the opening band!  This was a show that I kind of just went to on a whim because I thought the bands sounded interesting and it would probably be a good time.  And I was very right.

Headliners Lucius are starting to attract some buzz.  This is a band that catches your attention before you hear a single note of the five-piece's music.

I'd guess the band is dressing and styling themselves in this distinctive way to try to help them stand out in a crowded music scene.  I can't fault them for it.  Really, it adds to the fun of seeing them perform.  And did I say You Won't brought a lot of energy to their performance?  Lucius easily exceeded the openers' energy level.  On some songs nearly the whole band was engaged in raucous percussion parts.

Lead singers Jess Wolfe and Holly Laessig both have gorgeous voices, especially when they harmonize together, and the drumming, guitar playing, and backing vocals from the three male members of Lucius rounded out the band's sound nicely.  This was really infectious stuff; the audience was clearly eating up every note.  "Turn It Around," which closed out the main part of Lucius's set, is a truly fantastic pop song.

And when I say "the main part" of the set, that's because Lucius, too, stepped out into the audience to perform a couple of songs unplugged.  It's really something that more bands should do when they have the opportunity, which the Beachland often provides.  It brings such a great sense of connection between audience and performers.  One of the two lead singers of Lucius spoke some clearly heartfelt words about what a journey it had been for them, and how grateful they were that we were all there to see them.  I felt equally grateful to be able to see such great performances in such a great setting.

Lucius and You Won't are both bands that I could envision becoming quite popular.  If you have the opportunity to see either live, don't pass it up!