I saw Howie Day play two weeks ago after one of the worst days I've had in a year. The free outdoor concert was prefaced by my company picnic, and I cannot even put into words how horrific the forced dotcom beach social was for me. Half motion sick/half Dramamine drunk, allergic to the sun, 98 degrees and humid, black flies biting to the point where people had to stick their feet in the spokes of the tables to keep them off the ground. It was on the beach in Gloucester, and call me crazy but I hated the open shoreline. My eyes are sensitive to light, the heat is unbearable... anyway, it was such a shitty day. Everyone was hammered, I sat in the tent mostly by myself reading the Phoenix while my inebriated coworkers ran around in bathing suits. It was a wholly disturbing experience. Actually one of the entertaining parts was watching this group of highly intelligent, gifted and creative people devise ingenious plans to get alcohol onto the beach where it was not allowed. There were diagrams, plans A and B, I think even a Macromedia Flash presentation or two.
But none of this has anything to do with Howie. Or maybe it does. We were on the bus for two hours on the way home, stuck in traffic. I had already thrown up twice, and I had a fever from the sunburn. Look -- I'm a city girl. I was curled up sideways in a bus seat, listening to Bright Eyes with my head smooshed against the cool glass window. And when the bus stopped at the corner of Clarendon and Boylston, I could hear the music echoing outside the bus, rattling the windows. I got off the bus gratefully. Walking down Boylston hearing music so loud, bouncing off the buildings and reaching all around -- it was surreal, like some strange dream.
I made my way down to Copley Square. It was going to rain any second. The sky was heavy and moving liquid quick, dark and boiling. I got there just in time. Howie came out a minute after I found my spot all the way at the back of the Square (I'd had enough of crowds). And my day all of a sudden got really good.
The night was weird. It was almost sunset, and the stage was set up at the foot of the Trinity Church, which is an old old gothic type structure with angels and stained glass and wrought iron. Looking straight at the stage, all you could see was the steps of the church, beat brick and terra cotta and snaking black railings. But if you looked a few degrees to the right, the Hancock Tower sprawled straight upwards, cobalt blue industrial glass and steel, reflecting the churning sky. The clash of time periods is what I love most about Copley. But to be watching Howie Day play at the foot of all this conflict was something else.
As he started singing, little rain drops fell, and people started wiping their faces. Some people started leaving. Howie looked up and scowled, pulling his mic stand back a few feet. He's such a brat.
He started playing "Ghost", and immediately the whole world went away for me. This is one of my favorite songs ever, and definitely my favorite Howie song. It is inextricably linked with last October and being filled with such overwhelming joy and grief simultaneously. It's an unfulfilled, aching song. The album version is nothing to write home about. But I got a copy of Howie playing a tiny gig in Syracuse -- Happy Endings Café. It's the best bootleg I've ever heard of his, and the version of "Ghost" he plays is about 13 minutes long. He starts off with just a beat of his fist on the guitar, adds e-bow, and by the end of the song he's got about 20 tracks going, including 5 or 6 vocals of himself. The build up is intense.
I recognized the beat on his guitar instantly, and got tunnel vision of the stage. I watched him build the song, and then after three or four minutes he started singing. The sky started lighting up, flickering with electricity. And just as he hit the climax of the vocals, in the beginning of an ultra-choreographed storm, a huge bolt of lighting streaked towards the church tower and the sky opened up. Rain, thunder. The looped beats rang off the library behind us and echoed through the streets. It was incredible. I felt like I was in a real live rock video.
This version of "Ghost" was better than any other I've ever heard him play. I was so amazed to be standing there listening to him sing it in the wide open city. It was the most surreal night I've had in a long time.
I honestly don't understand how people can talk through these experiences. The very thought baffles me. These kids all show up, all excited, bouncing around, and as soon as Howie takes to the stage they've got their back to him and jabbering about so and so. It used to get me fully riled up, but I just let it slide off me now. I realize not everyone takes music as seriously as I do. In fact, probably a lot fewer people than I realize.
So he says he's got some new songs. One of them he's playing for the first time ever live. This is the best part of a performance for me, to be the first audience to hear a song played live. And the few kids who were actually still paying attention during "Ghost" completely lost interest because this song certainly wasn't on 92.9 BOS. I won't dig in on the clueless teenagers though; I'd like to maintain the gentle buzz I got from this show which pretty much remedied the heat bug vomit drunk-halfnaked-coworkers portion of the day.
Two nights ago I was listening to the Howie "Live at Happy Endings" bootlegs, lying on my bed with headphones, and some things changed in what I heard. I haven't been listening to him much lately except when I see him live. I still experienced the gut response to the songs, wanting to be in them, wanting to have them under my skin, but I started really listening to his voice. Before I would listen with a total all-at-once impression, a cup of soup as opposed to vegetables, noodles, and broth. This time I started digging for noodles, and listening to his voice, I realized how it is bigger than him and completely out of his control. He is so fraught with emotion, his vocals just rage all over the place. He simply wails full tilt. He can pull it off right now because he's cute, bratty little guitar boy. But it seems to me like he's going to have to do some work if he wants to grow into his music. It's like he's a little kid who woke up in a suit much too big for him, and he just wants to run around with his sleeves hanging off. That's a really bad analogy but I'm tapped so you'll have to use your imagination.
Howie Day also goes on my "Must Make Him Breakfast" list.
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