An Arlo Guthrie concert is an experience and no matter how many you see, it’s always different. I’ve seen him four times the most recent this past weekend at the Colonial Theatre in Keene NH.

The Colonial is a great place to see a show, with just 888 seats it’s a very intimate venue for both the artists and the fans and when you put Arlo into that type of atmosphere you feel like your sitting in your living room with an old friend singing and telling tales.

Arlo doesn’t always perform his most famous song, fortunately in 2006 it was the 40th anniversary so he performed the updated version (with the missing 18 minutes portion). I’ve also seen him do the Motorcycle Song a couple times with all the appropriate tales of how he came to write the song, and as he says, “It’s amazing that anyone can get away with seeing a song that dumb for that long!”

Some of the stories this time included one about how his wife called him from the airport, she was being detained because of some illegal substance in her luggage, and needed him to come to her rescue. It’s a hilarious story especially if told the way only Arlo can, he then launched into Coming Into Los Angeles.

He told many other tales in between songs like This Land Is Your Land, City Of New Orleans, and Old Friend, a tribute to his cousin the late Hoyt Axton. He spoke of getting his first California gig when he was just 18 and his Mother insisted the only way he could go was if he stayed with friends or family. Having no family in California at the time she said it was okay if he stayed with Woody’s old friend Ramblin Jack Elliot! Something akin to putting Al Capone in charge of the bank vault! Arlo agreed to go, and while he was there he met the woman who would eventually become his wife, at the time she completely ignored him, and Arlo was depressed, so Jack said “Here take this”, when he asked what it was, Jack said “Don’t worry, It’ll wear off”! You have to hear Arlo tell it, in fact all his stories are best coming from the source.

As Arlo tells it every show is an experience, they have a basic plan but you never know how it’s going to go, the fun is in the journey. In fact, that’s the name of this year’s tour, The Journey On Tour, he has his full band with him along with his son Abe and the lovely Burns Sisters. Four years ago it was more acoustic, with his entire family joined him, including daughter Sara Lee and her husband Johnny Irion, Arlo’s other daughters Cathy and Annie and son Abe.

I’m looking forward to seeing him for the fifth time and what kinds of stories he’ll regal us with, what memories, what music he’ll share. Maybe he’ll tell the massacree again! I don’t know when it’ll be but if he does come this way again you can bet I’ll be there.

Arlo Guthrie – We can get anything we want… - - Every ticket tells a story. Don't it?

On Tuesday, November 9, with my “Team Hendrix” friends in tow, I sat in the beautiful Hershey Theatre to witness an amazing line up of talented musicians. Ernie Isley, Steve Vai, Living Colour, Jonny Lang (who did a fantastic version of All Along the Watchtower on acoustic guitar), Mato Nanji of Indigenous, Billy Cox, Eric Johnson and my personal favorite – Kenny Wayne Shepherd. Kenny and his band’s infamous version of Voodoo Child alone was well worth my ticket. I Thought I’d died and gone to guitar heaven!

Two nights later I found myself in an SUV with my Dad and 2 of his buddies heading toward Upper Darby, PA to see The Allman Brothers Band at the Tower Theatre. Long time fans of the Allmans, this was an extremely anticipated show for both my Dad and me. As many already know, The Allman Brothers put out some of the best live music you’re going to find. Period.

As it just so happened, one of my fellow concert companions knew a guy on sound that night. Score!! A backstage pass for the after show was slapped on to my jacket (along with a HUGE smile on my face!).

The show was, as always, phenomenal. I scurried backstage after the crowds worked their way out of the theatre. I’m sure I had a “Look at me!! I’m going backstage” smirk on my face. Minutes after I entered the downstairs catering/lounge area, in walked Derek Trucks. WOW! I shook his hand and said hello. After he finished a brief conversation with a rather funky and important looking individual I asked him for a picture. He seemed happy to oblige. I thought, “cool, if this is as good as it gets, I’m thrilled!”  No sooner did I think that, several guys walked into the room announcing that “Mr. Allman will soon be boarding the bus”. That’s it, I thought. The night is over. Little did I know they were advising us to follow them to Gregg’s dressing room for a last minute meet and greet. As I walked up the stairs and passed the piece of paper taped to the wall reading “G.A. Dressing Room >” my heart started to race. “This is it. I’m going to Gregg Allman’s dressing room to meet him!”.  And meet him I did. He was incredibly kind and soft spoken. What an unbelievable thrill for me.

My SUV ride back home was waiting for me, and I knew by this time I needed to get moving. I proceeded to the stairwell, just missing the doorway by a few feet. After realizing this, I turned around and there stood Warren Haynes inches away. I was speechless. I shook his hand, thanked him for the memorable show, and asked him if I could get a picture. He smiled and said “of course!”. Needless to say, I was in awe the entire two hour ride home.

My last leg of this adventure took place in Wilkes-Barre, PA at the F.M. Kirby Center. Once again, another fantastic place to see a show. This night, in particular, I was there to see none other than blues rock guitarist extraordinaire Joe Bonamassa. As luck would have it, I had a connection with someone who worked for Joe’s production company. At 4:55pm on a chilly Autumn evening in a small coal mining city in Northeastern PA, I met Joe Bonamassa. He was very gracious and even chatty. How awesome that Joe took the time and was actually pleasant about meeting a few devoted fans. The show that followed later that evening was incredible. Joe puts on an unforgettable live performance. Simply stupendous.

And now back to reality. I’m still soaking in my amazing moments that have taken place. Fanatical?? Out of control?? No. I’m just a girl with a rock-n-roll heart who’s had an amazing and fortunate couple of weeks in guitar god heaven that she’ll never forget. Rock on…..

by Christine V

Guitar God Heaven – a month to remember - - Every ticket tells a story. Don't it?

The Artist Tatzu Nishi has enclosed the Christopher Columbus statue, that sits on top of the column at Columbus Circle, in an apartment above the street. You walk up 60 feet in an exterior staircase to the room above the street. The 13 foot high Statue sits in the middle of this room on a coffee table with windows that have views of Central Park and streets coming and going to the circle below.

From the images on wall paper to the books on the shelves it is an apartment of Americana with Chris in the middle. The only book I would like to know why it on the shelve is Gulliver’s Travels, by Jonathan Swift, it’s not a book about America and the author is from Ireland. It was nice day and very interesting to see the top of the column up close. What I’m waiting for now is how I will view Chris from the street when the scaffolding is removed.

by: Gary S.

Discovering Columbus at Columbus Circle - - Every ticket tells a story. Don't it?

To paraphrase Robert Cray and Mr. T – the forecast called for pain – but thankfully not rain. I love my iPhone and it told me we were looking at a cloudy but dry night. But then again, all things connected to a Jet game are now tinged with the stain of 40+ years of ineptitude, and sure enough it was pouring buckets within minutes of hitting the road. No raincoats, “Daddy I have a headache” and “Honey that ramp to the GW scares me” were all I had to think about as the wipers worked their way back and forth.

Now don’t get me wrong, these tickets were a great birthday gift from my wife and daughter, and though it was a Monday night, in a town where fans had been known to set seats ablaze when things go bad, I was ready for worst – hoping for something in the middle. Had the best occurred, you might have had to grab the defibrillator, but few thought we’d win, just getting in and out in one piece would suffice.

Then we started catching breaks… In Jersey the rain stops, and traffic disappears and when I park at E15 it turns out my lifelong buddy is tailgating at E14. Really, out of 40,000 cars we wind up 100 feet away from each other? Good luck at a Jet game? When would it end?

Your answer – shortly after kickoff.

As for the game – the Jets did not get shelled, and the seats did not burn. Our section was full of well mannered fans, and my little girl didn’t hear any words she hadn’t already heard. Maybe a few strung together in an order she was unfamiliar with – but nothing to make her ears (or her Hello Kitty earmuffs) fall off. By the 2nd quarter she’s getting into the act – screaming lines like “Aren’t you guys putting in any EFFORT?”, “Don’t you WANT to win?”. Alas she’d replaced the conventional headache with another – being a Jet fan.

At least there were no Rich Kotite sightings (4 wins in 2 seasons), we’re 2 and 3 and the chants for Tebow were thankfully few (though I think I heard some coming from the owner’s box).

It was a great birthday present, the biggest event my little girl had ever seen and a night I won’t soon forget.

Die-hard Jet Fans – like the video says.

by: Matt Peter

Monday Night Football at the Jet Game - - Every ticket tells a story. Don't it?

13 innings, over 4 and half hours of baseball the O’s force a game 5. The crowd was into the game and then taken completely out of it with Hardy double in the 13. Oh well one more game but can either of these teams beat Detroit?

by: CP

Enjoy the scorecard:

It’s all A-Rod fault - - Every ticket tells a story. Don't it?

It was David Price vs. CC Sabathia and the the whole game was a pitchers duel. It was the 11th Inning when when my Mom said we had to leave and head home and while we were walking out Reed Brignac hit a walk off homerun to win the game for the Rays.

by: Evan

The Sweetbay kid of the game - - Every ticket tells a story. Don't it?

I first got to see them 2003, when John Bush was the vocalist and then in 2005 with Joey Belladonna.

What made the 2005 gig special was that i met some of the band in a bar the night before concert. It was on a Tuesday night, so there wasn’t many people. It was cool to chat to them with pints of Guinness going down.

The following night, I went to the Ambassador, down the end of O’Connell street, Dublin, to see Anthrax. First band on was Flatline from Cork city.

Anthrax came on to play their classic songs from the 80′s like “metal trashing mad”, “Indians” and for their encore “Bring the noise”.

This year, they toured with Metallica, Megadeth and Slayer as the BIG FOUR at the sonishpere festivals in eastern europe. Next summer, the BIG FOUR are returning to europe. Hopefully, a concert in Ireland. I would definitely go.

by Kieran M

2 Years of Anthrax - - Every ticket tells a story. Don't it?

Who’da thunk it?

I have to give them credit and I hope the sell as many “In Buck we Trust” shirts as possible because I have a feeling it’s gonna be back into the pack for them sooner rather than later. As the Yankees era of leadership was getting rolling, the O’s had Camden Yards to boast about and that was it.

Still is, or was till this year when the fold never happened. At least not with 160 games played. Let’s see what happens from here on out.

By Han K.

Yankees vs. Orioles - - Every ticket tells a story. Don't it?

With our tickets we were in the Delta 360 Sky Club, it’s nice to see how the other people watch a game, I normally sit in the nose bleed seats. The Mets shut out the Pirates behind Hefner 0-6, Pirates made a lot poor fielding plays. But the one highlight in this season for the Mets, other that Santana’s No Hitter, was the hit in the third inning by David Wright to

source: http://www.nydailynews.com

pass Ed Kranepool as the Met’s career hits leader with 1,419 and ending the evening with 1,420. Being a Yankees fan now going two Met’s games, which I didn’t pay for, this season, the first was Santana’s No Hitter and now Wright’s career hit game, all I hope for is to be at the Yankee’s World Series winning game in October.

by Donald Mallard

David Wright set the Mets’ career hits record - - Every ticket tells a story. Don't it?

2007 was the first year of the BigTen Network. I was living in Ann Arbor and our cable provider, Comcast, couldn’t work out a deal to carry the new network in time for the start of the college football season. The Wolverines were playing a Division II team for the first time in the school’s history and as a result, not going to be on ESPN, instead relegated to the new BigTen channel. Therefor, for the first time I could remember, the Michigan game wasn’t on TV in Ann Arbor.

I was trying to explain all this to my girlfriend on that Saturday morning, when she stupidly asked, “What would happen if they lost but nobody got to see it?” I laughed and described to her an Ann Arbor with pigs flying overhead and hell frozen below, all of which seemed much more likely than Michigan losing to Appa-whatever. I should say that I am a huge Michigan fan who was raised by a father who followed the Wolverines’ recruiting even before the internet. ‘Nuff said. Also they had my favorite player since Jim Harbaugh, Mike Hart, who was on the cover of Sports Illustrated that week with Michigan’s fifth place national ranking posted next to him. So as morning drew to noon on that first day of September, 2007, I pulled out my work radio and got excited. Let the season begin!

Then…

I quickly learned how to pronounce Appalachian and who Armanti was. The first quarter drove me crazy. My mighty Michigan had only managed a 14-7 lead, and the Mountaineers were mounting drives. They had spread the field and ran a no-huddle, black quarterback-led offense, which always seemed to equal Wolverine-kryptonite. And then it happened. And happened. Between the time it took them to tie the game, and for me to put on proper clothes, App State had taken a 28-14 lead. I don’t remember explaining myself to anyone or even saying bye. Something came over me, and I was in my car, headed for Stadium and Main, just because.

If you’ve ever seen the traffic jams and lawns turned to parkings lots that 110,00 fans can cause, then you’ll understand how surreal it was to drive past the Big House unimpeded and find a free parking spot on my first pass. I walked down the unpaved side of Main Street with my radio in my hand. I hardly noticed a big Lincoln pull up next to me at the light and an even bigger black guy ask me “What’s the count?”. I told him “28-14″ and shivered as the words came out of my mouth. “You trying to go?” He asked. My father had taken me to the Big House a lot as a kid, and we often went at the end of the third quarter when the ushers would stop checking tickets. Michigan Stadium has benches, not seats, so we would find somewhere to squeeze in at the top of the underground ocean of people. I guess this was my plan today, although I hadn’t really thought about it until he asked again, “You trying to go see the game?” I had barely even gotten the “yeah” out before he spread out a Japanese paper-fan of tickets and generously handed me the stub I have scanned for you.

My first impression of the ticket was how impressive it was that I had gotten this fifty dollar ticket for basically just having my five dollar work radio with me. Being a graphic design student, I then marveled at how nice the new layout of the ticket was and how impressive it was that its matte edges glistened so much in the bright sunlight. I then settled on the image in the middle. How ironic that here we were, the team whose greatest player ever (arguably) was a running quarterback, yet was still unable to learn from the lessons taught to us by Vince Young and so many less memorable quarterbacks.

Normally ten rows up at Michigan Stadium would be an unbelievably great seat for me, but as I sat there in the late summer sun and watched the start of the second half, I realized why things were seeming to “just happen” without a lot of thought on my part. I had been sitting in a shady, cool living room, then an equally climate controlled car, and the rush of getting and finding my seat had distracted me from realizing how hung over I was from the Friday night before. I was sitting there, unable and unwilling to travel the 70 rows of steps back up to street level for rehydration. As Michigan came back, I tried to bounce back, in between plays by sitting and taking advantage of the shade afforded me by the standing fans around me. It seemed like a hundred degrees, and the sun was baking me all afternoon but Michigan was scoring and setting the  college football world back on its axis. They had shut down the mighty Mountaineer offense and Mike Hart had just reeled off an amazing 54-yard TD scamper. For the first time since the first quarter I even questioned the value of the run. They were after all, just a Division-II school.

With about five minutes to go in the game, the color had just started to come back to my face as the momentum came back to App State. Their offense moved the ball down toward my tenth row seat in the southwest corner of the Stadium. I had a great view of the field goal that gave them a 34-32 lead, but a lousy look at the 46 yard Henne to Manningham prayer that was going to be our salvation. I remember squinting to see the spot of the ball, and quickly doing the math. 20 + 10 + 7 = a makable field goal and a chance to get out of here with only small munitions for the Buckeye and Sparty fan ridicule to come. Twenty seconds on the clock, and we were going to survive.

Then it happened.

I’ll tell you one thing I learned that day: The sound of a football kicked directly in its sweet spot is perfectly cancelled out by the equally booming sound of that ball hitting a hand, when set against the silence of 100,000 people. The little men in Blue and White shirts got larger as they came storming directly for me and collapsed in a pile at the five yard line. It happened. Nobody cheered or booed or even moved for what seemed like forever. Some guy who seemed like the sole representative from the Boone contingent at the Stadium that day, scaled the brick wall separating us and the growing hoard of men wearing unfamiliar uniforms. Watching him spin his shirt over his head like Petey Pablo helped draw me out of my perplexed stupor and affirm the fact of what I had just seen.

I made my way up the emptying metal benches, each step echoing across the hole that Yost dug, Cristler paid for, Canham carpeted, and Schembechler filled every cotton pickin’ Saturday afternoon. When I got to the top of the bowl I looked for a food stand and ordered a water. I drained the contents of the bottle, took three steps and bent over a waist-high plastic trash can. It had been recently emptied and as I emptied my stomach into it, I heard my RALPH, RAlph, ralph echo back up to my buzzing head. I felt better and yet embarrassed, but as I pulled my head from inside the can, I saw nothing but pure understanding and agreement in the eyes of those around me.

I walked to my car feeling the supreme humiliation which I can only imagine one would feel after being caught raping his little sister. That night I had my first instance of the recurring dream where I was driving through North Carolina. During the radio call of game I had found it weird that Jim Branstadder and Dan Dickerson kept referring to Appa-laa-tion State, when I had only previously heard of the Appa-lay-tion Mountains. Being good Michigan Men with voices as unquestionable as my father’s, I had taken to their pronunciation for the school. Back in my dream, where I was stuck driving around North Carolina looking for Appalachian State University. I kept stopping at gas stations for directions and when I would tell the clerk my destination, some would snicker, others fall down laughing. They were all in on the joke, knowing I was from Michigan and had believed in the faux-bourgeoise pronunciation they had fed us. I would wake up startled, with the feeling that some hick school had played us for the spoiled, arrogant “Michigan Men” we were. Exposing us, and leaving ourselves not only to question the winningest program in the history of intercollegiate football, but also uppity belief of Michigan being the “Harvard of the MidWest.”

A last note on the ticket stub. When I got back to my car, I put it in the visor of my car, which periodically I would pull down to shield my eyes from the sun. Every time I did, the taste of water-vomit would tingle at the back of my throat and my heart would stumble a little. It was in my visor on the day I heard that former Michigan All-American and current Detroit Lion lineman Jeff Backus would be coming to the Ann Arbor Sprint store to sign autographs. I decided to stop on my way home from work, and to my surprise, there was no line, and I walked right up to him. To his surprise, as he readied his grey sharpie to sign my autograph, he was looking at the ticket stub that had been the only memorabilia I could find on such short notice. He stared at the App State stub for a couple of seconds, looked up at me, back down, and up to tell me there’s no way in hell he’s signing that. We ended up talking for a while and I believe we share a bond that all Michigan fans have. The bittersweet realization that only the team with the most beautiful helmets, biggest Stadium, best fight song, and most wins ever in college football, could truly make for the  biggest upset in the history of college athletics.

Biggest upset ever – Michigan vs. Appalachian State - - Every ticket tells a story. Don't it?