The first time I listened to Arena, the new 13 track album by Todd Rundgren, I felt like I was listening to the album that record companies were begging him to make… in 1981. Thankfully, he never did and went on to make some of the best music of his career, solo and with Utopia. That’s not to say that I dislike Arena. It’s just that Todd was going to have to really put forth a Herculean effort to beat his 2004 release, Liars, which I think is one of his best records (everyone who ever wondered what happened to their jet pack or flying car should download the track “Future” [mp3] from this release - very funny and cool). I always get excited when Todd releases an album of new material. I have been a fan of his since the beginning and the new ones don’t come that often anymore (one every 4-5 years) . So it was with this exuberance that I pressed play the moment I got the CD in the mail.

As I listened to the first four tracks I was seriously wondering if this was the new Scorpions-Foreigner-Loverboy comeback album. Or perhaps the “lost” Scorpions-Foreigner-Loverboy album. Track 2, “Afraid”, does have a very addicting guitar riff that evokes a certain melancholy, but by the time you get to track 4, “Gun”, one has to wonder what Todd is doing. Does he really think it is the year 1981? Then track 5, “Courage”, comes along and we enter familiar territory with that gorgeous wall of vocals/keyboard sound that Todd has mastered for all eternity. This song could have easily been on The Ever Popular Tortured Artist Effect.

Tracks 6 and 7, “Weakness” and “Strike”, move us back into power pop, with the latter sounding - and I am not kidding - like a cross between Joan Jett and AC/DC! Todd’s voice, always gorgeous - and this album is no exception - sounds just like Bon Scott. After listening to this track several times, I have to say that I have really grown to love it. Track 8 is where the album’s good stuff really begins. Everything after this point is wonderful - “Bardo” and “Pissin’” being two of the best songs Todd has ever recorded.

Arena, released on September 30, is not Todd’s best album, but die hard Todd Fans will love it, Scorpions-Foreigner-Loverboy-Joan Jett-AC/DC fans will love it, and it will make those A&R guys in the way back machine darned happy too.

Oh, and the cover (above) kicks major ass, dude!

7 (out of 10)

Hear the first single: Mad (streaming Quicktime)

Pre-Order Arena (release date: Sept. 30th):

Todd Links: Official Site | MySpace

Everyone knew it was going to an emotional night.

It always is when it’s the last concert of a lengthy tour. Yet, this closing night of the Dave Matthews Band’s annual summer trek carried far more significance than usual. Sunday, you see, would’ve been LeRoi Moore’s 47th birthday.

The saxophonist didn’t make it to the party. He died on Aug. 19 due to complications stemming from an ATV accident he suffered on his Virginia farm back in June.

His fans, however, turned out in full force, filling the 8,500-seat UC Greek Theatre in Berkeley to capacity for three nights, Friday through Sunday. It was, in effect, a three-day memorial for this founding member of one of America’s most popular rock acts. In that sense, it resembled every other stop that DMB has made since Moore’s passing. Matthews, through both his words and his actions, has turned each show held over the last few weeks into tributes to Moore.

Most fans in the building were well aware of Sunday’s significance. They came barring banners and signs, all wishing Moore a happy birthday. There was even some birthday cake to be had and a quite a few Moore tribute T-shirts.

The 41-year-old band leader didn’t need to say anything to mark the occasion, and for the most of the night he remained silent between songs. It wasn’t until near the end of the show that he shouted out his own well wish, “Happy birthday to my good friend LeRoi Moore.”

In general, he let the music do the talking, which is probably how Moore would have wanted it.

Kicking off the nearly three-hour show with passionate takes on “Bartender” and “Everyday,” the group sounded strikingly different than the one that’s been making the rounds over the past 10 years.

Moore’s absence, of course, is the most newsworthy aspect of the change. Holding down the sax spot is Bela Fleck and the Flecktones’ Jeff Coffin, a decidedly energetic player who served as a sparkplug on several songs. Coffin fit in well with the rest of the band, so nicely, in fact, that it would be a surprise if we don’t see him onboard for the next tour.

Another personnel change is that longtime DMB accompanist, pianist Butch Taylor, has left the fold. In his place is Matthews’ trusty collaborator, guitarist Tim Reynolds, a true shredder that’s not afraid to test the Marshall stacks.

Those two new additions have helped give DMB a harder-edged sound, one that the band is showcasing in new arrangements of old songs as well as in an exciting batch of rotating cover material (including tunes by the Talking Heads, Peter Gabriel and Pink Floyd).

The group _ which also features drummer Carter Beauford, violinist Boyd Tinsley, bassist Stefan Lessard and trumpeter Rashawn Ross _ thrilled the crowd both with up-tempo favorites like “Drive In Drive Out” and “Corn Bread” and with softer pieces such as “Loving Wings” and “The Maker.”

There were many memorable moments, but none left a mark like what directly preceded the encore. As the crowd waited for DMB to return, a slide show was played on the big screens in back of the stage. The images told Moore’s story, moving chronologically from childhood and high school up through recent years.

It was just what one would expect to see at a funeral or a wake, the kind of touching remembrance that always seems to come too late for the honoree to see it.

Ask these fans, however, and they might tell you that Moore didn’t miss it _ that he was, indeed, in the house on this night. That’s a nice thought, one that I’m happy to share.

Set list:
Bartender
Everyday
Old Dirt Hill
#27
Drive In Drive Out
Crash Into Me
Corn Bread
Loving Wings
What Would You Say
The Song That Jane Likes
Crush
When The World Ends
The Maker
So Much To Say
Anyone Seen The Bridge
Too Much Intro
Ants Marching

Encore:
You Might Die Trying
Thank You (Falettinme Be Mice Elf Agin)

Sunday Sep 7 2008
University of California, Berkeley - Greek Theatre

Bartender *
Everyday *
Old Dirt Hill *
#27 *
Drive In Drive Out *
Crash Into Me *
Corn Bread *
Loving Wings *
What Would You Say *
The Song That Jane Likes *

Crush *
When The World Ends *
The Maker *
So Much To Say *
Anyone Seen The Bridge *
Too Much Intro *
Ants Marching *

Encore:
You Might Die Trying *
Thank You (Falettinme Be Mice Elf Agin) *

Show Notes:
* Jeff Coffin

Benny Golson is without question jazz's most significant living composer. The 80-year-old tenor saxophonist and arranger has written hundreds of songs, including some of jazz's most staggeringly beautiful and enduring standards. Benny's magnificent canon includes I Remember Clifford, Killer Joe, Stablemates, Whisper Not, Along Came Better, Blues March, Are You Real?, Park Avenue Petite, Venetian Breeze, and many others.

Next year, on January 24, Benny's 60-year career and indelible contribution to jazz will be saluted on a grand scale at the Kennedy Center in Washington, D.C. Guest performers will include Al Jarreau singing Whisper Not, pianist Lara Downes playing one of Benny's classical pieces, Max Roach's daughter Maxine performing Blues March with her string quartet, and John Clayton's big band. Also, Benny's New Jazztet will perform.

In Part 1 of my five-part conversation with Benny, the legendary artist talks about composing, growing up in Philadelphia, precisely when he fell in love with the tenor saxophone, how his mother scraped together enough money to buy him one, and the day his mom turned up at his high school and caught him in a fib:

JazzWax: As one of jazz's greatest composers, do you always hear melodies forming in your head?
Benny Golson: Absolutely. Early in my career I'd write two or three songs in a day and record them as soon as possible. Now I have songs that I haven't completed yet in 10 years. They're in a pile in a box. I just pulled one out a few months ago that I forgot about. Over the years, I've shaped it up a little bit and added some new thinking. I think it's OK. But I won't send a song out to Barbra Streisand, Tony Bennett, Al Jarreau [pictured] or other singers until I'm sure about it. I'll put the song on the piano and walk past it every day, looking at it, testing it and changing it. When I really think I have a song in a place that's as good as I can get it, then I say it's ready.

JW: What about song titles?
BG: Sometimes it takes me as long to come up with a title as it does to write the song itself. I'm a big believer that a title should convey something about the song before you hear it.

JW: What did your father do for a living?
BG: My father did several things. When I was growing up in Philadelphia in the 1930s [pictured], my father was a foreman for the gas company, until he punched out another foreman. [laughs] He also worked at the railroad station, he was in charge of a night clean-up crew in office buildings, and he worked for Nabisco [pictured]. I don't remember everything he did because I didn't grow up with my father. He left home before I was born so it was always just me and my mother. She remarried later, in the late 1940s. But I saw my natural father on occasion, and I loved him.

JW: What did your mom do to make ends meet?
BG: My mother was a hard working lady. She was a seamstress and made a minimal amount of money. She also worked as a waitress for $6 a week plus tips. My mother used to sing, but not professionally. When pianist Ray Bryant and his brother and I had a gig at an after-hours spot in the late 1940s, my mother was the singer. [laughs] My stepfather got jealous because everyone was coming on to her, so she had to quit. But my mom was a pretty good singer. I learned a lot of the old songs from her.

JW: What drew you to the tenor sax?
BG: It wasn't records. I went to see Lionel Hampton in 1945 at the Earle Theater [pictured] at 11th and Market St. in Philadelphia. It was the first time I had seen a live band. I had started playing piano at age 9 and fancied I'd become a concert pianist one day. But during the Hampton concert, the band played an intro and Arnett Cobb [pictured] stepped out from the reed section to the front of the stage with his tenor sax. A microphone came up out of the floor, and Arnett started playing Flying Home. At that moment, the piano for me started to lose its appeal. [laughs] I told Arnett years later in Nice, France, that he was the reason I was playing the tenor sax. Tears welled up in his eyes.

JW: Did you have brothers and sisters?
BG: No. I was an only child.

JW: So you got all the attention?
BG: I suppose, but it wasn't much. We were on welfare. And everyone in school knew it. Everyone knew we got cans of corned beef hash that really consisted of horse meat. The cans had big bold letters that said, “Not to Be Sold.” But we had no other food. We weren't doing well. I remember coming home from school one day to find my mother with the washboard in a tub. She was crying. When I asked why, she wouldn't tell me. It turned out she didn't have 5 cents to buy a bar of soap to wash the clothes.

JW: How did your mother treat you?
BG: My mother would have gone to the wall for me, and she often did. She carried me above her head when things got bad. She did such a good job that I never knew how bad things really were.

JW: How did you wind up with a saxophone?
BG: After I heard Arnett, I started listening to the radio at night waiting to hear saxophone solos. My mother noticed my interest and asked why I was doing it. I said I had heard the saxophone, loved it and that I wished I had one. She asked me what kind. I said the kind with the curve in the neck, because the alto went straight up. What did I know? [laughs]

JW: When did you get it?
BG: One day when she came home from work, I was sitting outside on our front steps and saw she had something in her hand. I could see this long case but I couldn't tell what it was. When she crossed the street and came up to me, I could see it was a sax case. She said, “I've got something for you, baby.” I went crazy. We went in the house and she put the case on the couch and opened it up. It wasn't a used sax from the pawnshop. It was a brand new one, a Martin that she bought at Wurlitzer's music store on 11th and Chestnut St.

JW: How could she afford it?
BG: She paid a dollar down and would have to pay a dollar a month virtually for life. Raymond Ziegler was my teacher. He had played with Charlie Barnet's band and had wanted to come off the road. So he gave student lessons to earn a living. I was one of his students, and he gave me a lot of his time. I guess he thought I had talent. He really went at it hard with me. Years later, while he was still with Wurlitzer's, I came back as a performer at the Earle Theater [pictured]. It was a block away from the music store. That man was so proud of me.

JW: When did you start playing jazz?
BG: As soon as I could play a few songs. Local friends would get together to have so-called jam sessions in my living room. They were more like “am” sessions. We earned the “j” later. [laughs] I guess we drove the neighbors nuts because we didn't know what were doing at first. We knew we were getting better when, one summer, with the windows open, neighbors started shouting song requests. [laughs] I look back on those days fondly. By that time, we were off welfare and living in a three-story house. My mother had to pay $30 a month in rent. To help pay the bills, she rented out three rooms, and I had to make all the beds when I came home from school and scrub the floors on Fridays. My mom was good to me. But there were times when I felt the anger of her strap. [Pictured: Benny in 1944 at age 15]

JW: What brought it on?
BG: I was terrible in school. Teachers would send notes home, and I'd sign my mother's name and take them back to the teachers. Then one day they had an open house, and all the parents came. I wasn't worried because my mother had to work every day. But lo and behold, my heart almost stopped when my mother turned up at the classroom door.

JW: What happened?
BG: I realized then that my mom was going to find out the truth. The teacher said to her, “I'm so sorry Mrs. Golson that I had to write all those letters to you.” My mother said, “What letters?” Mrs. Shapiro asked me to come up to her desk. Now all my boys were looking. I walked up there like I was big and brave, but I was almost peeing on myself. She said, “Benny, who signed those letters?” I said, “I did.” I was almost dying with fear. My mother said, “Oh, you did? I'll see you when you come home.” And I strolled back to my seat brazenly.

JW: What happened when you got home?
BG: I got it that night. One time my mother was trying to beat me with the strap but the ironing cord was in the way. When she finished, I looked like a zebra. [laughs]. But my mother kept me in line, and she taught me to appreciate values.

Tomorrow, in Part 2, Benny reflects on his experiences with Tiny Grimes, Bull Moose Jackson, Tadd Dameron, Clifford Brown, Gigi Gryce and how getting fired from Earl Bostic's band in mid-1956 kicked off an important new phase of his jazz career.

JazzWax tracks: If you want to hear what Benny heard in Lionel Hampton's 1945 band, download Lionel Hampton: Hamp's Boogie Woogie at iTunes. It's the complete April 1945 concert at Carnegie Hall featuring Lionel Hampton and his orchestra with Arnett Cobb and Flying Home. It's virtually the same touring show that wound up at the Earle Theater in Philadelphia that year.

Hampton's band on this date included Al Killian, Joe Morris, Dave Page, Lammar Wright and Wendell Culley (trumpets); Abdul Hamid, Al Hayse, John Morris and Andrew Penn (trombones); Herbie Fields and Gus Evans (clarlinets and alto saxess); Arnett Cobb and Jay Peters (tenor saxes); Charlie Fowlkes (baritone sax); Lionel Hampton (vibes, piano and drums); Milt Buckner (piano); Billy Mackel (guitar); Charlie Harris and Ted Sinclair (bass); and Fred Radcliffe (drums).

You'll hear Dizzy Gillespie on Red Cross, and  Dinah Washington with Leonard Feather on piano replacing Buckner on Evil Gal Blues.

Last Wednesday I saw the Mommyheads reunite for their first show in 10 years at the Cafe du Nord.

Having seen defunct bands like Sebadoh reunite and be disappointed by them–Sebadoh was sloppy and didn’t have very good stage presence, for instance–I was pretty reserved and cautious going into this show. Additionally, I’d heard that the band’s first practice in all those years was the Friday before this Wednesday show–not a promising thing to hear. On the other hand, this is a band I’d listened to obsessively at time for 10+ years and that I had excitedly posted about when they announced their return. Within a song or two, though, my icy skepticism was rapidly melting.

What can I say? They’re still tight. From a band that toured incessantly for nearly a decade, I suppose it shouldn’t seem like a surprise that the band seemed to lock back into that groove, the non-verbal communication and collective musicianship that made the band seem like it’d never stopped.

The crowd definitely had some loyal fans here in their old stomping grounds and they were really receptive of the band.

While my nostalgia reflexes kicked in heavily on the songs I knew, when the band played songs from their new record, I wasn’t familiar with them and still enjoyed them, but they didn’t have ten years of anticipation riding on them.

Overall I was pretty impressed with the band and the show.