It was a picture-perfect scene at Abilene Bar and Lounge Sunday night: five or six chairs inched up close to the performers in a circle, with some eerie candlelight, a packed house, and some gritty, straight-up folk coming from the stage. Real folk is played less like a song and more like a story, and singer Danny Schmidt stole the night with a series of compelling narratives sung straight from his chest.

The evening began with opener Greg Cunningham, a local singer with a gentle, Michael Stipe type of calm to his voice. The singer’s set started with a gentle acoustic vibe and random bursts of harmonica. Cunningham, a witty and down-to-earth type, kindly told the audience to “drink lots, I sound much better when you’re drunk.”
Cunningham’s best tune of the night came second in the set: Neil Young’s “Harvest Moon.” The audience felt the vibe and sang along. Cunningham widened the range of his set with a ballad halfway through. The ease of his voice matched the intimate lyrics — it was a subtle and well devised performance.

When I think of genuine folk, I think of a guy like Danny Schmidt. He brings his soul to the stage with him, and he seems to leave it there when he goes. He spends most of his set eyes closed, knees swaying, with his thoughts visibly off somewhere else. His style weaves in and out of a bluegrass/folk with a subtle dash of country twang. His poetry hits you first and his music hits you last, almost as an afterthought. His songs talk to you with elegance, narrowing in on the things we do not take time out to feel.

A majority of the songs carried several verses, each extensive but ending abruptly, with a repetitious, soft melody. The tunes came more like monologues, setting a scene and taking a comprehensive approach, nearly exhausting you if you let your mind travel along. His voice was fittingly simple to match the complexity of the lyrics and instrumentation. A few of the audience members seemed caught and embedded in the big picture of his work. Schmidt managed to engage and silence the entire crowd by the close of his set.

Arrived at the Main Street Armory Friday night as Aussie duo An Horse pumped out a big sound a la Sleater-Kinney. Cage The Elephant followed with a frenetic strain of Kentucky-fried indie rock set to a kind of accelerated funk groove. Singer Matt Shultz raved about the stage, shaking his head incessantly as if he had a real bad case of swimmer’s ear. The band was interesting and different with its controlled attack over songs where most bands would just plug in and peel out. It was a good set, but the band closed with a crummy version of The Stooges’ “Now I Want To Be Your Dog.”

Silversun Pickups headlined and harnessed a spectacular sonic pop wash. It’s nice to hear pioneering bands take classic tones and not fall into retro traps.

Saturday night’s 60’s spectacular at The Auditorium got better as it went on. The New Rascals pulled off a loud, cluttered, and flat set with only the power of their hits to save them. The Turtles recreated their harmonies remarkably, with Flo and Eddie doing their best Hope & Crosby corn between numbers. Peter Noone still sounds like a teenager as he thrilled the crowd of roughly 1,400 that first discovered him when most of them were teens, too. For the most part the show was weak and kind of depressing. It’s kind of the same reason I don’t go to open-casket funerals; I want to remember them as they were. RIP.

Emmylou Harris’ name was written in the big letters on the marquee, but it was Buddy Miller’s show Wednesday night at The Auditorium Theatre. It isn’t just the fact that I root for the underdog, spin the B-side, constantly look below the radar, and thrive on music traveling the airways less traveled. It’s because my goose bumps are in limited supply. When the cheese-grater flesh does make the scene it’s due to a Molotov cocktail of factors — incendiary and mostly elusive, as most music I like tends to be.

Miller strapped on a guitar and strode out in the pointiest cowboy boots I’d ever seen. You could have lanced a boil with those pig-stickers. His voice was rich and ragged as he opened with the somber “How I Got To Memphis” — a tune he penned for King Solomon Burke, who in turned recorded it on his last album in Miller’s living room. The goose bumps showed up and stayed up when Miller copped an electric guitar just slithering in slinky tremolo for “Does My Ring Burn Your Finger.” Harris’ bass player showed up for this one; his solid 2/4 on the doghouse helped put the song in gear and point it hip-ward. It was all lovely dovely and mysterious with an ominous undertone. In fact, ominous is like hot sauce; you take any song of any topic, any mood, any groove, and you splash on a little ominous…it’ll burn ya, baby.

God, she’s beautiful. Harris’ voice is almost as luxuriously silver as her tresses. She sang in a voice that sounded a fraction of her 62 years. She floated like a butterfly and stung like, well, a butterfly. It was a mid-tempo honky-tonk lullaby that hovered just beneath the clouds, but I’d already spent my awe on Miller. Harris was still mesmerizing — especially when she and Miller tag-teamed on the Nazareth classic “Love Hurts.”

Just kidding, I know it’s actually a Roy Orbison tune. Gotcha again; I know it’s Gramm Parsons. Suckers. I thought I’d fuck with the wiz kids that read this column who freak out and roast me when I get something wrong. I get it right most of the time; give a brother a break. Besides, I know you like the Nazareth version the best. I think I do, too.

Pushing a mix of cuts off the new “Crash Love” CD and older stuff, AFI rocked Water Street Music Hall Friday night with a full-throttle set and a lightshow that would give the planetarium penis envy.

Singer Davey Havok has changed since I saw him rock Darien Lake two years ago in his quasi-gender ambiguity. Homeboy got a haircut and some new moves. The coif was pure Elvis – skinny, pre-Army, pre-jumsuit Elvis – and his suit kind of Sha Na Na. It sort of distracted from the band’s somewhat dark leanings, which I had frankly found a little distracting previously. Havok’s on-stage demeanor was dramatic and intense and somewhat Pentecostal. He was riveting, and his voice came across strong and decipherable. And the rabid faithful hung on every prayer. The band laid down a great set.

And here’s where I come clean once again. I’m opinionated, I like what I like, and am quick to holler “Bullshit!” when I smell it. But I’m also sometimes a little too quick to judge, and I’m working on that. For instance, I couldn’t have given a good goddamn about AFI; I was there to hear the other act, Gallows. But I gave AFI a shot – myself too, I suppose – and wound up seeing a great show I otherwise might have missed. See? I feel better already.

There was no way in hell I was going to miss Gallows since I’d been bowled over by the band’s classic hardcore-infused new core at this past summer’s Warped Tour. It’s a nice mash-up of Black Flag, Minor Threat, Bad Brains-era reactionary rock with some of the younger sounds that cross into metal and hard rock, with perhaps a little more precision. Singer Frank Carter sang (howled?) one tune on stage and then dove into the middle of the crowd for the remainder of the show, where he conducted the moshing, a circle pit, and even a human pyramid while liberally throwing the finger and spitting in the air.

The rest of the band on stage spent the majority of the time airborne, as if they were in a kung-fu movie. Gallows played mostly stuff from its new “Grey Britain” record, to the obvious disappointment of a few in the crowd. Regardless, it was a great – albeit oddly paired – set.

I spent the entirety of the Loveful Heights show Friday night at Starry Nites with my jaw dropped, eyes glued, in awe. These two ladies have an aura about them. They possess a striking confidence and a beauty that is few and far between. Loveful Heights (Maggie Clifford and Kat Wright) releases a creative energy that hits you, and holds you carefully. The entirety of the night was drenched in talent, the musicians commanding the back room of the caf

Playing straight-up, straight-ahead, straightened-out garage rock, Phoenix quartet The Love Me Nots knocked out a super-catchy set to a modest but super enthusiastic crowd Thursday night at the Bug Jar. The two-guy, two-gal line-up was tight with its relentless 4/4 beat, choppy guitar, all just dripping with greasy Farfisa goodness. Singer/organist Nicole Laurenne pinballed between wailin’ on the mic to wailin’ on the keys. She was just a little slip of a thing, in those black go-go boots (sigh), but the gal packed quite a wallop. When you play such a regimented classic type of rock ‘n’ roll like this, there’s really no way to do anything new. You just gotta be good. The Love Me Nots are good, baby – real good.

There are few musicians who can reach back into their repertoire 60 years to find the right tune. But, about two-thirds of the way through his wonderful concert with at the Eastman School of Music’s filled-to-capacity Kilbourn Hall Monday night, saxophonist Lee Konitz played his quirky 1949 composition “Subconscious Lee.” He was joined by the head of Eastman’s Jazz Studies Deptartment, pianist Harold Danko, his long-time band mate (but not that long).

When the Eastman School brought in Danko in 1998, his association with jazz greats like Gerry Mulligan, Chet Baker, and Konitz no doubt played a large role in his hiring. His connections have paid off over the years and Monday night was a prime example. Because of their years together on the road Konitz and Danko read each-other well. They clearly had not rehearsed for the concert, but that only added to the sense of adventure.

Danko and Konitz took turns starting pieces. They would hesitate, fumble around looking for a good entrance, and eventually catch a wave. On one tune (I believe it was “All The Things You Are”) Danko tried out some chords without actually hitting them. Meanwhile Konitz began tapping out a rhythm on the keys of his sax. Danko took advantage of the beat and jumped in. If anyone in the audience had any doubts about the “in the moment” improvisational abilities of jazz musicians, those doubts were dispelled at this concert.

Toward the end of the concert, the duo was joined by a quartet of Eastman students — Ben Bishop, guitar; Mike Van Bebber, trumpet; Kyle Vock, bass; and Kevin McDonald, drums — to play two tunes by the late George Russell. They were recorded by Konitz in 1951 and, according to Konitz, not played since then. Konitz explained that back then Miles Davis borrowed a trumpet and played the complicated melodies. Tonight, he said, he borrowed a sax (from Eastman) and he would be playing those same tricky notes. Bishop’s transcriptions were excellent; the somewhat experimental tunes by the man Konitz called a scientist sounded fresh almost six decades after they were written.

The concert was all the more remarkable considering that Konitz was to celebrate his 82nd birthday the next day. (We had cake in the upstairs lounge after the last tune.) Konitz might have experienced some shortness of breath, but the audience experienced no shortage of mastery.

Konitz is going to be in town for a few days so that he can be at the Gerry Niewood tribute in the Eastman Theatre Wednesday night. Let’s hope he’s in the mood to borrow that saxophone one more time.

It’s not easy being the foreplay act for a headliner with fans that have been waiting for many, many years. Even harder is walking out on that great big stage with just you and an acoustic guitar. I imagine a lot of thought goes into the set list. Should you play the so-called best songs first, to hook them in? Or wait until a few songs in, when the crowd is resigned and settled, knowing they’re going to have to go through you to get what they came for?

Whatever his thought process, Jann Klose took the stage last night at the German House with aplomb, although he was in front of a decidedely Renaissance crowd. With just his voice and his guitar, the sound he produced was so big I swear the rafters were swaying in time. He sung with a deceptive effortlessness, as his range didn’t become apparent until you tried to sing along. It was then I realized that he was all over the scales. A few songs in and my Ren-fan friend was won over. A few more and she was picking out ones her son’s band should cover.

Did I mention it was a Renaissance crowd? The rock-opera band got a standing O after its very first song. The crowd damn near gushed after every tune. My friend was ecstatic, even ordering me not to talk during certain songs. It’s not my cup of tea, but I can certainly appreciate the talent. I found it interesting that with the big productions like Trans-Siberian Orchestra, and even Celtic Women, that Renaissance could pull off just as much evocative magic without all the flash and smoke.

The fans were definitely pleased, many waiting quite a bit of time after the concert to have their Ren-stash signed. I received updates until the wee hours of the morning from my friend, who was rifling through boxes to find her CDs and tapes. I’ve even been invited over for a future wine and listen. I’ll take the wine.

The original bill for the Boulder Coffee show Thursday night took a few turns throughout the week. Initially, I walked in the venue expecting the indie/folk-rock six-piece Baby Shiver’s Boutique alongside the much-hyped Golden Ghost.

The set began an hour late, and as it turns out Baby Shiver’s was widdled down to band member Ian Egling after he split with the band prior to this performance. Egling began the evening with a testament to his missing musicians, throwing in a quick “I wish they were here” as he began to play.

But Egling did the one-man-band thing with ease and delivered some memorable melodies on the keys and vocals. Equipped with vocal playback and sampled drums, the soft-spoken musician played three to four songs in his set, all hushed and quirky with some seriously catchy key riffs. His set, although brief, was charming.

Next up was a surprise guest not on the bill — Viking Moses, also known as Brendon Massei, who played a short set and later coupled his talents with Golden Ghost. Massei’s set was carried by a conventional and rooted vocal. The set seemed unrehearsed, the vocal became chaotic at times, but it always reached its mark.

And then, there was Golden Ghost. I had been hearing about this chick all week, and since Massei ended his set calling Ghost’s new album “The best thing I’ve ever heard,” I was edge-of-my-seat type of waiting before her set. Golden Ghost’s tunes all felt like conversations, the kind of conversations you drive home picking apart and distilling down for some kind of meaning. The sound had a soul within a soul to it — layers of heart with a mirror.

Last night the Rochester Philharmonic Orchestra, with the help of the Rochester Oratorio Society, officially re-opened the Eastman Theatre, and rechristened it Kodak Hall. The program lived up to the momentous occasion, with the debut of a spectacular new work written explicitly for the night, and the performance of a bombastic standby that punctuated the evening.

In just 91 days our grandest local performance venue was made even more grand, with new lobby space and seating areas, improvements to the heating and cooling system, replacement of all of the seats in the orchestra level (the new ones are firm, but comfortable), and most noticeably, the addition of box seats to the orchestra and mezzanine levels. The design and construction teams did an amazing job matching the boxes to the original architecture, and in my opinion they really do add to the aesthetics of the venue, rather than detract. In other words, I want one.

After opening remarks by RPO president Charlie Owens and UR’s Joel Seligman, the music started with the national anthem, led off by a drum roll performed on a snare that was played during the original opening of the Eastman Theatre in 1922. That was a classy touch. After that the RPO launched into the world premiere of a new work commissioned specifically for the event, “Geo,” composed by Eastman School of Music Dean Douglas Lowry. The piece was meant to pay homage to, and represent the life of, the man ultimately responsible for everything the audience saw that night: George Eastman.

Prior to the concert I wondered how someone could capture George Eastman’s story musically. Lowry obviously had the answer; “Geo” is a fantastic piece that really does encapsulate Eastman and his world perfectly. It sounds unmistakably American, of the 20th century, and most important, cinematic – appropriate for the guy who gave the world film. The piece also clearly reflected the storyline Lowry included in the program, with a clarion call awakening Eastman’s spirit, inviting him to take a look at the improvements to his beloved theater, followed by a waltz with the spirit of his mother, and then a sonic exploration of music evoking the majesty of film. The work featured moments of triumph and sadness, both fitting for Eastman’s life, and I felt as though the dynamic ending was almost a call to action to the audience, as if to say, “Look around you at what one man did for this city. It’s amazing, but lots of work remains to be done.”

Following intermission, the RPO concluded the program with Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony, also featuring the Oratorio Society and soloists Barbara Shirvis, Jami Tyzik, Charles Reid, and Kevin Deas. There’s really not much more anyone can write about the Ninth Symphony, and of course the RPO played it brilliantly. But I will say that, compared to the vigor with which the orchestra attacked “Geo,” it almost felt as though the Beethoven piece lacked some energy. At least, until the final movement, when the orchestra, the chorus, and the soloists all belted it out.

The big question about the new Eastman – excuse me, Kodak Hall (that’s going to take some getting used to) – was the acoustics. Depending on who you talked to, opinions on the acoustics in the original Eastman were somewhere between good and complicated. Now, following the renovations, the shape of the theater has changed, which has had an impact on how sound travels through it.

My seat last night was on the right-most row in the front-center orchestra section, and things sounded crystal clear. The horns in particular enveloped me, and it sounded as though the bass was sitting right next to my ear. However, I did find myself straining at times to hear the upper-register strings during “Geo,” so I did a little experiment, and switched seats with a friend during intermission. Sitting in the left orchestra section during the Beethoven, I found the reverse situation to be true: the strings dominated, while the horns took on a secondary role.

Part of this is unavoidable: you’re obviously going to hear more of what you’re sitting in front of. And from both of my seats I had no problem appreciating the orchestra as a whole – it’s not like you couldn’t hear certain sections at all. The only time that was true was when the Oratorio Society joined in toward the end of the Ninth Symphony. When the entire orchestra was on blast, I could not hear a note the ROS was singing; it was as if dozens of mouths were opening wide but nothing was coming out.