Disconcerted

Macon has a well-earned reputation for not showing up for music, and while little more than half the seats at Thursday night’s Ray LaMontagne concert at the Macon City Auditorium were filled, I am not going to add to the considerable choir that has driven home that point over the years.

Besides, LaMontagne (and openers The Belle Brigade) played as though it was a full house, and gave a bravura performance. But to be honest, many in attendance didn’t deserve it.

I expect a certain amount of heckling and song requests at any concert, and the more sparsely attended, the easier it is to pick out what is said. People say some really boneheaded things at concerts.

Usually the stories you hear about stupid things people say at a concert occur on stage, such as Robert Plant ad-libbing “Does anybody remember laughter?” during the “Song Remains The Same” performance of “Stairway to Heaven;” or Kanye West, during … well, anything.

In Macon Thursday night, the stupid was entirely situated among the audience. Behind us: “I don’t know these songs.” Overheard in the lobby: “Oh my God, if he doesn’t play ____ we should just leave.” Next to me … well, you get the idea.

And some of those who weren’t complaining were boredly scrolling through their Facebook or swiping through their Tinder feed.

Clearly this was an audience made up – at least in part – of people who have never experienced what it’s like to hear a song performed live before you hear the studio recording. They’ve never experienced the crackling energy of a new favorite song, performed in person just for you. I had not heard

Ever the pro, only mid-set did LaMontagne let on that he realizes audiences on this tour were less interested in his new material than they were in his standards like “Trouble” and “You Are The Best Thing.” This is not uncommon for an established artist touring in support of a new album that diverges from the style and textures of music that made his reputation, and he defended his art, declaring he would be “miserable” if he put out the same record every time.

I’m sure this went over quite well with the fans who moved into empty seats nearer the stage to be closer to LaMontagne and his band. But the farther back you went in the room, the more likely you were to encounter large groups of boozy, hairsprayed twentysomethings, laughing and chattering as loudly as they could, just as they probably do the moment the guy in the cover band at a local watering hole announces that he and the boys have worked out an original tune “and we’re gonna play it for you right now.”

I’ve heard audience-recorded bootlegs in which there fewer conversations going on within earshot.

Not to mention the guy who, as soon as the first song begins, leaps to his feet and hoists what must have been an iPad above his head and proceeds to video the entire song. Of course, he’s the only one standing, and dozens of concertgoers struggle to see the actual band around his massive screen.

Not to single him out: There were countless others who felt the need to try to take pictures or video of LaMontagne’s performances, never realizing until they got home, perhaps, that a photo taken from row BB with a camera phone is going to look like just that. And how about the morons with the flash on? I wonder how many people now have immortalized my bald spot in their vain attempts to document the moment? Don’t they realize that the magic happens on stage, and not in your Samsung Note?

There’s a whole group of people – perhaps it’s a generational thing, I couldn’t say for sure – who don’t go to a concert to listen to the music. Rather, they go to the concert so that they can say they went to the concert. That’s why they shoot the video and take the pictures. They’re never going to look at that stuff again. It’s just to prove that they were there, to document their attendance.

Going to a concert so that you can say that you attended the concert, is like going to vote and not casting a ballot.

Then again, there are folks who seem to have bought their ticket with the expectation that the artist is going to stand on stage, play their greatest hits album, and nothing more – and especially nothing new. It’s like they want the musician to be some variation of See ’n Say The Farmer Says, only in this one you pull the string and Jimmy Buffett plays “Margaritaville” for the umpteenth time.

The whole scene makes me sad. It’s an exercise in adding mass insult to the mass injury imposed on musicians whose output, once bought and treasured, is now stolen and shared. To an entire generation of people, music has been devalued to zero. And people don’t respect things that don’t cost them money.

They take it for granted.

They use it as auditory background for whatever “clever” asides they can make to their friends, or as literal background for their selfies.

They leave, and forget about it – but not before complaining that LaMontagne didn’t play a certain song in the second encore, the encore he probably didn’t even want to do.

I have been to concerts where people actually watched what was happening on stage, and listened to the music being created. I miss that.

Toad the Wet Sprocket, "Coil"

For a long time, "Coil" was Toad the Wet Sprocket's swan song. None of its singles charted, and the band broke up the year after its release in 1997. I remember being disappointed with the album - Toad's first new studio album since their landmark "Dulcinea."

It seemed less immediate, less cohesive, and more inchoate than the previous album. Listening again, more than 15 years after its release and just as the band has announced it's completed recording of a new album, I still stand by my initial assessment, but with a few reservations.

Part of the problem is that a few of the best songs here were never released as singles. "Throw It All Away" is an instant-classic song of rebirth and renewal, and the song's advices are as assured as the confidence you can hear in songwriter Glen Phillips' voice:

Cause there ain't nothing you can buy
And there is nothing you can save
To fill the whole inside your heart
So throw it all away

"Throw It All Away" is the kind of song that gets rediscovered and re-recorded for a new audience or a new generation, and I would kill to hear it interpreted by a singer such as Gary Allan.

And although the song "Desire" is not typical of what had been established as Toad the Wet Sprocket's "sound," I would patiently remind Columbia Records that a little band from Georgia called Collective Soul had hit after hit with songs just like this one.

A punchy power pop song about a relentless wish to be something you have never been, "Desire" remains a forgotten gem in Toad's catalog.

I don't mean to imply that the singles that were released from "Coil" are in any way weak affairs; "Come Down" is the sort of energetic rock anthem that will have you singing at the top of your lungs as your foot depresses the accelerator more and more, and while the propulsive "Whatever I Fear" is a suitable album opener, it isn probably too similar to the band's previous work to grab anyone's attention.

"Crazy Life" - the album's third single - had appeared on the soundtrack to the film "Empire Records" two years earlier. Toad rightly included a retooled version of the song here and released it as a single. Although the song was sung by the band's lead guitarist Todd Nichols, there's no reason it shouldn't have gotten more attention then or now.

Which leaves a handful of songs that are, alternatively, either decent album tracks or filler.

Yes, filler on a Toad the Wet Sprocket album. Songs like "Little Man Big Man" sound trite and tired, and "Little Buddha" struggles (and fails) to rise above its bad lyrics, despite a string arrangement by the legendary Van Dyke Parks.

However, for every "Amnesia" riddled with vague meaning, there are songs like "Rings" and "Dam Would Break."

Dean Dinning's bass guitar stands front and center on "Dam Would Break," providing a loping yet solid bedrock for the inner drama of the song's lyrics:

What is this ice that gathers round my heart
To stop the flood of warmth before it even starts
It would make me blind to what I thought would always be
The only constant in the world for me
And every hours of every day
I need to fight from pulling away
And if my mind could only lose the chain
The dam would break

And Nichols' burbling guitar provides an urgent, resonating counterpoint to Phillips' terse lyrical imagery on the R.E.M.-inflected "Rings."

Listening today, I would say that "Coil" is a tastefully arranged collection of tunes, of a style that seems to have faded from mass appeal amid the dual onslaught of post-Madonna bravado and hip hop braggadocio. It stands as a collection of smart, melodic rock songs that still manages to rise above 1990s clichés, despite the Dave McKean sleeve art. Although "Coil" remains an uneven album, its strengths do outweigh its weaknesses, and the album will reward those who give it careful, repeated listens.

John Lennon & Yoko Ono, "Double Fantasy"

It's hard to listen to this album without being reminded of John's murder just weeks after its release. His death casts a pall over what was intended to be a redemptive and heartfelt joint statement of passion and love.

On this, the second album on which John shares credit with Yoko, the couple present a series of songs that, for the most part, tell the story of their marriage, and it wasn't always good times. Their 18-month separation in the early 1970s - which John later labeled his "lost weekend" - ended with the birth of John and Yoko's son Sean in 1975, and with John putting his music career on hold to stay home with his wife and their newborn child.

Recorded five years later, "Double Fantasy" heralded a return to the studio for John, and the first opportunity for the singer to address the highs and lows of the past several years in song. Never one to shy away from self-examination in song, John's excellent and somewhat confessional "I'm Losing You" chronicles the pain of a man struggling to regain his lover's trust. It is Yoko, however, who most starkly bares her emotions over the pain of their separation, in songs like "Kiss Kiss Kiss":

Kiss kiss kiss kiss me love
I'm bleeding inside
It's a long, long story to tell
And I can only show you my hell

In "Give Me Something," she pleads with her partner to pay attention to her, and not turn away. She reminds him that her heart is his, if only he will have it. And in "I'm Moving On," she is overcome with a bitterness in the face of her lover's falseness.

You didn't have to tell a white lie
You knew you scored me for life
Don't stick your fingers in my pie
You know I'll see through your jive

But just as the tone of John and Yoko's marriage took an upbeat turn after the end of the "lost weekend," so does "Double Fantasy" at this point. John dedicates a tender, loving lullaby to Sean entitled "Beautiful Boy (Darling Boy)." While the oft-quoted line "Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans" comes across as ironic in hindsight, nothing can diminish the expression of genuine love the father creates for his son. In a parallel on an album of parallels, Yoko devotes her song "Beautiful Boys" to both John and Sean.

The remaining tracks on "Double Fantasy" reflect mature statements on love and home life through the prism of marriage and stability, and while the sound of the album overall is firmly ensconced in the "adult contemporary" category, replete with tasteful musical arrangements and perhaps too many accompanists, it's nowhere near as tame an album as that description might imply. Although she keeps her trademark vocal histrionics to a minimum here, Yoko's contributions are still more on the avant garde end of the pop music spectrum.

Unquestionably, the singles released from "Double Fantasy" are top-flight tunes and deserving of their place in John's musical legacy. "(Just Like) Starting Over" finds him happy in life and love, as he encourages his lover to join him on a romantic getaway, and on the enduring "Watching the Wheels," John responds to critics who questioned his decision to retire to spend time with his family. Even "Woman" overcomes its needless third-verse key change and emerges as one of the barest expressions of devotion ever put to music.

Hearing "Double Fantasy" now, more than 30 years after John's death, is a positive and at times cathartic experience, but ultimately bittersweet. In light of the fact that I have now outlived one of my greatest idols, to listen to his final living musical statement - itself an accomplishment despite initial negative reviews from contemporary critics -  is humbling, yes; but ultimately uplifting.

For Elliot.

I didn't plan the first posting in this blog to be about my cat, but life has a funny way of making its mind up for you. I didn't realize the prescience of the blog's title until now. I promise, this won't all be sad stuff.

Not unlike the way cats sometimes come into your life. This one, however, came after the very premature death of the first pet I had after moving out "on my own," so to speak - a gray tabby named Colette to whom I only spoke French. It was a good exercise for a French major at Valdosta State University. But only 18 months into her life, feline leukemia claimed it.

I was crushed. I had not at that time known death so close to me.

A few months later, my then-fiancee and I talked about me getting another kitten, and we found a litter of kittens advertised in the newspaper (this was 1993, before the Internet became a place to find such things). Trekking out Bemiss Road in Valdosta, Ga., we met up with a young military couple whose cat had had a large litter of orange tabby kittens. I watched them playing together, and decided on the one who seemed the most rambunctious.

What appeared "rambunctious" while he was among the kittens manifested itself as a form of ferocity once he was home with me. His claws seemed to find my flesh most enjoyably yielding, although the books on my bookcase were of interest as well. He didn't hesitate to bite into my or my fiancee's arm, or to perch himself atop aforementioned bookcases and pounce like a furry vulture practicing his skills at rendering vermin lifeless. My fiancee dubbed my kitten - named Elliot for T.S. Eliot (yes I know it is spelled different) - "Helliot."

But over time and through the years, his wildness was tamed. He traveled with me and my first wife and our son as my career took me to Wisconsin and back, and then he stayed with me through my subsequent divorce, then a stint living single, then through three moves during the course of my turbulent second marriage. He was faced with not only my son, from birth to his current age of 12, but also the presence of two stepdaughters, two other cats, and a dog, at different times in his life's journey with me.

But this cat who started out as someone you warned houseguests to leave alone, eventually realized that I was not a bad fellow after all, and that the food was regular and the litter box cleaning mostly so, and he warmed to me, and to others, even. At the age of 10 years I heard him purr for the first time. I knew he had graduated from "badass kitty" to loving companion. It was something of a testament to my patience, I suppose, but I loved him through it all, from the first day.

In the past few years, particularly since I have been living single again, I could tell his age was starting to catch up with him. He couldn't jump atop counters and tables like before, and he seemed to lose track of me in the house, and cry despairingly. His spirit never flagged until this last week of his life, when I could tell his time was imminent.

Yesterday I came home to find him in one of his usual sleeping locations in the house, cold and lifeless. I fretted over what to do, while fighting a losing battle in staving off the emotions assailing me. A friend and family members advised me, and I wrapped Elliot in a towel, placed him in a box, and drove to my parents' house in Warner Robins. There my father and I dug a small hole in the back yard of their home.

I knelt and placed my Elliot into the hole, and as his body settled I could see just a bit of his tail protruding from the towel. I stood up, and for a moment I couldn't speak, my composure on the brink of collapse. My father said "I know he was your friend ... but they just don't live as long as we do." I paused, and shoveled dirt into the hole.

I went home and distracted myself with TV for a while before finally going to bed around midnight. I awoke to the alarm, and immediately missed the little orange fellow who usually asks for breakfast as soon as I arose each morning. But I soldiered on, and headed on in to work.

Today I found myself experiencing the almost palpable void Elliot's death has created in my life. I came home from work this evening to an empty abode, for the first time in almost two decades. I failed to realize the depth of my attachment to this little fellow whom I fondly teased as being a "grumpy old man" cat.

And the feelings I am experiencing have seemed at odds with themselves, at least at first. I have been feeling loneliness, yes; but it has brought with it the wish to remain alone, to myself. At the same time I sense a strong desire for affection, to be held, to be loved.

This troubled me much of the day, but in time I realized it was a displacement of the affection and love I felt from this cat of mine, such as when he would do something as simple as resting his head on the top of my foot as I sat on the couch, or "talking" to me as I entered the door (which I am not so naive as to mistake for anything other than a request for fresh food). Or when he would clamber up on my belly and tuck his paws under his body, almost nose to nose with me, blinking contentedly. Still, it was all part of how he related to me, and us to each other, in our 17 years together.

I know with the passage of time the sting will be dulled, and the happy memories - and there are many of them - will overshadow the recent sadness. Perhaps I will take in another pet someday, but not today, and not soon. I am happy to have known this irascible little cat, and he made an impact on my life that few others have, and I am not ashamed of that. So many place conditions on their love, but Elliot ultimately accepted mine and shared a large part of my life. For that I am grateful, and awed, and delighted ... only his loss saddens me.

Goodnight, my dear sweet friend.