Guitar Masters Tour

Any naysayers out there who read a title like “Guitar Masters” with any amount of doubt, be sure, the three artists earned that title that night. (Hence the t-shirt…)

Before I even moved to Edinburgh, I saw a headline for a show coming through the school. Though there were three names billed, I stopped, completely sold, at Andy McKee. If there is anyone out there who hasn’t experienced any of his music, now’s the time to change that. This song called “Drifting” is probably his best known and perhaps the most indicative of his style, but Rylynn, found here, continues to leave me speechless. Feel free to stop reading the post here, but please, go listen to Rylynn.

But I’ll get back to Andy in a moment. The show at the end of September wasn’t just about Andy, though it could have been and I would have been just as excited to be there. His fellow guitar masters were John Gomm and Preston Reed. Gomm took the stage first, taking a moment to explain his background – originally from Leeds and musical influences ranging from fellow tourer Preston Reed to the heavy metal thrasher genre, so on. His set was entertaining, as he engaged the crowd quite effortlessly, but not quite as musically striking as the next two would turn out to be. (Though his Chaka Khan cover was incredibly catchy.) Unlike the next two, Gomm was the only one to include vocals with his elaborate guitar work, which was very impressive to watch, but again didn’t quite draw me in. Think I came in expecting all instrumental, so at times, his vocals drew me out of a reverie of sorts.

Preston Reed stepped up next. Not nearly as sociable on stage, but his virtuosity spoke for itself. No wonder the other two “masters” listed Reed as one of their largest influences. His song Shinkasen, inspired by the Japanese bullet trains, aptly sums up his  intricate hammering style and is well worth a listen. While his pieces were impressive to say the very least, they weren’t as soulful as either Gomm or my love, Andy. (And yes, I am on a first-name basis with Andy. The same probably can’t be said for him with me, considering we’ve never actually spoken…)

After a short break, Andy finally took the stage. And his first four songs just happened to be my top four favorites. (See why I assume a first-name connection? It’s like he knows me!) Rylynn had me in tears – could barely get it together to clap afterwards. Not only is he incredibly talented, he really looks completely comfortable on stage and in chatting with the crowd. Not to mention how completely connected to his music he is. “In the zone” doesn’t begin to cover it. It’s incredible. And his melodies – the only way I can think to put it is, they go exactly where you want/need them to go without being predictable. Instead, they are new and just utterly satisfying. Bliss.

As if that wasn’t enough, all three came on stage to play the last 15 minute set. Three songs, one written by each artist and learned/adapted/added to by the other two masters. (Plus a couple extra for an encore we boisterously demanded). Trying to describe the power and presence of these three meshing together flawlessly is utterly beyond me. Walked home on a cloud. Wonderful start, Edinburgh.

A Necessary Hiatus

In periods of substantial change, it can be quite easy to let things slip through the cracks, as I have very recently proved.

I’ve become delinquent with my blogging. And while many events well worth a witty word have taken place, I took my transitional stint in my home town as an excuse to let my writing slide. And a surprisingly lovely hiatus it was. Not that I needed a break from writing, per se, but rather, I needed time to separate what this blog once was (more or less a tribute to the awesomeness that is Montreal) to something different. New city, new experiences. What this blog began as, it will be again. Back to food, music, and friends. So the hiatus was needed. Not quite a period of mourning. More like a necessary moment of transition. From Montreal to Edinburgh.With Memphis in the middle.

As I settled down in Montreal, I grew away from Memphis. But my home city proved to be much more than just a halfway point these past two months. I met some very genuine, wonderful people and reconnected with some old friends that I shouldn’t have lost touch with in the first place. All in all, I was sad to leave them behind. This blog took an understandable backseat to reconnecting with Memphis, but now, with a new city and fresh experiences on the horizon, it’s time to get back to routine and back to writing.

Haste ye back fer Scottish adventures!

Folk Festival on the Canal 2012

I’d like to begin with a whole-hearted “Thank You” to whoever it was that thought to have music events outdoors. I know that’s vague, and it probably wasn’t a “thing” someone created, but it’s gratitude well-deserved, perhaps owed to the very progression of mankind as musical beings and not necessarily to one average Joe/Jane than put two and two together. All the same. Music and fresh air. Genius.

This past weekend was Montreal’s Folk Festival on the Canal. Vicky and I ventured there last year and have since been fabulously immersed in MTL’s folk music scene. Last year, on a sleepy Sunday, Vic and I found ourselves among a small group of easy-listeners, hardly  more than a handful of people, and a tiny stage. Several acts were lined up and didn’t disappoint but there was also a large chunk of time devoted to free play where artists came up together, took requests, and kept things simple. Lovely. This year was quite different but no less enjoyable. No tiny subwoofers but a huge, well put-together stage. No more unaccompanied solo artists making it up as they go but bands with well thought out set lists. Not only that, but this festival got discovered. The amount of people was refreshingly surprising. Glad to see these artists, mostly local, all Canadian, if I’m not mistaken, getting the support they deserve.

As well-seasoned folk groupies, Vic and I went into the two-day free festival with a few acts we had seen before and were anxious to see again, these being Joey Wright, Rob Lutes, and the ever-awesome Notre Dame de Grass. Joey Wright, a great guitarist who I know mostly for his elaborate instrumentals, turned out just to be backing up another artist who was slightly disappointing. Would have loved to hear some of his full-band instrumentals. Oh well. Wasn’t feeling Rob Lutes this time, either. I think I was hoping for the unaccompanied Mr Lutes, though he and his band obviously knew what they were doing and most of the crowd seemed to be enjoying their set. NDG was fantastic as usual. No surprise there. Polished harmonies, virtuosic playing. Hard to go wrong.

The highlight of this festival, aside from NDG and the vast amount of picnicking with fabulous people that went on in those two days, was discovering new musicians to add to my ever expanding library. Two in particular stand out, the first being the local Bent by Elephants. Awesome pop-folk-indie-bluesy sound. I know that’s overwhelming, but so was their sound! In a great way. The lead singer’s voice reminded me of a perfect blend of Ingrid Michaelson, Florence Welch (of Florence + the Machine), and Regina Spektor. Lots of body with equally impressive restraint. Chilling phrasing and pure talent. She was something. And the band did much more than just support such a voice. With unique guitar riffs (including an intro on guitar played with a bow), the always exciting choice of a stand-up bass instead of the bass guitar, and a touch of Bon Iver-styled trumpet, they packed a serious punch. Check out Mollie’s Song here.

Next up on stage, and second on my list of “must-listen-to”s for anyone who didn’t make it to the show, was Dala. I’ll admit, to look at them didn’t inspire much confidence. Two girls, both quite petit, one quite bouncy. Little hard to take seriously during their setup. Sometimes it sucks to be proven wrong; this was not one of those times. Can’t judge a book… Amanda (the ‘da’ of Dala) and Sheila (the ‘la’ – so many fun options there – Sheman, Lada, Manla…. Dala was a good choice) came out with a fierce energy and light banter with suited their happy-go-lucky stage presence. Their music was a fun mix of the lighter side of things, from songs with decorative piano themes, to some serious ballads – all of which were marked by tight harmonies and a sense that each of them truly understood the other’s voice. When I hear that kind of connection between voices, I get chills. And let me just say, the goosebumps were not in short supply. Ranging over guitars to duets on the piano to ukelele – these were two very talented ladies. Well worth a listen. Here’s a low-key and beautiful one called Horses: went for the live version (aired on PBS, actually) since that’s what hooked me.

Sometimes I can’t believe I’m leaving this city. These festivals that pop up, the shows that are going on pretty much every night, the like-minded, easy going crowds… As things are winding down and my moving date draws closer, I’m just so glad to be getting in what I can before I go and so happy to have the priceless experience of Folk Fest so fresh in mind.

New York, New York!

I’ve become delinquent in my posts, and while there have been several smaller concerts lately including the fantastic Old Man Luedecke, about whom I’ve written before, my recent trip to the Big Apple takes a slight precedent. 

Living as close as I have for 5 years now, it’s a bit ridiculous that I hadn’t already made a trip down to New York before now, but at least I made it before I left the northeast! And what a great time to go. Perfect weather and wonderful company. My sister and John flew from their respective corners of the country to NYC and I decided to bus down. Well worth the 11 hour bus ride. Sure, it should have been closer to 8, 8 and a half. But that estimate noticeably leaves out the decent into hell that is the 2-hour-long wait to get into the Lincoln Tunnel, let alone through it. Regardless, I eventually made it in and was not disappointed.

One of my sister’s oldest and closest friends (not to mention one of the sweetest people I’ve ever met), Rachel, lives in NYC and served as an absolutely wonderful and energetic tour guide for us while we were there, starting us off with a bang with a great little place called Great Jones Cafe. Seared mahi-mahi and sweet potato fries were the perfect dishes to forget about the hours stalled in traffic earlier that afternoon. Not to mention the jalepeno cornbread. Yum!

The next day was our adventure day. With a belly full of Rach’s baked french toast (!!), we started off, hitting up Chelsea Market, the Highline park (great concept – it’s an elevated park that used to be an above-ground train line), Hudson River Park, all the while strolling through the East and West Village, Soho, and so many other cute little communities I can’t keep them all straight. But let’s go back to Chelsea Market for a second. It would be a travesty not to mention some of the best grilled cheeses I’ve ever had. Lucy’s Whey is hardly more than a counter, but oh, what they can do with the right cheeses and a panini press. Knowing my love of the fromage grillé, I preemptively ordered two, one aged cheddar and pickle and the other, cheddar and fig. Simply irresistible. Saved one for our wandering and it came in quite handy. Loved that little spot! Great take-out that night back at Rach’s place topped off a lovely day.

I could see so many similarities between New York and Montreal during our wandering day. My favorite spot was the iconic Washington Square Park, which immediately felt as comfortable as any park in Montreal. Lots of happy people enjoying a beautiful day, drummers, picnickers, performers of all sorts. Honestly could have stayed there all day, though I am glad I got to experience so many different pockets of the city.

The next day had a tough act to follow, but somehow we managed another brilliant day in the sun on Saturday, as well. Went to a lovely brunch spot in the basement of a museum – tucked away and very tasty. Central Park was the next stop and I couldn’t get there fast enough. What a beautiful place. It’s no wonder it’s such a symbol of New York. Felt like my trip was complete. I could leave happy.

But we weren’t finished! Got to have some tasty sangria with my sister on a cute patio followed by dinner and, dun da da daaaaa, STOMP! Don’t think I’ve ever smiled that much in one sitting. What a great show! Amazing rhythms and unrestrained energy combined with hysterical comedic sketches. By far the highlight of the trip for me. Great way to spend an evening in New York. Let alone a weekend. The only thing I would change if I could would be to add about 5 more days on to my vacation.

TL;DR I had the perfect weekend New York, surrounded by people I love. =)

Cirque du Soleil

How do you describe the indescribable? I find this question pops up in my life considerably often. In fact, if I had to spend my life hunting down an answer to any one question, I think that’s the one I would pick. The logically sound answer of “you can’t as per the definition of the word and the blah blah blah” doesn’t do it for me. Maybe you can’t ever get that description just right, but damn it all if it’s not worth trying.

This is my way of prefacing my inevitable failure in describing my recent escapade into the world of Cirque du Soleil and the show Amaluna. Figured you should know what you were getting into. Everything I say from here on, everything I attempt to capture in words, is just not quite right.

I don’t think any one experience has ever made me assume my 5-year-old self to such an extent or for as long as this one. Getting all dolled up for this evening felt wrong right from the start, but before the circus tents were in view, my ‘mature’ side still held possession. Or at least enough to keep me from wearing my jeans with torn-out knees, baggy t-shirt, and, of course, face paint. So I walked to Old Montreal looking like a put-together lady. The butterflies in my stomach would have suggested otherwise.

My wonderful friend Hilary was kind enough to invite me along, perhaps not fully aware of the giddy adolescent I was bound to turn into. But she was nice enough to not only put up with my goofy grin and my random excited squeals but also to join me in this euphoric state. By the time the tents were in view, we were all but running. Now, anyone who knows me knows I’m not much of a sweet tooth, but how could you go to the circus and not have cotton candy? So, over-priced cotton candy in hand (a fact that I couldn’t have cared less about at the time – could have been twenty dollars, for all I cared), we passed into the main tent and found ourselves smack in the middle of a dream. A child’s dream, full of color and whimsy, lacking any practical restraints and the general logic and reason that come with age.

Rather than unsuccessfully detailing each act, and so as to not ruin it with the hope that you will someday see this show, I’ll just say it’s an experience I think everyone should have at least once. These engaging performers have assumed a lifestyle vested in inspiring awe. And they undoubtedly succeed. Their strength, finess, and ability to astound seemingly without any real effort (a quality I just do not undertand – how can their faces be so happy and engaging while holding themselves up with one foot or hand?) is intoxicating. Take the bare bones of this production, this sheer talent, and layer on top of it intricate and eye-popping costumes as well as an intense and yet perfectly balanced musical score. If you weren’t already overwhelmed at the physics of their acts, the scene they create will surely push you over the edge in the best possible way.

And at the end of they day, they are people just like each of us in the audience. Sure, sometimes there are slipups. For some, this might ruin the illusion. Admittedly, at times, a fault would snap me back to reality, but then I would just remember that these are people. Performing these surreal stunts. A different kind of amazement, for sure, but thinking of the humanity of these characters made their high-flying twists and turns and their unbelievable balance all the more impressive. A lifetime goes into this art. And they are working for it every day. Please, if Cirque ever comes through town, do yourself a favor and turn back the clock, become a kid again, and enjoy.

Home Cookin’

I don’t cook nearly as much as I should, nor as much as I’d like to. I have the incredible talent of making something much bigger than it is. Some people call this laziness. I call it over-thinking. It’s probably a bit of both. Maybe mostly laziness. Cooking has always been one of those things that I can justify forgoing without fail. But then, when I do take the time to cook, I genuinely enjoy it. Ah, paradoxes.

Anyway, about a week ago, I was digging through the recipes I brought with me from home, and it got me thinking as well as cooking. I feel like we are all destined to spend our lives attempting to recreate dishes we grow up with that warm us up from the inside and now serve as gateways to simpler times. Regardless of how great a cook your mom or dad was, there’s some taste that makes you think of home. I lucked out with a line of great cooks in my family. As such I’m both blessed with and stuck with a huge number of meals that bring me back home, but also bring me to the point of insanity trying to get them “just right.” Here again my inner perfectionist gets a workout. The outsider has no point of comparison. So many of the Memphis dishes I’ve made for Montrealers have gone over incredibly well, and while I can always enjoy them, there’s something in me pining for that little thing that made it Mom’s s0-and-so rather than mine. Sometimes I can pinpoint it – and sometimes it’s not even the dish itself that’s lacking. It’s the deep blue and white soup bowls with the lids that I miss. It’s the dog barking at my feet. Thankfully, in these moments when I can pick out the memory that’s nagging at me or when I can quiet down the perfectionist, it’s not a sad kind of missing. It’s a way to think back to the small things that maybe you took advantage of way back when.

I seriously miss my mother’s cooking. Both the childhood staples with and the innumerable dishes she’s researched and successfully undertaken since then, even the ones she didn’t deem good enough to repeat. So going into it with the knowledge that it wouldn’t taste “just right” but would, all the same, bring a bit of my family and of my Memphis home up to me, I made taco soup the other night, and I’ll leave you the recipe now, or at least my modified version of it, for you to make it your own. And you’ve got it easy, what without ever having known the best.

Taco Soup:

1 whole rotisserie chicken, torn apart into bite-sized pieces

1 can of pinto beans (undrained)

1 can of red kidney beans (undrained)

1 large can of whole kernnel corn (undrained)

1 large can of tomato sauce

1 large can diced tomatoes (or two regular sized cans)

1 can of Rotel tomatoes (if you can find them – if not, any kind of stewed tomatoes with seasoning or chilis will do)

1 package of Ranch seasoning

1 package of taco seasoning

2 cups of chicken stock

1 cup of water

Fritos

 

Easiest recipe ever from here – throw everything into a big pot (aside from the Fritos), bring it to a boil, and let it simmer for around 2 hours. Top with Fritos in your individual bowls. Makes quite a bit and is awesome the next day, too. You could also make it with ground beef, though I never have. In that case, I’d use three cups of water and no chicken stock. But the chicken version is pretty much perfection, so I suggest that. Anyway – I hope this warms you up on an unseasonally chilly evening this spring. =)

The Bluegrass Boys: Notre Dame de Grass

Bluegrass is all over the place in Montreal. From the Sunday night laid-back bluegrass open-mic of sorts at Barfly to more formal shows, it’s everywhere. And I couldn’t be happier about this.

Taking another cue from that amazing mailing list I’ve joined, a few of us headed out to see the group Notre Dame de Grass play at Casa del Popolo. The opener, White Lighter, was cute though relatively inexperienced, the lead singer of which we had seen heading up all-star folk group Lake of Stew. He’s definitely a pro, though this little quartet that he started in the wake of Lake need some fine-tuning. This was their third show as a group, and it showed, but they were upbeat about it and definitely had some tunes worth hearing. Looking forward to seeing them again once they’ve got a few more shows under their belt.

Notre Dame de Grass was everything you would expect from a bluegrass group. Plus unparalleled talent. The five of them, as you can tell in this video of a different show, each excel on their instrument. Fiddle, mandolin, stand-up bass, guitar, and banjo completely unplugged – can’t go wrong with that combination. Rather than deal with amps and such, they were “just strings and wood” surrounding a couple of microphones. I really loved this unplugged feel. And watching the three singers lean in to the old fashioned mic for tight and well-balanced harmonies felt very old fashioned in the best possible way.

A highlight of the show for me was the pair of songs they played to highlight the roots of bluegrass, one of which was this mind-bogglingly fast fiddle and banjo instrumental. These guys are pros to the point where you couldn’t follow their fingers even if you tried. And I was trying. After that amazing number, the lead singer, complete with Yankees cap, took the microphone sans guitar and sang an incredibly powerful cowboy-equivalent of a sea shanty. Pure emotion in song-form. Just incredible. Whenever a singer can belt it out like that without any accompaniment, I get ridiculously jealous. Such amazing confidence. These were great little pauses between the full group numbers

As we tend to do after such a monumental show, Vic and I came home with a CD and have been wearing it out ever since.

Feline Frenzy: The Cat Empire at Metropolis

I’ve become a bit delinquent with my music posts, so I apologize in advance, to you and to the Cat Empire, for the brevity.

I have yet to think of an accurate description for The Cat Empire’s musical style. First word that comes to mind is: fun. But that’s not much help. So I think I’ll rely on the categorical skills of others: Wikipedia describes their sound as “a fusion of jazz, ska, funk and rock with heavy Latin influences.” Sounds good to me. Found this group from Australia through my sister, who was immersed in their music during her term abroad in Melbourne. And what a term that would have been with this music. Pretty much the perfect summer music. Or or driving with the windows down. Or for dancing around your bedroom. Basically, any care-free activity can be made blissful.

These guys come fully loaded with a lead singer/bongo player, fellow lead-singer/rapper/trumpeter, another trumpet, a trombone, drums, an awesome keyboardist, and a dj to liven things up a bit. Quite an array. With all this talent on stage, they made for a great jam band. And the crowd just ate them up. Don’t think I’ve seen such a lively response to a show since my Girl Talk experience a couple of years ago.

While their songs were just as fun as I knew them to be, a couple of things left me wanting. The lead vocalist and trumpeter, Harry James Angus (what a name!), seemed a bit tired at points. Considering this was their second show of their two-day stop in Montreal, maybe that’s to be expected, but his raps dragged a little more than I would have liked. Maybe I just had my heart set on the album versions of some of my favorite songs and wasn’t really ready to hear them live and modified, so when some of the trumpet solos weren’t exactly how I remembered them, it stood out. Regardless, neither of these points was enough to seriously detract, considering the overall pulsing energy of the room. Would definitely see them again, and I really hope to!

Comfort in Simplicity: L’Harmonie D’Asie

Almost 6 months ago now, there was a dinner. Wine- and philosophy-filled. Just like I like ’em. Now, vino and I have always gotten along well, but he does bring out the chatterbox in me. Not that I mind, of course. But having been on the receiving end of a wine-induced ramble, I know it can go on a bit longer than necessary. Regardless, somewhere in the course of my philosophical mumbo jumbo and inspired by the seemingly endless amount of food in front of me, I somehow found in necessary to recount one or two (or three or four…) of my favorite restaurant experiences in Montreal. Thankfully, my fellow diners were not only partially tipsy as well but also food enthusiasts. (Or they pretended to be. Bless their hearts, they let me go on and on.) Apparently, through my slight slurs and between my frequent sips, some of my passion got across, and a friend suggested I put some of these thoughts into writing. Feeling like I could do anything, I promised to take on a food blog, sure that the whole food world needed my input. Amazingly enough, a winey whim became a very fulfilling reality. Taking on this blog has served as a great way to practice my writing as well as a time capsule of sorts, what with my ‘farewell Montreal’ date looming in the near future, and hopefully has shed some light for others on a few of the innumerable restos in this fabulous city.

But the other day I had a realization – I have yet to write about the tiny little Vietnamese restaurant that started it all. I feel like I owe it a post. Not just because of its impetus status, but because the food is quite good. Simple little place called L’Harmonie D’Asie, grand total of about 2 minutes away. If that.

Now, were you to look this little place up, you’ll notice two dichotomous reactions. Wonderful, authentic food. Pretty terrible service. As much as I love this place, I will agree with the slow service, but you should know, these ladies that run this place are the friendliest people. It’s just very, very slow. Especially on a busy night. But if you’re not in a hurry and you bring a bottle of wine with you (or two…), then you’ll be just fine.

Creature of habit as I am, I get the same thing every time I go and have yet to be disappointed. Combo #1. Chicken and vermicelli soup, imperial roll, lemongrass chicken with steamed rice, and tea. For $13. Again, as long as you enjoy not being rushed between courses, you should really give this place a try.

It’s really nothing fancy. At least what I get every time. It’s quite simple. But there’s such a comfort in that. And in slowing things down. Eating mindfully. Or wine-fully. Whatever suits you. I know slower service can drive some people crazy, myself included if the moment isn’t right. But the food is very comforting, the sauces simple, and the service friendly and unhurried.

Damn Fine Playin’, Folks: The Punch Brothers and Aoife O’Donovan

In an attempt to reign in my sheer excitement at discovering not one but two absolutely amazing new artists in the last 12, 13 hours, here I am. Maybe by putting these emotions into words, to the best of my ability, I’ll be able to get the brilliance of these groups across to all of you.

Last night, a few friends and I ventured to a pretty small venue, Petit Campus, to check out The Punch Brothers. Before I continue, a word about Petit Campus: considering it’s downwind and literally down the stairs from the notorious froshie hangout Café Campus, I never thought much of this venue. And I never would have dreamed that they would have any kind of musicians playing there that could genuinely rouse my interest. At best, I thought it was a unexciting space to handle overflow from the top-40s-blasting club. All this said without ever having set foot inside the petit space. Well, they showed me. Some of the best folk shows I’ve been to in Montreal have been in this little but precious space, last night’s included.

I heard about the Punch Brothers on my own doing. The main mandoliner (mandolinist?) is the relatively famous Chris Thile (pronounced Thee-lee and not Tile, as I had guessed). Now, Chris and I go way back. Of course, he doesn’t know this, and I only just recently figured out how to pronounce his name, but all the same, I first heard his virtuosic mandolin-ing when he was one-third of the group Nickel Creek, an acoustic folk trio that I’ve loved for years now. Just beautiful playing. But anyway, having been re-introduced to him recently, I became slightly obsessive and looked up to see when and if he’d be in Montreal any time soon. As luck would have it, not 3 weeks away, the Punch Brothers starring you-know-who were to have their first Montreal show.

Before they took the stage, little Aoife (Ee-fah) O’Donovan came up with her acoustic guitar. Within 20, maybe 25 seconds, she dispelled any and all doubts I had about her brought on by a relatively small presence on a large stage. Pfft. Her voice could fill 5 stages. Not with power but with soul. While I have no doubt that if she wanted to, she could have belted the roof off of any Campus, petit or grand, she just didn’t need to. Such control in her voice, such vibrance. It was just heartbreakingly beautiful. She captivated by far the most excited and energetic crowd I’ve ever been a part of, in Montreal or elsewhere. (Except for perhaps a Girl Talk show a couple years ago, but I’m a bit suspicious that some of the audience members at that show didn’t really know where they were or why. Granted, they were having a hell of a time, but I think the value of music appreciation outweighs hype.) The house was silent for her. She brought out her sister to sing harmony as well as a cellist for her final song. Like we needed any more persuasion to buy her EP.

Then came the boys. 5 in total, all dressed to the nines – one on the stand-up bass, another on the banjo, then the acoustic guitar, the fiddle, and the Chris Thile, his mandolin evidently valued at $200,000. Pretty standard set-up for a folk group, but a far from standard show. Chris Thile is by far the most energetic entertainer I’ve ever seen. With his contortionist-like dance moves and genuine smile, he’s just having fun. Plain and simple. And the crowd ate it up. Throughout the show, Chris expressed his surprise at the roaring applause and sold-out crowd, especially considering this was their Montreal debut. By the end of their set, not only was he asking the whole crowd to join them for the rest of the tour, but he assured us all they’d never have a tour and not come to Montreal again. Which was obviously well-received news. Please, do yourself a favor and check out one of my favorite instrumentals of theirs right here. The Parisian crowd is definitely not as into it as we were. We were basically the best crowd ever. Chris’s words. More or less.

Walked away with 4 albums and a t-shirt between the 4 of us. Would have walked away with a Chris Thile, too, but I imagine that would have been frowned upon. But seriously, a bargain at any price. If either Aoife O’Donovan or the Punch Brothers are ever anywhere near you, just go. Trust me.