From Lynda (Complete report):

For those who like it short and sweet: I went to a show I wasn't supposed to have gone to, and at that show I got what may have been a glimpse of what TOFOG1 was like, saw Russell's most compelling individual performance so far, came to the not-all-that-surprising conclusion that even with how rivetting Russell's own performance was (and how much he reminded me Alan's own front-man performances while he was setting the Vanguard stage on fire), I prefer the group dynamics of TOFOG2-With-Alan, as well as the perhaps-somewhat-surprising further conclusion that, at the present time at least, I am not all that far from not only preferring TOFOG2-With-Alan, but also preferring Alan-With-TOFOG2. Oh yes, and if The Preacher were ever to act on all of his strange feelings he has toward Dean, there would be a limping lead guitarist hobbling his exhausted and spent way down the streets of Sydney.

Now, for those who prefer the long and the slow...

When I got my airline ticket for Australia, it was one of those cross-your-fingers-and-hope decisions. There were no firm tour dates at that point; all there was to go on were the two AFI Awards dates (plus the knowledge that the fellow producing the AFIs was one of Oz's top tour promoters, and with Russell agreeing to hosting duties, chances seemed very good that the band would be playing there too) and Russell's comment about playing "every Tuesday" at the Vanguard. I've booked travel on far less info than that in the past. I would either be seeing quite a lot of Russell and Alan and the band, or I would be seeing quite a lot of Australia. Not a bad gamble, that, certainly better than trying my luck with the pokies at the RSL.

Picking travel dates was almost as much guesswork, at least on the Christmas end of the first leg of the trip. I made sure to be able to get to Melbourne in time for the AFIs on the front end, but when to come home in-between was more open-ended. I'd promised to be home for Christmas, and I didn't believe for a moment that Alan wouldn't be going home for Christmas too, so it didn't seem likely he'd still be there for the fourth Vanguard show, on the 20th, though there did seem a chance he might be around for gigs after the third show on the 13th, so I booked my home-for-the-holidays flight for the 18th. I didn't know at the time that Alan would be leaving right after that third show to join GBS on the corporate-Christmas-party circuit in the frozen North, but when the official The Ordinary Fear Of God tour schedule finally came out, I did see that I'd been right about Alan not being there for the fourth and fifth Vanguard shows. Since my main reason for coming to see these shows was because I was so intrigued by what Russell and Alan have created together - and how remarkably different that creation is from what Alan is currently doing with GBS - it seemed that my planning had been perfect, albeit based a bit on lucky guesses.

But somewhere along the way, something happened to thumb a metaphorical nose at that luck and to up-end that perfect planning - I suppose you could say Russell happened, maybe even more accurate to say that what Russell and Alan and the rest of this band have created together happened. Watching them and listening to them play these shows, seeing how each crowd has reacted to them and how they have interacted with those crowds and with each other, witnessing them grow stronger and more sure as they learn to play together not as a collection of individual musicians, but as a unified and integrated whole...it has been very good music, but it has also been a very good story, and I can never resist a good story, let alone good storytellers. Each show has been its own chapter, each fascinating in its own right, and the part of the story where the band plays gigs with Alan not there seemed likely to be an important chapter as well. In any good story, each chapter plays a necessary role in the telling of that story. Having spent so much time recently experiencing what TOFOG2 is like with Alan as an integral part of that unified whole, I wanted to see what TOFOG2 would be like without him on stage with them.

So I changed my ticket, finding that Air Canada gets downright cranky when you try to re-book a ticket for travel a few days before Christmas. Patience and perseverance and a bit of pestering eventually turned "no way" into "doubtful" into "perhaps" into "well, alright'. I was flying home on the 21st, the morning after the fourth Vanguard show.

It was a good call. Not only was there more good music and no shortage of priceless moments to be seen and heard in this show - getting that reluctant crowd to stand up and exchange Christmas greetings, talk from The Preacher about those "strange feelings" he has for Dean, being given a glimpse into the songwriting process, the sight of Russell down on one knee at stage edge and sharing the mic with a bashful fan as he teaches her the singalong part for Easy and Free, a fervently played Folsom - there were all of the differences between this show without Alan and the other shows with Alan. Not only were those differences as significant and as noticeable as was that empty space on the stage, they were also revealing and thought-provoking; this show really was a necessary chapter for understanding a story that has caught my interest and attention as surely and securely as have the stories told by Russell in each of his personae. And as with all of Russell's stories, as well as with the songs he and Alan have written together, this larger story of the band itself is able to challenge the mind while touching the heart, the same way that all good stories challenge the mind while touching the heart, thought and passion conjoined. That combination might not be what everyone wants from the live-music experience, but for me, it doesn't get much better than this.

Because the person I had planned to go to this show with was called into work at the last minute, this would be my first solo Vanguard show, always a little awkward in a supper-club setting, but I was kept busy throughout the meal reassuring (and re-reassuring) all of the Vanguard servers that I really was alright by myself, and it also made for some excellent eavesdropping opportunities (I once told a fellow writer that if he was too polite to eavesdrop, he would be too polite to write dialogue correctly), even if those opportunities kept being interrupted by yet another solicitous Vanguard worker checking up on me.

The Vanguard gets high recommendations from me for anyone who wants to enjoy a supper-club-style evening out; the ambiance and sound are excellent, the food is very good, and the staff is wonderful - I know by now they suspect I am quite nuts for being there so much, and they are being impressively kind in how they are trying to hide that opinion, so I am being kind in turn by pretending that I do not see how hard they are trying to hide that opinion. The single most amusing end result of my going to Australia and seeing so many shows may be that I wind up being known to quite a few people there as the Ultimate Russell Crowe Groupie; explaining the circumstances simply takes too much time, and I am utterly fascinated by the kinds of things people tell me when they assume that I am indeed that URCG, ranging from adoration to repugnance. So the Vanguard staff thinks I am hopelessly besotted with Russell, but they also seem to have decided I am harmless enough about it all. "Harmlessly nuts" is good enough for me (it beats the hell out of such assessments as "weird" or "scary") when it comes to opinion, though if I were wealthy, I might have a hope for "eccentric"; I'm hoping that opinion holds for the duration of the January shows.

Steve Griffiths (http://www.vitamin.net.au/SteveGriffiths.php) was the opener, and he was the best at that task so far at these Vanguard shows, combining good lyrics with an excellent balance between the sound and the sense of his own songs, with some excellent cover songs as well, including a moving rendition of Nina Simone's Turn Me On. Any man willing to sing one of Nina's songs has me by that act alone, even on those nights when it's not easy to listen to a well-sung Nina Simone song. His new CD is called Stolen Goods, and I would have bought it then and there if I had not already decided to finally purchase a full set of TOFOG CDs/DVD for myself, along with a few more of those 12-track MHMH CDs for seasonal gift-distribution purposes. I'll be looking for Steve Griffiths' CD when I head back next week.

I had noticed when I first came into the venue that the stage setup was exactly the same as it has been, except that Alan's mic was not there, leaving a large open space (or what passes for a comparatively large open space on the tiny and crowded Vanguard stage) to Russell's left. That open space would become more and more a metaphor as the night progressed. On the one hand, it gave Russell room to roam, and roam he did, wandering over to Dean several times for some side-by-side guitar annihilation, turning and heading toward where Dave's drum kit is tucked back in the far corner, cheering Dave on, waving his arms while Dave drummed and taking teasing swipes at his cymbals, even having room here at the Vanguard for several well-timed song-ending rock-star leaps (the photographer in me keeps hoping for at least one more "photos are alright" show so I have a chance to catch him in mid-air on one of those leaps). On the other hand, that empty space was just that, a continuing reminder that someone who belonged with the others on that stage was not there this night, an absence that could be felt in ways both subtle and direct. The simple fact that Russell made his own performance large enough to fill that empty space as a way to compensate for that empty space made it a very different kind of show, much more different from how all of the technical adjustments changed the feel and the sound of the show.

Russell acknowledged those differences to come from the start, his first words to the crowd being about how those who had been to these Vanguard shows regularly would notice an empty space on the stage this night, and how Alan - who Russell said had been saying for days before leaving Sydney, "I have to go to Calgary. Fuck." - was now off in the frigid North, and that they owed it to him to play as hard and as well as they could this night. Then Russell added that since it seemed at the prior shows that it took the Vanguard crowd a song or so to get back to their tables and settled in for the evening, they would open this set by trying out a new song, one that they had just recorded for an album that is a tribute to Kris Kristofferson, continuing on with the story of how he was contacted by Randy Scruggs - "There's a whole family of Scruggs, you know," Russell said, with a look caught halfway between awe and a giggle - who had come away from reading on the MHMH web site about how Russell and Alan had gone about writing and recording those songs impressed by how much respect they had shown for their material, and since "he knew we knew all about respect," Randy Scruggs had asked them to record Kris's Darby's Castle for the tribute CD. One last bit of artistic semi-apology - "Its in the key of E flat, which is a bit 'Burt Bacharach,' but it still keeps the sadness of the song" - and they were off, playing that brand new song as the Vanguard crowd found its way to their seats and settled in for the evening.

Darby's Castle is a hauntingly beautiful song, one of my favourites of Kris's, and they did it justice and then some. There is a prominent, somewhat ominous, bass part (the more I hear Bones play bass, the more I agree with that fellow who said there is a legend on stage whenever TOFOG2 plays) that foreshadows what is to come in the song, and some very good keyboards from Stuart, all of it working together to bring the song to its inevitable tragic conclusion. Russell's vocal is solidly in the strength of his range, and even though there wasn't much harmony on this version, I can hear where Alan's harmony could fit nicely over Russell's part and give the song even more strength. It's not Kris Kristofferson's Darby's Castle - this one is a little less distanced, a little sweeter and a little more wistful - but it's not supposed to be Kris Kristofferson's song when it's on a tribute album. Randy Scruggs was right: They treat the song with the respect it deserves.

From there it was the regular "Club Set," starting with Weight and followed by How Did We Get, with Dean playing Alan's acoustic guitar parts, and Stewart covering most of Alan's harmony parts. Russell's intro to Land Of The Second Chance was fascinating. First, he had a few more words in response to the anti-immigrant feelings being expressed by some recently, words that were about seeing Australia as that hope for second chances and new lives: "We should be the place where people can come when they have problems some place else"; this comment earned him a round of solid applause, but I also saw the pinched looks on a few unconvinced faces. Then I forgot all about any other people there when Russell called for the lights to be turned up (the skilled storyteller always wants to watch his listeners' faces as he practises his craft) and started to tell the tale that lay behind one single line of Land - "That car got him a job fitting aluminium window frames."

As Russell - who prefaced his story with "this is all in the song, if you care to listen" - told about how Mario got included on jobs because he was one of a few who owned a car in the '50s and could give his foreman a ride to work if he were on the job too, and how that foreman's need create work for Mario so he could use Mario for a ride wound up with Mario becoming one of the first union-certified aluminium-window installers (and who then was able to tell that foreman to fuck off because he now had a union card and could get his own work), Mario came alive, flesh and blood, laughter and tears, hard work and high achievements over long years. And to hear how much of the essence Mario's story had been distilled into that single line gave the song even more depth and resonance and context, as well as providing a view into the songwriting process of two very skilled songwriters. Again, Land sounded different, with instruments and harmony, and a little with timing as well, a little less clean and precise, and with Russell playing it just a bit larger, filling in the gap of precision with the force of his personality and the power of his charm. This was the first time this night he would remind me of Alan's front-man performances, but not the last time.

It was then, as Russell explained "time for another installment in the continuing story of another particular character" (I have a question for the more experienced: Has Russell always been such a mesmerising storyteller at his shows?), followed by a wonderful character-summing comment about Mickey, Michael Castellano, who "is a man who cannot always remember what he has experienced and done...because of all that he has experienced and done, if you follow my drift." Russell once again told the story (he also told this one at Southport, but it slipped my mind when I wrote about that show since I had a Swiss-cheese brain that night) of how Mickey was giving Russell sage advice about how all men should pick "significant" days (such as Christmas day) as their wedding days, since that would make it impossible for them to forget their wedding anniversaries, thus saving their marriages much strife. Mickey explained how he had not done this for one marriage, and, sure enough, that marriage failed, but how he learned from his mistake when it came to his second marriage, being sure to pick a significant and unforgettable day for his wedding, getting married "on President's Day...or was it July 4th?"

I have no clue where this came from, but as Russell was wrapping up his latest installment of Mickey's Story, Bones started to play a very familiar bass riff and Stuart a familiar keyboard part; Dave chimed in with some brush work, as I recall. No way not to recognise what they were heading into, and it was not Mickey. Even before those characteristic and dead-giveaway "doo doo doo doo doo da-doo doo doo" backing vocals started, it was clear we were in for an homage to Lou Reed as well as to Mickey, the man who sounds like he has taken more than his fair share of walks on the wild side. They sang about half of Lou's song, then segued smoothly into Mickey, and the most striking thing about this song on this night was how much confidence could be heard in Russell's voice as he sang. He was starting to move around more too, venturing out into the elbow room provided by the fellow now being reminded of what December can feel like in that other hemisphere, getting a little looser and a little less restrained as the show went on. Before going into Memorial Day, he did battle once again with his ear monitors, finally saying he was going to leave them askew, with a wire sticking out of his head, telling the crowd they would just have to "accept me for being different".

The mood shift looked to be toward irony, and, sure enough, he followed his description of Mickey as a foot-tapping song with the comment that "Now we will do a song about the death and destruction of World War II." Memorial Day was one of the songs where Russell was back helping Dave play his cymbals, and it would be during Swept Away Bayou that he was playing conductor to Dean's lead solos, waving his arms with enough of a flourish to make Dean smile, which was a nice sight to see. But in-between those two songs was when Russell decided it was time for a group Christmas greeting. He had, he explained, been to Carols By Candlelight the evening before, and one of the things the crowd had done was to all stand up and turn to each other and give the adjacent person a season-spirit hug. Russell wanted to continue this holiday tradition in the Vanguard, so he asked everyone to stand up (what is it about being seated at a table that makes it so hard for some people to stand up?) and not just hug the person next to us, but also to orally wish our neighbour a Merry Christmas as well. It seemed rather hard for some, but most managed to open their mouths and do what Russell asked of them, and even to follow it up with a hug or two or three, with plenty of self-conscious giggles too, the whole process working very well to relax and loosen up the crowd, who followed up the hugs and Christmas wishes and giggling with some enthusiastic clapping on Swept Away.

The word I wrote down in my notepad to describe how Russell seemed at the end of Swept Away was "frisky," but since that sounds a little too much like how I describe my cats, maybe "mischievous" might be a more apt description. Before starting in on the intro to the next song, he started to light a cigarette, and a man's voice immediately rang out loudly, "Have a cigarette!" Without a blink or a second's hesitation, Russell chimed right back, "Thanks, I will." And then, in one of those exquisitely disconcerting shifts of mood, he commented with casual ease why it was that on the Tuesday before Christmas, in the midst of such a happy time of the year, they would be doing a song about "the two most emotionally destructive episodes ever to take place in my family." By the time he got to the end of his description of those two episodes, you could have heard a pin drop in the Vanguard, and it was into that waiting silence that Raewyn began.

Dean did a very nice job on the acoustic guitar part, and Stewart did even better with the doubling vocals and harmony part. Bones sang harmony too, and I'm not sure if that was just for this time without Alan or if he has been singing it all along - up until this night, I have not been able to tear my eyes away from that view of Alan and Russell singing side by side, sharing on stage the first song they wrote together. This was a different Raewyn, Russell's Raewyn with the others backing him, where with Alan it is a Raewyn that Russell and Alan join together on, with the others backing them. Still moving and powerful, though in a song that is so much centered on the discovery of the healing power of emotional connections, it seems even more moving and powerful when that song is done more as a duet of equals, but with the way Russell poured his heart into singing this Raewyn, he came close to matching that shared power on his own.

Miss My Mind was introduced with Russell's pronouncement that he himself has had "a prick of a year," but the song sounded good enough to be part of a convincing argument for pricks of a year resulting in excellent music. Bones shared vocal duties on this one, and it sounded very good. Russell's Mr. Harris story gets better with each show - now he has added sound effects as he describes the game, and he has come an impressively long way when it comes to making that "draw them in and bond them to you" eye contact while he tells the story. A delightful addition too when he said that as he was deciding which songs to put on MHMH, it was his wife who reminded him about this song, saying "Are you going to do that fucking weird song you wrote about Richard Harris?" It was not a bad Mr.Harris, and if it had been the only Mr. Harris I had ever heard, I would have thought it a quite good Mr. Harris, with all of the singers giving it everything they had to give from the first note to the last (and Russell even taking on Alan's Catholic-boy-with-the-conjoint-degree-in-religion "part" by doing the blessing/benediction himself); but Mr. Harris needs Alan's voice to be complete - there was no single moment, not even during Weight or Raewyn or Another Girl or Molly Malone or Testify, where Alan was missed more than he was missed on Mr. Harris, though I've no doubt (and no cause to doubt, given the amount of applause at the end of the song), that it was still a Mr. Harris with ample power to please those hearing it for the first time.

By the time they got through Things Have Got To Change (Once and for all, that is the correct title, isn't it? The set lists keep saying "Things Are Gonna Change") and Worst In The World, Russell, who had been dancing all across the stage, wiggling his ass at the crowd, "flashing" Dave with his suit jacket, and developing quite the limberly dancing right hand, was unstoppable; it was impossible to take my eyes off of him, and once again, I thought about Alan's performances. Russell was the Rock Star in What You Want Me To Forget, and he did a hell of a good job at being that rock star, playing a blistering guitar and ending it all with that perfectly timed leap. He had already issued one invitation for all to come down to do some dancing and a few young ladies had come forward but were standing off to one side, so as One Good Year began (very interestingly, with a church-like organ part), Russell beckoned them up toward the stage, taking on The Preacher's persona to extend the invitation once again: "If you have not yet shaken your booty or cleared the cobwebs out of your underpants, now is the time to do so in the Church of the Holy Vanguard of Lost Souls." That worked to bring a few more up, and I could see even more sitting on the edge of their seats, thinking about joining them.

But now Russell was off on a tear as The Preacher, and I stopped noticing the people around me, stopped noticing what the other band members were doing, even stopped noticing that Alan was not on that stage too. I am a person who spent the earliest years of her life being sent to those Bible-thumping Baptist churches, and who would later spend far too many years afterward trying, to no avail, to convince my mother that those "telly-evangelists" were usually full of shit up to their eyebrows; Russell has them nailed when he becomes The Preacher, even down to the way he mixes breath-taking bits of beauty and wisdom in with all the Eat For Jesus bullshit, how he switches abruptly from golden crosses on the hill of Calgary to poking at his persona for how The Preacher "repeats everything now and then, yes, he repeats everything now and then" (which made me laugh so hard for two reasons: it is most assuredly true of those telly-evangelists, and it is also true of Alan when he is in "performance mode" on stage or off), and then, just when you think you are laughing at a hopeless fool, that "fool" turns your smug superiority upside down and inside out:

"I'm talking about the Commandments. Those first 10 rules...a god made those up. They are so goddamn complete; they apply to murder as much as they apply to a parking fine. Then other stuff gets added - that's the work of man. The Bible is the greatest novel ever written: It tells us who we were, who we are, and who we are going to be if we do not stop thinking negativity is our right."

I couldn't begin to tell you what that intro had to do with Another Girl - as Russell explains, "that fellow living inside of me comes out every fucking week and says whatever he wants to say" - but by this point, I didn't care. The Preacher is fascinating, and Another Girl kicked ass, though I sorely missed that other guitarist (and his pick slides). It got even more intriguing with the Testify intro, where The Preacher said he was going to tell a story that could get him arrested in some places...and when they started to play There's Got To Be A Morning After, I knew it was tumescence time. But first, proper obeisance was made at the Gene Hackman Altar Of Bad Hair - "the worst hair since Friar Fucking Tuck" - and then it was on to Shelley (speaking figuratively) and how this "strange feeling" which caused the inspired moment of tumescence was not a bad thing, since "strange feelings" are not bad if one does not act upon them. "I've had my share of strange feelings," The Preacher confided. "I've had strange feelings toward Dean." With this comment, Dean looked the closest to giggling I've seen him be yet. But The Preacher was not yet done. "If I acted on all of those strange feelings I've had toward Dean, the mother fucker would be walking with a limp by now." That did it - I finally got to see Dean laugh, along with about 125 others.

It would take both The Preacher and Russell to come up with what was the single most significant comment of the evening, The Preacher starting the thought before Testify, and Russell completing it in his own voice a few songs later, before Breathless:

"The greatest evil that faces us does not come from Texas (though he is an asshole) or the Middle East. The one thing that has the greatest chance of cutting down what we do in life is biography....There is one God, whatever the fuck His name, or Her name, is, and that's why so many religions have so much common ground. There is one God, who has too many biographers."

During his introduction for the first encore song, MHMH, in which Russell tells the tale of how unconvinced his wife was of the existence of that apology that Russell insists is in the song, he also mentioned that the next day was his son's second birthday. Most people have something that causes their faces to light up with a joy that cannot be denied, and as soon as Russell said his little boy's name, he was smiling a lighthouse smile. "I don't want to give advice about child-bearing or child-rearing," he said, that sweetly silly grin plastered across his face making any words on the matter quite unnecessary. "But if you haven't tried it yet...it is amazing." As was the expression on his face and the tone in his voice, another one of those moments so open and honest that they demand the same in return.

Breathless lived up to its name, on stage and off, and Folsom was dizzying. Russell issued another call, now simply motioning with his hands for people upstairs and downstairs to stand up, with a look on his face that made it clear he was not going to accept any answer other than "Yes." It was his equivalent of Alan's command of "Get up, get up, get up!" (See how he repeats himself? I have said for a few years now that Alan could be a very effective evangelist/cult leader-type) and it was nearly as effective in achieving the desired compliance. Then they gave that crowd a Folsom worth standing for. Folsom is a song made for being larger than life - it's a song not about vulnerability or openness or emotional honesty (not unless the singer actually did shoot a man in Reno just to watch him die, a scenario that seems less than likely) but about kicking ass and having fun while playing it, and that's just what Russell did. He was in the spotlight with that gorgeous Gretsch, he had a row of uninhibited dancers down front, the house lights were up and he could see a full house of people clapping along, and every eye was on him, right where every eye should be, given how he was playing. It was a great performance moment, and he played it to perfection.

He went from being the spotlight-filling rock star to being very sweet and human when he came to the edge of the stage, knelt down, and began to speak directly to one of the women who had come up front to dance. He told her that he was going to teach her the audience-participation part of Easy And Free, and that she in turn would teach it to the rest of the crowd. "So be easy and free..." Russell prompted, in an encouraging voice, turning the mic toward her. "So be easy and free..." she answered back dutifully, her voice quavering a bit. Russell turned the mic back toward himself and leaned a little closer to her, now only a foot or so away from her, smiling at her and holding her gaze with reassuringly kind eyes. "When you're drinking with me..." And now her voice was stronger, more assured, though still sounding a bit breathless, as she repeated these words. Russell gave her a rakish grin and a mischievous look. "I'm a man..." I thought for sure she was going to come straight back with "You're a man," but she managed to follow his lead and get it right. "You don't meet everyday." She took a deep breath and repeated those final words in a steady voice, and Russell smiled at her with a "Well done" look on his face. All through this, I couldn't see her face since I was standing behind her; I could only hear her voice and see her posture. As Russell stood up and moved away to begin singing, she turned to her friend, and the look on her face was beyond priceless. That was a moment that was going to be re-lived and re-told for years to come, the story of the Christmas Past when Russell Crowe asked her to help him teach a song to his crowd.

It was a moment that seemed to win even more of the crowd's good will too, and by now nearly everyone was standing and singing the lines the two of them had taught that crowd to sing. That chorus grew louder and more cheerful with Molly Malone, and during this final song, Russell-The-Preacher introduced each present band member to the crowd, thematically consistent from start to finish: the Reverend Billy Dean Cochran, Pastor Dave Kelly, Monsignor Bones Hillman, Stuart "the Vicar" Hunter...then he paused for a moment and gave Stewart a long look, while Stewart waited patiently for whatever might be coming his way. "You are the Choirboy," Russell finally decided, laughing, getting an answering smile from Stewart. Very quietly, so quietly that no one else could hear, I added that title so often used for Alan at GBS shows: "And the Pope of Petty Harbour".

As good as this show was, I am looking forward to the show where all of the parishioners of the Church of the Holy Vanguard of Lost Souls are back in the flock once again. I loved the performance Russell put on during this show; he showed the same kind of unrelenting passion and fierce intensity that have made Alan's performances with GBS so compelling and captivating. And the rest of the band did a thoroughly admirable job covering Alan's parts and backing Russell up. But even with all of that, I missed the fullness of that unified and integrated whole that I've seen in The Ordinary Fear Of God when all of the members are present, and not simply because it was Alan who was absent this time. With all members present and accounted for - when the congregation is intact - this band has something very special that goes beyond individual performance, beyond even a dazzling individual performance, something unique and appealing that I hope finds a way to continue being as special as it has been. There's a sense of community and sharing in the dynamic of how this band interacts with one another that parallels the openness and honesty of the songs they've written and perform together, and that is a rare and wonderful combination to find on any stage, maybe not so rare and wonderful as is the incomprehensible wonder of The Preacher's fig tree, but at the very least on an inspirational par with Shelley Winters and her clingy underwear.