About Town: Natalie MacMaster touches down in Montana

It seems like it shouldn't be time for concert season yet, but it is. I missed the season opener for the Billings Symphony, but since it involved mixing orchestral music with daring young women on the flying trapeze, it was probably just as well. Sigh.

Glancing over the offerings for the year, it was immediately clear, however, that whether I was ready for it or not, this week held one of the performances I least wanted to miss -- a visit from Natalie MacMaster, the famed Cape Breton fiddler. So, I scored front-row tickets and made reservations at Bin 119 so the beloved and I could have a nice meal and a couple of glasses of wine before going the block and a half to the Alberta Bair. (It also makes parking easier for ABT events if one patronizes that particular establishment.)

With a nice Shiraz and a light pasta pleasantly warming my innards, we strolled to the theater for the show. Some guy from New York was lost -- he and his hot dog stand were on the street corner. There were quite a few people out walking the streets in the dusky evening light, and I was reminded that we here in Billings are the home of what styles itself as Montana's only Urban University. There is a certain point to the claim -- all I have to say is that this country boy couldn't be happier to live in a state where Billings is the most urban place around.

Back to Natalie MacMaster, though. What can I say other than that she thoroughly won me over? I'm a big fan of acoustic music of all sorts, and in particular of traditional/Celtic music (it's a north country thing -- even we Norwegians have our version), ever since being introduced to it by my Scottish flat-mate when I was studying in Germany for a year back in college. He played the Northumbrian pipes and tin whistle, and we both played guitar. I didn't know a jig from a reel but was eager to learn. Alan and I had many a happy evening together with him playing on his pipes or whistle and me accompanying on guitar. Eventually a neighbor would tell us to pipe down (so to speak), and the nights thus usually ended by sipping a single-malt over a game of chess -- Alan taught me that life was too short for cheap whiskey, even for students like us.

I even learned to play a few tunes on the whistle, and such is the nature of these things that I can to this day pull out my D-whistle and after a little warm-up, throw down acceptable performances of a couple of traditional Scottish tunes from memory.

Anyway, Cape Breton Island is a part of Nova Scotia where Scottish Highlanders came in droves some centuries ago, in no small part because they were Roman Catholics seeking a place where they could practice their religion in peace. The world of Sir Walter Scott's wonderful Waverly novels in exile, so to speak. Speaking of novels, the beloved is a big fan of Alistair MacLeod, Cape Breton's most famous writer, and those books, filled with the depth and distinctives (and music and dancing) of Cape Breton life, are sitting on the shelf, marinating, waiting for me to read them, too.

Wherever Celtic folks went, they brought their wonderful music, and in places like Appalachia and Cape Breton, one can encounter various forms of the Scottish tradition and its descendents. By the time I became acquainted with Celtic music, the guitar had become the standard rhythmic accompaniment to the tunes. But prior to the 20th century, fiddles, pipes and whistles were largely unaccompanied, and the first instrument that was used, early in the 20th century, to provide backup was actually the piano. While the use of the piano in Celtic music elsewhere has pretty much completely died out, Cape Breton music has preserved the piano as the indispensable accompanying instrument, giving its music a characteristic sound.

It took a little getting used to on Wednesday night, even though I knew this history -- the tonalities introduced by the use of a piano just weren't familiar to me. But again, it didn't take long before I was won over. MacMaster's band was an eclectic one -- a drummer/percussionist (one who toured with Shania Twain in her heyday, no less), a fine guitarist, her excellent long-time pianist, Mac Morin, and a phenomenal kid (Nathaniel Smith) playing the cello. By the way, I just knew I recognized him from his performing with Sarah Jarosz, but she wasn't listed in the program as one of the people he had worked with in the past. Sure enough, when I got home and looked him up, it was the same guy. He is breaking new ground with the cello -- it works wonderfully, since it can creditably function either as a rhythmic acoustic bass instrument or as a upper-register melodic instrument for soloing or harmonic interplay.

I had heard about Macmaster's high-energy performances, but I have to say that I wasn't prepared for her fine dancing -- let alone for a woman who had recently given birth to her 5th child to be dancing up a storm while also rolling off breakneck reels and jigs on her fiddle at the same time. (There's got to be a joke about walking and chewing gum at the same time in there somewhere...) Her six year old daughter even made a cameo, playing fiddle like a little pro and dancing admirably.

MacMaster, like most modern practitioners of traditional music, has spent much of her career exploring the boundaries and borderlands of her genre, and I like that. Someone recently wrote that Alison Krauss and Union Station function as a sort of "gateway drug" for bluegrass music proper, and MacMaster has likewise introduced countless people to Cape Breton music.

For most of the concert, she stayed close to her roots, while regularly putting in just enough elements to make it more accessible to audience members whose ears aren't (yet) accustomed to traditional music.

I remember when I was a youngster playing music, one of my respected teachers told me, "assume that there is at least one real musician in your audience -- play for him." And indeed, the beloved and I found ourselves sitting next to the only other person in the building who was from Cape Breton -- a fiddler herself, no less, who had met MacMaster when she was growing up and playing back home. She had nothing but good to say about MacMaster and the performance. Good enough for me, then, too.

MacMaster's only other performance in Montana was in Helena last night, but she has been here before, and will likely come again. Don't miss it next time.

The next similar thing on my schedule is the Big Sky Big Grass bluegrass festival in February -- the great Sam Bush will be performing, along with many others.

About town: Alison Krauss/Union Station at the Billings Blues Festival

Better late than never, but it is really an impossibility that my heroes could come to town and not have me pay homage.

While I've been listening to Alison Krauss/Union Station for many years (and was irrevocably hooked from the first note), I've never had the privilege of hearing them perform in person. Their last visits to Billings were before I moved here 11 years ago, and by that time, they had hit the big time, and their only stops in Montana were at high-capacity venues in university towns like Bozeman, and I was never able to make the trip.

Krauss and the band played to a packed South Park crowd to close out the Billings Blues festival a couple of weeks ago and did not disappoint in the least. Having suffered through my share of outdoor concerts that had abysmal sound quality, I have to admit that I was a bit nervous about having my first (and perhaps only, who knows?) experience of AK/US be at an outdoor venue rather than in an intimate concert hall with great acoustics.

I needn't have worried -- the sound was perfect in every way -- vocals and instrumentals perfectly balanced, instruments perfectly in tune for every perfectly played note, vocals perfect. Just perfect.

That perfection -- artistic sensitivity and surefootedness combined with technical mastery -- has been part of what has made me an AK/US afficianado over the years -- never a sloppy note, never any muddy engineering on the recordings, never a miscue when it comes to choosing material (Krauss writes very little herself, but unsurprisingly has the pick of the finest material available in what can only be described as the "country/bluegrass/crossover" world.)

It is a world that Krauss and her band have themselves largely created and defined, drawn deeply from bluegrass and "roots" music but integrated with insights from an eclectic range of influences. It is music with the polish to fit in with the slickness of most modern country programming, but it is rarely played on those venues. Rather, it exists in a world that could perhaps be described as "underground," if only it weren't so huge. Perhaps the best indicator of what I am talking about is that their latest album "Paper Airplane" was the number one album on the country charts for two weeks, while no single from the album even made the charts at all as a "top 100" song. Huh?

It is a testament to the formulaic nature of country music today that Alison Krauss, with the most Grammys of any female artist and tied for the second most Grammys period (coming in only behind the legendary conductor of the Chicago Symphony, Sir George Solti, who racked up decades of uninterrupted clasical Grammys; and tied with Quincy Jones, the legendary Jazz/R&B producer) -- that someone like that can't get playing time on country music radio. OK, my rant's over now.

Krauss played a nice mix of new material from Paper Airplane and old material going well back into her catalogue, ending with a gentle encore medley/montage of snippets of her most well-known songs -- really quite brilliant, since playing all of those favorites in their entirety would have crowded out gems like Jerry Douglas's dobro pyrotechnics paired with Dan Tyminski's equally compelling vocals on "The Boy Who Wouldn't Hoe Corn."

And the gazillionth full-length performance of "When You Say Nothing at All" or "Whiskey Lullaby" might have caused me to miss my own favorite of the night -- "Daylight," from the 2001 album "New Favorite." That song has been bringing tears to my eyes ever since I first shoved the CD into the player more than a decade ago. It was the first fall I was back up here in God's country after 20 years away, and I was driving through eastern Montana along the Yellowstone, with the leaves turning to gold and the prairie burnishing to dun as autumn came on. I had finally completed what had seemed like a lifetime of exile, off in the (mostly) big cities completing the necessary business of education, surgical training, and military service. It had been an experience simultaneously irreplaceable and yet often somewhat akin to being buried alive. I was back again in the region I loved and where my heart had never left, and it somehow seemed like Alison Krauss gave voice to the full range of emotions I was experiencing.

Tears it brought again that Sunday night in South Park. I could spend several paragraphs analyzing the sonic landscape of just that one song -- with its effective mix of hurtling but gentle instrumentals and intense yet languid vocals -- but I don't want to. What I do know is that only Alison Krauss and Union Station could create that particular work of art -- one that never stops piercing me with its painful beauty. Like so many Alison Krauss songs heard for the first time, it was hard to decide what would be more painful -- to have to experience its sweet melancholy again... or never to be able to hear it again. Almost always, of course, we AKUS devotees choose the latter, and keep coming back for more, and yet more again.

Peerless professionals that they are, everyone got their money's worth from Alison and the boys, who finished up with Ron Block's iconic composition (and the band's traditional closing number), "There is a Reason." It is one of those rare songs that fully and sensitively acknowledges how difficult it is to hold on to religious belief in this life... this world -- and yet gently but firmly expresses that faith anyway. And really, would an authentic evening of "roots" music not have at least one moment like that? Not for me, and probably not for Alison Krauss, as best as I can tell.

It was a night to remember in Billings, and unsurprisingly, the crowd was mellow and at peace with the world, with each other -- and who knows, for some, maybe even with God -- as we walked away together under the fading light of a Montana summer sky.

About Town: Solas

Again, something I wanted to hear. Again, I was scheduled to be out of town -- on business this time. And again events beyond my control forced me to be back in Billings unexpectedly for the weekend.

My solace? Solas. Ever since hearing this fine Irish-American band on a Celtic music sampler CD back in the 90's, I have thought they were something special. The piece I first heard was "Crested Hens," a haunting, spare, and softly lilting tune that stretched the melodic boundaries of traditional Celtic music. Almost New Age-ish, but not quite... Tugs at parts of you that you forgot were there until gently reminded.

So, when scanning the Alberta Bair season, Solas was the first performance I marked on the calendar (only later to find that I had to be out of town that weekend.) As with most Celtic music concerts at the AB, I arrived to find a most pleasant gathering -- jackets, ties, and dresses here and there, cargo pants and flannel shirts (me and many others,) a good showing of Wranglers and cowboy hats... and everyone seemingly as relaxed and happy as if they had a couple good, relaxing drinks aboard. Which is of course possible. In short, I was reminded of why this particular ranch boy who also loves the arts finds Billings to be such a comfortable place to live.

Solas has been through a number of personnel changes over the years, but two founding members are still with the band -- multi-instrumentalist Seamus Egan and violinist Winifred Horan. The band members are Irish and American, to various extents -- Horan was born and raised in New York, Eagan was born in the US, but grew up in Ireland and has an accent to prove it. The rest were born in Ireland but are based out of the US now, hence allowing Solas to make a credible claim to be the most prominent Irish-American band on the Celtic music scene.

Regardless of geography or chauvinistic sensibilities, Solas is an exquisite acoustic band in the traditional music vein. They can spin off traditional jigs and reels with the best of them, but it is in their original material and adaptations that they shine, making use of modern chord progressions, unusual time signatures and bridges -- all very good stuff. Joining us was my 20-something son with musical tastes eclectic enough to encompass genuine passions for old-school jazz and West Coast hip-hop alike. He, too, was unexpectedly still in Billings, thanks to the happenstance breakdown of his truck that prevented his scheduled return to college. Last minute ticket purchasing was successful -- the house was almost sold out up through the loge, but thankfully there is still an occasional hesitancy in this town to sit in the front row. We therefore felt obliged to take a few seats up there.

A pleasant surprise was learning that this tour has a Montana connection. The historic center of Montana, Butte, hosted the National Folk Festival from 2008-2010, and while Solas was there performing, Seamus Eagan had the opportunity to explore an old family story of his great-great uncle who came to Butte to work in the mines at the turn of the last century. At the time when "no Irish need apply" was the rule elsewhere, Irish knew that if they could just get to Butte (no mean task in those days,) the legendary Marcus Daly (born in County Cavan,) had no such prejudices, and would give an Irishman a job. It being a very rough mining town that was dangerous for miners both above and below the surface, Eagan's relative unsurprisingly died a young, violent death.

Solas decided to explore the Irish-American experience in Butte with a combined recording and film project they have called "Shamrock City," and tonight's concert featured original music from the project. We greatly look forward to seeing and hearing the final project.

It is always a mark of confidence when a performer or band concentrates on their more recent material rather than just trotting out old favorites, and Solas did so tonight. Not only was there no “Crested Hens,” I was surprised that they didn't perform the one big hit co-written by Eagan -- "I Will Remember You," made famous when covered by Canadian Sarah McLachlan (another co-writer on the song.) It really wouldn't have fit into the set, and I respected the musicality they showed by leaving it out (assuming that Eagan still has rights to perform the song.)

Not much more to say than to congratulate the AB schedulers for getting Solas on the calendar, and to hope that they'll be back soon. All in all, a magical evening.

About town: Billings Symphony, Elgar, Butterworth, Beethoven

It is exceedingly hard to ruin George Butterworth's "The Banks of Green Willow," a paragon of that lovely turn-of the century British sound -- an idyll if there ever was one. Makes one want to drink tea with milk and nibble scones while watching Downton Abbey episodes.

Hard to ruin, but not impossible, and the Billings Symphony Orchestra's conductor, Anne Harrigan, gave it a shot. The ensemble's playing was passable, but seemed under-rehearsed -- we know they can play better than that. As happens too often, the conducting was exaggerated, which only served to highlight the lackluster sound of the orchestra, and the distraction from the podium threatened to deprive the audience of the soothing Butterworth experience (this was his one symphonic triumph -- don't ruin it for the poor guy!) When Harrigan is at her most controlling -- her micromanaging "best," entrances become tentative and the flow breaks down. It helps to close one's eyes. At times like this, one sometimes thinks that the orchestra would do better if it were simply given a downbeat by the concertmaster and just allowed to play. This muddle in the opening piece has often been a characteristic of the BSO's playing under Harrigan, where the orchestra often starts with something light and short, but which is then not played with the precision and sensitivity that even an "easy" piece deserves.

When it comes to the musicality of a performer, one can often learn as much by how he performs a simple work as by how he dashes out the scintillating virtuoso showcase piece. One's mind goes back to the performance with the BSO of Valentina Lititsa several years ago. She had filled the Alberta Bair with the lush sounds of Rachmaninov's 2nd, and encored with some fiendishly difficult Liszt piece or another. She graciously came back for a second encore and with a smile strolled out the opening 9 simple notes of Beethoven's "Für Elise," upon which there was an audible giggling from some quarters of the hall. It had to be a joke, you know -- a children's piece -- (I certainly hadn't played it since childhood, but thankfully was entranced enough by Lititsa's playing that chuckling never occurred to me.)

Paying the disturbance no mind, she simply and thoughtfully took the audience through the piece, neither trying to play it up by using a breakneck tempo (the fashion of concert pianists playing everything as fast as their God-given fingers can possibly go has never appealed to me -- what is bracing in NASCAR loses its thrill on the concert stage, where one would sometimes actually like to hear the individual notes of a run or the delicious harmonies of a chord long enough for them to register with the brain,) nor playing it with expression. It was rich in its directness, the rubato was subtle and just right, and the lesson learned by all was unmistakable: "Für Elise" is a gem. That is it beautiful is apparent when one's young niece is playing it at a recital -- that it is a work of a certain kind of brilliance can only be brought out by a master of the craft like Lititsa, who, it should be added, like a number of previous soloists with the BSO, has gone on to bigger and better things. We have, with pride, since seen her appear on season schedules with the Seattle and San Francisco Symphonies, and understand that she has made some prestigious appearances at points east as well. It's rather like the kind of satisfaction one gets when seeing a favorite minor league baseball player from the stands one summer, then seeing him on television the next year after he has made "The Show."

But back to the present, and to music. Another Beethoven was on offer tonight -- his triple concerto for Violin, Cello, and Piano. It was an interesting choice of work, since our own concertmaster Randy Tracy was featured on violin and our principal cellist, David Heinzen, played second base (the baseball analogies will be dropped now, promise.) The guest artist was Gustavo Romero on piano, and what made it all a bit odd is that the piano part is by far the easiest part of this triple concerto, mainly because it was written for a skilled amateur who was going to be flanked by a couple of pros. Tracy and Heinzen are fine players, and it was great to hear their talents highlighted, but they are not experienced soloists, and we might more have enjoyed hearing them take on something else.

String players are already at a disadvantage when it comes to intonation when sharing the stage with a piano (unless the piano tuner was particularly incompetent,) and putting our semi-pro guys on the hard parts while giving the visiting pro the easy parts only made the contrast sharper. How this concert was conceived is a bit of a mystery -- one possible clue was in the program notes, where we learn that Romero's specialty is to do the complete works of one composer or another. One wonders whether the conversation went a little like this:

"Mr. Romero, we'd like to have you come to Billings as a guest artist with our symphony."

"Billings, where's that?"

"Montana."

"That in America?"

"Yes, straight north of your home in Dallas -- just follow the Bozeman trail north and take a right half-way through Wyoming."

"OK, but here's the deal -- I, well, have this thing about being able to say I've performed the complete works of composers, and I still need to check off Beethoven's triple concerto. No-one else seems to want to do it -- cost of hiring three soloists and all that. Help me out and we've got a deal."

"Um, OK... you free February 25th?"

Just a thought I had while listening to the performance. One supposes that these days everyone has to have an angle, but things can get a bit strained when applying any sort of doctrine. I own a copy of Alfred Brendel's complete piano works of Beethoven, but how many times, really, is one going to listen through the whole thing?

One final note on Romero, who acquitted himself very well, playing with complete technical mastery and yet with the chamber music restraint that the piece required. This was the first time that I can recall a visiting soloist with the BSO not being brought back for an encore prior to the intermission. An understandable exception was this season's opening concert, when Harrigan wisely chose to have Inon Barnatan's performance of Brahm's massive 2nd Piano Concerto take up the entire final half of the program rather than to occupy the spot before the break. The performance was so satisfying that an encore would have been anti-climactic, almost sacrilegious. But on this evening, I have to confess to feeling as though we got short shrift. You get a pianist of modest national prominence to town, you'd like to get a little more for your money. Since Romero is doing Beethoven right now, would it really have killed him to come back out on stage to give us something simple like, well, I don't know... "Für Elise?"

Speaking of angles, what was with the title of this program, and why do programs need these titles anyway? "Musical Landscapes," Harrigan had entitled it. In one sense, every piece of music has or is a musical landscape, one supposes, but when the opening piece is "Banks of Green Willow," the brain looks for something a little more concrete to complete the thought, only to be frustrated. Beethoven's triple concerto is a fine enough piece, but it distinctly lacks anything "landscapey" -- even by Beethoven standards. And the title becomes even more odd when the final piece on the program is Edgar Elgar's "Enigma Variations," which are musical portraits, not musical landscapes. Just saying.

Lest the reader think otherwise when reading my above comments, the Butterworth and the Beethoven were both quite enjoyable. I had never heard the Butterworth performed live before, and I don't remember having heard the triple concerto at all before, even in a recording or broadcast. Hearing a piece for the first time is always an adventure, and hearing it performed live is an adventure all its own, even when the performances are not perfect. And while on the subject of first hearings, this was the first time "Green Willow" has been performed by the BSO, while the Beethoven had been done by the BSO in the mid-90's with the Guild Trio providing the solo work. The Elgar also was having its BSO debut tonight, which is surprising given its prominent place in the repertoire.

With the Enigma Variations, the joy of a first live listening was there in spades. I own a couple of recordings of the Variations, and listened to a marvelous live performance by the BBC Philharmonic on-line at the BBC Proms this past summer. It is a piece I thought I knew well, by a composer of whom I am particularly fond. And yet, in this performance by the BSO, it was a most fresh hearing of the piece. I noticed the theme in places I hadn't heard it before, the color and texture of the piece was just different, and it was more spatial somehow, which is often true with live performances, but not always.

It was clear that this was where Harrigan and the BSO had put their efforts in rehearsal. It was crisp and clean, Harrigan's conducting was less controlling and the entrances thus more natural and musical. In short, it was all I had hoped for and more when a snowstorm drove me back early to Billings from what was to be a weekend alone reading books and writing in front of the fire at the rural ancestral homestead. I took the impending storm as providential, since I was regretting missing this performance of the Elgar Variations. Part way through the first half of the concert, faith in Providence began to lag a bit, but by the end it was again a man of faith walking out the exit during the final, enthusiastic, and well-deserved ovation. Until, that is, passing through the lobby, he heard the odd sound of Harrigan reprising the final variation as an encore -- a musical practice (to my taste) analogous to being given a second helping of a dessert that had left one feeling just right at the end of a nice meal. The ending had been perfect. Sigh.

But to close the circle on this essay, some things really are difficult to ruin, and while a wave did crash against this fine performance of Elgar, at the end it stood firm in the mind as an evening to remember.

About Town: Step Afrika!

Well, the MH cultural correspondent didn't make it to Umphrey's McGee -- some mumbled nonsense about a long day at work and needing some rest. We had hoped for better.

Still, the month hasn't been a complete wash. Step Afrika! was in town tonight.

Aside: How exactly was the punctuation supposed to work in that last sentence? Maybe we should be Montana Headlines! if for no other reason than to confound critics who might want to quote us unflatteringly, but who would be stymied at trying to decide how to punctuate sentences like: "Montana Headlines! really outdid themselves (him/herself?) in publishing hopelessly silly drivel."

But we digress. MH has tended, over the years, to attend mostly Billings Symphony Orchestra concerts at the Alberta Bair (although this season it was hard to find any performances to get excited about attending, given the goofiness into which that organization's programming has descended... seriously...,) supplemented by other classical or traditional music concerts. But man cannot live by classical music alone, so off to the Alberta Bair to see Step Afrika! it was.

One of the most impressive feats of the performers was their ability to maintain their composure and good humor when attempting to get an audience that was 99.9% white (white with little or no personal exposure to black culture, no less) to do audience participation things that required rhythm. Really, if someone thinks that the opening scenes of the Steve Martin movie "The Jerk" are purely caricature, well, everyone is entitled to their little delusions. (Not a terribly funny movie, overall, it must be interjected.)

Actually, with patience and repetition, the performers actually did a pretty good job of getting the audience to clap, snap, shuffle, and exclaim things like "Hoo-ah" from the diaphragm in something that resembled rhythmic responses. Even more complex tasks like responding to the call of "alright!" with "OK!" and vice-versa began to be mastered toward the end. A couple of brave audience members who got up on stage to learn some rudimentary stepping even ended up playing bit parts in a Zulu village dance scene. We must confess to being jealous of the guy who got to carry a skin-covered Zulu shield and a tribal spear. One thought of asking if one could borrow it for Montana spear-hunting season, but then we recalled that unfortunately there isn't going to be one after all. Sometimes our politicians are so lacking in humor, a spirit of adventure, or both.

So, back to the performance. In a word, it was superb. Pace the name of the dance-troupe, stepping didn't begin as a distinct dance form in Africa, but rather in black fraternities and sororities in the early 20th century here in America. Like most American cultural currents, however, the roots are indeed from the old country, filtered through a century or more of the black American experience.

We recalled during the performance having read a grotesque Robert Ludlum novel called The Matlock Paper -- our 3rd and final try at another Robert Ludlum novel after having read and enjoyed The Bourne Identity. The Matlock Paper made a convincing case that Ludlum apparently only had the one good book in him (good as in a good airport or beach or ski-trip novel.) Anyway, in the book, a pretty caricatured black fraternity organization makes an appearance, and the white protagonist has the rare privilege (as we recall) of getting to see an initiation ceremony at the frat house. Ludlum's version had some dangerous use of spears or some other sharp weapons as part of the ritual, and thankfully nothing like that happened at the Alberta Bair. Of course, that Ludlum scene probably originated not in careful research, but rather in Ludlum's need to create some pulp excitement in a book that even he had to know was tedious enough to have airport readers reaching for a Barbara Cartland novel out of sheer desperation to escape boredom.

Where were we? Oh, yes. Black fraternities. One of the scenes in tonight's performance was a portrayal of the role of stepping in said fraternity ceremonies. Their version was far more artistic than we recall Ludlum's being. Another scene was a portrayal of stepping competitions that happen between fraternities and sororities. Tonight it was men vs. women -- we thought the men narrowly carried the day, but the audience called it a tie. But then, everyone is a winner these days, aren't they? Unless winners are being declared losers...

We've already mentioned the Zulu village scene. And then there was the South African miner scene, doing the gum-boot dance (See photo above,) done wearing "gum-boots" -- or what the Brits call "Wellies." We've liked Wellies ever since seeing Felicity Kendal in them in the old Good Neighbors episodes on PBS in our younger years. But one struggles to imagine even the lively Tom and Barbara
in that show being able to cut a rug in long rubber boots the way the Step Afrika! performers did in recreating this bit of South African culture.

Energy, style, considerable dance talent, a flair for cultural education and a little well-applied attitude -- all in all a great evening with a performing company that one hopes will swing through Billings again in the future.

Step Afrika!

About town: The Clintons rock Billings

It is one's patriotic duty to support one's local brewpubs from time to time, so instead of hitting the symphony on this particular Billings Saturday night (not being in a mood to tango,) it is time to visit the Yellowstone Valley Brewing Company after a too-long absence.

When last Montana Headlines featured an evening at the YVBC, it was for a Wilderness Society fundraiser. This time, lo and behold, arriving at the door, the discovery is made that none other than the the Clintons are in town.

No, not those Clintons.

Goodness, there are still some standards around Montana Headlines.

We are rather talking about the Montana Clintons.Whether doing original material that is a strange mix of smooth and seedy (is that why they named their band what they did?) like "White Trash Booty," singing Scottish drinking songs, covering CCR (that's Cross Canadian Ragweed -- not the other CCR) and country hits, or laying down an infectious tune like "Alright Tonight," -- well, they make for some pretty decent listening.

And the YVBC plays a good host and serves up a good product, as always. But soon, it is time for old folks to get back home to take some aspirin and go to bed.

Huge wet snowflakes are drifting slowly out of the sky, putting a little magic in the air, and driving through downtown Billings it is hard not to be glad to live in this town -- a place where even Montana Headlines and the Clintons can find some common ground. As long as it is the right Clintons that we're talking about.

About Town: Billings Farmers' Market drawing to a close

With the crisp evenings of fall, the shortening days, and the lengthening nights, Billings, Montana is in its glory days.

Living in Billings, one heads for the mountains as often as possible when the July and August swelter are at their worst. Same is true in December and January when the ground is bare here and you just want to be in the snow and feel the snap of cold on your face.

But it is hard to get excited about leaving town in September or October.

Some other places also hit their glory days at this time of year (San Francisco notably springs to mind,) and only they hold any attraction that would tempt one away.

A bittersweet part of it all, though, is that the Farmers' Market is drawing to a close. During these last few times, the amount of produce is staggering, as the growing season draws to its ripened close.

The street musicians aren't perhaps as energetic as earlier in the year. Not all of the downtown shops that were open earlier in the summer remain so in September.

Winter is hardly just around the corner, but the seasons are turning.

The Billings "defining element" -- AKA "Skypoint" -- starts to bring up associations of snow-covered mountains rather than crisp white sails or fluffy summer clouds.

The crowd is more subdued -- no less content or evidently happy to be there -- but does one detect a hint of melancholy?

Even the farmers' attitudes take on a different hue, and one can almost sense an impatience to get the stuff sold so fall chores and winter garden planning can get under way.

The scent of fall hunting is in the air. Peeking in the windows of Meadowlark Gallery at the paintings and prints of birds and dogs and elk and mountains helps that along.

Walking along, hunting for the perfect purchase, there is a bag of organically-grown apples. The first bite alone reveals a complex layering of flavors and scents that sums up the totality of summer -- more like a fine wine than a "mere" piece of fruit.

But one is reminded that a bottle of wine can be opened any day of the year -- but this apple, this sky, these people... all are only for this day, none other.

Time to walk home.

About town: Shakespeare in the park

One of the great pleasures that summer can bring is outdoor theater -- especially Shakespeare performed in parks across the country. While we in Montana don't get to have much of it, we are fortunate to have Montana Shakespeare in the Parks, which is a state treasure -- a treasure shared with our neighboring states as well.

So, having never before seen a production of the Merry Wives of Windsor, a play that often drops between the cracks in the repertoire, it was off to Peaks to Plains Park, picnic basket in hand, in spite of the lingering swelter of this most unpleasant July.

The effort was well-rewarded. Even adequately performed Shakespeare pays dividends of enjoyment -- enjoyment of good English and good wit if nothing else.

This year's company is perhaps the strongest in recent memory. Abbey Siegworth brought a sensitivity to the relatively minor role of Mistress Quickly, making her into a quietly persistent figure holding unrequited love for the most undeserving Sir John Falstaff (robustly played by Michael Kane) -- in addition to the plot-moving role that Quickly plays as the go-between for the mischievous "merry wives" and Falstaff.

Even though Falstaff is the purported center of the play, it is truly an ensemble piece that requires at least a half-dozen strong actors to get the most out of it -- and this year's company has at least that many.

Perhaps the biggest improvement over past years is the recent addition of an excellent sound system that augments the voices on stage -- a must for effective outdoor performances (especially when the occasional jet is on approach to Logan Airport -- a couple of the minor comic figures used those moments to gawk at the sky, as though they were transplants from Elizabethan England seeing and hearing this fantastic sight for the first time.)

The sets and costumes hit a perfect balance between ornament and excessive spareness, the transitions were deft, the dialogue clear and avoiding any extreme of excessively faux British accents.

By the end, the sun had set, and the unlit stage was falling into shadows. Given that the final scene takes place at night in the forest, it worked perfectly.

A final note -- sometimes Shakespeare plays are breathed a little extra life by using costumes and sets from a completely different era (remember that chilling dystopian film version of Richard III with Ian McKellen and Annette Bening?)

But the impact of such productions depends on a familiarity with traditional stagings. Montana Shakespeare in the Parks is to be commended for "playing it straight" for Montana and regional audiences, most of whom probably haven't seen productions of these plays before, and who deserve to see them in their traditional form.

That said, there was still a little modern tongue-in-cheek wink at the audience through the incidental music chosen for scene changes: themes to classic television shows ranging from "Captain Kangaroo" to "Leave it to Beaver" to "My Three Sons" to "Alfred Hitchcock Presents." It was a little reminder that Shakespeare's plays were in a way like television in their own day -- attended by Londoners of all walks of life.

As long as good productions are around, Shakespeare can always remain so.

Now, if we can only figure out how to get more than one or two Shakespeare plays a summer. Is it too much to hope that with time, two companies might be able to be supported -- hitting interested cities twice in the summer?

About Town: addendum

This weekend's "About Town" segment was dominated by a band fronted by a certain local blogger.

But the weekend in Billings also saw the annual Symphony in the Park, a decades-long tradition in Billings. An estimated crowd of 10,000 was there, and great fun it was.

Let's be clear -- Symphony in the Park is not first and foremost about the music. It's sort of like a big backyard party, with the conductor being a kind of DJ for the afternoon. The enterprising bring picnic baskets, and the Symphony makes money selling burgers and fresh-squeezed lemonade to the rest of us. People stroll about and chat with each other (at least on the periphery, where things are most festive.)

Kids are throwing balls and frisbees on the hill in back. Pioneer Park is off limits to dogs (one of the great injustices of life,) otherwise they would be there enjoying things, too. There was even a song for them in the 50s medley: "Nothin' but a Hound Dog."

The highlight of the performance was a great performance of "Sing, Sing, Sing" and Matt Devitt's incredible drumming and drum solo. In general, the first part of the performance was strong -- Aaron Copland's "Hoedown" (one of Copland's few consistently enjoyable pieces) set the tone.

What didn't work very well was integrating the groups Montana Tunesmith and Yellowstone into the performance. Whether there was a problem with the singers getting feedback from onstage monitors or whether it had something to do with the outdoor venue wasn't clear. It's not that you can't make pop music and guitars mix with the symphony -- it's a long-time staple of Pops concerts. It just didn't work that particular Sunday afternoon as well as one might have hoped.

But again, this is the sort of performance where there are attempts to have something for everyone -- and if you don't enjoy a particular piece, there's always the hamburger stand or strolling neighbors to chat with.

Yet another pleasant evening of music in Billings.

About town: an evening in the wilderness

When one is heading into potentially hostile territory, camouflage is essential. Blending with the natives requires careful attention to detail, and going to the Montana Wilderness Association's benefit in Billings is no exception.

Having someone inspect the disguise is important, so an expert is called in.

First try: tie-dye t-shirt, patched and frayed cut-off jeans, headband, hemp sandals.

"Trying too hard. You need to be yourself."

Second try: button-down shirt, Carharts, cowboy boots, baseball hat with the logo of an oil well and the words "EARTH FIRST! -- (we'll drill the other planets later.")

"Do I actually have to say anything about that?"

Third try: khaki shorts, subdued tropical shirt (untucked,) Chacos (Birkenstocks were considered, then laid aside.)

"You might actually make it in and out."

Driving up and parking, caterwauling sounds are heard from a block away. Of course, this is the main attraction. The locally famous Longtime Lonesome Dogs were hard at it.

The table at the admission gate is approached, eyes raise up at the headwear: "You're not a member of the Wilderness Association, are you?" Not even in the door and the first failure has already happened. The EARTH FIRST! hat is quickly shoved in a pocket with a sheepish look -- how did that thing get grabbed by accident at the last second? Oh well. As it turns out, these folks seem happy to take anybody's $5 to help the wilderness.

First lesson learned. Wilderness people use money, too. Sigh of relief.

Those behind me are asked if they would like to join the Wilderness Association. Why wasn't that question asked? Right -- the EARTH FIRST! hat.

Next stop: drinks. OK -- got this one down. Don't ask for a glass of white wine.

Beer. Only $3? Apparently wilderness people don't use very much money -- or perhaps it's a ruse to get us a bit lubricated in hopes of getting us to spend more at the silent auction.

The wheat beer is cool and refreshing. The lovely companions choose the amber and seem pleased as well. Early birds get the prime seats. Life is good. The only Birkenstocks in sight are on Dennis Nettiksimmons -- the Chacos were a good choice for blending into the background. We may make it in and out after all.

The Dogs are an equal opportunity band -- half the men sport copious facial hair, half are clean shaven. The peer pressure in the group is subtle -- no long pants, only khaki shorts (but not all the same shade of khaki.) There is a token cowboy hat as a nod to diversity. The cowboy hat, along with the beer, makes one a little more relaxed.

A sharp blues riff rips through the air. Yes, it is that Gazette blogger-guy Ed Kemmick (second from right, above.) The boy can play. And sing.

And his guitar is, well, to die for.

Sometimes the lyrics are hard to compute: was that really someone dreaming about being married to a mermaid and having ten kids, in between yodels? Well, everybody gets the blues about something.

As the accordion player leads the way through the "Orange Blossom Special," and the second wheat beer is safely in hand, things get even more relaxed. Johnny Cash did that one, so it's really getting comfy. Tight harmonies, nice mandolin playing, harmonica (Kemmick again,) bluesy slide guitar (the fraternal Kemmick.) Maybe this wilderness stuff is OK, after all.

The hours flies by -- next thing you know, we're all singing "This Land is Your Land" together to wrap things up, the Chacos are feeling more natural on the feet, and well, all we need is love.

Time now for the best bratwurst since Munich and some vegetarian chili while waiting. Looking around, it is clear that no-one is going to notice a meatless concoction going down the gullet -- they're all eating it too. Tasty.

The intervening performers keep the crowd busy while things are setting up for Tyler Burnett, and there's time for one more beer before settling down. Having heard their praises sung, this was something to look forward to.

No disappointments here. A clue that there is some serious musicianship going on is the when you have to glance up periodically to confirm that there are still only three guys on stage. Stephen Brown's voice is like a fine old peaty single-malt, Parker Brown's guitar sparkles and growls, and Pat Epley on drums is ghost-noting away, creating a wall of percussive sound. And how can you argue with two Van Morrison songs to start out the set? One feels young.

One of the bandmembers looks familiar. Right. Billings Senior High. But unfortunately not as a classmate. One feels old. Really old.

The clouds are steadily clearing as the sun sets. A bright waxing half-moon hangs in the sky over the Yellowstone valley. Time for old folks to get some sleep. Walking away, back on stage the kids are still making that great music. The door closes on the truck, quiet settles in. Maybe we'll try granola for breakfast tomorrow.

The "EARTH FIRST!" hat goes back on.

About town: Magic in Bozeman, bungalows in Billings

The weekend found us heading to Bozeman for the Intermountain Opera Association production of Mozart's Magic Flute. No matter how much one enjoys classical music, opera is something best enjoyed once every year or two -- whether one needs to or not.

During the two-hour drive to Bozeman, it was impossible not to think and talk about how stunning everything looks at this time of year -- emerald green grass, the Yellowstone as full of water as we have seen it in some time, and the trees along the river looking happy. And of course, there is the progression of Pryors and Beartooths to the Absarokee Range, the always stunning Crazies coming up out of the middle of the prairie, the Bozeman pass, and the expansive view of the Spanish Peaks, Bridger range, Tobacco Roots...

Talk of course turned to what a two-hour drive to the opera would be like in our nation's largest cities: smog, bumper to bumper traffic, and people, people, people. Most of them wouldn't want to live here in the boonies, and that's just fine.

Mozart was such a genius that he can make even the simplest music into something exquisite -- and much of the Magic Flute, like his other "light" operas, is quite simple. Much, but by no means all: the "Queen of the Night" role requires a coloratura soprano of impressive talent, and Patricia Vigil was indeed impressive. The high F in those two famous arias is one of the highest written notes in classical music (a highlight excerpt was included in the movie Amadeus) and has to be heard to be believed.

One of the refreshing trends of opera of the last couple of decades is that the old "it ain't over till the fat lady sings" is increasingly uncommon -- as well as being exceptional singers, opera singers look and comport themselves more and more like stage actors, and the dramatic action is more important than it ever was, yet without any diminution of musical talent.

As such, The Magic Flute is an interesting stage event -- an eccentric mix of 18th c. bucolic fantasy, Enlightenment philosophy, family treachery, and elements inspired by Mozart's knowledge of Masonic ritual. At times, it has ridiculous elements that make one sigh, but the music carries the sometimes flighty, sometimes ponderous, dialogue along in a way that makes one really not care.

Overheard at the break was a local Bozemanite apologetically asking a couple of companions how the production compared to the Met. The reply started out predictably negative and quickly faded from earshot as strolling patterns in the halls went in the other direction. One was tempted to point out that while it certainly wasn't the Met, the panoramic drive to the performance was unmatched... so put that in your pipe and smoke it.

Such a question, however, misses the point. One doesn't even need to attend to know that an Intermountain Opera production isn't going to be the Met or the Chicago Lyric Opera. The point is that a competently done live performance of a great piece of musical art (and this one was more than competent) is its own reward.

Think of it this way -- at the risk of making some opera lovers turn over in their graves: it would be great to have the 1975 lineup of Lynard Skynard show up in one's local bar, and it would be hard to live without being able to crank up one of their classic recordings. But that '75 lineup ain't coming back, and when a good bar band covers "Sweet Home Alabama," one gets a thrill that you just don't get sitting at home.

That local economy, once again. Marrying the girl next door, and all that sort of thing.

____________________

Speaking of living locally and marrying the girl next door, the Heritage Home Tour in Billings this weekend featured seven bungalow-style homes scattered from 10th and N. 31st down to the 300 block of Clark Ave.

Saturday was one of those gorgeous sunny May days that is warm enough to really feel that summer is here -- yet without a touch of the summer central Billings swelter that is our poetically just punishment for having so many days in January in the 50's or even 60's while our brethren not far out of town are freezing and wind-bitten.

The homes were of course exquisitely maintained and restored. The recurring thought that had to be going through many minds was, "why don't they build stuff like this anymore?" The compactness, the attention to flow in designing room progressions, the creative use of limited space -- all within walking distance of downtown Billings and our favorite restaurants, Pug Mahon's, our skyscrapers, our farmer's market, and of course our Defining Element.

As inveterate walkers insist, there is no real way of getting to know a neighborhood -- its nooks, crannies, subtle architectural secrets, and people -- other than on foot. (Which condemns miles of unwalkable American suburban neighborhoods to the fate of never being known by anyone.)

As such, one of the pleasures of a tour like this are found as one passes the houses not on the tour: an unexpected herb garden, window boxes with flowers reminiscent of northern Europe, a sunroom you had never noticed when driving down that street, or a backyard carpenter at work. And a row of houses on a street you had never been on before, with its yards and houses kept immaculate -- manifestly not because of what the neighbors will think but because... well, because it's home.

Rod Dreher, in his book Crunchy Cons -- the name and cover art of which belie its seriousness -- has an entire chapter simply called "Home." In it, Dreher addresses the utilitarianism that has dominated in American for half a century regarding where we live.

He talks about a developer who, in discussing the high quality of construction and attention to detail in older bungalows, points out that people who buy $80,000 bungalows are

...pickier than the people who buy McMansions. The people who bought the less-expensive houses were going to live there forever, and the McMansion people weren't. A lot of them were planning to move out before there were problems.

Dreher continues:

This disregard for craftsmanship and ethic of disposability rubbed (him) the wrong way. "It seems to me the essence of being a conservative is appreciating what's there, what you have. Conservatives seem to be not so willing to cast aside what they have just because something new and superficially more interesting has come along. They ought to have the same views about their homes and communities."

In talking about other friends who chose to live in an older home in an overlooked neighborhood, Dreher learns about "Arts and Crafts enthusiast Charles Keeler's ideal of home as 'the family temple,'" and quotes a stay-at-home mom who says that she wants visitors "to come in and feel a sense of peace, because the people who live here really love each other, and love God, and invite him into their house."

He encountered something that "had to do with far more than aesthetic taste" and rather found "a conscious rejection of suburbanism, which... they associate with alienation and loss of community."

A priceless section is one where a carpenter friend of Dreher (a conservative evangelical) describes the modern architectural dichotomy:

See, McMansions, with their vaulted ceilings and fashionable kitchens, are glamorous, but our house is beautiful...

They are like the hot prom queen you luck out and marry, only to learn she has a drinking problem and is terrible with the kids.

She dumps you while her looks are still going for her, sticks you with alimony, and shacks up with a guy who owns a Porsche.

My house (by contrast) is the solid girl next door who is pretty and loyal and makes you want to be worthy of her love.

Not perhaps exactly the way that Montana Headlines would have devised to express the sentiment, but it is pretty unforgettable. As another of Dreher's conservative friends put it more elegantly, "people these days think that beauty is either a luxury or an affectation, but... not only is simple, elemental beauty possible for ordinary people to achieve in their houses, it's a humanizing and necessary thing."

There was much humanizing and necessary elemental beauty to be seen this Billings Saturday afternoon in our as yet (may it ever be so) ungentrified old neighborhoods. Not everything old is good (hard as that is for an old-fashioned traditionalist to say) -- but to the extent that "everything old becomes new again," one hopes that this glimpse of beauty was not so much a window into our city's past as into its future.

About town -- the accidental spectator

Having missed the Artwalk in Billings Friday evening, there was some danger that an "About town" column would this week amount to an expression of gratitude that one can pull into Pug Mahon's for a Guinness on tap.

Or it could have devolved into an extended passing on of gossip from admittedly biased sources about the Lt Gov's address at the Petroleum Club this past week, apparently billed as a discussion of the legislative session and process, but which rather seems to have been more a repetition of the executive branch's plans. Apparently unchanged from before the session, those plans seem not to have been affected by the thoughts and opinions of legislators of either party, who are now perhaps more an inconvenience than anything.

The arts connection here, lest we lose our weekend focus, was that our state's second-in-command has apparently filled his office in Helena with surplus paintings from the state Historical Society. An office as dapper as a bow-tie, one supposes.

But on a wet and torn-up Grand Avenue, a turn-off into Eckroth Music that began with browsing ended up with one of those extraordinary accidental musical moments. The state music festival's piano competition was taking place today in a back corner (why there, and not in a college performance hall, isn't certain -- but who's complaining?)

Montana Headlines has made the comment that a city's professional symphony is the backbone of its musical life, with a reach extending far beyond the concert hall. Its leading members have private studios where they teach budding musicians, they form chamber music ensembles, play for opera and ballet performances, adjudicate music competitions for youth, do workshops, and give recitals. But this is a digression.

The musical life of a community's youth is a sort of marrow -- at the danger of pushing the analogy gratuitously, youth are a musical community's stem cells, full of pluripotentiality. They study music, play music, and play at it -- in the process becoming artists themselves. They inspire and invigorate their teachers and adult listeners. Even more importantly, this is the breeding ground for future patrons of the arts and appreciative, knowledgeable audiences.

Further weekend errands called, but performances one after another made for a longer stay than expected. A highlight was a scintillating performance by a young man from Wolf Point of a Rachmaninoff Prelude -- a performance that left one wondering who on earth he is studying under up there. Not out of any surprise that rural areas could produce a pianist of his caliber, for whether it is the Miles City high school choir or a gem of an instrumentalist from a small town that many Montanans might not even have heard of, the talent is there as much as anywhere and the determination and work ethic perhaps more than in many of our state's more privileged places.

Today was no exception, with the more daring and ambitious performances coming from the hinterlands -- and the more polished but also more careful ones coming from Billings students. All in an admittedly short and unscientific sampling. But captivating performances, every one of them (and regular readers should know by this point that Montana Headlines is decidedly not home to an "everybody's special" school of thought -- so that actually means something.)

While we today have more access to recorded performances than any generation in history, we are at risk of forgetting that music is, first and foremost, about two or more people being together, as musical performer and audience, or as ensemble. There is a piercing quality to music shared in this way -- it is not an exaggeration to say that it is easier to bring to mind the ten minute pause listening to a raw performance on a city street corner or in a subway station than it is to recall a memorable moment on a classical music radio station.

One can only imagine what must be a numbingly depressing constant occurrence these days -- people walking straight past those musicians, unable to hear them because of the seashells in their ears, "thimble radios tamped tight, and an electronic ocean of sound... coming in on the shore" of unsleeping minds. Endless pods of looping electronic dance mixes, to which no-one is dancing -- certainly not together.

And while we have at our disposal recordings of any number of internationally-acclaimed concert pianists covering the heart of the Rachmaninoff repertoire (not to mention ingeniously reconstructed and remastered performances by the master himself playing his own works,) they will not soon displace the shiver that ran down the spine listening to a kid from Wolf Point playing in the back of a music store on a damp and cloudy Billings Saturday afternoon.

About town -- Carmina Burana

It was a packed house at the Alberta Bair tonight for the final concert of the season. The Billings Symphony and Chorale performed Carl Orff's Carmina Burana, a work that is so big, raucous, and deeply textured that it can perhaps only be truly appreciated in a live performance.

While Montana Headlines has had some moments of dissatisfaction with the lighter fare and sometimes less than polished performances that music director Anne Harrigan has had during her two-year tenure with the Billings Symphony, tonight was not one of those nights.

The first half of the program was dominated by Paul Hindemith's "Symphonic Metamorphosis of Themes by Carl Maria von Weber," a piece that in some circumstances would have been an appropriately spectacular finish to a concert. It was hard for the thought not to cross one's mind that the Orff would be a bit of a let-down.

Hardly. This was one of those nights when one is reminded of just how much talent there really is in the Billings Symphony -- some local, some drawn from Bozeman (such as principal flutist Sue Makeever, whose solo work in the Hindemith was its usual perfection) and elsewhere in the region.

The most famous part of Carmina Burana is the opening "O Fortuna," but reducing it to that one "greatest hit" does injustice to the work as a whole, which combines irreverent medieval Latin lyrics with Orff's modern yet accessible music.

One sad note: this was Chorale Director David Barnett's last concert. While Harrigan has perhaps used more choral works during her tenure than some patrons would prefer, since these are often bigger productions that displace more ambitious purely symphonic programs -- knowing that this was Barnett's last season and concert brings those choices more into focus.

Chorale directors are typically unsung heroes, since they spend countless hours rehearsing the vocal music that will be featured, only to stand in the shadows on concert night while the orchestral conductor takes the spotlight, conducting the entire performance. Barnett's quiet professionalism has been a gift to the Billings musical community, and he will be missed by symphony patrons.

A problem that the Billings Symphony is eventually going to have to address is the fact that it just isn't the same to have a music director who doesn't live and work year-round in the community. Harrigan is a fine conductor, and she has brought new life and filled the seats in a way that hadn't been the case for some years as the Billings Symphony has struggled to compete for attendance with an ever-growing schedule of other performances at the Alberta Bair.

But in spite of what she has accomplished in such a short time, there is still a palpable difference between the experience now and what we had when previous conductor Uri Barnea lived and worked in Billings -- or between what we have and what Bozeman has with the outstanding Matthew Savery. This, in spite of the fact that the pool of players available to the Billings Symphony is deeper and more talented, and the performance hall far more capable of providing the aural experience of a symphony performance.

A symphony is the backbone of a city's musical life, and as such, needs attentive direction from someone who thinks of that city as, well, home. Call this yet another appeal for developing and preserving a local economy.

About town

Being long-time fans of the Canadian trio of singer-songwriters, The Wailin' Jennys, the editorial staff of Montana Headlines spent Saturday evening at the Alberta Bair Theater with what passes for a granola crowd here in Billings.

Montana audiences are getting to hear the new "3.0" lineup find its voice, since the Billings concert was only the the third performed by the Wailin' Jennys "3.0," with the first two being in Hamilton and Bozeman.

Original group members Ruth Moody and Nicky Mehta were joined by Heather Masse, whose alto voice is perhaps the best the group has had -- and she's quickly learning to play the electric upright bass, adding to the more spare all-acoustic live performances a depth of sound that had previously been found only on the Jennys' albums.

Despite the talent of Masse (and her predecessor Annabelle Chvostek), neither can replace the driving guitar virtuosity and edginess that founding member Cara Luft gave to the sound that made the debut album 40 Days a stunning masterpiece. The current sound is a slightly different one, reflecting Masse's background in jazz vocals -- and they wisely added an extra instrumentalist, Jeremy Penner, for this tour (although seeing a man on stage took getting used to.)

While Moody's Celtic music roots, floating voice and gentle instrumentals give the Jennys much of the texture of their instantly recognizable ethereal harmonies, a live performance reveals Mehta as the one who cements the sound and who provides the poetic depth of their music.

A highlight of the performance was a rendition of Emmylou Harris's "Deeper Well" featuring a eclectic blend of Mehta's driving lead vocal, Moody's insistent Bodhrán, and unforgettable fiddle work by Penner that hovered over a musical geography somewhere between Cairo and Calcutta (an approach originally developed by "2.0" member Chvostek, but transcended by Penner's virtuosity.) Somehow it just worked.

Because of moments like that, we continue to visit galleries, attend concerts, buy a beer to listen to a bar band, or open a book. You just never know when the magic is going to happen.