Last Saturday, I trekked with pals down to the venerable Old Town School of Folk Music in Chicago- LOVE that joint. Went to catch 81-year-old folk/blues fingerstyle practitioner Chris Smither on a bill with 79-year-old folk singing smartass Loudon Wainwright lll, who I’ve been a fan of since high school, when I first heard The Man Who Couldn’t Cry, covered later by Johnny Cash on those Rick Rubin-produced records.
I’ve seen Loudon several times, including once in the 90s when I lived for a spell in Austin, TX. Was at the intimate Cactus Café, and I was embarrassed as hell when, during the show, Loudon pulled my cassette tape out of somewhere, mentioning how some dude had handed it to him as he exited the dressing room. That dude was my friend. He poked some fun, then opened the case and a joint fell out. He made some joke about “see YOU later” and the show went on. (No, incredulously his label never called to offer me a record deal.)
I’ve seen Chris Smither once before- just last year. This year, he won an Oscar (along with the rest of the cast & crew) for The Singers, in which he played himself. The award for Best Live Action Short Film. He has a recent record out. And he still sounded great, long hair still in his face- his hypnotic guitar playing is all feel, like his fingers have their own little brains. And his perpetually raspy voice betrays decades of hard-earned storytelling: cigarettes, whisky, and a million miles in shitty cars. Beautiful.
Loudon is still great: funny, sharp, irreverent, engaging. And having a stage beer. His percussive playing and vocals perfectly straining at the top of his register, as always. And them pained, distorted faces and signature tongue wagging- still intact. Getting folks laughing hard with a couple “novelty” tunes and then clandestinely landing a gut punch about a failed relationship or painful reminiscence about raising a kid. He sings of family often. Melody is a secret weapon. And he aint scared to bust some balls.
And then today, 76-year-old revered (by me) songwriter Tom Waits drops a tune outta nowhere- “Boots on the Ground” -collaboration with Massive Attack. Been wondering if he’d make more music; he has been showing up in some recent movies. And right when I’ve been wondering why young songwriters aren’t taking on current events in these… demoralizing times, (‘cept maybe… Jesse Welles of Mon Rovia), Tom and his young collaborators go there, BIG time. Not shying awa y.
I been worried about Tom’s voice for years; he sounded like he was born with a lit cigarette way back in his boho hipster days, voice pre-ravaged and grizzled, and by his later records he was using that voice as a full-on percussive instrument- all shout, holler n’ growl, but always such beauty in it too, for those paying attention. And in the new song… just what’s needed.
These guys are real troubadours in every sense of the word, all scars earned. And still vital, very much so- not on some nostalgic re-hash of what once was. I guess I’m just trying to say: don’t write off an artist ‘cause of age. (Though some sadly are selling their songs like garage sale gewgaws.) There are old-timers doing some inspiring work. There’s a reason why aged bourbon is so smooth.
There are also many young singers I dig- a LOT. Who inspire me. Just stumbled upon this Hudson Freeman “kid,” trance-folk trip-hop slacker kinda vibe, and he don’t seem to care if you like him or not. I’m hooked. So I’m just saying- no ageism in music. Young or old, don’t judge ‘til you give it a ride. Find comfort in the familiar, giddy excitement in the new. Listen.