Boston I

You are welcome all. Paradise will never go down as my favorite venue; in fact, I wouldn’t mind an alternative named Purgatory, or even Hell-Inferno. The sound was crappy, at least under the “balcony” where I was on ground floor much of the evening. Soundman Mark Humphreys invited me to stand by him upstairs tonight, which I might take him up on. His own preference would have been to be based on the ground floor. And heaven forbid if a Paradise employee noted you stepping over (or even on) the line running across the back of the room a few feet from the wall. Feeling a little warm in Hell (I mean Paradise) and desiring to shed your winter coat? Why sure, just traverse the entire length of the room, pay your three bucks, and scale down your layering. I mean, the coat check could not be further from the one entryway, a strange arrangement indeed; unless you arrive early, just wear it or tie it around your waist, for you stand little chance of squeezing by people. Want to buy merch? Better wait until people leave for the evening, for that area is hard stage left and almost as far from the entryway as the coat check. Perhaps it was fairly focused and intent up near the stage, but pockets of chat characterize the better part of the sides and the back of the house. Ballads or rockers, no matter: there’s always someone making his/her voice known midsong.

But I’m not bitter. Lu was happy, and the song selection was superb, as you can tell. St. Bernard, say a prayer for me as I ascend tonight.