Westhampton Beach Setlist

1 [INSTAGRAM SAYS “BLESSED”]
2 [INSTAGRAM SAYS “PINEOLA”]
3 [INSTAGRAM SAYS “DRUNKEN ANGEL”[
4 [INSTAGRAM SAYS “GREENVILLE”]
5 INSTAGRAM SAYS “PEOPLE TALKIN'”]
6 [it’s Gonna Rain {I hear approximately 1/8 of it]
7Compassion
8 Lake Charles
9 Side of the Road
10 World Without Tears
11 Are You down
12 Burning Bridges
13 RealLive bleeding fingers…
14 Changed the Locks
15Essence
16 Joy
17 HOneybee

18 Passionate K
19FActory [after shouted requests, though technicallyin the wrong geographical state]
20 Get Right with G

Not since summer of 2002 in LIncoln, NE do I remember arriving so late for a show. Also, Beacon theatre once but not this extreme. When the trains leave every five hours from Penn Station on weekends and not all even stop in Westhampton (which itself is 1.5 miles from Westhampton Beach), then a public traveller is at the mercy of taxi companies–and worse. I deboarded at 9:20, five minutes late. A bevy of men stood at the edge of the Seonk, NY (which I prefer to render as “Skunk” quasi-phonetically) platform waving and uttering the word “taxi.” I was the only taker, apparently assigned to one vehicle by someone other than its driver. It took 3-4 minutes for us to depart, wedged in as we were by the other vehicles–apparently in cahoots under the vague umbrella of a single company. The driver almost immediately told me he was not a “professional,”which certainly fit with the utter absence of a meter up front. When I asked what the fare would be, he said, “ten or fifteen.” Then he insisted people pay either, “whatever you want to.” This didn’t sound half bad, but six to seven minutes later he pulled up to a residential section and said “here’s 76 Main Street.” I demurred, so we continued on in a loop (I figure “Drunken Angel” was well under way by this point), hopefully beachward. Just as he made a random left turn and I spotted a vaguely neoned marquee up ahead, he decided to pull off and call his boss for directions, and it took me rolling down the window and asking a parked couple to verify that, yes indeed, WEsthampton Beach’s one live music venue was the one in sight for him to proceed. Still, the guy approached warily–then veered off on a side street and kept going nearly a full block until I convinced him finally to skid to a stop; I damn near brushed the driver’s side of the Kenneth Brian Band bus with my back door. You can bet I went with the ten-buck option; as he peeled off two fivers for change, it was clear from his thick wad of greenback that he was a “professional” at something, maybe casino life. Dodging pylons, I made it inside about two minutes later to the strains of “It’s Gonna Rain,” but since no one was at box office by this point, I was left in a holding pen by an usher who wouldn’t let me proceed until my rightful ticket could be produced. Then the guy next to me announced that “Compassion” was only her fourth song, giving me a better feeling ( though he had apparently slept through three as it turns out). That’s a good metaphor for this crowd, but let’s don’t go there.

HOw did I get back to Manhattan? Well, a vanload of Merry Minstrels carried me, their tiny green Gideon New TEstament and an oversize atlas of the continental-48 the key components of their dashboard. Rock on friends, though I missed your set entirely. Live music will never get a bad name as long as vehicles with 400 grand miles are still rolling.