Perhaps the master of hard times is done with all those nerve-riddled games; at least there were none that night, no dancing in a coma of recently consumed drinks, no facing the band-boys rather than fan-boys — though he did sing "Games " and was quick with the self-deprecating banter, always feeling the need to rescue us from feeling his blues. We H-heads know plenty of Ryan's songwriting tendencies, and it's just fine that all ditties are drawn in the color of the blues — real songs from real Jacksonville people are always appreciated. Still, ever conscientious, he'd even chopped his bangs to stare-down his own stage fright. He's 33 now and, apparently, getting too old for such neurosis. As rumor has it, he's all Cardinals-business from here on in.
Anyway, Ryan jukeboxed things up with a set list covering most album-sides, performing smoothed-out, molasses-slow takes of heavy-strange tunes like "Halloweenhead" (aptly dedicated to Michelle Williams) on a brightly-speckled piano, and "Cold Roses," "Easy Plateau" and "Peaceful Valley" in much the same way. He even crooned "This House is Not for Sale" with an intensity that belied chestiness — a favorite only topped by "In My Time of Need," sung like a drag from one of several chain-smoked American Spirits. We built a wishing-well with hopes for more Cold Roses and Rock 'n' Roll dimes, maybe the "Down in a Hole" remake, but were reasonably pleased with the musical outcome.
Despite being sick, our faithful leader shredded.
We've definitely, maybe, placed them on a pedestal but, listen H-heads, nothing googled (C-speak: messed with) the Cardinals' sound; Ryan strummed along on his Barbara Gordon guitar, a.k.a. his Oracle, gripping that microphone and conducting the birds through songs executed a million times quicker than usual. It was a soul-kissing experience. But these two hearts were taken at the beginning of the night, when Ryan said he sat unnoticed, somewhere among arriving fans in an anticipatory pre-show haze, just sight-seeing (his favorite part is before it starts, too). Afterward, when Ryan's set was all said and done, we stood in line to get autographs, but got shunned in the H-head mob. We're looking forward to the Ming Dynasty (C-speak: when the shit hits the fan, not the fans).
Word to our people,
H-head²
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