2020/11/30 Summerfeet @ Rye Grill
There was a time in the not so distant past when seeing a band six or more times in a year was reserved for bands with names like Pearl Jam, Phish, and JRAD. As 2020 has redefined how we consume live music, that revered status is now the exclusive privilege of Summerfeet, a band that has quickly become this shit storm of a year’s best narrative. They’ve been the silver lining that has consistently given us something to look forward to, simultaneously affording us the privilege of remembering better times while forgetting current ones. In truth though, Summerfeet gave us so much more than a few handfuls of great concerts; they gave us the gift of each other. As is usually the case within the circles that I travel, music is the leading catalyst that sets the schedule and dictates the gatherings, in my case necessitating the same eighty-five mile drive that used to ferry me to the Capitol Theatre. Just as those days will surely return, these days have become essential to my mental health and well being and I’ll forever treasure the memories and the relationships that have marked these last eight months.
I grew up seeing arena bands and larger scale productions but as I’ve aged, more intimate experiences have supplanted their larger scale counterparts (of course I still pine for those, too). As Eddie Vedder and Trey Anastasio aren’t actually my friends, it took all too long for me to realize that sharing songs with friends on both sides of the stage is absolutely everything. So while I’ve never really stopped to analyze my live music addiction, I can positively aver that friendship, intimacy, and love play at least as heavily as the music, if not more so. We can debate that particular point if you wish but all the memories are just that without having special people to share them with. Ya know, a joy shared and all that.
In that spirit, does it get any better than showing up with your friends to support your friends? Make no mistake about it, Summerfeet was surely the catalyst but this thing doesn’t happen without your love, your light, and your energy. This run has been as real as anything and no one can ever take that away from the band or us. The feelings are so strong that I chose to spend my free time on my birthday writing these words. Originally intended as a show review, it looks like I’m going to end up with a love letter instead. If we’re being honest, that was probably always my intention because this stuff really makes me feel. It’s addressed to 2020, for being both a cunt and a stunning mistress all at once, creating this beauty from the wreckage of her hatred and rage. It’s addressed to Summerfeet for answering the call. And it’s addressed to you because you rock.
It’s addressed to Dennis Bolger, sultry crooner, professional wingman and affable performer who didn’t miss a beat with his hitherto unrevealed falsetto on Beck’s “Debra” even though those vocals were likely intended for the lovely Mrs. Bolger {Yeah, that’s right, Debbie was supposed to sing Debra. I see you, Summerfeet.} It’s addressed to the guy who politely ignores all requests but still managed to play two Pearl Jam songs (alas, none Sunday) and a birthday rendition of “Backwards Down the Number Line” for his boy. I love ya, brother.
It’s addressed to Todd Nocera and Joe Colgan, friends and funkmasters extraordinaire, on keys and guitar respectively, who after months of flexing their mental telepathy played their best show ever this past Sunday. Listen to their bandmate tell it, “That’s the big story with Summerfeet. Those guys are locked in. Two legit soloists that are full mind-meld mode now.“ Well, Dennis, that’s part of the story, at least. A shit ton of love and masterful setlists straight out of the yacht rock for hippies handbook round out the rest of it, but I feel ya man. Now I’m not about to say that Todd Nocera outfunked The Meters, but Art Neville would’ve glistened with pride at the effort on “Just Kissed My Baby” this past Sunday. Better yet, Poppa Funk’s influence stuck around for the duration as this was one of the dirtiest Summerfeet shows in memory, Nocera’s play prompting Colgan’s chicken scratch response and vice versa all show long. Speaking of Joe Colgan, here is a front and center lead guitarist who, blessed with overwhelming talent, somehow plays with the subtlety and humility that allow him to share the stage equally with his mates. Who wouldn’t want to play with a dude like that? I mean, I grew up listening to “Boys of Summer” and I’m damn sure there’s no solo like the one Colgan threw out there on Sunday.
This love letter is addressed to Miles East and Ken Dircks, Summerfeet’s newest members whose contributions on drums and standup bass take the band to new heights. These are good dudes and great players who fit right in, even if I’ve never seen their feet. Come on fellas, get with the program!
Last but not least, this letter is addressed to you. Summerfeet has given us all so much but this never happens without the love and support of a network of friends who simply won’t take no for an answer. Friends who insist upon having their music live, loud, and often. Never underestimate the impact of a good crowd and dare I say, we’re the best. These gigs have been special, transcendent even, every one of them a life affirming gift. Someone literally just sent me this in a birthday card, “Music gives us a language that cuts across the disciplines, helps us to see connections and brings a more coherent meaning to our world.” Talk about spot on timing, that’s fucking all of it right there! Come on, tell me you don’t feel it, too.
2020’s last show started with “I And Love And You”, the singular song that defines this whole ball of wax. Usually the encore, Summerfeet turned this thing inside out and upside down, getting into the gooey feelings right out of the starting blocks. And it was a love fest indeed, as each of us felt the squeeze of winter and the second wave of the pandemic that we all feared, acutely aware that this may be the last one for a stretch. And while no one would say it, we all knew it and we all felt it, and we squeezed every last drop out of it, even if that meant being told that I wasn’t allowed to dance more times than I could count.
Summerfeet is a band so they played songs. A whole bunch of them in fact, one after another. A veritable clinic in nostalgia, these were songs written by bands who are really good at music. The Avett Brothers. Widespread Panic. Allman Brothers. Robert Palmer. Wilco. Commodores. Don Henley. The Band. The Meters x 2. Grateful Dead x 2. Little Feat x 2. Steely Dan x 3. Phish x 4. Even if backyard shows are hard to top and this one didn’t crack my top three, I’ll stand firmly as I say that Sunday was Summerfeet’s best show yet, polished and dirty all at once, nothing short of perfect.
I’d love to hand you the “Sand” with “Stash” teases on a silvery YouTube platter, but I was busy dancing and pleasantly not getting yelled at beacuse the girl that likes to yell at me threw in the towel thinking the day was over. Didn’t she know it was our New Year’s Eve and we had a third set on tap??? So “Sand” teed up a combo that epitomizes the glory of Summerfeet, “Easy”, “Ophelia” > “Tweezer Reprise”, and it was time to get yelled at for dancing again but just try to sit me down for “Tweezer Reprise”, I fucking dare you. And didn’t that just have to be the the finale because seriously, what the fuck else could’ve possibly been Summerfeet’s last song of 2020. This, my friends, is what yacht rock for hippies looks like. Check it out.
One year ago from this very moment, Trey Anastasio sang “Backwards Down the Number Line” at a birthday show in the now defunct (again) Nassau Coliseum. This past Sunday, Dennis Bolger saluted me with the same. Please don’t ask me to pick favorites, they were both pretty fucking great, even if only of them was actually for me. So here we are, heading into winter and my cup is full, delighting in friendships both new and old as I celebrated this last one with my newest and oldest friends sharing the same table. Just as I refuse to mourn what we’re about to miss, I’m also not going to sit idly by and wait for someone else to tell me when my next concert is or where my next 20,000 steps are coming from. So to be on the safe side, you better set aside the first few spring Saturdays for a little debauchery in Marlboro, NJ. Until then, be safe and choose happiness.
To Dennis, Todd, Joe, Miles, Ken, Debbie, Lisa, Jen, Andrea, Michael, Andrea, Paul, Julie, Geoff, Kennny, Chelsey, Kira, Ian, Christine, Ira, Georgie, Murph, Andrew, Sean, Slater, Puba, Charlie, Erica, Amie, Doc, Michelle, Bobby, Amie, Evan, Linda, Tracy, Mike, Ali, Alissa, Rider, Joey, Phyllis, Dave, Allison, Jill, Eve, Blatt, Tave, Kapp, Boilen, Bono, Pasternack and damn this is a dangerous game cuz I have to be forgetting at least thirty to fifty people … to everyone who shared in the magic that is Summerfeet …
I and love and you.
7,326 steps, every one of them scorned by the management at Rye Grill (#sorrynotsorry) and very likely my last of 2020. I don’t usually fail to reach my goals, but it doesn’t look like I’ll dance a million steps this year and will have to settle for a paltry 864,339.
Setlist:
Set One: I And Love And You, Space Wrangler, Any Major Dude Will Tell You, Just Kissed My Baby, Blaze On, Boys of Summer, Dixie Chicken, Bird Song, Kid Charlemagne, Cumberland Blues
Set Two: Backwards Down The Number Line, Ain’t Wasting Time, Sneakin’ Sally Through the Alley, Willin’, Josie, Hey Pocky Way, Jesus Etc, Valerie, Debra, Sand, Easy, Ophelia > Tweezer Reprise
Fabulous write up. We were so lucky to have these guys and this band for Bummer Tour 2020. The band was so fun. Yacht Rock for hippies! Until the next time.