Lloyd Cole ‘No Regrets’ Pleasant Street Theater, Northampton, MA, October 4, 2007

Wow! Two shows in one year! Lloyd Cole came home to play yet another stellar, low-key show in the valley. This time, Lloyd played the “Music after Movies” series with the likes of Thurston Moore, Juliana Hatfield and Winterpills. It was theater owner Bob Lawton’s last ditch effort to resuscitate his failing movie house which is now up for sale.

I don’t write reviews and have no intentions of doing so here but let’s just say that opener Zeke Fiddler needs to reassess his music career. He sucks with a capital S and not just because of his crummy gear. Poor Lloyd was ever the gentleman and offered Zeke the use of a proper guitar cord. Zeke however preferred the authentic sound of crackling amp to go with his hushed, whispery-thin vocals and incredibly tedious musical arrangements. Thankfully his set was short.

What can I say about Lloyd? Each of his two shows this year in the valley has been unpredictable and magical. I don’t think I’ve ever witnessed a performer mingling effortlessly with his audience, chatting up retiree-aged golfing buddies or calling out to his teen-aged son Will in the audience to call “Mom and ask her for a ride home if your falling asleep!”

Lloyd’s set covered mostly his post-Commotion’s work, plenty of his recent work and a smattering of his booze-fueled songs from his New York period. He was at ease with the audience and at one point remarked how odd it was to see no one drinking. He promised to get everyone out before their sitters started to call. Oddly enough, with the exception of a few folks, everyone in the audience seemed 50-plus. Lloyd covered a couple of Tim Hardin tunes, prefacing them with “I wrote these after I got out of the Marines and on heroin.”

Lloyd shone on “The Young Idealists,” “My Bag,” “Patience,” and “Like Lovers Do.” Playing well over an hour and half, Lloyd confronted his negative image and offered that he had “no regrets” about his early career and his current low-key performances.

I just want to play some fado songs and get drunk with Lloyd sometime.

Lloyd Cole @ the Brass Cat, Easthampton, MA, July 14, 2007

Sometimes life here in the Valley is so sweet. Imagine this: in 1984 Lloyd Cole and the Commotions released my all-time favorite recording, Rattlesnakes. This was the soundtrack to my teen years living in Boston. I memorized the lyrics, track listings and credits (and if need be—would recreate the album cover photo). Yes, I am a fan and will do nothing here but praise Lloyd Cole. There was a tiny listing in the Hampshire Gazette that Cole would be playing the Brass Cat. I rubbed my eyes in disbelief as Cole lives in Easthampton and has not played out here in years. Sure, whatever. As the hour approached, I stood outside the Cat, nervously pacing and braced myself for disappointment. The first person I saw in the bar was Cole chatting at the pool table with a local. Dressed for the PGA tour, his shock of black hair now graying, I nearly melted down. Should I approach him? No, not drunk enough. I perched myself on a barstool and observed his every movement. Christ, I’m a celebrity stalker. I grew anxious waiting for a sign that he would approach the Cat’s ridiculously tiny stage. Then anger. Anger over the locals ruining my religious moment with their loud voices, pool playing and Red Sox game on all three televisions. Without fanfare, Cole stepped onstage, tuned his acoustic guitar and began to strum “Perfect Skin.” I grabbed a stool and planted it right in front of the stage. Ten other people stared in rapt attention. Despite Cole's stripped down versions, I heard Anne Dudley’s strings, I heard Blair Cowan’s keyboards. I was 18 again, and in love and alive. Cole played a number of songs from “Rattlesnakes,” often hitting the high notes that were a trademark of that recording. His between songs patter was minimal and often apologetic about being an aged singer. Cole could’ve cleared his throat for an hour and that would’ve been fine by me. Cole covered two Tim Hardin tunes, a Dylan tune and of course, “Chelsea Hotel” by Leonard Cohen. His finger-picking and vocals were spry and graceful. He asked the audience to pick some tunes and my voice went mute as I wordlessly mouthed “Brand New Friend.” In the end, it was “Undressed.” Forty minutes into the set and it was all over. Cole walked off stage and packed his guitar up. I wiped the dampness out of my eyes and fled the Brass Cat.