I Love You But You're Dead

 First Fridays was vibrating at a lower pitch tonight.

Which was a shame considering the art and music that was out there for the taking.

A four block walk in a light rain got me to Ghostprint Gallery for Peter Fowler's wildly-colored impressionistic "Aqua Illuminations."

"Venetian" was immediately recognizable as Venice despite the hot pink and orange colors, but "Silver Industry" was the one I kept coming back to.

Alas, I didn't have a spare thousand dollars for it.

ADA Gallery was showing James Trotter's eclectic work, a pastiche of comic book characters, advertising, cartoons and random scribbles.

Barney Rubble, Alfred E. Neuman, Donald Duck, Bert (sans Ernie) and the Stax logo all made appearances.

Candela Gallery's "Greta Pratt: Taking Liberties" delivered large-format photographs and a sly look at popular culture.

One series was of Lincoln impersonators (one had a log cabin RV). Another series was of Liberty Tax workers dressed in their cheesy, green Lady Liberty costumes (green nail polish, R.I.P. tattoo, red glasses). Another was of young women dressed as southern belles (modern faces did not match period costumes).

The final destination was Gallery 5 for Adam Juresko's "Self Abuse" exhibit of paper collages.

Maybe it's me, but I'm fascinated by Juresko's work (I own two) and tonight's new work had plenty of contenders I could have taken home.

But we can't always get what we want.

What I could get was music and all I had to do was walk downstairs to get it.

Four bands were playing tonight, including one who'd been called the "America's best living lyricist" and the show was free.

Free, as in come hear terrific music on us.

I didn't have to be told twice.

Opening was local Josh Small, in his usual overalls, starting with "My Confession," moving through an Emmylous Harris cover and finishing with "Knife in My Belly."

A photographer friend summed it up best. "We can see him all the time, so we forget, but if we saw Josh play in another city, we'd be blown away."

In an unexpected turn of events that left some people disappointed, headliner Mark Eitzel played second.

Apparently, he'd wanted to so Gallery 5 had said he could. But some people didn't get the memo and missed him.

Luckily, I was not one of them.

Eitzel (yes, he of American Music Club) came onstage wearing a hat and began singing in the direction of, not us, but his keyboard player.

I wasn't sure if he was uncomfortable with the audience or just getting in a groove, although he did make a point to tell us that he was only going to play briefly.

Whatever he was doing, his voice was a thing of beauty.

A singer friend called it immediately. "Great pipes!"

A musician friend was more specific, putting Eitzel's talent at the level of a Tom Waits.

Me, I was just reveling in being in the same room with this man's gift.

His voice was so strong, so assured, that half the time he held the mic at waist level and still belted very note across the room.

He introduced a song as, "About a beautiful woman named Gena Rowlands," a reference I doubt most of the 20-somethings in the room got.

It was an American Music Club song, "What Holds the World Together," with the exquisite lyric, "Through the window the warm summer air does a two-step, I wish there was some way I could keep it."

I have wished the same thing many times.

From his new album "Don't Be a Stranger," he did "I Love You But You're Dead," a song he said was about going to a rock concert and asking the star to sign his poster.

The superb song got cheering along with applause, prompting the quixotic Eitzel to promise, "Don't worry, it won't be long."

Oh, Mark, honey, we wish it could go on all night. Please be long.

"I wrote this song about a nightclub, the kind where everyone's mean. Not like here."

Mean? We were enthralled.

He introduced "Windows on the World" by saying, "Everything that happens in this song is true. I went to a party at the top of the World Trade Center."

What I remember is the evocative lyric, "We were so downtown," before the song began to wind down and Eitzel announced that the next song was his last.

He left us with a song about a male stripper named Spanky and only a world-class lyricist could cover the topics he covered in that song and make them sound so memorable.

During the break, I discussed what we'd just seen with friend after friend and everyone admitted to having been blown away by the man's talent. His voice. His songs.

And we saw him for free. Mark Eitzel for free.

The room should have been packed, but as a local DJ pointed out, the show had gotten no press.

How the hell that happened, no one could fathom.

Up next was Modern Drugs, a trio of guys who looked impossibly young and played the shortest of songs, all youthful energy and broken strings.

After playing several songs, the lead singer said, "We have several additional songs to sing."

My friend and I guessed that he was new to stage banter.

When the guitarist noticed the dangling string, a voice from the audience called out, "What were you supposed to bring?"

It was his girlfriend apparently and he sheepishly looked at her, cradling the string, admitting, "An extra guitar."

Always listen to your girlfriend, son, because she knows best.

When their exuberant set finished, the guitarist said earnestly, "I'm sorry for everything."

He needn't have apologized; turns out this was their very first show.

"A" for effort, boys. And a little tip from a pro: don't ever say you're sorry.

Low Branches closed out the show and after Modern Drugs' noise-fest, I was a little surprised at how hushed the room got all at once.

But then, Christina's voice and Matt and Josh's restrained playing sort of demands that you shut up and listen.

Still, it doesn't always happen, but tonight it did.

As a stranger said to me afterwards, "Whoa, that was some really different bands, but I liked it!"

I liked it, too.

And seeing Mark Eitzel in a room not even half full was out of this world.

Maybe I didn't get what I wanted art-wise, but I sure got what I needed musically.

Through the gallery the mild winter air did a two step
I wish there was some way I could keep that man's voice with me.

I wish.