Philadelphia Weekly, the better of Philly’s two weekly rags, has announced the lineup for this year’s free concerts in Rittenhouse Square. What a great lineup.

This year it’s a mix of up-and-coming and larger local acts- all Philly-based.

I actually rescheduled a planned vacation around The first show on August 13. I’d have to be crazy to miss Dr. Dog since I missed them when the played the very same event two years ago.

August 13, 2008: Dr. Dog

September 3: The Hustle with Black Landlord

All shows free, Wednesdays @ 7 PM

Expect some stuff from Dr. Dog’s new LP Fate which will be released July 22nd.

MP3: Dr. Dog- My Friend

MP3: Dr. Dog- Hang On

MP3: The Capitol Years- Let Them Drink

Local man originally from Georgia who sounds a lot like the late Nick Drake.

MP3: Jotto- Backyard Circus

MP3 from Philly’s Bag of Songs blog.

MP3: Bitter Bitter Weeks- Danger in the Halls

I attended the 4th annual South Philly Taproom Wheat Beer Fest over the weekend. It was a great concept- a small brewfest with $3 beers. It took place inside and outside on part of the side street.

I took the Broad Street subway for the first time in my life.

Went with my buddy Porter and found out that he’s friends with Casey Hughes, head brewer at Flying Fish. FF didn’t have any beer at the event but Casey just happens to live in the neighborhood (who doesn’t?)

Here’s what I sampled-

Victory Mad King Wheat
Walt Wit from PBC
Brooklyn Weiss
Penn Dunkel Weiss

The hit of the day coincidentally WASN’T a wheat but Legacy’s Hoptimus Prime double IPA.

Here’s Dan Conway from Shangy’s beer mecca in Emmaus with Casey.

I’ve done a wheat beer tasting of my own- I’ll report my findings later this week.

You’ll have to forgive me for waiting three days before telling you about the beerfest out in Harrisburg. It’s just that it’s taken this long for me to recover.
This is the fifth year in a row for the Troeg’s-sponsored event to benefit the Cystic Fibrosis Foundation. It was the first year I was able to attend, and I’m glad I did.

I’ve slowed down on attending beerfests in this area only because, well, if you’ve been to one, you’ve been to them all. Since this one was located further out in central PA it drew in a bit more central/eastern PA and Maryland brewers. This one was the most well-organized fests I’ve attended.

There were two sessions to reduce crowding. I attended the 5:00 session and I bet there were over 3,000 people there. It covered two large blocks of downtown Harrisburg (30,000 square feet) and the crowd was great (see picture below!).

There were around 35 breweries in attendance and they surprisingly brought some nice beers to share, not just the old standbys. I didn’t have a pen to take notes so I have to go by my very hazy memory, but some standouts included Abbey Wright Brewery out of Duboistown, PA; The Church Brew Works out of Pittsburgh; and the Bullfrog Brewing Co. from Williamsport, PA.

Is Pittsburgh catching up to Philly as the beer capital of the East? The afformentioned along with the Penn Brewery and their old standby Iron City are big players for the smaller city. The Memphis Taproom is hosting a Pitt-centric HH (happy hour) on Tuesday July 1 from 5 to 7 PM.

Oh, and also this year’s Brew At the Zoo (also the 5th annual) has moved to America’s oldest zoo right here in Philly. July 26. Maybe I’ll have recovered by then.

I don’t read Phillyist as much as I used to (too many inside jokes but not as bad as Philebrity but close). But a recent read made me laugh out loud. Take a gander at this post about an experience at our beloved airport. Here’s an excerpt (bold mine):

And, finally, there was the baggage claim. Why, why, why must there always be a problem with the baggage? Here is the drill as I understand it: plane lands, people get off, handlers grab bags, handlers drive in funny car with baggage and put it on to conveyor belt, which sends bags out to disgruntled travelers. I’m sure it is more complicated than that. There probably has to be a useless union representative there to watch as each bag is lifted. There has to be one arm available for each worker to pick his own ass while performing the actual job. And that doesn’t even take into account the time that goes into rechecking the bag to make sure that any valuable items stored within are stolen in the name of national security.

Still, overall it seems like an easy process. But not here. Here, I get to sit for 90 minutes waiting for luggage that is just sitting on a tarmac after an otherwise flawless flight. Here, I get to see my relations with my wife go from “I can’t wait to see you, Honey” to “When the fuck is your luggage coming in so I can go home and get some sleep?” Here, I get to watch three workers sitting around, joking and staring at every female ass in a 200-yard radius while their bag-handling co-workers play “Watch the Lakers-Celtics Game While the Customer Stews.” Here, I get to tell my wife to drive around to arrivals because the voice on the loud speaker said that the bags will be up in five minutes, only to see her whisked away multiple times by Rent-A-Popo when the process takes seven minutes. And by the way, thanks to the nincompoops at the World’s Worst Airport, you can bet that this brother didn’t get no kinda love upon his return to the city of.

Bottom line is I am tired of having to apologize for this airport any time a friend has to come remotely near it. I’m tired of pilots coming on the loud speaker saying, and I shit you not, “It looks like we will be getting you home on time, but with Philadelphia, you never really know.”

Hilarious. Dude can speak for all of us. I’ll put money on it that EVERY person who read this piece can relate. Hell, every person who’s had to fly through Philly just ONCE can relate.

And while we’re on the topic, I’ve always wanted to know why, WHY it is so unsafe to park at the curb? I realize we’re afraid of car bombs, but my God, is a suicide bomber really gonna take the time to blow up a car which might take out one Hertz bus and a couple smokers? Is the mile-long line of cars waiting on the shoulder of I-95 really a safer alternative? It just looks so ghetto!

Oh well. It’s all going to be moot anyway since the news is looking grim for the airlines. Seems like it won’t be too long till air travel will be out of reach for us middle class travelers.

Warning: This post is going to stray quite a bit from the usual BLCB topics and things might get a little cheesy.

Father’s day is almost here and since I forgot to send a card I thought it might be time to honor one of, if not THE most important and influential person in my life (besides Gene Simmons).

My Dad.

He has a short fuse. He’s hard of hearing. He snores (I shared a camper with him last weekend and almost slept on the picnic table just to get away). He cleans his ears with his car keys… in church. His nickname is “Dick”. But the guy’s got some redeeming qualities. Hell, he raised me and only had to bail me out of jail once.

Just one of his many skills is his carpentry. The guy builds beautiful furniture from trees he mills himself. And he doesn’t buy a speck of the lumber: He uses only trees that have been uprooted by storms or inflicted with disease. And he’ll build me ANYTHING I need. The accompanying photos are the only ones I could find after a quick search of my iPhoto library, but believe me, there’s a lot more. I’ll share just one quick story and then I’ll quit with the bragging:

His father built a workbench for his shop when he got married. He made the top out of Maple or Oak, butcher block-style, but the rest of it was partly plywood, which was all he had at the time so it didn’t hold up too well over the years. Dad just piled oily autoparts on it in the back of the garage and always felt a little bad about it. So he decided to restore it. He replaced all of the drawer fronts and added new dividers, a carpenter’s vice and a shelf for my mechanics toolbox (which was also my Grandfather’s).

One day early last spring he and Mom drove to Philly to see their Grandkids and Dad brought the finished workbench with him. (It’s the one in the background below).

Here’s the kicker: He felt bad that there wasn’t room to mount my other vice and my grinder so one day while I was at work he decided to make me another workbench. He found an old piece of rough pine that Peco left in the empty lot next door and HAND PLANED IT and cut it to fit in the tight spot next to my stairs. It’s nothing fancy, but it was all finished by the time I got home from work. I don’t even remember if I thanked him.

He pulls this shit ALL THE TIME- and not just for me- for anyone. I could honestly call him right this minute (as long as it’s not hunting season) and read off dimensions for, let’s say, a new sandbox for the kids. With a lid. He’ll not only build one, it’ll probably be built out of cedar (won’t rot) with beveled edges and sippycup holders. And he’d ship it to me if I said I needed it right away.

That’s just the kind of guy he is. What do I to deserve this? Not a hell of a lot, really.
Happy Father’s Day Dad!
Oh, and jeez, I’ll probably forget to send a birthday card later this month, so while I’m at it, HAPPY BIRTHDAY TOO! (Private note to sister Amy- Tell Dad to read this site since I’ll probably forgot to call on Father’s Day too!)

Here are a couple other projects- a new mantle for my fireplace and an old barn he restored by hand. This pic is the barn mid-completion.

Just to prove the apple doesn’t fall too horribly far from the tree, here’s a project of mine from a long time ago- window/storage boxes for the old house in South Philly.

True story:

One of the brake lights was out on my VW, so yesterday I picked up a bulb and attempted to replace it. Each tail light has 4 separate bulbs so in order to figure out which was the brake as opposed to the turn signal or running lights I needed someone to push on the brake pedal. My two-year old son tried but just didn’t have the strength to push it hard enough. So I asked my wife to get in the car and push the brake pedal. “It should only take a second,” I promised.

Now, to give you some background, my wife (and her friends) are just a bit, well, clueless. Maybe “dizzy” is a better word.

Anyway, the brake light on the “working” tailight wouldn’t light up either. “are you pushing it?” I’d ask. “Yeah” she’d assure me. This went on for a while with no luck. So I asked her to turn on the lights. They worked, but still no brake light. Then I asked her to start up the car, thinking just maybe, for some WEIRD reason, the brake lights didn’t work without the car running.

The car starts up and instantly redlines- she had the gas pedal pressed all the way to the floor and didn’t let up until I yelled frantically, “What the hell are you doing?!” “Stop, Stop! For the love of God!!” I seriously thought the friggin engine was going to explode.

So by now you’ve probably guessed why the brake lights didn’t light up.

You got it.

She was pressing the GAS PEDAL the entire time.

The WHOLE TIME I WAS TEARING MY HAIR OUT WONDERING WHAT THE HELL WAS GOING ON, ASKING HER OVER AND OVER, “ARE YOU STILL PRESSING IT??”

I’m gonna get a lot of shit for writing this but its just too good NOT to share. It’s just ONE example of what I deal with every day. Hell, I could write an entire BLOG devoted to her follies. But I won’t. A guy’s got to show his love some respect. Jeez.

BTW, this is the beauty I’m trading in for a new one.

The car silly, not the wife.

This is my first time seeing the lads from Liverpool but Dave’s second- they played JB’s just last Spring.

Good show. Dave’s buddy JB (no relation) has some video/audio. Perhaps he’ll share so look for them in the comments section.

On the way home on my bike at 7th and Poplar, a block void of anything but empty lots, I heard a commotion on the sidewalk. With no street lights I couldn’t see a thing. I snapped this picture of two couples having a good drunken time singing and fighting each other with their shoes.

Strange but cool.

From today’s Philadelphia Inquirer Obituary, written by music critic Dan DeLuca:

James H. “Jimmy” McGriff Jr., 72, a master of the Hammond B-3 organ who scored gospel-powered 1960s instrumental hits with Ray Charles’ “I’ve Got a Woman” and his own “All About My Girl,” died of complications from multiple sclerosis on Saturday at Voorhees Center Genesis.
Mr. McGriff’s hard-driving, funky playing was pivotal in making Philadelphia the capital of the jazz-organ world. His sound put him in the company of such other Philadelphia-area jazz organ greats as Camden’s Richard “Groove” Holmes, Norristown’s Jimmy Smith, and Philadelphians Bill Doggett, Trudy Pitts, Shirley Scott, and Joey and “Papa John” DeFrancesco.

Yet Mr. McGriff was always quick to note the gospel and blues elements in his music.

“They talk about who taught me this and who taught me that,” the musician, who grew up worshiping at Eastern Star Baptist Church in East Germantown, told AllAboutJazz.com in 2000. “But the basic idea of what I’m doing on the organ came from the church. That’s how I got it, and I just never dropped it.”

Mr. McGriff’s many collaborators included saxophonist Hank Crawford, drummer Bernard “Pretty” Purdie, and bluesman Junior Parker. “They’ve always considered me a jazz organist, which I am not,” he once said. “I’m more of a blues player. That’s what I really feel.”

Born in Germantown, Mr. McGriff played the piano at 5 - both parents played - and later took up drums, vibes, bass and saxophone. He served in the Army in Korea during the Korean War, and after his discharge he was a member of the Philadelphia Police Department for two years, riding with a motorcycle unit while moonlighting with a band.

In 1956 he bought his first Hammond B-3 organ. He studied at the Juilliard School in New York, Combs College of Music in Philadelphia, and Temple University.

“Jimmy absorbed the sound of the B-3 organ,” Pitts, who will perform at a memorial for Mr. McGriff on Sunday, said yesterday in an interview.

“And he brought something to it that was unique because of his church background, that was about what was in your spirit, and what he had to share. He had that hallelujah gospel feeling.”

In 1961, McGriff and his trio recorded Charles’ “I’ve Got a Woman,” a song that was also a hit for Elvis Presley and would go on to be the basis for Kanye West’s 2005 hit “Gold Digger.”

He would go on to record almost 100 albums and perform in clubs and at concerts all over the world. He played with Count Basie, Wynton Marsalis and Dizzy Gillespie, and toured and recorded with Buddy Rich for two years in the ’70s.

Mr. McGriff grew up in Germantown and graduated from Simon Gratz High School. He later lived in New York City; in Connecticut, where he boarded a horse; and in Newark, N.J., where he owned a supper club. For the last 20 years he had lived in Voorhees.

In 1994 he married Margaret Norfleet. Though his multiple sclerosis was diagnosed in 1996, Mr. McGriff performed until last year, his wife said, and recorded four albums since becoming ill, including McGriff Avenue in 2002 and Live at Smoke in 2006. In 2004 he performed at an organ summit in Toronto and toured Japan with Joey DeFrancesco and Reuben Wilson. He got around on his motorized scooter and “played his buns off,” his wife said. “Audiences loved him.”

Mr. McGriff had fun and was easygoing when he was doing a gig, she said. When he wasn’t working he was a homebody, she said. He ate breakfast at a diner where everyone knew his name, then spent the day playing games and creating music on his computer.

In addition to his wife, Mr. McGriff is survived by two children from previous relationships, Donald Kelly and Holiday Hunter Hankerson; his mother, Beatrice; a brother; two sisters; and five grandchildren.

A musical tribute to Mr. McGriff will begin at 4 p.m. Sunday at Harold O. Davis Memorial Baptist Church, 10th Street and Roosevelt Boulevard, Philadelphia. Friends may call from 6 to 9 p.m. Monday at the Bradley Funeral Home, 601 Route 73 S., Marlton, and after 9 a.m. Tuesday at the church, where a funeral will begin at 11 a.m

I always confused Jimmy McGriff with Jimmy Smith (who worked with the Beastie Boys) so when I once mistakenly bought one of his records I was pleasantly surprised and ended up including some of his funky Hammond funk tracks into my DJ mixes. Coincidentally, Jimmy Smith and McGriff were childhood friends.

Philly’s Some Velvet Blog has posted some tracks including a Tribe Called Quest track with a McGriff sample.

The amazing Funky16Corners has more tracks and info on the man.

More at Electric Roulette.

Doesn’t it just irk you that I get more money than you cuz I decided to have a bunch of kids? Don’t fret- they’ll be the ones paying it all back someday.

Now, what to do with all this moola? Some of it already went into the kids’ savings accounts naturally. Some will go into my IRA, and the rest will go to what it was designed for: an economic stimulus purchase. I’ll use part of it for a downpayment on a new car.
I still haven’t made up my mind, but right now it’s between a Saturn Vue and a Mazda5. Right now, gas mileage is the biggest issue. …that, and a bangin’ sound system. Kidding.

Wow, what great weather for Memorial Day weekend!
The Flaming Lips show must’ve been amazing. Cory? MK? How was it?
I used to always hit the Penn’s Landing fest and it was almost always cold, windy and rainy. More than one year it was almost completely cancelled. One time way back we ended up seeing Maceo Parker in a small tent with only about 100 people in the driving rain. Cheap Trick were the headliners that year and never even played. It ended up being one of the most fun shows I ever saw. Behold, the wonders of alcohol!

Anyway, I was down in Rehoboth Beach for the first time in my life. Nice place. It was a mix of conservative shoes and haircuts on the lesbian side and sharp clothes and perfect haircuts in the gay male camp.

The main Dogfishhead brewery is in nearby Milton, DE and their brewpub is right downtown Rehoboth. My motel was just up the street so I made a beeline for the place when I found out they had Randall the Enamal Animal set up (pictured). Randall is a three-foot-long plastic cylinder filled with a half a pound of fresh leaf hops that they hook up to the beer line and run 90 Minute IPA through it. It’s only brought out for Friday happy hour so of course I ordered one with giddy anticipation.
Guess what I got instead? I friggin 60 Minute IPA with no extra hops. I drove 3 hours for a 60 Minute IPA.

No big deal- it’s not that this happens often, right? WRONG. I’ve complained before about bars not updating their chalkboard tap list, but I’ve yet to complain about this VERY common occurrence: A server brings me a very obviously wrong beer, and when I kindly bring this to his her attention, they argue with me. Does this happen to you? It happened to me at the Standard Tap last fall. That Jack Black-looking smart-alec server brought me a Troeg’s Nut Brown when I ordered some other IPA. “I even saw it come out of the tap” was his final remark, as if the tap handles couldn’t possibly be swapped. Just two weeks ago at Rembrandts they were serving Rowhouse Red to everyone who ordered a Yards Philly Pale. And it’s not that I’m nitpicking about two similar beers- even the COLOR of these two beers are very different.

So mistakes are made and I respect these fine establishments… and really, I didn’t make a fuss, but when the manager at Dogfishhead came by each table to ask if everything was OK, I brought it up. He poured one himself and it was definitely a hop-infused 90 Minute. Hell, I could tell from across the room. “On the house” he said apologetically. So my wife ordered another one too, only this time the server got it for her. Guess what she got? Yup. A plain-old 60 Minute again, and it wasn’t a mixup since it was listed on our check as a “Randall 90 Minute”. We didn’t say anything cuz one can only argue so much without sounding like a dick.

There wasn’t really anything exciting on tap except maybe the Black and Blue, and I just missed their Burton Baton, but they had almost the entire lineup. Their gift shop had lots of cool stuff so I picked up some apparel. They even had their own custom-made kids’ placemat. I’ll definitely be back but I”m gonna keep an eye on ‘em!