A.C. Newman

A.C. Newman performed at the Andy Warhol Museum on Saturday, and the family and I sat in the front row. It was a small performance space, maybe holding ninety people. It was sedate and air-conditioned, even chilly, so the atmosphere felt as if I were there to watch a late-night movie. But, thankfully, once introduced, the band bounded onto the carpeted stage with exciting energy that forced my foot to forever tap through the night.

The songs from Newman's new album Get Guilty sparkled. He and his band were stellar players, singers and whistlers. I could not believe I was sitting there, immediately in front of one of my music idols.

When I saw the New Pornographers play, I was in the Carnegie Music Hall of Homestead balcony, so they still appeared as mirages to me--shadowed images of themselves. But Carl, as close as he was, could not be mistaken. His coarse, orange beard and the rapid foot shake he does when he's performing were clarified in this quaint space. His voice was clear, and his songs were catchy.

I was thrilled by the concert (as well as the autographed poster I bought for a mere ten dollars), and I belted along to his songs all the way home. I can't wait for the next New Pornographers album to come out.

(Watercolor sketch inspired by a photo found at of Carl at the Andy Warhol Museum).