PJudd Rocking Out At Biddy's
“This place hasn’t felt this way in a long time.”

-Biddy Mulligan’s Owner Mike Murphy, as heard from the dance floor last night

 This entry could’ve been stolen squarely from a Biddy’s journal of old, back to a time when the crowds never died, the beer never stopped flowing, and your body hurt in ways it’d never known the morning after. Last night we left everything we had on the stage, as did folks on the dance floor, the barstools, and the corner tables. I know it sounds cliché, and I’ll plead guilty to that accusation with a knowing smile, because it’s true. I am a good tired this morning, knowing in my heart of hearts, on some nights it feels as though I’m part of something bigger than life itself. I belong to a tribe of brothers and sisters, some sharing parents, most not, but spliced together with a love for life and song, laughter and spirits. I’ll match this experience with any other in America and know it’d finish high on the list of amazing things to know, feel, do.

In the many tens of times we’ve played Biddy’s, this one will always stand out for reasons unfamiliar and known, but all understandable. First of all, the room was filled with friends tonight, whose bond to both us and the music was impenetrable but inescapably inviting. It’d been months since we’d last convened, but it felt like we’d never parted. I speak here not just of the band, but of our minions too. They are as much a part of this as any lyric or melody, rehearsal or studio session.

One of the more interesting developments I’ve witnessed in the 16 years I’ve fronted this band is just how many little pockets of followers we’ve managed to recruit. Some have stuck while others have disappeared, moving back into the all-consuming pockets of life: children, age, responsibilities. Many reemerge from these caves, glancing into a light they haven’t seen in a while. With the high band member turnover we’ve endured over the years, I’m also no less certain some of the disappearing folks just don’t have a rooting interest in the band anymore, simply because their guy has left. Nonetheless, a collective fan representation of these different eras showed up tonight in force, (’94-97, 99-2002, 2003-present) some with knowledge of other members, others unacquaintanced but comfortable in their roles. Despite their place in time, all showed up seemingly seeking a cure for cabin fever, or perhaps to simply reconnect to an otherwise elusive entity. All converged to a higher ground, separated from the perils of winter and taxes.

 Early in our first set I observed a trio of millennial-generation dudes standing near the bar, faces smug and tight. They looked as though they were somehow outside of the fray and liked it that way: above, disconnected, cool to the collective spirit. By the time we hit Highway Ghosts (song six in your program) it seemed they suddenly wanted membership to this non-exclusive group, even if that meant sacrificing their image a little. This produced a smile on my part that still resonates this morning. One of them even bought a CD at night’s end. Welcome to the tribe, my friend. We can’t promise we’ll never disappoint, but we can promise you’ll have fun (do I sound like David Koresh right now? Shit. Sorry. I promise not to set myself aflame). 

Secondly, I’ve spent the last three months working hard on a collection of songs whose destination I am not yet at liberty to divulge. I’d like to think the material is much different than anything I’ve penned for PJudd, but not without its anchor points and connective tissue. It struck me during set two (in a moment of insobriety, no less) how different we’ve become as a band over the last ten years, especially when we launched into Pilgrim and King Kong. It almost felt like we were playing someone else’s music, and in a sense, we were. These were the songs of Jalbert, Masse, Carroll, England and Gosselin, but we’d now made them our own. Perhaps the songs have grown wise to our ways, or perhaps we’ve just known the songs in ways that now allow us to be informed on their identies on a much different level. You don’t need to know why you change, you only need to recognize you have changed, and in order to grow both as individuals and as a group, it is a necessary good.

Third, new friends Courtney Brocks and Jeff Hawkinson opened the night with a rich set of folkanized music, a sophisticated blend of harmony, melody and instrumentation. Their performance was spotless. Over the last few months I’ve performed a few shows with this pair, and it’s been a great experience to be able to play some roles that are otherwise absent for me in PJudd. I joined Jeff and Courtney during their set for a few tunes on guitar, and they returned the favor by joining us on a few songs at various points. Oftentimes when bands play together these days, due mostly to a huge variation in styles, they seldom jam together, a tradition I feel has sadly escaped, so this only made tonight’s collision of worlds all the more refreshing and memorable.

This item doesn’t need a number, but I’ll just say I had the most fun you can have with your pants on tonight, both onstage with my mates, and also bantering with the crowd. I was still giggling this morning thinking about some of the exchanges between stage and crowd. As a songwriter, it’s easy to forget this is part of the experience, but the quick reminder is always something to which I am happily attached.

I’ll also say that our first set ranks right up there with some of the best PJudd’s ever performed. It’s almost as if we had to prove to those in attendance and to ourselves that we could still do this on a high level, because there have been other historical passages in PJudd’s history where this hasn’t been the case. Back then it felt, at times, like we were hanging on for dear life. Many times this resulted in someone leaving (while others resulted in people getting, um, dismissed), or perhaps a serious discussion about why we were still doing this (some of these conversations were internal to thyself). Tonight couldn’t have been more distant from those humbling times. It was a Tour de Force de Judd de Pondering. It felt like we were unstoppable, or at least very good. We’re still here. We ain’t going nowhere, even if this place is nowhere.

Getting back to Murphy’s quote at the beginning. When I’d first heard about this over apre-performance cocktails (at 2:30 AM), I’d just thought Old Murph was being nice. See, prior to our performance tonight, Murph and I talked about the changing musical landscape here in the seacoast, and how it’s impacted his business. It seems many new bands are now pulling their weight, many nights filling Biddy Mulligan’s to capacity. The room was packed tonight, but that’s not what Old Murph was talking about. This is purely speculative on my part, but I believe he was referring to our fans and the goodness they exude, and to the knowledge no harms or fouls would take place tonight (apparently this hasn’t been the case with some of the younger bands and their fans coming in, who’ve brought back the violence of pre-1992 barrooms), just a rich experience that’d be savored over and over again. 

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Thanks to everyone who came out tonight, to Jeff and Courtney for opening, and to Old Murph for opening the doors once again. We’ll be back on April 3, and even perhaps before (we’ll let you know more about that soon, if it happens). If you’re reading this, wrestle those old sticks from the mud and let them know what they’re missing. Life itself. 

By the way, if you have pictures from last night, please send them my way. We’d love to post ‘em.

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