My marriage-induced love of all things professional cycling took a major hit during the Lance Armstrong doping years, so much so that I now follow the sport with disdain, and from a studied distance. I might not follow it at all were it not for my friend Mike Fee, who is the world’s most enthusiastic Fantasy Tour De France organizer. Not only does he have the process down to a science every July, not only does he run it as a fundraiser for the Make A Wish Foundation, not only does the winner of the first day’s stage win a KNIFE: Mike writes a daily recap that fairly sings off the page. His thoughts on each day’s Spandex-wearing warriors are a work of literary beauty. (Want in for 2018? Send an email to mackfee@hotmail.com to get on the list for next year.)
So when he asked to write a guest post about the Best Cover Band Concert ever that he happened to catch a few weeks ago, I made like a French fan in the Alps and screamed “Allez, allez, allez!” Enjoy.
Under Cover Tribute – by Mike Fee
I learned the difference between a tribute band and a cover band from my daughter’s soccer coach.
By day, Brian is a dad, with a job, finding time to coach youth soccer.
By night, he becomes a Robert Smith look- and sound-alike in Sorta Like Heaven, “Southern Yolo County’s premiere Cure tribute band.”
I’ve learned that most tribute bands indeed pay tribute to their musical forebears: Brian travels widely to catch Cure shows. The lead singer of Hollywood U2 evidently counts among his life’s transcendent moments actually singing onstage with Bono.
But a cover band plays whatever might draw a crowd’s favor. Sure, a cover band might adhere to one genre; consider San Francisco’s Tainted Love: “THE BEST OF THE 80’S LIVE!” But there’s always diversity within that set.
Tribute bands play imagined concerts; cover bands play at weddings and dances.
For their differences, though, both tribute and cover bands appeal to our sense of curiosity: What will they play next?
Tribute bands are my guilty pleasure. In recent years I’ve seen Hollywood U2, Sorta Like Heaven, This Charming Man (Smiths), Evolution (Journey), Super Diamond (Neil), even New Day Rising (Hüsker Dü!) At each show, the close of every song elicited anticipation: What’s next? Will they go deep, or stick with Strangeways/Escape/Joshua Tree? Can he do right by the vocal gymnastics in Any Way You Want It?
Cover bands elicit that sense as well, but it’s a lighter touch: Which hit will get some feet on the dance floor? Do these guys practice often enough to pull off something really recent? If tribute bands are a guilty pleasure, cover bands are a remorseless indulgence: I’m chaperoning a high school dance, and these guys are playing, so I may as well enjoy.
In both cases, we experience something uncommon in today’s music world: the unknown. Not a playlist, or even a since-you-liked-that-you-might-like-this recommendation, but today’s rarest of breeds: the musical surprise.
So when my wife Karen showed me an ad for Secret Stash, a supergroup (of sorts) that would play at something called the Finding Equilibrium Festival at Squaw Valley, my curiosity was piqued – though so was my skepticism: What combined sound would members of Pearl Jam, the Dave Matthews Band, fun., and…Godsmack produce?
Would they go round-robin, taking whacks at their respective bands’ deep cuts? Write and perform tunes just for the occasion? Just jam?
Would I be able to stomach the level of pretention at an event called “Finding Equilibrium”?
Suffiice it to say I stomached it all: my God, I ate it up. For Secret Stash, I learned, was an all-star cover band, coming together to play one immensely likeable song after another.
They opened with ELO’s “Do Ya,” Pearl Jam’s Mike McCready nailing that opening guitar crash, and immediately my wife, my kids and I all grinned. Thinking we might have gotten lucky with one of my all-time favorites, I shouted “No way!” when they next broke into the Clash’s “Train In Vain,” and it struck me: I’m in the fourth row for a show by the Best Cover Band Ever. Hands up!
From there we rode the anticipation roller coaster from one tune to the next, though after a half dozen songs it no longer mattered: every song elicited an ever-wider grin.
Lita Ford’s “Kiss Me Deadly”? Nate Ruess’ voice, which always grated with fun., now was admirably up to the falsetto task.
“A Touch of Grey”? Sure – throw a bone to the equilibrium-finders in the crowd.
“Man in the Box”? Godsmack’s Sully Cerna stepped up to the vocals and pulled off a dead-on Layne Staley, and converted a nihilistic wail into a party tune.
The high point of anticipation in any show, of course, is the encore:
Will they?
If they do, what will they play?
I’d never seen a cover band do an encore, but this was not your workaday wedding band.
So we clapped in unison, and stomped in encouragement on the grassy hillside, and chanted, and soon the stage lights shone again, and we shouted our approval as the band members took their spots, all except Ruess, the lead singer; the spotlight shone on an empty center stage as a familiar drumbeat kicked in, and we looked at each other and wondered, “Wait – are they going to play…”
And then Dee Snider sprinted onstage.
Sixty-two years old, same bleach-blond (though possibly now white-grey) ponytail and silver-dollar shades, and after a brief self-intro and while grinning even wider than the rest of us, he led us all in a fevered version of “We’re Not Gonna Take It.” Needless to say, we sang along.
All that, and sometimes, it’s really nice to be surprised.
Wanna see Mike? He’s the guy in the blue shirt next to Dee Snider’s left bicep in this shot.
