Saw Mason Jennings at the Mercury Lounge Saturday night.
We went out to Vegetarian Dim Sum House, on Pell Street, to eat before the show. Lotus root cakes, mashed taro treasure boxes, vegetarian mock pork steamed dumplings, turnip cakes, sesame paste buns. Mason and Chris (the bass player) and Chad (the front of house guy) were unfamiliar with Chinatown–“What’s it called? Dim Sum? What is that, exactly?” That’s the brilliance of living in New York–for all our tiny homes and surly fellow passengers on the F train–the joy of taking visitors to eat amazing, exotic food.
His songs were taut and drawly, Chris bobbing and bouncing, cracking, papery snare and chiming, arpeggiated acoustic guitar. Ben Kweller (my new labelmate, who hugged me when he met me) and Haley Bonar guested. Sometimes the songs heated up, and Mason would get so passionate he would seem dangerous, whipping the guitar neck around in a fast axis, WHAP! such that I would fear Brian, the drummer, getting conked in the head.
Hung with the musicians in the Merc’s dank basement afterwards. Glenn Morrow, head of Bar/None and chillest man in the music industry, was there. Chris and Haley tried to force cannoli on me, and when I refused, pleading that I was battling my Inner Fat Man, Chris ate them theatrically, describing them in erotic detail as he munched.
There was a piece of graffiti in the dressing room: TITS ARE STILL COOL.