Wishing wells are fine in fairy tales…

…. But they’ve got no business here where evil’s very real – Ron Sexsmith
Anyone else find it hard to believe we’re not slipping off an economic precipice into full-blown recession? Even CNN, whose reporting could best be described as Romeroesque, is chiming in on how life has grown much harder for the poorest among us. I’m stunned. Really, I am. The dollar has weakened to the point that even the Canadian loonie has overtaken the U.S. dollar in value. Add to that a growing mortgage crisis, increasing concern with (and visibility into) the esoteric off-balance sheet conduits and structured investment vehicles (SIVs) financial institutions are using to put lipstick on the pig that is their financial well-being, not to mention sluggish income growth, and you’ve got yourself a perfect economic crapstorm a-brewin’. Now comes word that Hank Paulson and the Cavalry are riding into town to save the banks and their generously compensated financial engineers from their own ineptness. Once again, those fabulously compensated Wall Street wizards will be offered the government teat as Paulson and his comrades at the SEC and the Federal Reserve wring their hands about their inability to head off these kinds of events while simultaneously denying any culpability in the matter.

On a completely unrelated topic, I have a DVR for the first time in my life. All the Anthony Bourdain and his caustic commentary on life, travel, and FoodTV that I could ever want!

It’s been a busy month, music-wise. I’m skipping the Middle Distance Runner show tonight because I seem to have a bit of a sore throat. Over the last few weeks, I’ve caught shows from Matt Pond PA, Paolo Nutini, Rilo Kiley, and Cat Power. MPPA, touring in support of their new release Last Light, put on a spirited Monday night set at the 9:30 Club. Eschewing the cello-infused “chamber pop” sound of prior albums, the band cranked out more straightforward, guitar-heavy power pop while still managing to cover fan favorites like Lily Two and Measure 3. It was a pleasure to finally catch up with a band I’ve followed for a few years.

The same couldn’t be said of the Paolo Nutini show. After ditching the zombie-like Amy Wino at Virgin Fest, I was absolutely wowed by Paolo Nutini. What made it all the more amazing was the fact that Paolo looked like he might stumble off the stage at any moment. I can’t really blame him for not enjoying the 9:30 set so much as I can his audience. The 9:30 Club was full of pretentious chatters, the kind of clueless asshats who only talk louder when the music starts playing. Many of Nutini’s songs, with their breathy vocals and delicate tunes, didn’t hold up well against the din of the crowd.

I’m sure a million words have already made their way into the blogosphere about Rilo Kiley’s set. I won’t add to them, other than to say that I still love the band and would still run off and have Jenny Lewis’ babies.

That leaves us with the trainwreck that was the Cat Power show. Nursing a sore throat that left Chan Marshall grimacing at points during her set, the artist dubbed “the greatest soul singer in the world” failed to live up to her lofty introduction. I’m not sure who convinced Chan that she had the vocal range and musicality to be a soul singer, but whoever that is should be shot, hanged, drawn and quartered, burned, and scattered to the four winds. The Cat Power I know and love is best known for her exact phrasing, her spare arrangements, and her hauntingly delicate vocals. She isn’t a singer so much as a vocal stylist, a singer who imprints her own will even on songs she covers. I’m not sure I know anyone else who could improve on a Cat Stevens original other than Chan. I felt shivers up and down my spine the first time I heard the opening strains of The Greatest. I’m sorry to say that I didn’t feel the same when I heard her woozy, bluesy interpretation of the song live. Despite my disappointment with the show, she remains among my favorite artists (and still ranks high on the list of female rock stars for whom I’d be an unapologetic groupie).