I suppose I should say something about Amy Winehouse, but I don’t have a lot to add to the conversation.

She had a nice voice, and she made a fun pop record, and from what I can tell, she died as she lived. I can’t imagine anyone was too surprised about that – her Grammy-winning hit was about refusing to go to rehab, for pity’s sake – and while I get being sad about it, I don’t feel like she was a tragic victim or anything. She died as she lived.

And in doing so, she joined the 27 Club, which is eerie. All you have to do to get in is be a famous musician, and die at age 27. Other well-known members: Jim Morrison, Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, Brian Jones, Kurt Cobain. There are many others who aren’t as well-known, too. It’s a strange little coincidence, and Winehouse’s death only adds to the legend. Other than that, the whole thing was a sad waste. Even though I never responded to her music the way others did, I can still feel that twinge of anger I get whenever someone throws away the gift of life.

And that’s all I really have to say about that.

* * * * *

I’m still sorting through pictures, videos and new CDs from this year’s Cornerstone Festival, and I still have that “I just saw a dozen bands I love” glow about me. It’s been almost a month, and I’m still giddy about it. Which is no surprise, really, since I’m still feeling something of a rush from last year’s Cornerstone, which allowed me to see several bands I’d never experienced live before.

One of those was Ireland’s magnificent Iona, a band unlike any other I know. Imagine an even mix of 1980s Rush and Clannad, or centuries-old Irish folk songs performed by a dazzlingly-talented progressive rock band. You have a powerhouse rhythm section, an almost new-age bed of keyboards, and solos on violin, guitar and uilleann pipes, sometimes all at once. And you have the strong, gorgeous voice of Joanne Hogg up front. This is a band that could, at any time, become Enya, but they never do – they play massive, dramatic music, with songs that sometimes stretch past a quarter of an hour.

Live, they’re amazing. I saw them on the relatively small Gallery Stage at Cornerstone – they closed out one of the nights, meaning they went on about 11 p.m. and played for an hour and a half. What sometimes comes off as airy and drifting on record became intense and powerful on stage. The five Ionans are phenomenal musicians, playing music unlike any other on earth, and even though founding member Troy Donockley is no longer playing pipes for them, newcomer Martin Nolan has filled his shoes admirably. Iona plays as if, where they come from, all music sounds like this. And if that’s true, it’s a place I’d love to visit.

Why am I thinking about a show I saw a year ago? Well, Iona has a new album out, called Another Realm, and listening to it takes me right back to that magical Gallery Stage night. Another Realm suffers from the same problems every Iona album has – it’s more new-agey than it perhaps should be, and the production is flatter than I’d like. But as a recorded document of what this band does, it is perhaps the best since Journey Into the Morn, considered by Iona fans an undisputed classic.

What makes it so great? To begin with, it’s the band’s first double album, clocking in at 96 minutes. This gives them the opportunity to really stretch out in places, and also allows them to let the shorter songs breathe a little more – they’re not jockeying for space with the epics here. Another Realm plays like a conceptual piece – it starts with “As It Was” and ends with “As It Shall Be,” two songs that share melodies and themes – and that only helps sell the more amorphous sections of it. In short, it’s a long, wandering record that still feels unified.

It gets off to a slow and atmospheric start. “As It Was” is just Hogg and some wispy keyboards, setting the scene, and the seven-minute “The Ancient Wells” takes some time to get going. But when it kicks in, the guitars and pipes playing a twin jig, it’s awe-inspiring. The band locks into a groove only a few times on Another Realm, but every time they do, it’s as impressive as it’s ever been.

Most of the record, however, is given over to pretty pieces with melodies that are not immediate. There are two sprawling epics here, one on each disc. The 15-minute “An Atmosphere of Miracles” barely holds together – it’s a series of mood pieces strung together by Hogg’s wonderful voice. The whole thing is so light it could float away, but listen more closely, and its contours reveal itself. I am not sure they could ever play it live without putting most of the audience to sleep, but on record, it’s surprisingly successful. And had the band confined themselves to a single disc, it probably would have been cut.

The other long piece, the 11-minute “White Horse,” all but closes out the second disc, and it’s wonderfully weird. The five-minute instrumental that precedes it, “The Fearless Ones,” is something of a prelude, and its odd, dissonant tones glide perfectly into “White Horse,” an apocalyptic tale of revelation. As the armies of Heaven march in the final minutes, Hogg sings “see his glory” over and over, and if any moment on this album makes me sit up and take notice, it’s that one.

As fans of this band know, they are deeply Christian, and this album is perhaps more plain-spoken in its faith than any other they’ve made. “Let us call out to you and declare your holy word,” Hogg sings in “The Ancient Wells,” and she spends much of the remaining 90 minutes doing just that. She calls for God’s kingdom (the “other realm” of the title) to come several times, and the whole album is about Jesus’ return to earth in the end times. Iona gets a pass from me on this, because their sound draws so heavily on the religious folk songs of their homeland, but if earnest declarations of faith are not your thing, you may want to avoid this, no matter how intriguing the band’s sound is.

And that sound is amazing, even when the quintet confines itself to four- and five-minute pop songs, as they do for about half the album’s running time. Songs like “Speak to Me” and “Foreign Soil” are lovely little ditties, and when the band grabs hold of something truly beautiful, as they do about halfway through “Clouds,” the results are just breathtaking. The double-album framework allows them to extend that one to 6:45, and it deserves it. The expanded running time also gives them the freedom to include instrumental pieces like the tender “Ruach” and the soaring “Let the Waters Flow.” (“Saviour” is the only one I wish had been dropped, and I’m not wishing that hard.)

Iona really hasn’t changed much over the years, but I don’t mind. When a band has developed a sound as singular and striking as this one has, simply spending the next 20 years refining it is fine with me. Yes, Another Realm allows the band to stretch out in ways it hasn’t before, but really, it’s just another in a long line of terrific records from a band unlike any other. Seeing them live was a highlight of my 2010, and I can’t hardly wait to do it again. Until then, this will have to tide me over. I think it’s up to the task.

Go here.

* * * * *

So let’s talk about this year’s Cornerstone haul.

I’m a little more than halfway through all the records I bought this year. Of course, I listened to things like Kerosene Halo right away – the combination of Mike Roe and Derri Daughterty is simply unbeatable, especially on brilliant covers like Richard Thompson’s “The Dimming of the Day” and Tom Waits’ “Bottom of the World.” But my favorite song here is an original – Steve Hindalong’s “Bad Sense of Direction.” I find myself singing that one all the time. (You can hear the whole record for free here.)

But as usual, the new bands and other releases I picked up have taken me some time to get through. I expected I would blog about them, but I haven’t had that kind of time. That doesn’t mean these records aren’t worth reviewing, though, because some of them definitely are. I expect I’ll get to Josh Garrels next week – I am still digesting his Love & War & the Sea In Between, but I think I’m in love with it, naked spirituality and all.

For this week, though, I have two that are very much worth checking out.

The Farewell Drifters are a five-piece from Nashville. I caught them on the Gallery Stage last year, and liked them, but didn’t buy their records, for some reason. This year, though, I saw the final few numbers of their set while drifting back from Petra’s disastrous turn on Main Stage, and was smitten. The Drifters play bluegrass pop, and they take equally from both of those genres. They sport a pretty standard bluegrass lineup – guitar, acoustic bass, banjo, fiddle and mandolin, with no drummer – but the songs they write (and their glorious harmonies) owe much to Tin Pan Alley and the Beatles. (They even do a tremendous cover of “For No One.”)

The new Drifters album is called Echo Boom, and it’s pretty great. It’s more diverse than their previous efforts, bringing in more pop influences, and the songs are sharper. “Bed of My Own” is now my favorite Drifters tune, but in second place is the six-minute epic “You Were There” – it begins with a lengthy fiddle dirge, but soon morphs into a gorgeous piece of triumphant melancholy. If you like sweet melodies played on acoustic instruments, you’re going to love this, and you should add it to your collection immediately. Go here.

And then there is Songs of Water, one of the major discoveries of my 2011 Cornerstone fest.

They’re an eight-piece from North Carolina, and what they play sounds like the world in miniature. Their new album, The Sea Has Spoken, incorporates hammered dulcimer, banjo, strings, accordion, tuba, mandolin, Norwegian fiddles, doumbek, surdo, djembe, bouzouki, piano and tabla, to give you an incomplete list, and it’s like taking a magical transcontinental journey.

Most of what they do is instrumental, and stunningly diverse. The first sound you hear, on the powerhouse “Everything That Rises,” is Stephen Roach’s hammered dulcimer, and man, this guy can play. On the previous SoW album, Roach was clearly the band’s leader, but here, he’s one of many voices, adding to the whole. And the album is so much richer for it. Multi-instrumentalist Luke Skaggs wrote “The Great Russian Catastrophe,” which sounds like a European carnival fighting for its life, and co-wrote the magnificent “The Family Tree.”

There are two songs with vocals – “lyricals,” as the band calls them – and they’re wonderful, too. Roach sings both the lovelorn “Sycamore” and the spiritual “Willow,” and it’s to the band’s credit that neither sound out of place on this mainly wordless record. After their jaw-dropping set at Cornerstone, I described them as a “baby Iona.” But after hearing this album, I think they’re something else entirely, a magical mystery tour all their own.

Check them out here.

* * * * *

Next week, it’s time for the new breed of troubadours, with Josh Garrels and Frank Turner. Leave a comment on my blog at tm3am.blogspot.com. Follow my infrequent twitterings at www.twitter.com/tm3am.

See you in line Tuesday morning.

I mentioned Dr. Tony Shore last week as a man of wealth and taste. (Well, not wealth. Well, he does all right.) Tony’s a big fan of pop music, specifically keyboard-driven pop music – this is a guy who names Yes’ 90125 as his favorite album of all time. As you might imagine, we’ve had our share of musical disagreements.

One of our ongoing back-and-forths is over the use of the word “quirky.” Dr. Shore loves this word, and uses it at every opportunity. The new Cars album is quirky, Fountains of Wayne are quirky, Bleu is quirky, and on and on. I needle him about it, because sometimes it seems to be the only adjective in his stable. But I have to admit, there are times when quirky is the only word that will do.

Take, for example, They Might Be Giants. This is a band for whom the word quirky could have been invented. The band is two guys named John, one who plays guitar and another who plays accordion. They write funny songs, often chock-full of nonsense lyrics, but they’re not a novelty band by any stretch of the imagination. Their music is full-blooded, melodic and catchy, even when their lyrical preoccupations include U.S. presidents, birdhouse-shaped nightlights and the eternal battle between XTC and Adam Ant. They’re not silly, they’re just…quirky.

They’re also, willingly or not, now music biz veterans. Both Johns (Linnell and Flansburgh) are over 50. Together they’ve released 15 studio albums and a host of other projects, and next year is TMBG’s 30th anniversary. But here is what I love about them: they steadfastly refuse to grow up. Hell, they’ve spent a big chunk of the last 10 years making children’s music – absolutely astonishing, brainy children’s music, the kind I wish I had around when I was learning to read and write. You can write them off as big kids if you like, but to me, they’re still following that optimistic dream they had as 20-year-olds. And that’s beautiful.

That doesn’t mean they haven’t matured, of course. You can still see things as an adult even if you refuse to grow up. (He said, while making his first-ever mortgage payment.) All the evidence of that you need can be found on TMBG’s fantastic 15th album, Join Us. There are no outright laughs on this record, no “Minimum Wage” or “Older” or “Bastard Wants to Hit Me.” But there’s plenty to make you think, and even more to put a wry grin on your face. This is TMBG’s most mature album – you can hear it in the guitar-heavy, live-band production – but it’s still TMBG. And thank God for that.

Still, every time this band writes a straight love song, it’s still striking. They’ve been plying this trade since “They’ll Need a Crane,” with the best of the lot being “Another First Kiss,” from Mink Car. But the two entries on Join Us certainly deserve to join the pantheon.

“Let Your Hair Hang Down” is a first-rate, world-class pop song about the joys of throwing caution to the wind. This is a song that could have been a hit in 1975 – the Byrds-y guitars ring out winningly, and Linnell and Flansburgh harmonize a soaring, delightful melody. “Let the wrong be wrong, would it be so bad, when your hair’s so long, let your hair hang down…” It’s wonderful. And “Never Knew Love” mentions cartography and semaphore, but at its core, it’s a pretty song of wonder and devotion.

Throughout Join Us, Linnell and Flansburgh use that quirky perspective of theirs to illuminate down-to-earth concerns. “You Probably Get That a Lot” whips out the word “cephalophore,” a term for those statues of saints carrying their own heads. But when you get down to it, the song is about seeing something special in someone else. Both “Protagonist” and “Spoiler Alert” use the device of fiction to shine a light on their confused characters. And the head-spinning time travel tale “2082” is really about hoping that some day, one day, you’ll understand yourself.

The most strikingly straightforward tune here is the surprisingly joyous “When Will You Die.” It is the most vitriolic thing this band has ever released: “You’re insane, you are bad, you wreck everything you touch and you’re a sociopath, there’s just one thing that everyone’s wondering, when will you die?” Linnell goes on to explain that the schools and banks will close, and people will celebrate by “jumping up and down on your grave.” But it’s not mean, or vindictive. It’s danceable and fun, and it contains the greatest band shout-out ever. (Don’t want to ruin that for you.)

Yes, there are songs here that are just plain weird, like “The Lady and the Tiger” and the incomprehensible (to me, anyway) “Three Might Be Duende.” But the way TMBG chooses to go out here should tell you where their hearts are. The final song is called “You Don’t Like Me,” and it’s a simple pop number that flips the “I saw you across a crowded room” cliché on its ear. “I can see the future like it’s in the past, you will never be my friend, you don’t like me…”

It’s a song of loneliness and disappointment, filtered through the TMBG lens – the singer then goes on to list the things his subject does like, including Court TV, cats and Woody Harrelson. It’s wry and witty, funny and sad. It is, like the best TMBG songs, the perfect balance. Growing up is overrated. TMBG is growing old gracefully, and Join Us is a wonderful little record, everything you’d hope They Might Be Giants at 30 might deliver.

* * * * *

The Fiery Furnaces is another band that can only accurately be described as quirky.

A sibling duo from Brooklyn, Matthew and Eleanor Friedberger have made eight records of utterly bizarre indie prog. Imagine if 1970s Yes were a garage band with a junky sensibility and a restless proclivity to dismantle and reinvent their songs live, and you’re getting close to the idea. 10-minute songs that never stand still, keyboards that sound like they’ve been dropped down a set of stairs, and lyrics that feel patched together from dreams. Oh, and they once made a concept album with their grandmother. I don’t really know any other band like them.

It’s becoming increasingly clear, though, that the Friedbergers need each other. On his own, Matthew just spirals off into space – his double-album solo effort Winter Women/Holy Ghost Language School was the most dense and inaccessible thing he’s done, which is saying something, and he’s neck-deep into an eight-LP crazy-go-round called Solos, in which he plays one instrument for each installment. Matthew obviously needs his sister to ground him.

But Eleanor also needs her brother to add imagination and creativity to her work. Her solo debut, Last Summer, is without doubt the most grown-up and sedate album to bear the Friedberger name. And it’s boring. Boring, boring, boring.

Friedberger’s lyrics are still strange and wonderful, and her fascinating voice, complete with that shove-too-many-syllables-together thing she does, is in full effect here. But the songs… the songs are snoozers. Two minutes into each one, and you’ve heard all it has to offer. Drums, bass, guitar, piano, two or three chords, repeat. Slip into a coma. “Roosevelt Island” is one of the only signs of life here, its Stevie Wonder clavinet underpinning a dynamic bass line. But the song still goes nowhere. The only bright light on the entire record is “I Won’t Fall Apart on You Tonight,” on which Friedberger finally remembers to write a chorus. Otherwise, everything here is a miss.

And I think this album illustrates my above point pretty well – there’s a balance that needs to be struck. Matthew has decided to follow every whim, and never grow up, and his work is pretty close to unlistenable. Eleanor, meanwhile, has jumped into maturity with both feet, and come up with sonic wallpaper. Matthew needs Eleanor to help him focus like an adult, and Eleanor needs Matthew to remind her of what it was like to be a child. That is my wish for the next Fiery Furnaces album – something that walks that balance as well as They Might Be Giants do.

Wow, full circle. How often does that happen?

* * * * *

That’ll do it for me this week. I’ve been overwhelmed with other duties, both personal and professional, so I’m going to have to cut it (relatively) short. Next week, Iona makes a double record, and some other Cornerstone discoveries do their thing. Leave a comment on my blog at tm3am.blogspot.com. Follow my infrequent twitterings at www.twitter.com/tm3am.

See you in line Tuesday morning.

I keep saying 2011 is an amazing year for new music. And it just keeps getting better.

Here are some records I’m buying in September: Lindsey Buckingham’s Seeds We Sow, Dream Theater’s A Dramatic Turn of Events, Wilco’s The Whole Love, Bjork’s Biophilia, Tori Amos’ Night of Hunters, Blitzen Trapper’s American Goldwing, St. Vincent’s Strange Mercy, Mogwai’s Earth Division, Anthrax’s Worship Music (finally!), Thrice’s Major/Minor, Switchfoot’s Vice Verses, a retrospective (with loads of new stuff) from Ben Folds (called Best Imitation of Myself, naturally), and the self-titled debut from Neil Finn’s new band, Pajama Club. Oh, and the next five Queen reissues as well.

But with all that, the day I am most looking forward to – the day I have circled in red on my calendar – is October 4. Two huge releases make their way into my hands on that date. First up is Odd Soul, the third album from Mutemath, and their first as a trio after the departure of guitarist Greg Hill. I am out-of-my-skin excited to hear where they’ve taken their sound.

But eclipsing even that in my mind is We Are All Where We Belong, the third album from Quiet Company. If you don’t know Austin’s best band, you should. This album promises to be their most epic, most undeniable record yet, and considering the sheer quality of everything else they’ve done, that’s got me pretty stoked. A dozen-plus more Taylor Muse songs? Yes, please.

Even before we get there, we’ll see new ones from They Might Be Giants, Boston Spaceships, Fountains of Wayne, Jane’s Addiction, Stephin Merritt, Tom Morello’s Nightwatchman project, and a little thing called Artificial Heart by the great Jonathan Coulton. It’s a wonderful time to be alive.

* * * * *

Me being who I am, I get to meet a lot of musicians.

In fact, it’s been that way my whole life. I’ve always been drawn to people who create or are otherwise involved with music. I’ve been in bands since I was a teen, and watched and supported the musical careers of countless people, both in my professional capacity and as a fan. It’s sort of the circle I run in.

So as you can imagine, it happens pretty frequently that musicians I know release albums I love. And most of the time, these are local artists with small followings that deserve more and better. So that’s what I aim to do with these semi-regular People I Know columns. It’s my way of introducing you to friends of mine, and hoping you hit it off.

For instance, I’ve known Chris Callaway since we were both in junior high school. We went to the same church together, and traded music with each other. He got me into the Alarm, I gave him crap like the Bulletboys. (I think I got the better end of that deal.) Callaway and I were in a terrible (like, indescribably terrible) band in our early teen years. He started as the singer, but soon picked up the bass. And he’s stuck with it – he’s kept me apprised of the bands he’s formed and joined since then, and he’s grown into a fantastic player.

Callaway’s most recent project is the Denver-based Able Archer. They’ve had two EPs, and now they have a full-length record, called The Way Machines See Us. And even if I didn’t know their bass player, I’d be a fan of this band. This is a superb dramatic rock record, and it deserves a wide audience.

Able Archer – named after a 1983 NATO war games exercise – jumps all over the map on this record. They’re an ambitious band with a smart sonic sensibility, and a good way with a sweeping melody. The best songs here were already released on their Arc1 EP – “In Support of the Steady State Theory” is a winner and a half, a galloping existential pickup line with quirk to spare, and “Mouthful of Knives” reminds me of when Radiohead was good. The repeated “it weighs us down completely” coda, delivered beautifully by singer Matt Huseman, is the album’s most remarkable moment. And the sprightly “Currency” is its most hummable song.

But the rest of Machines is pretty tremendous as well. “Coma” is a minor-key acoustic-and-synth excursion that sounds simultaneously grand and homespun, like the best of Grandaddy’s material. “Rex 84” is a twisty mini-epic, and Callaway takes center stage on the marching verses of “The New Action Army.” Closer “Antarctica Starts Here” brings the machines into sharper focus – electronic drums patter while Huseman’s digitally-altered voice sings a half-lilting, half-menacing melody. The song then eats itself while you listen. It’s a great finish.

Believe me that I would be plugging this anyway, old friend or no. It’s a fascinating, well-written modern rock record, produced with a quirky sensibility, and it serves as a calling card for a band that deserves a wide audience. Check Able Archer out here and here.

* * * * *

I’m writing this on Sunday, just a few hours after the Made in Aurora local artist showcase. And man, that was a damn good time.

Made in Aurora, if you don’t know, is a local artists compilation representing some of the best musicians from the second-largest city in Illinois. It was produced by Steve Warrenfeltz, owner of my favorite record store, Kiss the Sky, and recorded at Backthird Audio, owned by my friend Benjie Hughes. The record (an actual, honest-to-god record!) features people I’m proud to call my friends, including Kevin Trudo, Jeremy Keen, the guys in HOSS, and Greg Boerner.

I’ve known Greg for about five years. I wrote a story about the making of his third album, World So Blue, for my former newspaper – the album centered around Boerner’s divorce, and I spoke to both him and his ex-wife about the circumstances and the songs they inspired. I loved writing that story, and I also enjoyed getting to know Greg and his music. He’s one of the few people I know making a living playing music, which means he plays, locally and elsewhere, all the time, and he has years of practice capturing an audience’s attention with nothing more than his voice and his acoustic guitar.

You can hear all of that experience brought to bear on his new album, Prophetstown. It is not so much an evolution of his bluesy, engaging sound as it is a refinement of it – he’s grown into this style so completely at this point that this album gives you the best sense yet of what Boerner does. There’s lots of loneliness and desolation here, lots of minor keys, but there’s a real feeling of a terrific performer happily coming into his own on record.

Take the title track, for instance. It’s a simple, smoky piece, but you’ll be amazed at how much atmosphere Boerner conjures up with just two guitars and voice. Everything he’s doing on guitar makes your ears perk up – lesser guitarists could play this song and not get the feel of it even remotely right. “For You” is similar, an epic tale of love and theft that floats along on choppy waters. It’s marvelous. Boerner does get lighter and more upbeat here and there, most notably on “Honey B” – I dare you not to smile when you hear this one. But largely, Prophetstown is a slower and darker ride than Boerner’s given us in the past.

The last three songs are my favorites. “Down” is like driving through a tunnel, lights speeding by overhead, lonely and alone. It’s one of Boerner’s best melodies, simple yet effective. The same can be said for “This Ain’t Me,” a gently loping tune about realizing the depths of one’s behavior. The effect, after the previous nine songs, is like rubbing one’s eyes and facing the sun. And it leads into the tremendous closer, “Hong Kong Café.” If you have Made in Aurora, you know this trippy fantasy, and it’s just as good here. The spoken section is a knockout: “His name was Russell Morgan, but he called himself Pete…”

Of course, Greg Boerner is a performer you need to see live. But Prophetstown is the next best thing, and is Boerner’s best and most consistent effort. Check it out here.

* * * * *

I don’t actually know Ian Tanner. But I do know Dr. Tony Shore, and he knows Ian Tanner, and without him, I might never have heard Tanner’s nifty new album. So I’m considering this close enough for a People I Know column.

Tony Shore, as longtime readers know, is the man behind ObviousPop, a music blog and podcast that sheds light on power pop albums both well-known and obscure. Even though I haven’t seen the good Doctor in years, he’s been a loyal supporter of TM3AM, and he gives me tips and recommendations on a regular basis. I appreciate his friendship and his taste.

Now, I’d heard Ian Tanner before I met the Doc. Tanner was in a progressive pop band called One Hundred Days, and they made four splendid little records before calling it quits in 1998. Since then, Tanner’s been relatively quiet – he made a download-only solo record in 2009 called Things Never to Say Out Loud, and he composed the ObviousPop theme song, but those are the only efforts I’ve heard from him. And that’s a shame, because he’s a remarkable talent. This is a guy who once covered the Beach Boys’ “Our Prayer” all by himself, overdubbing all the vocal lines, just because he could. He’s oceans of musical skill searching for a beach.

So the release of Tanner’s first CD album in more than 10 years is cause for celebration. He worked with Dr. Shore on this one, who helped him bring it into the real world, as opposed to the virtual one. And it was worth the effort. The record is called Italian Waffles and Scotch, and it’s quirky and fun and biting and sincere and an all-around joy.

Of course, it’s also a pretty bitter piece of work – Tanner makes you earn every bit of happiness and grace here. It opens with the sorta-funky “This Started Out a Love Song,” and it sets the tone with its first line: “I’m so sick of your crap.” He describes the object of his affection and scorn as “beautiful, craptacular,” and as the guitars slash and burn behind him, the two sides of his heart wage war. It’s a very cool beginning, and it leads right into a song actually called “Bitter,” so you know where this is headed.

Tanner played every instrument and sang every word on Italian Waffles and Scotch, but this never sounds like a homemade project. Tanner’s so good, and his ability to harmonize with himself is so unmatched, that you’ll think you’re listening to a full band. Check out the giddiest tune here, “Ten Cartwheels” – it feels to me like one of Ross Rice’s home runs. “Though you think I’m psychopathic, I am really just ecstatic, I love you, and that’s why I am acting weird…” It’s a great melody you’ll be singing for weeks, and even if he had a live band at his disposal, he couldn’t have gotten a better vibe out of them.

Tanner taps into his inner McCartney here and there, but it’s the McCartney of Band on the Run – melodically complex and eminently memorable. “Father Like Son” and “Reflected Sense of Self” fit this mold, while others, like the bizarre “Killed By Cleats/Finnish Sauna Torture/The Night He Drowned Himself” (yes, that’s the real title) spin off into their own worlds. But each time, Tanner brings things back to earth.

The final tracks are the record’s most earnest, coming down off the rollicking high of “Come to the Window Tonight.” “Wondering” has a John Lennon edge to it, and some incredibly cool chords in the soaring chorus. It’s a song of yearning, of aching for something more, and it’s fantastic. But the record ends with its most graceful note – “Hearing Shelley Play the Piano” is a delightful acoustic piece about the girl who lives in the apartment next to him. There’s nothing clever or bitter about this one. It’s just lovely, and it brings things to a close perfectly.

Ian Tanner is one of those guys who is just too good to stop making music, so I’m glad he’s working his magic again. This is an album that will stay with you, one that deepens with each new listen. It’s off-kilter, the work of a true individual, but give it a few spins and it will sound exactly right. Welcome back, Ian. Hope you stay a while. Check this record out here.

* * * * *

And that’ll do it for me this week. Next, They Might Be Giants, Old ‘97s, and Eleanor Friedberger. Or something else entirely.

Leave a comment on my blog at tm3am.blogspot.com. Follow my infrequent twitterings at www.twitter.com/tm3am.

See you in line Tuesday morning.

So I’m back from my fourth Cornerstone Festival. I am sunburned and exhausted. But I got to travel one more time to Bushnell, Illinois and see some of my favorite musicians perform. And there’s nothing I’d rather have done with my vacation week.

Cornerstone is an institution – this year’s was the 28th – but painfully low attendance this year has me wondering just how long it will stick around. I remember being unable to even get near the main stage to see the Altar Boys play a few years ago. And this year? Even for the big-name old-school acts on the main stage on Thursday, I walked right up to the edge of the stage. It was sad. Intimate and fun, but sad.

I hope Cornerstone continues, because it’s a place where magic happens. I’ve taken in some of my favorite live musical moments there, discovered bands I might never have heard, and reveled in the sweet sounds of wonderful acts who simply don’t play anywhere else. It’s become like home for me. For the last two years, I’ve been able to share the Cornerstone experience with my friend Jeff Elbel, without whom the festival would simply collapse. Everywhere you look, there’s Jeff, connecting cables and checking levels and grabbing the right guitars for the band members. He’s indispensable, and I thoroughly enjoyed going on 2:30 a.m. food runs with him, and comparing notes on our experiences.

Jeff also has a great band called Ping, and they have a new EP called Peanut Gallery. Fully fleshed-out pop-rock with strong melodies and honest lyrics. Check it out here.

So during my three days at Cornerstone, I kept a running journal at my blog. I’m going to present those blog posts here as my report from the festival. I also bought about a dozen new albums while I was there (and another dozen or so older records I have been searching for), and I’ll go into those on the blog as I listen to them.

Without further ado, my thoughts on Cornerstone 2011, as it happened.

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Thursday, June 30

I’m getting old. I thought I’d be able to scrawl out a few notes on the first day of my Cornerstone experience last night, but as I stared at the computer screen at 2 a.m., I just felt all of my energy being sapped away. Last year I had no problem writing up blog entries in the wee hours, but I just couldn’t do it this time. So here I am at 1 p.m., putting these thoughts together before heading back to the festival for Day Two.

This is my fourth Cornerstone Festival, so it’s starting to feel like home to me. I know the ins and outs of the stages, and where to find the best burgers, and where the ATM is. (A crucial discovery I made last year.) But the first-day immersion into this culture I am increasingly less a part of is still strange for me.

Whenever I talk to people about Cornerstone, I tend to frame it in terms of how un-Christian it is. Or at least, how counter it is to the accepted image of Christianity. I guess I do this partly to justify it to myself, but also to make it seem appealing to my religion-averse friends. Because the music is amazing. Stunning, remarkable stuff, on the whole. And that’s why I’m here.

But there is no way to couch what I saw last night. This was a full-on Jesus rally – in fact, that was the name given to the Main Stage lineup: Jesus Rally. It was a celebration of the Jesus movement of the ‘60s and ‘70s, a wave that started in California and swept the nation, culminating in big festivals like Cornerstone. And as I stood with just a few thousand others, watching the aging forerunners of this movement playing to an aging crowd, I felt like I was bearing witness to the end of something special.

Before all that, though, the day got off to an inauspicious start with Mike Roe’s solo set at the Gallery Stage. The power had gone out at Gallery shortly before, and Roe was forced to stand in front of the stage, acoustic guitar in hand, and compete with the piercing sounds of hardcore from the nearby tents. It just didn’t work – I couldn’t hear anything the man was doing. Luckily, I’ll have two chances today to see Roe do his thing.

So that was disappointing, and looking around at the sparse attendance this year was even more saddening. As I understand it, there was some debate over whether Cornerstone 2011 would even go ahead, given the low turnout last year, and this year doesn’t look any better. But what I love about Cornerstone is the intimacy. For instance, during Roe’s set, Derri Daughtery, guitarist/singer for the Choir and one of my favorite musicians in the world, sat down in the audience and just hung out with us. That’s pretty cool.

Another thing I like about the fest is its ability to surprise me. Here’s a good case in point: Barry McGuire played the main stage on Thursday afternoon. He’s a 75-year-old bald and paunchy man, best known for singing “Eve of Destruction” in the ‘60s, and I didn’t have high hopes for his performance.

But it was marvelous. He shaped that gruff old voice into a terrific instrument, and held the audience in the palm of his hand. His set – just him and a guitar – built up force as it went, and in addition to a bevy of old folk tunes, he covered Madonna’s “Frozen.” He ended with “Cosmic Cowboy,” a riveting spoken-word journey. It was something to see.

From that moment on, I spent the rest of my day at main stage. This is the first time I’ve done this – the main stage is usually populated with the most shallow, commercial, worthless music at the festival. Whatever you normally think of when I say the term “Christian music,” that’s what you’ll find at main stage most years.

But this year? Classic act upon classic act. Resurrection Band? Phil Keaggy? Petra? I’ll take “Music I Obsessed Over When I Was 12” for $1,000, Alex. Nothing but aging, God-loving hippies all day. It was an experience.

As usual, Daniel Amos didn’t quite fit in. But man, they tore it up. DA has been playing Cornerstone since it started 28 years ago, and I last saw them perform in 2001. Terry Taylor, one of the world’s most criminally underrated songwriters, is 61 now. But he led the band through an absolutely scorching set, including a flat-out awesome burn through “I Love You #19.” They also played “The Twist,” my favorite Taylor song – it’s proof all by itself that “religious art” is not an oxymoron.

I expected DA to be the highlight of my day, and for a while, it looked like my prediction was spot on. Randy Stonehill played an unremarkable set of too-direct folk music – he has a tremendous voice, and an awkwardly amusing stage presence, but I’ve never found much art to what he does. E Band trotted out their ‘70s prog and ‘80s pop to an appreciative audience, but I crept away to eat and read for a while.

Resurrection Band was very good, though. One of the first real Christian hard rock acts, Rez is fronted by married couple Glenn and Wendi Kaiser, who also lead Jesus People USA, the Chicago organization that puts on Cornerstone each year. Glenn just happens to be one of the best blues-rock guitarists you’re likely to hear, with a strong and gritty voice.

Glenn is 58 years old now, and he and Wendi have both packed on the pounds since the early days. But their set was fiery and raucous. Highlihghts included “Lovespeak,” “Your House is On Fire,” “Shadows,” and an epic, smoldering take on “Where Roses Grow,” Glenn really showing what he can do with a bluesy lead.

But then! The rock bands on Thursday were interspersed with solo acoustic acts, and when I saw the name Phil Keaggy, that’s what I immediately expected. But no. Phil, one of the finest guitarists on the planet (seriously), brought his band Glass Harp with him. And they smoked. An eight-minute take on “Time” just set the stage – the real deal was a 30-or-so-minute medley that started with the instrumental “David and Goliath” and ended with “Do Lord.”

Phil is a perfect example of the paradox inherent in this music I love. Keaggy’s musical prowess is undeniable. I can think of no one I know who wouldn’t be goggle-eyed and amazed at his work. But he simply and directly expresses his faith in his songs, so he’s relegated to the Christian section of the music store, next to old Amy Grant records and Stephen Curtis Chapman. He should be revered as one of the best guitar players alive, but at age 60, he’s largely forgotten. And I feel privileged to have seen this show. It was astoundingly good.

After all that, there’s no way Petra, the original “ministry band,” could have lived up. And they didn’t. I liked Petra a lot when I was a church-going pre-teen, but there’s an inherent cheeseball silliness to what they do – they’re kind of the Jesus-rock Survivor – and it’s not an ironic, knowing silliness. They’re a band that should be playing Knott’s Berry Farm, not main stage at a festival like this.

And they were under-rehearsed to boot. “Clean,” their third song, was an absolute train wreck – guitarist Bob Hartman was playing in a different key than everyone else, and they finally just had to stop, compare notes (for 10 MINUTES) and start over. And I just couldn’t take much more, so I left.

But on the way out, I caught the last few songs of the Farewell Drifters set at Gallery Stage, and I wish I’d seen the whole thing. The Drifters are young guys from Nashville who play bluegrass-pop with delirious harmonies and instrumental prowess. I heard them do new tune “You Were There,” and had to buy the new album Echo Boom immediately. Their sweet music was a balm after Petra, and ended my night on a graceful note.

Today should be my favorite day of the fest, with Kerosene Halo (Mike Roe and Derri Daugherty), my roommate Jeff Elbel, the Choir, Glenn Kaiser Band, the Lost Dogs (minus Terry Taylor, apparently) and Deas Vail. Report later, or tomorrow if I’m still too old to do it tonight.

* * * * *

Friday, July 1

Now that was much more my speed.

That’s because Friday was Gallery Stage Day here at Cornerstone. I think I wandered from the gallery stage once during my nine-hour festival experience yesterday, and that was to buy a chicken kabob for dinner. (Mmmm. Chicken kabob.) Otherwise, it was all gallery all the time.

I’ve really started to think of that stage as Cornerstone itself. Pretty much all of my best experiences at this fest have happened there. It’s a marked contrast to every other hangout at Cornerstone, from the grandiose Jesus-pop of main stage to the screaming, brutal hardcore and metal of… well, just about every other stage. Gallery is relaxed and intimate and fun, and it features my favorite musicians at the fest.

It also seems to be a place where artistic expressions of faith (or anything) are welcomed more readily. In my view, the best artists at Cornerstone are the ones who incorporate that faith into their lives, and sing about their own experiences. A band like Petra is a cartoonish huckster selling an idea that has very little bearing on how people live their lives. An artist like Terry Taylor writes about the world the way he sees it, its ups and downs, trials and triumphs, and does so through the prism of his own beliefs. That’s the difference, I think.

I mention Taylor up front because he was a notable absence from Friday’s lineup. A family emergency called him back home. Taylor’s had a rough go of it lately, and I felt sick as I heard the news. Apparently his son Andrew is in the hospital, but is going to be all right. I wish him a speedy recovery.

This turn of events left the Lost Dogs without its guiding light. In a lot of ways, the Lost Dogs are the reason I come to this festival. Terry Taylor, Mike Roe, Derri Daugherty and Steve Hindalong have, together and separately, made some of my very favorite music, and it’s always a treat to see and hear them play. I got two incarnations of the same band on Friday, and both were marvelous.

First up was Kerosene Halo, the new Daugherty-Roe project. The album, available now from Lo-Fidelity Records, is gorgeous – an acoustic tour of covers and co-writes, from the expected (two Daniel Amos songs) to the incongruous (Tom Waits’ “Bottom of the World”). The show was essentially the album come to life, Roe and Daugherty harmonizing like angels while Hindalong provided subtle percussion. Great stuff.

Then my roommate Jeff Elbel took the stage with his eight-member incarnation of Ping, and tore the roof off. (Well, it’s a tent, but you get me.) Jeff has a new EP called Peanut Gallery, and he sounded positively renewed at this show. He dropped his guitar to become a full-on rock star frontman during “You Little Victim,” and blew apart the rollicking “I Forget.” He offered the audience a choice of closing song, and they picked “Comfort Me,” a new, prayerful piece. This was, in my ever-humble opinion, the best Ping show I’ve ever seen. Get the new record here.

After an extended dinner break and a show by the Crossing, I took my place in the front row for the Choir. If you know me at all, you know the Choir is pretty much my favorite band. And you also may remember that they blew it big time at Cornerstone last year, turning in an unrehearsed and sloppy set. This year was redemption – an acoustic performance, just Derri and Steve and Dan Michaels. And it was proof that Cornerstone is a place where magic happens.

Put simply, last year I spent the Choir show repeating over and over, in disbelief, “This is my favorite band.” This year I spent the Choir show grinning and saying with pride, “This is my favorite band.” They played old favorites like “Clouds” and “To Cover You” and “Circle Slide,” they turned in a menacing and wonderful version of the newer “Midnight Sun,” and somewhere in the middle, had a blast recasting “Leprechaun” as a harmonica-driven folk song.

But the most jaw-dropping moment came when Hindalong premiered a new song about his own alcoholism. It was fearless and stark and powerful. As he said, the Choir’s career has been all about openness and discussion, about the band and its fans as an extended family. It sure felt that way to me on Friday. I’ve been a Choir fan for more than 20 years, and they’re very much like family to me. I only get to see them once a year, but I cherish the experience.

Glenn Kaiser stomped through a blistering set of blues-rock next with his band. This would have been the Glenn Kaiser Band show to see for newbies. Ordinarily his sets are 50% music and 50% preaching. This time, it was 90% music, and the music was awesome. I am particularly fond of “What Can Be Shaken,” an apocalyptic barnburner played on a lap steel. Glenn puts on a great show.

And then came the Lost Dogs, minus Taylor. The band tapped Paul Averitt, who played bass with Daniel Amos on Thursday, to sing Taylor’s parts, and he nailed it. He was tremendous. Even without Taylor, this was one of my favorite Lost Dogs shows (and I’ve seen about a dozen now). It’s typical of this band of longtime friends and mutual admirers that they spent the show jokingly ripping on Taylor for being absent, and then playing his songs with reverence. And they played “Carry Me,” my favorite from last year’s brilliant Old Angel, and it was wonderful.

They ran out of material by the end of their set, and initially refused calls for an encore, but when the crowd just wouldn’t relent (and rightly so), they charged back on stage for a take on Bob Dylan’s “Knocking on Heaven’s Door.” It was a graceful conclusion to a great show.

I knew Deas Vail couldn’t compete with that as the closing moment of my Friday Cornerstone experience, so I stayed for a couple songs of sky-high dramatic indie pop (which I liked), and then slowly wandered back to the hotel. A great, great day at Cornerstone. Tomorrow (well, today) I am darting back and forth between stages, but I finally get to see Saviour Machine play, which will be fascinating to say the least. More tomorrow!

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Saturday, July 2

Sorry this post has taken so long to appear. I didn’t get to sleep until about 4:30 a.m. on Sunday, and then I drove three hours home, and then attended a weekly meeting of fellow pop culture enthusiasts. So this is literally the first chance I’ve had to unwind and scrawl down my thoughts on the final day of my Cornerstone experience.

So yeah. On Thursday, I got to see Daniel Amos play, and Phil Keaggy knock it out of the park with his band Glass Harp. On Friday, I got to see the Choir redeem themselves with a magical acoustic set, and hear the Lost Dogs triumphantly recover from the unexpected absence of Terry Taylor. But Saturday may have been my favorite day at Cornerstone 2011.

That’s because Saturday was New Discovery Day. There were only a couple of acts I knew I wanted to see – Photoside Cafe, the Wayside, and most importantly, Saviour Machine, performing their first stateside show in 10 years. The rest of the lineup, however, was a complete mystery to me. And that’s the way I liked it.

Every year at Cornerstone, I find at least one band or artist I hadn’t previously stumbled upon. My first visit in 2001 gave me Beki Hemingway. My second, in 2005, gave me Mutemath. Last year it was Photoside Cafe and Timbre, both of whom played on Saturday. Oh, and though I didn’t discover him at Cornerstone 2005, I first heard about Sufjan Stevens while I was there – everyone was buzzing about this little album called Illinois.

So that’s a really good batting average for this festival, and the 2011 edition did not disappoint. First, though, I disappointed myself – I meant to get up in time to see Timbre play, and I missed it. Timbre is a harp-playing wonder, and her band a progressive pop ensemble worth experiencing. Alas, I just couldn’t rouse myself early enough to make her 1 p.m. set time. (Yes, I realize that’s pathetic. Sorry, Timbre.) But you should buy her stuff anyway.

I did get there in time to see River James, a dramatic rock outfit from the East Coast. I found their set pretty average, until they launched into a song called “Dreams,” which was extraordinary. That tune by itself led me to pay $5 for their debut EP. I look forward to seeing where they go next. I also caught Lauren Mann and the Fairly Odd Folk, a piano-playing songwriter and her band from the wastes of Canada. Her tunes are melodic and strong, her voice true, and I practically knocked people aside to pay $10 for her debut album, Stories From Home. Her new one is apparently done – it was produced by Aaron Marsh of Copeland – but won’t be out until January. I’ll be looking for it.

I took a quick trip to Main Stage to see the great Photoside Cafe next, and they were just as good this year as they were last year. They still sound a lot like the Levellers – raucous, fist-pumping folk-rock with a violin at its center. Great stuff. I ducked back to the Gallery Stage just in time to catch the end of the Psalters set – sweaty, stomping traditional folk tunes with bite, played by nine people shoved onto a stage just that little bit too small for them. They were great.

But the big discoveries of the day were still to come. Songs of Water hails from North Carolina, but they play music as big as the world. Each member plays half a dozen instruments, from the hammered dulcimer to the violin to the tin whistle to all manner of drums, and the band plays big instrumental jigs and quiet, reflective pieces with equal aplomb. Their set knocked me flat. I immediately bought both of their records, and dulcimer player Stephen Roach’s solo work as well. New album The Sea Has Spoken is all kinds of wonderful.

And then, after a set of sweetly swaying spirituals and love songs from The Wayside, I discovered Josh Garrels. An imposingly tall man from Portland, Oregon, Garrels does what I would describe as an even mix of coffeehouse folk and hip-hop, although that doesn’t quite describe it. On stage on Saturday he performed pretty, jaunty folk numbers like “For You,” and then brought the house down with a full-on rap explosion called “The Resistance.” Both of these songs are on his new album, with the amazing title Love and War and the Sea In Between.

And guess what? You can get the whole record for free. Garrels honestly believes that God has told him to give this album away. And considering it’s 18 songs, 75 minutes, and very, very good, that’s impressive. It’s not just downloads, either – he’s pressed up CDs, and is giving those away as well. The freebie will be available for an entire year, he says. If it gives more people an opportunity to hear this album, well, that’s a win, because it’s a frank and well-made piece of work. Try it.

So at this point in my day, something amazing happened. The teenagers and hippies who had packed the Gallery Stage to hear Josh Garrels all filed out, and were replaced by a legion of goths dressed in black, many wearing face makeup. It was a complete audience changeover, except for me and one other guy, as far as I could tell. Apparently, Garrels’ audience doesn’t overlap much with Saviour Machine’s.

Their loss. Saviour Machine is a band unlike any other I know. Led by the operatic and melodramatic voice of Eric Clayton, this is a band that creates theatrical gothic metal soundscapes, with crunching guitars and ethereal keyboards, but puts them in the service of surprisingly melodic and beautiful songs. Since 1997, they have been working on a four-CD concept piece called Legend, which depicts in phenomenal detail the Book of Revelations – almost page by page. The first part came out in ’97, the second in ’98, the third in 2001, and then… nothing.

Clayton has been working on the final installment of Legend for 10 years, while battling health problems and record label insanity. Because of all that, Saviour Machine hasn’t played a show in the U.S. in a decade. So Saturday night was something truly special. The group took the stage to perform unplugged, having rearranged their noisy, intense music for a quieter, more intimate setting. They opened with a cover of “Sympathy for the Devil,” and closed with “Gethsemane,” from Jesus Christ Superstar. And in between, they treated us to songs from all phases of their career.

It was my first Saviour Machine show, and it was amazing. Afterward, I got to meet Clayton, and he was an extremely nice and down to earth guy. We talked about the fake Legend Part III:II that’s out there now, thanks to his unscrupulous German record label, and about the future of the band. He plans to bring the acoustic show on tour, and use the funds from that (and subsequent DVD and CD releases from the shows) to finish the Legend series. I, for one, can’t wait.

And so with that, I dragged myself back to my hotel room and collapsed. It was another great Cornerstone, even though I kept hearing about low attendance, and rumblings that this may be the last of these annual festivals. I sincerely hope this isn’t true, because just in the four trips I’ve made, I’ve seen more great music and discovered more great musicians than any other festival I’ve ever attended. Long live Cornerstone, is what I’m saying.

And now, to sleep.

* * * * *

Here’s the list of bands I saw, with links so you can hear them too.

Mike Roe: www.michaelroe.com
Daniel Amos: www.danielamos.com
Resurrection Band: www.resurrectionband.com
Phil Keaggy: www.philkeaggy.com
Petra: www.petraband.com
The Farewell Drifters: www.thefarewelldrifters.com
Kerosene Halo: www.kerosenehalo.net
Jeff Elbel and Ping: www.marathonrecords.com/ping
The Choir: www.thechoir.net
Glenn Kaiser Band: www.glennkaiser.com
The Lost Dogs: www.thelostdogs.com
Deas Vail: www.deasvail.com
Timbre: www.myspace.com/timbre
River James: www.riverjamesmusic.com
Lauren Mann and the Fairly Odd Folk: www.laurenmannmusic.com
Photoside Café: www.photosidecafe.com
Psalters: www.myspace.com/psalters
Songs of Water: songsofwater.com
The Wayside: www.myspace.com/thewayside
Josh Garrels: www.joshgarrels.com
Saviour Machine: www.saviourmachine.com

Thanks again to Jeff Elbel, and to David Cervantes for hanging out with me. Here’s hoping for a Cornerstone 2012.

Next week, some people I know, including Greg Boerner and Able Archer. Leave a comment on my blog at tm3am.blogspot.com. Follow my infrequent twitterings at www.twitter.com/tm3am.

See you in line Tuesday morning.