For the past two weeks, I’ve asked you to read thousands upon thousands of my words. This week, to balance the scales, I’m going to keep things shorter. I say this now, at the beginning of the process, knowing that despite my promises, it rarely works out that way. TM3AM just doesn’t do short. But I really am going to try to hold this to a respectable length. Enough for a bathroom break, but that’s it.

I know there are several of you who read this column just to get the scoop on new developments in my life. Well, you’re in luck, because I have a pretty significant update: I quit my job as a journalist and made the leap to media and community relations. On Monday, I started in my new position at the Fermi National Accelerator Lab in Batavia, commonly known as Fermilab. Yep, the place where, until recently, the best and brightest in particle physics sought the God Particle by ramming larger particles together reeeeally quickly.

My job will be to handle media and community interaction – basically, getting the lab’s name out there, locally, nationally and (in some cases) internationally. Definitely a change for me, and the transition has been interesting so far. I’m especially pleased about the fact that I’m done every day at 5 p.m., and I don’t have to do anything past that time. (The more than 50 percent bump in pay certainly helps, too.)

How does this impact you, the Tuesday Morning reader who wouldn’t know me from some guy on the street? Well, I’m in that weird limbo period between the last check at a prior job and the first check at a new one, only this limbo’s gonna last until the end of August. So it’s going to be slim pickings until then, when it comes to new music. There are a few I simply have to buy – and I picked up a couple of those this week – but for the most part, I’m going into music celibacy for a while.

This’ll give me a chance to catch up on a few releases, which I’ll start doing next week. It’s tough, though, because the new music news just keeps on coming. Here are some highlights of the final third of 2012 that we haven’t talked about. I’ll be rolling in cash by the time most of this stuff comes out, which is nice, because damn, I want all of it.

Sixpence None the Richer makes a welcome return on August 7 with Lost in Transition. It’s been 10 long years since the band released Divine Discontent, a flawed but ultimately triumphant record that should have been absolutely huge. I have no such hopes for Transition, but I’m looking forward to hearing what Leigh Nash and Matt Slocum can do without any commercial pressure.

Two weeks later, we have a triple play: Bloc Party comes back with Four, Yeasayer gifts us with Fragrant World, and Owl City hands over his third record, The Midsummer Station. Given my prior gushing, you’d think I’d be most excited about the Owl City, but I’ve heard half of it, and it’s pretty awful. Depressingly straightforward, boring songs, devoid of the fairytale charm Adam Young has made his specialty. Unfortunate.

On September 4, one of my favorite guitar players presents his first-ever double album. That guy is Mark Knopfler, and that record is called Privateering. Some people are surprised to hear how much I love Knopfler’s playing. and quite frankly, that always confuses me. The guy has a tone like no other, and I could listen to him weave his magic all day. I’ll get 20 songs of Knopfler goodness on the fourth.

Although it may be hard to tear me away from that new Marillion album, Sounds That Can’t Be Made, which also releases on the fourth. I know, I won’t shut up about it. So I’ll let the band do the talking. Here is the first track released from the album, called “Power.” It was great live, and it’s even better in its finished form.

The following week, some guy named Bob Dylan has a new record, and fellow overrated songwriter David Byrne will put out a collaboration with St. Vincent. I’ll probably get smacked for saying that I’m more excited about Amanda Palmer’s Theatre is Evil, which hits the same day. This is her Kickstarter album, made with the Grand Theft Orchestra, and I’m expecting high drama. Also on Sept. 11 is The Magic Door, the second album (already?) by the Chris Robinson Brotherhood. I haven’t even gotten around to reviewing the first, which came out last month. (It’s like a raw Grateful Dead record.)

I’m just going to list the bands and artists with new albums on Sept. 18: Band of Horses, Aimee Mann, Grizzly Bear, Menomena, Muse, Robert Pollard, A Fine Frenzy, The Killers, and some outfit called Ben Folds Five. Yes, the Five’s reunion album exists, and has been saddled with the clunky title Sound of the Life of the Mind. Where’s Nick Hornby when you need him? (I jest, of course. I’m pretty excited.)

Sept. 25 is no respite. On that date, Green Day unleashes Uno, the first installment of their triple album. (The others are called Dos and Tre, naturally.) The first single, “Oh Love,” is dire, but I still hold out hope. Also coming on the 25th is Babel, the second album from Mumford and Sons, and Epicloud, the new one from the prolific and astonishing Devin Townsend. (Oh, yes, some band called No Doubt is back together too, but I couldn’t care less.) The great Beth Orton returns the following week with Sugaring Season, her fifth album. Quite looking forward to that one.

And my look into the future concludes with a pair of albums set for October. On the 16th, Ben Gibbard, the voice of Death Cab for Cutie, will release his first solo record, Former Lives. And then on the 23rd, Bat for Lashes comes whispering back with The Haunted Man. The cover features a naked Natasha Khan, and the first single, “Laura,” and its attendant video are both lovely. Check them out.

That’s all I know for now, but the landscape keeps changing. Stay tuned.

* * * * *

How much do I love Jellyfish?

The California shoulda-been-legends are on my short list of the Best Bands Ever, despite existing for less than five years and making only two albums. Two brilliant, stunning, extraordinary albums that more than stand the test of time. Next year is the 20th anniversary of Spilt Milk, the band’s magnum opus and swan song, and if it came out today, it would still be better than just about anything else at the record store. Their debut, Bellybutton, is old enough to drink this year, and it still sounds as striking as it did the day it was released.

So how much do I love Jellyfish? I’ve told this story before, but I wrote my first rubber check for Spilt Milk on cassette in 1993. I knew I didn’t have the money, and I needed it anyway. Fast forward 19 years, and little has changed. Today I plunked down cash I don’t really have for Live at Bogart’s, the first full Jellyfish live album, just released on Omnivore Records. I have no new money coming in until the end of August, and yet I simply had to own a recording of a 21-year-old concert. Because it’s Jellyfish.

What’s so special about this band? Put simply, everything about Jellyfish works. It’s striking how rare it is that every element of a band clicks – the writing, playing, record-making, performing, everything. Jellyfish had it all. Songs that knocked me on my ass, the instrumental skill to pull them off, a gift for delirious harmonies, an ambition in the studio that resulted in two outside-the-park home runs, and a stage presence and ability that led to one of my very favorite concert experiences, in a tiny Providence, Rhode Island club in 1993.

Live at Bogart’s was recorded two years prior, on the Bellybutton tour. Only one song from Spilt Milk – the then-embryonic “Bye Bye Bye” – makes an appearance. So this document does two things very well. First, it proves that Bellybutton was Spilt Milk’s equal, at least when it comes to songwriting. The earlier album is sometimes the forgotten stepchild, but the nine songs from it represented here rise up and take their place in the pantheon. “She Still Loves Him” is a masterpiece. “Calling Sarah” is beyond lovely. Even the simple “I Wanna Stay Home” comes off like a forgotten classic.

But second, this record proves that, stripped of the studio ornamentation they made their own, Jellyfish was just an incredible, raw pop band. In fact, Live at Bogart’s is sometimes rawer than I expected, Andy Sturmer’s voice straining, harmonies sometimes not clicking with the sugary sweetness of their studio counterparts, Jason Falkner’s guitar all ragged edges. There’s no doubt here that four live people are making this racket, and even when they slip into Partridge Family territory, as they do on “Baby’s Coming Back,” they rev it up with an unexpected high-wire energy.

This show kicks off with a quick reading of Argent’s “Hold Your Head Up,” which segues into “Hello,” their rollicking calling card. This song somehow never made it to an album, so this is all we have of it, but it’s wonderful. The same can be said of “Will You Marry Me,” the six-minute distorted pop explosion at this show’s center. I wish they’d recorded this one. It’s simply great.

The Bellybutton songs are mainly fuzzed up, Sturmer singing his little heart out (and drumming at the same time) while Falkner shows why he’s long been one of power pop’s most respected guitar players. The version here of “All I Want is Everything” is nothing short of blistering, but even at their most explosive, Jellyfish keep things sweet, with those harmonies and Roger Manning’s airy keyboards.

Along the way, J-Fish cover Player’s “Baby Come Back,” Badfinger’s “No Matter What,” and McCartney’s “Let ‘Em In,” and if that isn’t a perfect summation of their influences, I don’t know what would be. The show ends with the incredible “That Is Why,” the first Jellyfish song I ever heard, all the way back in 1991. A lot has changed in those years – when I was in high school, I never once imagined I’d one day be working at the country’s premier particle physics laboratory. But my love for this band and their songs remains as strong as ever.

Here’s another example of how much I love them: more than half of these tracks were already released on the Fan Club box set, which I own. But the chance to hear a complete Jellyfish concert was too good for me to pass up. Live at Bogart’s is a swell snapshot of a one-of-a-kind band, a band that should have been huge. You don’t know what I would give for a third Jellyfish album. But in some ways, the fact that this is all we have – two records, some rarities, and now, a live disc – makes it all the more special. Why did I send myself further in debt to own this? Because it’s Jellyfish. Enough said.

* * * * *

Next week, my last Cornerstone haul, including three new live records from the 77s. 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.

And now, the second half of my Cornerstone 2012 diary.

Friday, July 6

Well. Today was… awesome.

It was also hotter than hell. Temperatures broke 100 degrees today, and the Cornerstone faithful sought shelter under the Gallery Stage tent. That kept the sun off our backs, but did nothing for the mugginess – in fact, it only exacerbated it, what with the hundreds of people in one space sweating thing. But believe me when I tell you we didn’t care.

Today’s lineup of music was tremendous. I stayed at Gallery all day, as I will tomorrow, and wasn’t let down. I began the day with Maron Gaffron, soulful singer and songwriter, whose band includes my roomie Jeff Elbel on bass. Maron has a voice most singers would kill for, and her songs range from swaying funk to acoustic folk. The biggest hit was a ditty she wrote for her children, in which she promised she would climb high mountains and swim deep seas for them, before announcing, “But I’ll probably never have to, so I’ll do your laundry.” It was delightful.

And then I got to see Elbel in all his glory, as his band Ping performed their last show on the Gallery Stage. Jeff is a Gallery fixture – he’s been the man behind the scenes at every Cornerstone I’ve attended, either running around backstage to make sure everything is in order, or playing one of the 45 instruments he’s good at. He’s been a big part of the reason Gallery Stage works, and his shows are always like family reunions. Ping is a massive band – there were nine of them on stage today – and they’re scattered all over the country, so Cornerstone is their annual meet-up party.

I’ve seen a lot of Ping shows, but this one was probably my favorite. Everyone had such a great time. Jeff writes clever and fun tunes that look like they’re a blast to play. The band kicked off with “Early Birds and Night Owls” from the new Ping record, Gallery, and proceeded to just stomp through the set. They played many of my favorites from Gallery – which is, by the way, terrific – including the Cars-esque “Light It Up” and the Twilight Zone-inspired “Time Enough at Last.”

But the most poignant moment came when the band launched into their “mystery cover” – they tore through “Deep,” by Adam Again. That’ll mean nothing to folks who aren’t immersed in this corner of the music world, but for those of us who remember Gene Eugene, it was important and moving. Gene died in 2000, but he left behind a legacy of amazing songs (both with Adam Again and with the Lost Dogs), and of the literally hundreds of bands he helped. I was grateful to see him paid tribute.

Ping ended their set with “Make Sure Your Eyes Are Fine,” an absolute scorcher from Gallery, and steadfastly avoided turning sad and maudlin at the prospect of never again performing on the Gallery Stage. But I was sad. I’m going to miss Ping shows, and I’m glad Jeff and I have become such good friends. Another thing I have to thank Cornerstone for.

Today was discovery day on the Gallery Stage. The evening was filled with acts I’d never heard of. Guitarist Trace Bundy was up first, dazzling with his six-string dexterity. One of his tricks involved five capos, those devices that clamp down over the strings on the neck to change keys. While he played, he moved those capos around, altering the pitch of the notes he was plucking. It was something to see.

Hushpad brought a love of ‘80s shoegaze, a sound I’ve rarely heard at Cornerstone. They were great, often extending their songs to make pretty noise out of their amps. I will anxiously await their new album. Mike Mains and the Branches played an emotional form of pop-punk, bringing more energy to the stage than just about anyone else. They were fun to watch, but the songs were pretty average – I was struck by the idea that a group this energetic could also be kind of boring. But at the end, when they invited audience members up on stage to dance and sing, they had everyone in the palm of their hand.

Mains also had the line of the day, when introducing his band: “We’re Mike Mains and the Branches, and I’m Neil Diamond.”

And then came Neal Morse. Here’s an interesting paradox: I could hardly believe Neal Morse was playing Cornerstone, and at the same time, could hardly believe it was his first time at the fest. Neal is an old-school prog-rocker, raised on old Yes and Genesis and bands of that ilk. About 10 years ago, he split from his band Spock’s Beard and decided to make prog-rock for Jesus. It’s an odd combination, but it works.

After an eternity of setup, the band (including longtime bassist Randy George) took the stage, and immediately blew the crowd away. Morse’s material is jaw-droppingly complex, full of keyboard and guitar solos and odd time signatures, yet remains melodic – you could hum any one of his songs. He played for about 90 minutes, running through tunes from One and Sola Scriptura (his rock opera about Martin Luther – for real), and giving us a sneak peek at his new album Momentum, out in September.

I spoke to so many people who had never heard of Neal Morse before his set, and had become raving fans after it. Such instrumental dexterity is rare to see in person. The band was great, but Neal was stunning, darting between fleet-fingered keyboard runs and scorching guitar, and singing the whole time. The crowd responded best to a suite from Testimony 2 involving his daughter Jada, born with a hole in her heart. According to Neal, she was healed by God, and while I’m not sure what I believe in that case, the Cornerstone audience erupted into applause when the song reached that miraculous moment. It was cool to see.

And finally, there was the Violet Burning.

I first saw the Violets on the Gallery Stage in 2001, and they knocked me out. Andy Prickett was with them at the time, and they conjured up this wall of swirly sound that physically slammed against you. I had heard their self-titled album at that time, but little else, and I quickly tracked down everything I could, and kept up with them ever since.

I’ve seen the Violets probably a dozen times since 2001, but they’ve never put on a show like they did tonight. Last year, Pritzl and company released their magnum opus, a triple album called The Story of Our Lives. It’s an astonishing achievement, and it’s also astonishingly loud – they’ve taken on a harder, dirtier, grimier edge, and they play with a force they only hinted at before. Pritzl remains one of the most emotive singers in rock, but the music now matches him with a scorching fire.

They played nearly all of the first disc and half of the second of Story as their main set – a bold move, but one the audience lapped up. This is the strongest Violets material ever, and it comes off so well on stage. And then they returned for an extended encore, playing until about 2 a.m., and that was one of the most emotional things I’ve seen so far at this final Cornerstone.

They brought Michelle Thompson of the Wayside on stage to sing “As I Am.” They played the glorious “Goldmine.” They slammed their way through the classic “Low.” And they ended things with “Gorgeous,” the remaining faithful singing along at the top of their lungs. The Violets gave it their all, and we gave it right back to them, a circle of love for a band and a festival too few have experienced.

That was truly something. I expect tomorrow will be similarly moving, particularly when the Choir hits the stage for the last show of the last Cornerstone ever. It’s starting to feel real. This is happening.

* * * * *

Saturday, July 7

And it’s over. The last notes have been played, the last prayers have been prayed, and Cornerstone is no more. As I write this, they’re dismantling the Gallery Stage for the final time. Never again will I see some of my favorite bands on that stage, in this field, with these people. Never again.

I don’t even know how to process today. It was an emotional one, for sure – I gave and received more hugs today than I can count, and shed a few tears too. I knew Cornerstone meant a lot to me, but I suppose I didn’t know how much until now, until we arrived at the end.

In a lot of ways, I don’t feel like I ever got the full Cornerstone experience, and that may have to do with the fact that, by most measures, I don’t belong here. This is a festival of faith, and yes, it’s faith wrapped up in amazing artistry (which is what draws me here), but it is still faith, and I don’t share it. I’m 38 years old, and I still don’t know what I believe. If this were a normal Christian festival, it would not be for me.

But Cornerstone is anything but a normal Christian festival. It’s a place where all are welcome, even me. I’ve never felt anything less than a sense of home when I’m here. It’s a place without judgment. Come and listen. Be respectful, and you’ll be respected.

I loved it here.

Another reason I never got the full impact of the fest was that I attended strictly for the music. Cornerstone had seminars and art workshops and movies and games, and I really didn’t experience any of it. I parked myself down at the Gallery Stage most days and just soaked in the tunes. Today was no exception. I suppose I could have tried to do more, tried one last time to get the full Cornerstone effect, but I didn’t. I stayed at Gallery from about 2 p.m. to about 2 a.m.

The first band on my docket was the incredible Photoside Café, a group I might never have heard without Cornerstone. In fact, the stage was thick with bands I’d likely never have run across without this festival today. Photoside has always reminded me of the Levellers – aggressive folksy rock with a violin at its center, and some just fantastic, complex songs. “Kill Your TV” was the highlight for me today, and they played it as if they’d never have the chance again.

Lauren Mann took the stage next, bringing her Fairly Odd Folk with her. She’s from Canada, and I saw her last year on the Gallery Stage and made a mental note. Her new album is called Over Land and Sea, and was produced by Copeland’s amazing Aaron Marsh. It’s a sweet little confection, full of simple songs of joy, and I like it very much.

But Mann shines live, and her brief set touched on all the reasons why. Her songs take on a jaunty power on stage that gets sanded off on record, her voice leaping for notes as her wickedly talented band revolves around her. At one point in today’s show, the three backing musicians froze in place for a full minute while Mann continued to play and sing, and the effect was awesome. Mann’s well worth checking out, and I expect she’ll just keep on getting better.

There’s hardly any way for Timbre to get better than she is. The harp-playing wonder graced the Gallery next, having interrupted her European tour to be there for the last Cornerstone. (For, it should be noted again, no money at all.) Timbre is a mesmerizing player and singer, like Joanna Newsom with a more immediately likeable voice and a feel for classically-influenced progressive tunes. She and her backup band – a drummer and a cellist – played their take on Radiohead’s “Like Spinning Plates,” and a slew of slowly-unfolding originals. It was a treat to see her again.

Kye Kye is a terrific little band with one of the worst names I could think of. (The fact that Kye apparently means Christ doesn’t make it any better for me.) They’re an electro-pop outfit with a riveting singer and a penchant for big melodies, and they had the crowd in the palm of their hand. Big thumping keyboard sounds, shimmering guitar, beats that wouldn’t quit. The line to buy their first album, Young Love, was impressively long.

And that was it for the new discoveries this year. Up next was the astounding Josh Garrels. Last year at this time, I was watching Garrels for the first time, soaking in his epic take on folk music. This year, I went in as a raving fanboy. His new album, Love and War and the Sea In Between, made #4 on my list last year – it’s a remarkable achievement, a cohesive and stunning piece of work.

Watching Garrels sing “Ulysses” is a heart-rending experience. Watching him rap his way through “The Resistance” is the opposite, a galvanizing, on-your-feet call to arms that moved through the Cornerstone audience like lightning. That he can do both, and then encore with the fathoms-deep dialogue of “Zion and Babylon,” makes him a performer far above the norm. As Emperor Palpatine said to Anakin, I’ll be watching his career with great interest.

For the past year, Garrels has been giving away Love and War, but now, finally, you can pay him money for it. Go to www.joshgarrels.com.

After that, the Farewell Drifters were a bit slight, but still oceans of fun. Down a man after the departure of fiddle player Christian Sedelmyer, the four-piece Drifters wandered through a strong set of genial bluegrass-pop, the kind of thing that brings a smile and a tapping toe. They covered Billy Bragg and Wilco’s “California Stars,” from the Woody Guthrie-inspired Mermaid Avenue project, and delivered a superb rendition of Paul Simon’s “The Only Living Boy in New York.” They’re a great band, and they served as a refreshing palette-cleanser before the final act.

The Cornerstone Festival started in 1984, and the first band to play the first set was a group of California kids calling themselves Youth Choir. They were exuberant and wide-eyed, and they played melodic new-wave pop that somehow ended up drowned in synths on their debut album, Voices in Shadows.

No one could have predicted that 28 years later, they’d still be going strong. They changed their name to The Choir, and added a few new members over the years. They just released their 12th album, called The Loudest Sound Ever Heard. They are my favorite band, and in an act of almost divine poetry, the Choir was chosen to close out the final Cornerstone fest. It could not have been more perfect.

I was a Choir fan for 12 years before I got to see them live. I’ve witnessed probably a dozen Choir shows since, and it never gets less thrilling. I have given up trying to explain or understand the alchemy of this band. I just know that when the four of them are together, they make a strange kind of magic. Tonight, that magic worked as often as it didn’t – the joy of watching them work is that they take risks, particularly bassist Tim Chandler, and sometimes those risks end up uglier than they should. But that’s part of the thrill, part of the glorious racket they make together.

The show itself? They played their entire Chase the Kangaroo album – they’re celebrating its 25th anniversary – and swung through two new songs and two classics. As usual, they ended with an extended take on “Circle Slide,” this one louder and more raucous than normal. I’ve often wanted them to play that middle section, in which they all go off script and make as much pretty noise as they can, for a full hour, so enveloping is the sound. We got a minute or so this time, but it always feels like oceans of noise washing over me.

I got to hear some of my favorite Choir songs live on the Gallery Stage one last time. “Cain.” “Sad Face.” “A Sentimental Song.” “Consider,” which, as Doug Van Pelt said to me, has the greatest drum intro of all time. It was joyous. And then it was over – after about an hour, the band left the stage. And I knew this was it. One encore, and Cornerstone would be finished forever.

During the day, I tried to figure out what song they would play last. For some reason, I just didn’t consider “To Bid Farewell,” the sweet lullaby that all but closes their incredible Wide-Eyed Wonder album. Derri Daugherty and Steve Hindalong, two guitars, Derri’s emotion-choked voice, four minutes of painful beauty. I cried. I’m not going to lie or hide it. I cried. It could not have been better. And I hope they’re right, and a sad face is good for the heart.

Before the final song, Derri delivered an impassioned speech about Cornerstone, and what it has meant to him. He related it to the Island of Misfit Toys, a place where those who don’t fit in anywhere else can come together and feel safe. Until he put it into words, I’m not sure I understood what I was losing, what we all were. After the show, I hung around for a while, hugged some people, said goodbyes, and left Cornerstone for the last time. I’m not sure it’s hit me yet, but I haven’t been able to get through my video of Derri’s speech without tearing up. (You can try it yourself – my video is here.)

It really was the Island of Misfit Toys. A safe haven. One week a year in another world. I already miss it terribly. Goodnight, Cornerstone. You were a little miracle, and the world is much poorer now that you’re gone.

“A sad song for the songs I never would sing, if I were to bid farewell to you today…”

* * * * *

Thanks again to everyone who made Cornerstone what it was for 29 years. I’m sorry I only saw a fraction of it. And special thanks to Jeff Elbel, for sharing the experience with me.

Next week, catching up with a few new records. After that, my last Cornerstone music haul. 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.

As many of you know, this year’s Cornerstone Festival was the last. After 29 years, the last several with sharply declining audiences, the organizers at Jesus People USA have decided to pull the plug. As I understand it, the choice was either to continue with Cornerstone, or keep their Chicago-based ministries going, and I think they made the right choice.

But that doesn’t make it any easier. Last week, I made the now-familiar drive down to Bushnell, Illinois for the final time. Cornerstone has a special place in my heart. I’ve been five times now (2002, 2005, 2010, 2011 and this year), and I can say there’s no other festival like it. There’s more good music at C-Stone every year than you’ll find in half a dozen Lollapaloozas. And the people there are like family.

Once again, my traveling companion was Jeff Elbel, and I feel lucky to have him as a friend. I got to meet Chris Hauser for the first time, and hang out with people like David Cervantes and Brian Smith, people I may never see again. And of course, I got to hear some amazing music from some unjustly ignored artists, topped off by a performance by my favorite band, the Choir.

What follows is my day-by-day Cornerstone diary. It’s quite long, and I apologize for that. I’ve broken it up into two columns, so it’s not too overwhelming. If you want the gist, here it is: Cornerstone was a festival unlike any other, and this last one was no exception. Despite not sharing the faith it’s based on, I always felt welcomed and included there, and I’m going to miss it terribly.

All right, here goes. My thoughts on the final Cornerstone.

* * * * *

Wednesday, July 4

I had been wondering when it would hit me. Turns out, it didn’t take long.

The Cornerstone Festival has been running for 29 years, as of 2012. I’ve only gone five times – 2002, 2005, 2010, last year, and this. And yet, as I made the familiar drive through the cornfields of Marietta, Illinois, it felt like coming home. I don’t really know how else to explain it. This fest has grown to mean so much to me, and as I approached the usual checkpoint at the entrance, I just kept thinking about how sad I was that it was all ending.

The first people I saw today were David Cervantes and Brian Smith, two guys I’d never have met without Cornerstone. And the first thing out of my mouth was, “We never get to do this again.” That killed the mood, but David brightened it by saying, “We need to make the most of it, then.”

I’m sorry, I know that’s corny, but the emotions swirling around my head as Cornerstone plays out its last string leave no room for embarrassment. I love this festival. It’s a little miracle in the wilderness, a place where musicians who have the temerity to express genuine faith in music get the recognition their talents would otherwise deserve.

Cornerstone is not a place for pandering, target-marketed, jump-for-Jesus pabulum, although there’s certainly been some of that over the years. But in the main, it’s a place where artists can wrestle with faith, take on its big questions, and create dazzling and thoughtful works for a receptive audience. That audience has shrunk considerably in recent years – even last year, I felt Cornerstone’s death throes happening – but its commitment to this art has never wavered.

And the artists recognize it and appreciate it. Virtually all the bands playing at Cornerstone 2012 are doing so for free, as a way to say farewell to this magical gathering that has meant so much to them.

So there was indeed a pall of sadness over Wednesday’s festivities, but it was overpowered by a sense of celebration, of remembering what Cornerstone has been and embracing that. The fest this year is divided between two main stages – one for hardcore and metal bands, and one for everything I want to see. Here at the last, the Gallery Stage has finally taken its place as the centerpiece of the festival – it was always the place where the magic happened.

Wednesday was earthy day at Gallery, focusing on acoustic and blues music. I first attended a 40th anniversary party for Rez Band, one of the first and most influential Christian hard rock acts. The members of Rez also created and run Cornerstone, so we owe them a great deal. Glenn Kaiser, lead singer and guitar player, hit the stage later in the evening for a bluesy set with amazing harmonica player Joe Falisco. Kaiser played one of his signature cigar box guitars – literally, a homemade guitar constructed from a cigar box and some plywood. Sounded fantastic.

Ashley Cleveland surprised me. I’ve never seen her play, and always dismissed her as pretty typical. But her set of gospel-inflected blues, accompanied by her husband Kenny Greenberg, was riveting. Her voice is big and bold, and it filled the Gallery tent, not needing any backing other than the two guitars. And Kenny? That man can play.

Every year at Cornerstone, I discover at least one band or artist that will stay with me for life. This year, I’d bet money that Seth Martin and the Menders fits that bill. They played a huge singalong set of Sufjan Stevens-esque orchestral folk music. The band – and there must have been nine of them on that stage – lifted the audience up again and again, crescendo after crescendo. It was an amazing experience. I immediately bought their album, which has the tremendous title Putting the Sky to Sleep.

But really, everything today was prelude to the final 77s show at Cornerstone. The 77s are, no hyperbole, one of the best rock bands on Earth, and never more so than at Cornerstone. Only a few thousand people know about them, which is criminal. Mike Roe is a guitar player that can stand with the very best, whether caressing your soul with an acoustic or pealing out lightning strikes on an electric.

He did both tonight, starting off gently with “MT,” he and David Leonhardt on acoustics. The mood was already overcast, and with every song they played, I couldn’t help but think, “This is the last time I’ll hear this song on this stage.” When they launched into the epic tearjerker “Don’t, This Way,” I almost cried. The guitar lines in that song never fail to move me.

At set’s end, Roe and Leonhardt welcomed up my Cornerstone roommate, Jeff Elbel, and his band’s percussionist David Dampier to round out a searing live band lineup. After smashing through “Dave’s Blues” and “U U U U,” the band left us with their best singalong, “Nowhere Else.” Hearing the Gallery audience sing the “na na na” part, their voices rising in wonder, I couldn’t help but agree with Roe: there was nowhere else I would rather be.

And then, we got them to come back out for one more song, by singing the chorus of “Do It For Love” until they acquiesced. It was one last magical Cornerstone moment for this band, one I love with all my heart. I left exhausted, but happy.

The 77s have three new releases – an expanded remaster of their beautiful Echos o’ Faith acoustic live album, and two compilations of live performances from Cornerstone, winningly titled Cornerstone is Dead, Long Live Cornerstone and Cornerstone Forever. My sentiments exactly. Reviews of these as soon as I hear them. I also bought new records from Lauren Mann and the Fairly Odd Folk, who impressed me a lot last year, and Jeff Elbel and Ping – I’ve been hearing their long-gestating record Gallery (named after the stage) in pieces for years, and it’s finally here. And it’s great.

Tomorrow, the Wayside, Iona, Aradhna and a bunch of other artists I haven’t heard yet. Now, for sleep.

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Thursday, July 5

Cornerstone 2012 is a shadow of its former self.

In its heyday, the festival would draw 25,000 to 30,000 people. This year, if there are 4,000 people here, I’d be surprised. The Gallery tent is usually pretty full, but when you realize that there’s no main stage this year, and this is the main attraction, it becomes sad. Even for its last hurrah, Cornerstone couldn’t stop the decline.

I’ve seen the slow deterioration over the past couple of years. When I first attended in 2001, the place was mobbed. I couldn’t even get down the dirt roads without ducking in between people, or moving at the speed of the crowd. Gallery Stage, always the second-tier attraction, was impossible – if you weren’t there early to grab a chair and hold on to it for dear life, you were standing on the sidelines.

This year, I’ve managed to be up front for virtually every show I’ve wanted to see, and this without a main stage to pull people away. Lines at the food vendors are never more than two or three people long. And I can park close, and walk the pathways without seeing more than a dozen people. We’re the die hards, the ones who love this festival with all we have, here to watch it go quietly into that good night.

Today was always going to be my weak day. It turned out to be weaker than I expected – Quiet Science, a band I had been looking forward to, bowed out, and Gallery was empty from 4 to 6 p.m. I caught the last-ever Cornerstone performance of the Wayside, led by local Illinois legends John and Michelle Thompson (and featuring my roomie Jeff on bass). It was a nice set of country-folk that shone a spotlight on Michelle’s forthcoming solo EP.

This was probably one of the last Wayside performances, full stop, as well. As John said at one point, “If it hadn’t been for Cornerstone, we’d probably have stopped bothering to be a band years ago.”

At the Wayside show, I met Chris Hauser for the first time. We’ve been Facebook friends for a while, through our mutual buddy Dr. Tony Shore, but we’d never met in person. He was gracious and fun to hang out with – Chris works in the Christian record business, and has for decades, and he had fun stories about some of the musicians I admire. And he worked promotion on one of my favorite albums of all time, the Choir’s Circle Slide.

I ended up spending time with Chris, and then with Jeff away from the festival. I don’t like to admit it, but walking around and seeing what it’s become has made me more than a little sad. I’m still grateful to be here, and wouldn’t have missed it. But it’s a little like a ghost town where miracles used to happen.

We got back to the fest around 8:30, and I got the chance to meet Steve Taylor again. Steve was one of the most important Christian musicians of the 1980s, pushing boundaries that many didn’t even know were there. He’s gone on to be a superb film director, and he brought his latest, Blue Like Jazz, with him. I’ve seen the film three times, and I met Steve when he premiered it at Judson College in Elgin a few months ago. (I did better this time. I could actually speak words.)

Steve said the movie brought in about $600,000, and he hopes it’ll do better when it’s released on DVD in August. According to my journalist friend Brian Smith, Steve also said he’s recorded new music, and is prepping a live album from his astonishing band, Chagall Guevara. So that’s good news.

And yes, some people complained about Blue Like Jazz. It’s a move that reflects real life, so it includes drinking and drug use and swearing and people who like to have sex with others of the same gender. And it never judges any of this. I heard one guy call it all “unnecessary,” which misses the point by a spectacularly wide margin. Unless it reflected the real world around it, the grace notes at the end of the film would be pat and meaningless. Yes, even at Cornerstone, people balked. I shook my head and left to see Iona.

Iona! I would have paid full price for this festival just to see them again. Iona is a band unlike any other. They have found a wondrous middle ground between traditional Irish music and full-blown prog-rock, kind of a mix of old Yes and the Chieftains. Joanne Hogg has a blindingly good voice, and guitarist Dave Bainbridge and pipe player Martin Nolan can somehow play these incredibly complex, proggy-trad Irish reel lines in unison. (I was sitting with someone who had never seen the band, and the moment when he realized the guitar and pipes were playing together was priceless.)

Iona has a new double album called Another Realm, and it’s magnificent. They played a bunch of songs from that, including the 11-minute “White Horse,” along with classics like “Irish Day.” They ended their set with a stomping instrumental reel that had everyone on their feet at midnight in the 100-degree heat. It was a full-out dance party, and so much fun to experience. And then, headlining act Aradhna was late, so Iona got to play a couple more songs, including the timeless “Today.”

Seriously, you’ve never heard anything like Iona. Go here.

Aradhna is a band I should have liked. On guitar, bass, sitar and tabla, this foursome played circling Middle Eastern folk music, with fine vocal melodies. But after a few songs, I was just done with it. I’m not sure why, and I may investigate this band further some other time.

So I wandered off, finding myself at the Sacrosanct Records tent, intrigued by the band on stage. They call themselves Hope for the Dying, and they’re a complex, technical metal band with no bass player. They played to pre-recorded orchestral tracks, giving everything that boost of grandeur – and also, that completely unforgiving edge should they screw up this maddeningly complicated music. They never did.

I knew I was in love when, halfway through their set, the band covered “Don’t Stop Believing.” Yes, that “Don’t Stop Believing.” I immediately bought both of their records, the more traditional metal self-titled EP, and the more orchestrated Dissimulation. If you’re into technical metal, these guys are pretty great. And they really served to drive home the diversity of Cornerstone – after watching the Irish prog band, I caught a little of the Middle Eastern folk outfit before enjoying the cerebral metal group.

After that, I stuck around to see a screening of Fallen Angel, a documentary about Jesus Rock pioneer Larry Norman. Turns out, Larry Norman was an ass. Did you know that? Because I didn’t. The entire film was about what an ass Larry Norman was, featuring interviews from the people he screwed over during his life. It was a sour-tasting way to end the day, and yet, it was fascinating.

So that was my weak day, and it was pretty strong, truth be told. Met some great people, saw some amazing music, discovered a couple new bands. Just another fine day at Cornerstone.

Tomorrow, Jeff plays his final C-Stone set, and I get to see Neal Morse and the Violet Burning. Wowser.

* * * * *

Next week, my thoughts on the final two days of the final Cornerstone festival. 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.

Today, I am headed south to Bushnell, Illinois for the final Cornerstone festival.

I don’t think it’s quite hit me yet that I’ll never get to do this again. Perhaps it will when I see the famous sign: “Cornerstone 1 Miles.” Or perhaps it will when I get to the gallery stage, and start seeing bands take that stage for the final time. The 77s are playing tonight, and I’ll never again see Mike Roe peal out a killer solo under that red and white tent. Perhaps it’ll hit me when I reconnect with Cornerstone friends like Chris Macintosh and David Cervantes, and realize this is the last year for our annual meet-up.

Or perhaps it won’t really hit me until the Choir takes the stage on Saturday night. Longtime readers know that the Choir is my favorite band, and their closing slot is poetic – they were the first band to play Cornerstone, back in 1984. This will no doubt be an emotional set for them, and for those of us in the audience who love them like family. I’ve seen the Choir play Cornerstone half a dozen times now, and after Saturday night, I’ll never see them play Cornerstone again.

So while I expect this week will be fun, I also expect it will be a sad and moving experience. I’ll be sure to tell you all about it next week, along with a recap of all the new music I pick up. That’s another thing I’ll never get to do again – buy new music at Cornerstone. See? I’m already sad.

* * * * *

So this week I’m going to discuss Rush. I’m warning you now, because if my conversations over the past few weeks have taught me anything, it’s that Rush has somehow become one of the most divisive bands on the planet.

I’m not sure how that happened. (I’m also not sure how Neal Peart went from winning every Modern Drummer poll to being universally disliked by every single drummer I know. But that’s a different story.) Because here’s the thing: I’ve been a Rush fan since I first heard them in the mid-‘80s. My first Rush album may have been Power Windows, but I vividly remember receiving Hold Your Fire as a birthday gift, and loving the hell out of that record.

And then I worked backward to their heavier, more difficult albums, like Hemispheres and Caress of Steel and, yes, 2112. And I loved those as well, even with Geddy Lee’s piercing younger-man vocals. (Parts of “I Think I’m Going Bald” just shoot through me like an icepick.) Rush, to me, has always been about the astonishing skill of its three players, bashing their way through music that tread the fine line between complex and catchy. I stayed with them as they jettisoned the complexity in the ‘90s, producing mediocre records like Counterparts, and rejoiced when they found their groove again on 2002’s Vapor Trails.

And I never, not once, lamented the lack of emotional connection I had with their music. Rush doesn’t make me feel. They don’t move me down to my soul. But then, they’re not trying to. They’re trying to spark my intelligence, fire up my brain. Rush’s music and lyrics are cerebral, generally concerned with heart-stopping musicianship and complexity, and with philosophical concepts writ large. Even their driving song, “Red Barchetta,” is about a future society that has banned certain types of cars.

So yeah, I don’t expect the same thing from Rush that I would from, for instance, Aimee Mann. But it seems a lot of people I know do. They find Rush distant, unemotional. And my only response to that has been, “Well, yeah.” They’re not trying to do anything else. Criticizing Rush for not speaking to your soul is like criticizing Midnight in Paris for not having enough zombies in it. Music can, and does, have a variety of aims, and I think the best way to determine its greatness is to figure out how close to its own objectives it comes.

Of course, I also think Rush is just a kickass rock band. The immense sound they create with just three players is, frankly, ridiculous. And since Vapor Trails, they’ve all but done away with the synths and returned to the business of being the best power trio on Earth. Their last record, 2006’s superb Snakes and Arrows, cranked up the amps even more, and on the subsequent live album, they sounded re-energized, ready to reclaim their particular place in the pantheon. And now, with their 20th album, Clockwork Angels, that rebirth is complete.

Make no mistake, Rush fans, Clockwork Angels is the band’s best record in more than 20 years. I haven’t liked a Rush record this much since Presto in 1989. For starters, they’re on fire, musically speaking. The songs are tremendous, and they slam through them like a band one-third their age. Much of Clockwork Angels sounds like what it is – three guys in a room playing like possessed men. If you’ve heard the opening track, “Caravan,” or the first single, “Headlong Flight,” you know what I mean. They’re alive, just exploding with energy. And where some Rush songs have meandered of late (and by “of late” I mean “since the ‘80s”), these tunes crackle. They’re strong, melodic powerhouses.

Second, this is the band’s first full-fledged concept record since Hemispheres, and getting to tell another story in song seems to have sparked their imaginations. Clockwork Angels is the story of an unnnamed denizen of a society ruled by the Watchmaker and his angels. Framed as an anarchist and a terrorist, he flees and has a series of adventures across an alien landscape, finally retreating from society all together. Yes, it all sounds very Rush, but it may surprise you to learn that they haven’t made a unified record like this in more than 30 years.

If all that makes this album sound impenetrable, then I’m telling it wrong. Because it’s immediate. Clockwork Angels is the most hummable, air-guitarable album Rush has given us in ages. Fans have already heard the first two tracks, “Caravan” and “BU2B” (which stands for Brought Up To Believe), and that vibe, that live band attack, is present for the entire album. This is rock that reaches from the speakers, grabs you by the collar and gives you a good shake. It’s as visceral as Rush has ever been.

Highlights? OK. In addition to those first two, there’s the seven-minute title track, with its delightfully dissonant guitar. Alex Lifeson, it should be noted, is just a jaw-droppingly good guitar player, and his interplay with Lee on bass is something to behold. There’s “Seven Cities of Gold,” a stomper with a catchy chorus. There’s “The Wreckers,” which brings back the mid-‘90s mid-tempo tunes the band used to churn out and puts them all to shame. There’s “Headlong Flight,” seven minutes and 20 seconds of three of the best musicians you’ve ever heard locking into a groove and just riding it.

And there is “Wish Them Well,” the closest thing to a hit single this band has written in a long, long time. An anthem for those ignoring the haters (a phrase Rush would never use), “Wish Them Well” brings Clockwork Angels to an immensely satisfying climax. The actual finale, the gentle, string-accented “The Garden,” is just icing on the cake. Before it even arrives, Clockwork Angels is a delirious, dizzying triumph.

But I’d never recommend Rush to those who want their music to take them on an emotional journey. They just don’t do that. But that’s OK, because plenty of other bands do. Case in point: Sigur Ros.

In many ways, Sigur Ros is – at least for American audiences – pure emotional expression. This Icelandic quartet sings in their native language, when they’re not singing in the gibberish language they invented. So even the vocals bypass the English-speaking brain and go straight to the heart. And the music. Man, the music. Listening to Sigur Ros is like listening to a half-remembered dream. It’s practically a spiritual experience.

Recently, Sigur Ros has been trying for something a little more immediate. Their last album, 2008’s Med Sud Eyrum Vid Spilum Endalaust, found the band dabbling in shorter, poppier, less orchestrated material. It even contained a track sung in English. And singer Jonsi’s subsequent solo record, Go, dove even further in that direction – lots of acoustic guitars, lots of hummable melodies, lots of English. Don’t get me wrong, those were both very good records, but they just didn’t suit this band (or Jonsi) quite as well.

Which is why their just-released sixth album, Valtari, is such a treat. Eight long, beautiful, otherworldly songs, several without vocals at all, casting a glorious spell. It feels somewhat like a throwback to the inexpressibly wonderful parentheses album, except it mainly works in reverse – where ( ) started gently and built steam over its 72 minutes, ending with the loudest track, Valtari begins softly and just gets less intense from there, concluding with its most placid piece, “Fjogur Piano.”

The result is a nearly unbroken suite of beautiful, emotional dream music, the kind that only this band can make. I say nearly unbroken because the third track, the amazing “Varud,” doesn’t resist the old Sigur Ros buildup. The haunting melody rises up and up, buoyed by horns and strings and a thudding bass drum. But that’s the only song that crescendos. The other seven float in, spread beauty around like stardust, and float out.

The album’s second half, in particular, unfolds more slowly than even Sigur Ros music ever has. The moody “Dautalogn” segues beautifully into the even more atmospheric “Varteldur,” an instrumental accented by delicate piano. The eight-minute title track is like free falling through a cloud while hearing transmissions from space, and when it evaporates, “Fjogur Piano” slowly coalesces around it. A gorgeous elegy for multiple pianos, it evolves into pure bliss by the end of its 7:49. The album ends as it began, quietly dissolving into silence.

Don’t misunderstand me when I say Valtari is this band’s best album in 10 years. They’re Sigur Ros. They can do no wrong. But to my mind, they’re at their best when they stop thinking about the music they’re creating, and just feel it. This is the sound of an astonishing band making the most beautiful music they can. It is an older and wiser and more patient Sigur Ros, but still a heartbreakingly gorgeous one. There is no other band like them. Valtari is magnificent.

* * * * *

Next week, thoughts on the last Cornerstone. After that, the Levellers, the Early November, and Joe Jackson covering Duke Ellington. 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.