It’s merciless out there in the tundra; a land for mountain goats, penguins, and Canadian geese if you ask me. But still, amidst these vicious days of cold, there are explorers out there, in the streets, because this is New England, man, and they do not scare that easily. It’s cold no matter how you look at things, and keeping up one’s mood and production isn’t an easy task. Booking shows in these uncertain winters is a mighty gamble. Suppose you have agreed to put on a concert for Limony Hoosiewhatzit and her accompanist parrot wrangler, a spectacle which you have once witnessed and read of several magnificent and inspiring accounts. You are aware that no one really knows who this person is, but through your reputation, and relentless marketing, you are sure that enough people will turn out. Furthermore, you are sure that everyone will have a genuinely good time. There are myriad troublesome weather patterns that are possible at this time and any one of them is enough to jam a serious monkeywrench into your plans. The guests that you have inherited from the weary road could be pretentious, boorish, or worse yet: drinkers, and they’re staying with you, and the road to the liquor store is closed. So much for trying to crawl into the bottle on this one, you young idealistic turk. They’ll drink your house dry, and maybe even pee on something. They certainly won’t say thank you, and they certainly won’t leave you the last plain bagel. Then again, I have found myself in the back of a library basement with 6 people watching two of the heaviest and friendliest bands from the Philadelphia area, not being able to give them more than fifty dollars for their time. But they were gracious gentlemen indeed and before long we were barreling through a police blockade, unwittingly in the middle of a high speed chase, harboring a foreigner wanted for shoplifting. We cooked spaghetti, played records, and got down in the woods of Nelson before splaying out across floors like a wounded battery. In the morning we crested a frosted auburn hill and looked at the cold pushing its fingers through the countryside. We felt good. We were poor. We were happy.

This weekend there are gamblers who are rolling the dice over yonder in Keene. There are a few concerts happening, and I’m hoping that they are teeming with tune-thirsty maniacs looking to expand their minds; that there are no performers with asinine riders; and that, after the show, there isn’t a need to flee into the woods of New Hampshire. The first show is Friday night and part of the Colonial Theatre’s new Backstage Series, which actually represents some new people at the Theatre and their impressive work to make that particular venue a bit more interesting. This would be a perfect place for Anthony Braxton, Meredith Monk, or Devendra Banhart, but I can’t remember the last time I was sincerely excited to see anything there, other than their fine film selections. So this new Colonial blood is bringing Edie Sedgwick and Eric Gaffney to the Elm City. Edie is the pseudonym of one Justin Moyer (El Guapo, Antelope), now an outsider artist obsessed with our obsession with celebrity. She/he will be onstage, amidst skronking guitars, howling from her/his cocktail dress and martini, and putting runs in stockings throughout the house. When you hear her/him, you will see that the music will tell the real story, or the unreal story for that matter, but it will rock whatever you’re wearing directly off of your body. Also intense, but with less knobs and much more fuzzzzz is Fields of Gaffney, which is of course Eric Gaffney from Sebadoh and a million other bands/tapes/installations. This kind of music recalibrates your ears and after translating the once unintelligible sounds into working words and melody, you will never be the same again. Sonic Youth, Pavement, the Microphones, bands like these sound “out of tune” to most mainstream listeners much the same way that Coltrane and Dolphy did to the sycophantic tastemakers of Jazz magazines in the Jim Crow columns of the sixties. Never trust anyone who would go on record to denounce Albert Ayler, whom, after even a slight consideration, you will find to be pure light manifested. Eric Gaffney isn’t Albert Ayler. Or Dewey Redman. But, the man can jam. His freakouts are contained by a glorious experimental pop sensibility, because he just can’t help that he writes good songs.

After this show, you can head over to the Starving Artist to see the Low Anthem who will once again be in Keene, and doing a late set over on West St. with George Barber. The Starving Artist is a magical place filled with cupcakes and elbow grease, and in concert scenarios, is much like an old speakeasy. The Low Anthem sings American songs, rife with leaving, yearning, and a quiet careful balladry that is poised to become the soundtrack to some momentous upcoming developments in our re-emerging nation.

Saturday night, there was apparently some clandestine operation going down in a warehouse someplace in Keene. I’m not sure how much information I should divulge as to the names or whereabouts of the persons in charge. It could go menacingly awry and no one wants to be on the wrong side of an uprising. Plus, we have to stick together! In a way, I suppose I’m obligated. We are on the same side: the side of youth, movement, and alcoholism. The side of Birdfeeder, Graph, and AMPM. If you know any of these groups, you will know that this concert is going to be a burner. Dripping wet with gain and slush, you will remember why you love playing rock records till all hours of the night; and to hell with the neighbors. (This just in: The Warehouse Happening is now going to be hosted by Armadillos Burritos, which was probably a good move on the organizer’s part. I was already preparing for the sound of boots bringing down doors, and plastic cups hitting the ground.)

So. That’s it from me for this week. I hope that regardless of the temperature, you will brave the elements, and risk your lives on icy roads to be alive and enraptured by the mammoth expressions of sound, bouncing off the valley walls.

Friday January 30 at 8pm at the Colonial Theatre Backstage Series: Edie Sedgwick / Fields of Gaffney (95 Main St. Keene NH, $15)

http://thecolonial.tix.com/Event.asp?Event=170085

Friday January 30 at 10pm at the Starving Artist: the Low Anthem / George Barber (10 West St. Keene NH, $7)

http://www.myspace.com/starvingartistcollective

Saturday January 31 at 9pm at Armadillos Burritos Save the Ales! Birdfeeder, Graph, AMPM (82 Main St. Keene NH, $5)

http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=46746413500