Michael Hurley at the Village Gate Square Atrium, 05/19/06

I saw Michael Hurley at the Village Gate Square last night. An event that once again seemed to bring out the ghosts of my past. I think I recognized everyone there. The only thing missing was the Colorblind James Experience in full swing center stage. Although there's no stage at the VGS.

But in a way, Colorblind James was there. Certainly all the reminders: Ken, Jimmy Mac, Brother Jaffe. The most haunting ghost however came in the form of Michael Hurley's voice, the familiar cracks, the falsettos, the "caw-caw" of the crows. The guitar playing that teeters on the abstract, rough all over but an elastic rhythm that always lands perfectly.

What Michael Hurley does best is conjure up the universe of Michael Hurley. A universe inhabited by a cast of odd wolfmen like Snock and Jocko. Love songs to birds, cars, eyes and rain. And the first time I was ever transported into that universe was...at Chuck and Jan's cold-water flat on West 3rd St. in Oswego, NY.

In those early days the sounds of "Have Moicy!" and "Armchair Boogie" were as ubiquitous in their apartment as the smell of coffee, the steam from a pot of black-bean soup, as well as the grooves of countless punk, new-wave and British pub rock bands stacked floor to ceiling in the living room.

Chuck turned me on to Graham Parker, the Ramones, Blondie, Dave Edmunds, Nick Lowe, Elvis Costello, the Clash, Ian Dury & the Blockheads, the Sex Pistols and the Talking Heads as well as Captain Beefheart, Frank Zappa, Van Morrison, the Band, the Holy Modal Rounders, Jim Kweskin's Jugband and, of course, Michael Hurley.

And of all the artists and musicians that Chuck tuned himself into, Michael Hurley remained unshakeably at the top of the list. Chuck, never one to shy away from hyperbole, would make a sweeping declaration such as "Michael Hurley is the greatest living American singer and songwriter" and, because of his own sense of conviction, it was pretty hard to disagree.

As Michael Hurley's voice filled the atrium of the Village Gate, I was brought back to the early days of the cold water flat. Just as he is able to draw people into his own universe, so too was he fully integrated into the experience of Chuck's universe. Michael Hurley and his songs were like a back drop, an aural tapestry, a Greek chorus that was ever present at every stage of Chuck's life and career that I was privy to be involved with.

You couldn't know Chuck without having some experience with Michael Hurley. And there he was: the frail looking man in his mid-sixties looking for all the world like his fingers would not to get to the next chord only to have it land perfectly each time. The voice haunting as a mourning dove and songs that feel like twigs snapping under a boot on an early morning hike through a rich and wonderful woods.

I closed my eyes and communed with Chuck for awhile. Sometimes I do that by listening to the recordings of the Colorblind James Experience. Sometimes it will be while thinking about the song "Tell Him" by the Orlons. And too, entering into Michael Hurley's very odd and very strangely beautiful world, I can feel close to Chuck again.

Thanks Michael