Both hail from New England. Each has her own rabid followers. And they could not be more unlike as performers.
I had the good fortune to see Patty Griffin in concert (for the third time) Thursday. Three nights later, I saw Grace Potter and the Nocturnals. Both were at the Crystal Ballroom. And both left me with an appreciation for their musicianship.
On the spectrum of musical styles, these talented ladies reside at opposite ends of the spectrum. Patty Griffin, born in Maine and now based in Austin, Texas, reels you in with the power of her voice, wielding it like an instrument as she sings ballads of love and heartbreak. She looks like she'd weigh 100 pounds soaking wet. And yet she commands the house as she stands at center stage, strumming an acoustic guitar and singing her heart out beneath a full head of red hair.
And Grace Potter? She's from Vermont, tall, blonde and beautiful. She dances, jumps, spins, kicks, skips and pogo-sticks like no one I've ever seen. Her show is high-volume and high-energy, bordering on the edge of manic. She trades licks with the two guitarists in her band, plays the keyboards, climbs on a speaker, holds the microphone out for the audience to sing. She even did a slide guitar solo.
For a backdrop at Patty's show, there was a simple banner with a reproduced image of "American Dad," her newest collections of songs, inspired by her late father. She had three musicians on stage with her, each of them capable of playing at least two instruments. One went from keyboards to drums to accordion.
At Grace's show, it was all lights, an ever-changing palette of red, green and blue and the occasional bright-white beamed directly, blindingly, at the audience. It got cheesy during her ballad, "Stars," with little lights on the ceiling meant to mimic the evening sky.
Patty took time to comment between most songs. At one point, she stopped and told of surfing the web that day and realizing it was World Refugee Day. She spoke of inhumane conditions faced by people in Africa and Asia and urged audience members to pick up literature on a back table and consider contributing to the cause, even five dollars.
Grace was all about partying, with no mention of politics. She and her band played for 1 hour, 45 minutes, starting with the up-tempo "Paris (Ooh, La La)" and steadily cranking up the energy. They did an extended version of "Paint It Black" (Rolling Stones) and ended the show with a fantastic cover of "Cinnamon Girl" (Neil Young).
Patty opened with a splendid arrangement of "Carry Me," which delighted me to no end. (Be patient with the unsteady camera if you link to the video; it does stabilize.) Days earlier, when it was my turn to contribute to our neighborhood's poetry poet, I printed off the lyrics to that song and stuck a dozen copies in the box. What a coincidence. She went on to sing of mix of older and brand-new songs and two or three from "Downtown Church," "a little Thursday night gospel music," as she put it. For an encore, she did "Mil Besos" ("A Thousand Kisses'), a lovely song that she sings in perfect Spanish.
Both nights I wound up about 20-25 feet away from the stage. Though the crowds were similar in size, Patty's concert somehow felt intimate, like a gathering of friends. Grace's concert felt primal, from the rumbling of the bass in your stomach to her piercing vocals. I've never seen Springsteen, so I can't say I've experienced his legendary marathon shows. But I can say Grace Potter is one hell of a rocker, with amazing stamina and showmanship.
Loved Patty Griffin, as I knew I would. Loved Grace Potter, too, not quite knowing what to expect.
I had the good fortune to see Patty Griffin in concert (for the third time) Thursday. Three nights later, I saw Grace Potter and the Nocturnals. Both were at the Crystal Ballroom. And both left me with an appreciation for their musicianship.
On the spectrum of musical styles, these talented ladies reside at opposite ends of the spectrum. Patty Griffin, born in Maine and now based in Austin, Texas, reels you in with the power of her voice, wielding it like an instrument as she sings ballads of love and heartbreak. She looks like she'd weigh 100 pounds soaking wet. And yet she commands the house as she stands at center stage, strumming an acoustic guitar and singing her heart out beneath a full head of red hair.
And Grace Potter? She's from Vermont, tall, blonde and beautiful. She dances, jumps, spins, kicks, skips and pogo-sticks like no one I've ever seen. Her show is high-volume and high-energy, bordering on the edge of manic. She trades licks with the two guitarists in her band, plays the keyboards, climbs on a speaker, holds the microphone out for the audience to sing. She even did a slide guitar solo.
For a backdrop at Patty's show, there was a simple banner with a reproduced image of "American Dad," her newest collections of songs, inspired by her late father. She had three musicians on stage with her, each of them capable of playing at least two instruments. One went from keyboards to drums to accordion.
At Grace's show, it was all lights, an ever-changing palette of red, green and blue and the occasional bright-white beamed directly, blindingly, at the audience. It got cheesy during her ballad, "Stars," with little lights on the ceiling meant to mimic the evening sky.
Patty took time to comment between most songs. At one point, she stopped and told of surfing the web that day and realizing it was World Refugee Day. She spoke of inhumane conditions faced by people in Africa and Asia and urged audience members to pick up literature on a back table and consider contributing to the cause, even five dollars.
Grace was all about partying, with no mention of politics. She and her band played for 1 hour, 45 minutes, starting with the up-tempo "Paris (Ooh, La La)" and steadily cranking up the energy. They did an extended version of "Paint It Black" (Rolling Stones) and ended the show with a fantastic cover of "Cinnamon Girl" (Neil Young).
Patty opened with a splendid arrangement of "Carry Me," which delighted me to no end. (Be patient with the unsteady camera if you link to the video; it does stabilize.) Days earlier, when it was my turn to contribute to our neighborhood's poetry poet, I printed off the lyrics to that song and stuck a dozen copies in the box. What a coincidence. She went on to sing of mix of older and brand-new songs and two or three from "Downtown Church," "a little Thursday night gospel music," as she put it. For an encore, she did "Mil Besos" ("A Thousand Kisses'), a lovely song that she sings in perfect Spanish.
Both nights I wound up about 20-25 feet away from the stage. Though the crowds were similar in size, Patty's concert somehow felt intimate, like a gathering of friends. Grace's concert felt primal, from the rumbling of the bass in your stomach to her piercing vocals. I've never seen Springsteen, so I can't say I've experienced his legendary marathon shows. But I can say Grace Potter is one hell of a rocker, with amazing stamina and showmanship.
Loved Patty Griffin, as I knew I would. Loved Grace Potter, too, not quite knowing what to expect.