You should be proud of me. I stayed sober through the entirety of Harvest Homecoming and didn't even say much about our annual harvest festival.

I had a "Charles Emerson Winchester at the phonograph" moment on Saturday evening at the Ogle Center. The Louisville Orchestra launched into its opening piece, ... where unsolvable problems go, and suddenly the concert hall seemed like a last-ditch bastion of sanity amid the tumult.

Apart from the single beer I drank at Pints&union early on Friday morning after tapping a keg of Revolution Oktoberfest (quality control is a professional obligation, folks, and what's more, wasting beer annoys me tremendously), I've stayed nice and toasty dry this Harvest Homecoming in terms of personal beverage alcohol consumption.

I considered walking down on Sunday and buying a rolled oyster, maybe even having one beer -- but didn't. Better to keep a clear head for the clean-up.

Believe it or not, I've worked hard these past few years to achieve a measure of inner peace with regard to Harvest Homecoming, especially as our signature civic festival pertains to a rapidly changing scene downtown.

It isn't my purpose at present to rekindle these controversies, although it should be noted that my core belief hasn't changed.

Some day very soon, it will become patently obvious that the festival no longer is conducive to downtown's best interests, at least as it currently is formatted. There'll have to be major changes. Regular readers have seen and heard it all before, and this is where I'll leave it today.

However, not without a startling revelation about my own personal viewpoint. In truth, apart from everything else that might be critiqued or analyzed about the Harvest Homecoming experience, the festival never really has been MY kind of celebration.

In short, tiny doses are enough for me, at best. This year I resolved to be helpful by refraining from repeating past pronouncements, and apart from what's been necessary for me to do at the pub, I've stayed completely out of it.

I feel better, y'all feel better.

It's a win-win for everyone.

Mind you, I don't dislike festivals as a matter of course.

I've been to dozens of beer events, including the Great Taste of the Midwest in Madison WI and Oktoberfest in Munich; observed the running of the bulls from safely afar at San Fermin in Pamplona; experienced May Day parades and parties in Vienna and Helsinki; and wandered accidentally into five or six municipal fests in smaller American and European cities, all of them enjoyable.

It isn't that I don't see the point of such gatherings in a wider sense, just that I find less of interest here at home in ours. Perhaps familiarity breeds indifference, and after all, I'm a natural-born contrarian who revels in the opposing argument.

But to each his or her own. C'est la vie -- of course. If you enjoy Harvest Homecoming, please rock on. Hang out, eat and drink too much with your friends and have fun.

For the sake of Harvest Homecoming's many fans, I'm happy we had traditional, cool autumn weather this year, and rain restricted for the most part to Sunday.

Depending on what is required of me in the future at the pub, it may be time for the Confidentials to implement our long term goal of timing a vacation to coincide with Harvest Homecoming. In 2016, we did this, driving up to Wisconsin's capital of Madison on a non-football weekend and enjoying it immensely. New England would be fun right about now, too.

See? This year I posted none of my notorious screeds, stayed out of the beer walk's path and uttered nary a peep when the mayor kept popping up on television, as though he had anything at all to do with Harvest Homecoming -- because even if the festival isn't my taste, I have enough sense to know who does the heavy lifting.

And it ain't him.

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Okay, okay. As a mild postscript, just this one thing to add.

Each year I briefly enjoy a handful of recurring Harvest Homecoming social media moments. It generally starts when a downtown business owner writes about how disruptive the festival can be for bricks 'n' mortar shops and stores, and expresses frustration at being compelled (remember, downtowners have no vote) to pay for booth spaces to access a building being used as well as taxed the year-round.

The business owner soon is answered by John (or Joan) Q. Public, who vigorously defends the festival's critical annual importance, along with chicken, dumplings and doughnuts, and who proceeds to explain how the business owner might easily shift vast profits from booth spaces and those big festival crowds.

This is where I usually enter the discussion.

I nicely ask the respondent: "So, back when YOU owned a downtown business and Harvest Homecoming came around, how did treating the festival as an opportunity work out for YOU? Was the booth fee worth it for YOU? Did the crowds help or hurt YOU? Was it a fantastic marketing opportunity for YOU?"

There the chat ends, nine times out of ten. Every now and then, there'll be a final anguished spasm along the lines of "it's our Harvest Homecoming, asshole, so just take a vacation or something."

It's scandalous. There I was, thinking these social media participants might actually know what the hell they're talking about.

Accordingly, let's come to an agreement: I don't pretend to fathom what greasy street food you like the best, and you don't pretend to know how to run a bricks and mortar downtown business when you're clueless.

See you next year ... unless we're in Wisconsin, Massachusetts or Bamberg. Until then, I promise to keep my big mouth (partially) shut.

But even I wouldn't review DNA on Yelp.

Okay, I got this.

DNA won't respond to questions about its posting policy v.v. specific variants of Christianity?

DNA won't let me post on its shilling-for-dollars page any longer?

DNA seems uninterested in dialogue at all?

No problem. I just wrote a review, instead. It was posted at 8:03 p.m. Now we'll see how long it lasts.

A trio of Houndmouth album reviews.

Houndmouth's From the Hills Below the City is out. Here are three reviews.

Allmusic

Hailing from New Albany, Indiana, a town neighboring Louisville, young band Houndmouth make their debut on the meticulously produced From the Hills Below the City. The album's 12 songs find Houndmouth, composed of just four musicians, putting out a passionate and explosively large sound, revisiting bygone themes through both the down-home holler of heartland Americana and some well-schooled rock musicianship.

The Guardian

Simple pleasures abound on the debut album from Indiana quartet Houndmouth: pure, true harmonies, precise playing, familiar themes about being lost and losing in America.

Something Else Reviews

The New Albany, Indiana-based Houndmouth has made a contemporary recording that sounds old, fresh thoughts that sound vintage — something both timeless and brand new.

"Houndmouth have brought back the old-fashioned virtues of musicianship."

There likely will be many more reviews like this one, which I pulled from Katie Toupin's feed at Twitter. The album is due to be released on June 4.

Houndmouth - From The Hills Below The City, by Charlie Clarkson (The 405)

I'm not going to bother with preliminary introductions here for two reasons - One being, is an in-depth biography really necessary for what will be a wonderful listening experience? And two, I can't find the words because really I just want to talk about the record. What I will say is that Houndmouth consist of four young musicians from New Albany, IN, and they have all the right ingredients to be a bona-fide, distinctly American bluesy folk-rock band – singers with twangy drawls, raw instrumentation, ideas… and a band member with the obligatory beard.

La Rosita praised in today's C-J.

There's an excellent review in today's Courier-Journal for the new, expanded La Rosita's.

It's been fun to watch Israel Landin grow his business. Five years ago, he opened a tiny taqueria in a sliver of space attached to a produce stand. He parlayed that into a cozy, full-service sit-down place that quickly became a destination restaurant, luring diners from throughout the Metro region. Now La Rosita Mexican Grill has moved to the epicenter of New Albany's downtown dining district.

Marty Rosen's review is balanced. He praises the food while offering due consideration to inconsistencies in service, which have steadily improved since the move. Now, if we can just get these customers to start pouring their beers from bottles into glasses ...

At any rate: Congrats to Israel and the whole crew.

Bank Street Brewhouse in today's LEO: "'Cuisine a la bière' defines Chef Josh Lehman’s bill of fare."

I'm pleased and humbled. I appreciate Robin's review, but even more so, I thank him for consistently giving New Albany's emerging downtown restaurant scene a fair shake in his writings. We must not forget that before us came the Bistro New Albany, when Louisvillians first began taking note of what we're capable of achieving here.

Most important are big kudos to the entire BSB staff: You guys indeed rock.

Lots to like about Bank Street Brewhouse, by Robin Garr.

I’ve held off reviewing since Kevin Gibson’s first-rate preview (LEO Weekly, March 25, 2009). Now that brewing is in full operation and Lehman’s evening menu is well established, it’s time to turn my own two thumbs up and say, “Kevin was right.” Bank Street Brewery hits a culinary home run for food and beer and other good things.

Reduced in print.

On-line said 3 and 1/2. Print said 3. As it turns out, the higher score was a misprint.

3 1/2 stars for NABC Bank Street Brewhouse, says the Courier-Journal.

3 1/2 stars for NABC Bank Street Brewhouse, says the Courier-Journal.

We knew the Bank Street Brewhouse restaurant review was coming to the Saturday edition of the Louisville Courier-Journal, but we didn't know it would be posted on-line at Metromix a full day in advance.

The 3 1/2 star review begins with a description of downtown New Albany, then and now, and I wouldn't be human if I didn't say that it smells like vindication to me.

It's more than just a beer joint, by Marty Rosen.

All of a sudden, New Albany seems to have found its future. A sparkling new YMCA facility, long a centerpiece of the city’s development plans, is drawing throngs of people. And a downtown dining scene that was once best known for housing the diminutive burger joint Little Chef and the inexpensive enormity of the salt-laden meals at the old Southside Inn, has become a bona fide dining district, with enough diversity and quality to lure folks from all over the region.

Congratulations to Chef Lehman, GM Powell, staff and brewers. We're still not there yet, but we're getting closer each day. On-premise business has steadily improved, even without the outdoor seating that's so important to the business plan.

Our goal was 100 off-premise draft beer accounts after six months of draft beer distribution, and we're just about on time with it. You can find NABC beer at numerous establishments in Louisville and Southern Indiana, as well as in Munster, Indianapolis, Muncie, Zionsville, Madison and Evansville, among other Hoosier outposts.

We're hoping for a crazy weekend. Here's the link to Kylene Lloyd's BSB photo gallery in Metromix.

Review: Michael McDonald at the Horseshoe Casino, December 11, 2008.

It comes as no surprise that pop-rock veterans structure their live performances around a calculated celebration of their memorable back catalogs.

It does come as a surprise when the pandering quotient is low, the standards are subtly updated, covers are enthusiastically rendered, and the drummer is an African-American female from Memphis who not only has a love affair with crash cymbals, but also sings backing vocals.

These qualities are rare, indeed.

Last night at the Horseshoe Casino, Michael McDonald also managed to throw a half-dozen urbane and mostly seldom heard Christmas numbers into the mix, while sly dedicating “Takin’ It to the Streets” to change (read: Obama) in America, eliciting a healthy ovation from an occasionally rude (read: drunken redneck) crowd.

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I’m one of the few people you’ll ever meet who will actually admit to being lukewarm about the Doobie Brothers before McDonald joined them, and becoming a real fan of the group only when the St. Louis-born keyboardist brought a healthy dose of sophisticated blue-eyed to soul to the group, contributing a half-dozen classic pop staples from 1976-1981, songs like “It Keeps You Running,“ What a Fool Believes,” “Minute by Minute,” and the only one of these songs neglected during a 75-minute show last evening, “Real Love.”

When the zenith crested, McDonald went solo, scoring a handful of hits during the 1980’s (“I Keep Forgetting (We’re Not in Love Any More)” and “Sweet Freedom,” among others), and eventually crafting a solid second career in the new millennium as an interpreter of Motown and soul. The Doobies took time off and later reformed around the nexus of its leathery biker roots, reverting to the populist simplicity desired by its hardcore supporters.

Back at the Horseshoe, the set list was well crafted, the stage show mature, and the backing musicians superb. Concerts these days are shorter and ticket prices higher, but in terms of value, I believe they’re better in the main. Audio and sound technology is light years ahead of the selectively recalled good old days, and few if any performers of McDonald’s caliber appear without an upper echelon of skilled players behind them.

Over coffee this morning, Mrs. Confidential observed that she thinks McDonald looks better in “old” age, with his hair completely white and the former Bohemian beard, also white, now closely cropped. To me, he looks like an entirely different person from the one I remember, although the voice has never changed.

Taken together, these thoughts prompted a random reflection about the song “Real Love” and something written about it at the time in Rolling Stone magazine. It turns out that the source of my recollection is a 1980 review of “One Step Closer,” the final Doobie Brothers album with McDonald, written by Don Shewey. I found it on line. Not only is it a fine piece of writing, but it’s also a snapshot of another age. I'll close with the first half of it.

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When television's 20/20 profiled the Doobie Brothers last summer, the segment's highlight was a brief glimpse of the band laying down the vocal tracks to "Real Love," the first single from One Step Closer. Clustered around a mike, several Doobies exhaled ethereal backup harmonies. Standing dramatically in front of another microphone was the group's lead singer, Michael McDonald, who cowrote the tune. The camera moved in on McDonald in midsong: eyes closed, his voice intense, his dark beard gently but urgently nuzzling the foam rubber that covered the mike. I was startled by this intimate picture. It reminded me of seeing Billie Holiday on film for the first time and discovering that she wasn't a fancy, heavy-lidded crooner but a fragile creature with wide eyes and a musician's alertness. Instead of a jaunty pop star exploiting a sensually gruff baritone, McDonald suddenly seemed like a seasoned stage actor, a passionate Romeo pouring out his heart to a Juliet conjured from thin air. He was caught up in his imagination and oblivious to the world.

"Real Love" is not only one of the great pop songs of the year but probably the best record the Doobie Brothers have ever made. Every time I hear it, I can't help thinking about that indelible image of McDonald's furry face cozying up to the microphone. The terse drumbeats, delicate guitar notes and electric keyboard chords that start the track cast a spell, while–in suspended time, like that moment when sex begins and clocks stop–Michael McDonald spins out a tale of romantic pathos: the struggle to recapture one's first dream of love, the inevitable series of unfulfilling encounters "grindin' down a secret part of you," the willing self-deceit ("Let me hear you lie just a little/Tell me I'm the only man/That you ever really loved"). It's an old story, yet McDonald's emotional reading makes it immediate. He projects the kind of heart-rending vulnerability stereotypically ascribed to women. "When you say comfort me/To anyone who approaches," he sings, with enough feeling in "comfort me" to suggest he's said it plenty of times himself. And the way he limns "Well we've both lived/Long enough to know/That we'd trade it all right now/For just one minute of real love" unexpectedly conveys the romantic's conviction that in the instant when love is most real, it's already fading.

Not surprisingly, "Real Love" overwhelms everything else on One Step Closer.

Five albums and five more musical noteworthy listens during 2007.

As originally posted to samizdat, our private chat and literary discussion group.

ALBUMS

Crowded House – Time on Earth
Idiosyncratic eighties pop now yielding to bittersweet middle aged musings on the meaning of life, loss and endurance, owing primarily to the suicide of drummer Paul Hester, with sufficient doses of Neil Finn’s trademark subversive lyricism to inspire thought even if the pop isn’t nearly as bouncy as during the group’s Reagan Era heyday. No ground is broken, but great melodies are proffered, packaged with understated yet suitably intense performances.

The Feeling – Twelve Stops and Home
Youthful and expert Brit borrowers of every trick in the pop music playbook, chock full of hooks and melodies (apply alcohol to create ear worms) and schlock-cocked-eyebrow lyrics about love and loss. That’s enough for me, and yet it should be noted that the results hardly can be classified as bubblegum: “My love is stronger than you think/Much stronger now I’ve had a drink.”

Bruce Springsteen – Magic
At first, the Boss’s latest collection of songs didn’t strike me as overtly political or daring; in fact, in spite of the energetic backing of the E Street Band, the project almost seemed pedestrian, but a half dozen listens revealed a depth that has continued to impress ever since. The song “Magic” provides half the epitaph for the clueless supporting the failed Bush regime, with John Fogerty’s live rendering of “Fortunate Son” supplying the other (see below).

Manic Street Preachers – Send Away the Tigers
Commended by critics as a return to form, although my preferences continue to lie with the dark and elegiac Lifeblood (2004). Spare production accenting a classic power trio, minimal embellishments, with emphasis on short, succinct pop anthems, but bassist/lyricist Nicky Wire still manages to name drop Lee Harvey Oswald in what is ostensibly a love song (“I am just a patsy/the Oswald in Lee Harvey”), guitarist James Dean Bradfield is in fine voice throughout, and Sean Moore finally is permitted to play drums in a manner that would elicit at least a drunken leer of approval from the late Keith Moon.

Radiohead – In Rainbows
It’s fairly obvious that this latest stage in Radiohead’s artistic growth melds the experimentation of post OK Computer with excellent songs. Oddly, not one piece stands out, and yet I hear something different and tasteful each time I listen. A nuanced and rewarding effort.

NOTEWORTHY LISTENS (VARIOUS)

LIVE: John Fogerty in Louisville and Bruce Springsteen in Cologne, Germany
By sheer happenstance, these two performances by rock legends occurred a scant ten days apart in December, and on two different continents. In both cases, it was the first time I’d seen the performer in question live. Elderly pros Fogerty (two hours) and Springsteen (two and a half) provided memorable bang for the buck. Crack musicianship included Kenny Aronoff on drums and Billy Burnette on rhythm guitar (Fogerty’s current traveling band) and the E Street Band’s familiar and stellar lineup (nine people can make big noise, folks). See: This is what will be: The Boss, live in Cologne.

LIVE: Snow Patrol at White River State Park in Indianapolis (August 3)
The band’s Eyes Open album landed in 2006, but I didn’t get around to buying it until 2007. Fortunately there was a live show in Indy, which turned out to be on my birthday. Clever road weary stage banter was some of the best I’ve heard, and the outdoor venue at White River has good acoustics, pristine sound and is highly organized. A wonderful experience all around.

DVD: U2 ZooTV Live from Sydney
The final show of one of the most renowned tours in rock’s modern era is admittedly uneven, having been scripted for a worldwide satellite television broadcast. It doesn’t matter, because my chronological Irish contemporaries have simply never been in as thunderously fine a form as during the show’s seven opening songs, all taken from Achtung Baby, and played with skill and fury that is positively riveting. During the two hours that follow, the usual set list suspects are happily accented by the presence of three seldom performed cuts from Zooropa, including “Stay (Faraway, So Close)”, but unfortunately sans “The Wanderer.”

WEB: Wolfgang’s Vault
On-line repository for four decades of streaming audio concerts, many of which originally were King Biscuit Flour Hour broadcasts back in FM radio days when so little content was available to poor schmucks in places like New Albany. Everyone from Miles Davis to Elvin Bishop, and entirely free of charge.

BOOK: Groovin' High: The Life of Dizzy Gillespie, by Alyn Shipton
While not the most arresting biography I’ve read, Shipton nonetheless has I important and plausible things to say about the position of Gillespie in the development of bebop, and I was inspired to listen again to the recordings that I have for proof of the trumpeter’s genius.

Speaking of jazz geniuses, there was also a memorable time during my recovery from shoulder surgery when I bonded again with Mr. Beiderbecke: Quality time with Bix.

And, finally, a local musical event made a big impression: In the Mood: Saturday at the Speakeasy with the Glenn Miller Orchestra ... and more than a few ghosts.

This is what will be: The Boss, live in Cologne.

As many of you know, our longtime friend Kim Andersen – a Danish national and proud citizen of the universe who currently is a resident of Koln (Cologne), arguably Germany’s premier party town – surprised us with tickets to see Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band last Thursday evening at the Koln Arena.

It was my first time ever at a Springsteen show, and having been breathlessly told by fans for many years how inspired the Boss’s concerts usually are, I can now nod sagely and echo the immortal words of the late Madeline Kahn in “Blazing Saddles” and say: Ohh! It's twoo! IT'S TWOO …

Springsteen’s new album "Magic" was well represented during the show, and the fact that the songs therein contain more than a few barbs in the general direction of the miserably failed Bush regime was raw meat for the locals in attendance. Note that the Hoosier author agrees with the Europeans and our own native of New Jersey when these lyrics are sung:

The earth it gave away
The sea rose towards the sun
I opened up my heart to you
It got all damaged and undone
My ship Liberty sailed away
On a bloody red horizon
The groundskeeper opened the gates
And let the wild dogs run

Here’s a review of the two and a half hour concert and the set list.

December 13 / Cologne, GER / Koln Arena

A smoking show, both literally and figuratively -- the Koln Arena must be one of the last such venues where lighting up is still permitted, and when the lights came up they revealed quite a cloud overhead. A surprisingly simlar set to the previous night, considering it's just a couple hours' drive. But the enthusiastic Cologne crowd, on their feet all night, set this one apart -- and who can complain about "Because the Night" two nights in a row? "The Promised Land" had that newly added "People Get Ready" gospel coda again, too. "Kitty's Back" was absolutely smoking, particularly Roy's solo -- a killer, jazzy improvisation, which Bruce echoed as he followed it with an extended solo of his own.

The end of "American Land" brought a patented James Brown routine, as Bruce fell over backward, "exhausted," still on the floor as the band went into a bonus "Santa Claus is Comin' to Town." Nils and Steven helped him up to sing, and a special guest joined in, too. "Wolfgang, do you believe in Santa Claus?" Bruce cried to Wolfgang Niedecken -- like Joe Grushecky in Pittsburgh, you can pretty much bank on Niedecken joining in when Bruce comes to Deutschland. The German rocker didn't really seem to know the song, rarely stepping to the mic, but all eyes were on Bruce anyway, especially once he put that Santa hat on. How does he manage to make that thing look good? Tilting it at a rakish angle, twirling the pom-pom around like a helicopter... no one wears a Santa hat like Bruce. Hey, the guy's a professional.

Setlist:
Radio Nowhere
The Ties That Bind
Lonesome Day
Gypsy Biker
Magic
Reason to Believe
Because the Night
She's the One
Livin' in the Future
The Promised Land
Waitin' on a Sunny Day
The River
I'll Work for Your Love
Devil's Arcade
The Rising
Last to Die
Long Walk Home
Badlands

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Girls in Their Summer Clothes
Kitty's Back
Born to Run
Dancing in the Dark
American Land
Santa Claus is Comin' to Town