Not Sinatra at the Hollywood Bowl, and not really Sinatra at all, actually, but this week we enjoyed some strange and interesting musical performances. First, last Sunday, we walked over to the Hollywood Bowl in the afternoon and picnicked on the grounds, with a loaf of bread, some brie, wine, and grapes, which made for a perfect pre-concert meal. I was amazed that the Bowl staff not only let people bring in any kind of alcohol they wanted, but that people weren’t even being subtle about it, handing over their tickets with the same hand that held an open bottle of beer. Someone at the Bowl is thankfully not that interested in selling $7.50 Heinekens, as they seem to let people bring in a whole lot of whatever they want. Very nice. It was our first and last show of the season, Willie Nelson, supported by Neko Case and Ryan Adams. I wish the order of openers had been flipped, as we missed a little of Neko Case’s fine music, and were present for all of Ryan Adams’ dreadful set. I’d tried to see what the fuss was about with him a few years ago, but his voice was so bland that it never stuck, and the evening’s performance didn’t help. I’m not sure exactly what he’s known for, but I didn’t think it was as leader of a jam band – they just kept going on and on and on in ever more indulgent, dirge-like guitar solos. It really was awful. The rabid Ryan Adams fans screaming in the row behind us didn’t help, but only made the confusion and disconnect more apparent. Anyway, Willie Nelson and family and friends came on eventually, and played an entertaining if brisk set, reminiscent of the one I saw them play three years ago in Austin.

This week went by fairly quickly, Aimee’s first full week at work with the kids, which I think went pretty well and was certainly a welcome change from all of the moving and planning and setting up she’d been doing since the last time she was in front of a classroom full of students. We had a fun time at a game night held at a colleague’s house, which was a first for us, and on Friday, we went to a screening of Harold Lloyd’s Welcome Danger, which in addition to being an entertaining film, also featured a surprise appearance by a very early photobooth, which was pretty amazing. Last night, we caught Cary Hoffman and his band at the Catalina Jazz Club, a show which requires a little back story. A few years ago, we got tickets to go see this crazy-sounding 3-D Sinatra extravaganza at Radio City. Our performance was cancelled a few weeks prior to the date for technical reasons, and not rescheduled – though it sounds like that was probably a good thing, judging from the review. Anyway, as a sort of make-up for that, we went to go see an act “inspired” by Sinatra, rather than someone doing a Sinatra impression, I guess, at a cigar bar in New York. It was supposed to be Cary Hoffman, but instead, it turned out to be Steve Maglio, and we had a great time. Fast-forward to last week, when I noticed that Cary Hoffman was in Los Angeles, and we snapped up some half-price tickets. The night was fun – and weird, as these sort of things almost always are, when someone’s entire act and career is based on the work of someone else. He was introduced as “straight from his PBS special, My Sinatra,” which I have to say, is not really an awe-inspring introduction, but oh well. He did sound a lot like Sinatra, sort of a Reprise-era Sinatra singing Capitol-era arrangements. And the arrangements were really the star: the 11-piece orchestra was great, even if it appeared that Hoffman wasn’t exactly sure who they were, introducing people with the wrong name and referring to a cheat sheet to see what the lead trumpet’s name was. It was great to hear those original, magnificent Nelson Riddle arrangements live. We had our two-drink minimum and enjoyed Hoffman’s songs and memoir banter, and were happy to be able to walk home (not that we were barely able to walk, but that we’re happy to live within walking distance of a lot of things). Check out the great spelling on this moving truck we spotted on the way to the club.