Jordan Tice, who launched his national tour at the Avalon Theatre’s Stoltz Listening Room last week, bridges the gap between old-time tradition and modern storytelling. Whether he discovered bluegrass icons like Doc Watson and ragtime guitarist Blind Blake before finding his way to Bob Dylan, Randy Newman, and Paul Simon—or the other way around—his music reflects a rare ability to meld past and present seamlessly.

Tice opened with Down by the River, a song originally recorded by Uncle Dave Macon in 1924. In his hands, however, it felt completely fresh. Too often, musicians treat traditional songs as museum pieces, something to be handled with reverence but never altered. Tice, by contrast, breathes new life into them, stretching and reshaping them in ways that feel both innovative and natural.

His own compositions stood comfortably alongside the classics. Walkin’, a standout original, showcased his intricate fingerpicking and sharp lyricism: “Cranes going up to the sky and then down / Buildin’ on what’s been torn down / And people for a while they’d come around…”

At times, Tice’s rapid-fire vocal delivery added urgency, though it occasionally came at the expense of his carefully crafted lyrics.

His choice of covers reflected his deep musical influences. A stirring rendition of Bob Dylan’s Tryin’ to Get to Heaven (from 1997’s unappreicated Time Out of Mind) led to one of his most expressive guitar solos of the night. Randy Newman’s Dayton, Ohio 1903 fit his style perfectly, its wistful lyrics and lilting melody capturing the sepia-toned warmth that runs through much of Tice’s music. He ended the night with Paul Simon’s lovely and optimistic Born at the Right Time, a fitting closer that left the audience on an uplifting note.

The concert also offered a preview of Tice’s upcoming album, with two brand-new songs debuting live. Quiet Light, co-written with Grammy-winner Sarah Jarosz, stood out as one of the evening’s best moments, offering a quiet yet profound reflection: “Who knows what tomorrow brings / So take your time / And let it all run across your mind.”

While Jarosz will sing harmony on the recorded version, fiddle player Patrick M’Gonigle stepped in beautifully, his vocal  harmonies and expressive playing adding richness to the performance. His skills were also on display during Mean Old World, where he took on the challenge of filling in for Aoife O’Donovan’s harmonies from Tice’s previous recordings. Nickel Creek’s Jeff Picker provided understated but essential bass lines, anchoring the sound with warmth and subtlety.

Still, Tice’s Thompson guitar was the true star of the night. Whether delicately fingerpicking through a ballad or delivering fleet bluegrass runs, his playing was both technically masterful and emotionally resonant. Instrumentals like Badlettsville and Horse County Rag, which might serve as low-energy interludes in another artist’s set, became highlights in Tice’s hands.

Currently on tour across the Eastern U.S., Tice proves that traditional music doesn’t have to be frozen in time—it can be revived, reinvented, and made new again. If his performance at the Stoltz was any indication, this is a tour well worth catching.

Mark Pelavin, the founder of Hambleton Cove Consulting, is a writer, consultant, and music lover living very happily in St. Michaels.

There was a moment near the end of veteran singer-songwriter Ellis Paul’s performance at the Avalon Theatre’s Stoltz Listening Room on Sunday night that perfectly captured why a sold-out crowd had braved the rain to hear live music. As Paul prepared to close out his set, an audience member called out a request for “Home,” a song Paul wrote two decades ago. The fan explained that the song had helped save his marriage.

Paul, visibly moved, paused for a moment before settling in at the keyboard to play it. The audience, which had been singing along moments earlier, fell silent as he delivered the lyrics with quiet intensity: “Home… sits across the table / Home… is dreaming in my sheets / Home… home… / This house is just an address / You lift me from all sadness / This house is just an address, you’re my home.”

Throughout the night, Paul proved why he remains a beloved presence in folk and Americana music after more than four decades on the road. His set was filled with stories—some true, some embellished, all engaging. “Kick Out the Lights (Johnny Cash)” recounted the famous tale of Cash “dancing with his demons” at the Grand Ole Opry, smashing out 54 stage lights in a rebellious frenzy. “Holy” captured an Irish immigrant’s determination to chase the American dream despite the doubts of those he left behind:
“His friends say, ‘Christ, Declan, please / You’re wasting your prayers on a dream.’ / He says, ‘Watch me.’”

One of the most powerful moments of the evening came with “Troy’s Song,” based on the real-life story of a Desert Storm veteran suffering from PTSD. On the brink of taking his own life, Troy found salvation in a program that pairs veterans with retired racehorses. The song’s lyrics painted a poignant picture of healing and trust: “In that ring with Whiskey and me / Our hearts beat in some kind of synchronicity / And I trusted him / And he came to trust me / We were two old warriors / Starting all over again / Building trust / Like two old friends.”

Other highlights of the night included the “only slightly sacrilegious” “I’m No Jesus,” a wryly tender love song (“Now I can’t walk on water / Can’t part the sea / The only miracle that I’ve seen / Is you walking down the aisle to me”), and the stunning “Gold in California,” which painted a vivid picture of the California coastline bathed in golden light.

Paul was completely at home on stage, delivering songs and stories with passion, energy, and humor. Many of the acts that pass through the Stoltz Listening Room are young artists on their way up, bringing the thrill of new discovery to their performances. Paul, who recently celebrated his 60th birthday, has been touring relentlessly for over 40 years, playing hundreds of shows annually. And yet, his enthusiasm remains undiminished.

In the end, it wasn’t just Paul’s songs or stories that made the night special—it was the genuine joy he brought to the stage, a joy that filled the room and reminded everyone why live music, even on a rainy night, is worth showing up for.

Mark Pelavin, the founder of Hambleton Cove Consulting, is a writer, consultant, and music lover living very happily in St. Michaels.

Over the course of her terrific show at the Stoltz Listening Room, Christina Vane described herself as being “from everywhere” and “from nowhere.”  Those two observations perfectly capture the uniqueness of her songs; while her lyrics and music both reflect a wide array of influences (the Mississippi Delta blues first and foremost) they also capture someone trying to find, or to create, a place for herself in an often-challenging world.

Born in Italy to a Sicilian-American father and a Guatemalan mother, Vane grew up between England, France, and Italy. After college in New Jersey and some hard years in Los Angeles, she has now begun to put down roots in Nashville (a cliche’ that Vane herself would probably be quick to make fun of). 

Vane opened with Make Myself Me Again, the title song from her most recent album and a perfect song to introduce herself. With her powerful voice, and accompanied by her ringing guitar, Vane sings: “Sometimes I lose, sometimes I win/ I’m gonna make myself me again/ I’m giving up on giving in/ I’m gonna make myself me again.” 

The heart of the show was a series of songs Vane wrote on her 2021 road trip from Los Angeles to Nashville. It was her first exposure to the American West, which made a powerful impression on the “woman from nowhere.”  She told an interviewer that before the trip she “seldom wrote about anything besides human emotion and relationships” and that her trip “opened up my experiences to visions and sensations I had never seen or felt.”  Badlands, her tribute to the “land of salt and dirt” was particularly moving. The juxtaposition of her guitar playing, which is deeply rooted in the rich soil of the American South, and her observations about the starkness of the Badlands was striking. Dreaming of Utah, a slow country waltz, was another highlight, with Vane singing “I’m pining for mountains of green/or of stone/for the silence that’s haunting/when you’re truly alone.”

Vane’s guitar playing is just as effective, and vivid, as her songwriting. Her primary guitar is a custom National Resonator, played with a bottleneck slide. (This is the guitar Paul Simon sang about on Graceland, “The Mississippi Delta was shining like a National guitar.”)  The guitar’s metal and wood construction gives a distinctive sound that is metallic and twangy, rich and resonant.  None of that would matter if Vane was not a top-flight guitarist. But she is indeed a gifted player; the joy she brought to her short, smart, solos was infectious.

Vane offered up a quartet of new songs, one of which, No Roots, was performed live for the first time. She introduced another new song, Getting High in Hotel Rooms, joking that she was “a woman of mystery,” since no one could figure out what the song was about! It was indeed about hotel rooms, and about life on the road and persistence: “I’ll travel far and travel light/I can play the blues all night. I’m trying/Lord knows/ I’ll keep on drivin’.” My Mountain, played clawhammer style on the banjo, is something of a purpose statement for Vane: “I come to you with open hands/I learn your hands and I listen/you think know what I’m missing/but you haven’t seen my mountain.”

Another new song, You Ain’t’ Special, is Vane’s upcoming single. It is a fun, straight-forward country song (“You ain’t special/like your mama said you was”) with less echoes of the blues than her earlier songs.  You can imagine, say, Miranda Lambert doing a great version. 

Annapolis-based singer/songwriter Skribe did a short, compelling set to open the show, offering up four new, unreleased songs. Landlines and Love Letters was the highlight of his short set, recounting his recent, unsuccessful attempts at “the art of pursuit.”   

The show in Easton was the second of a run that will take Vane across the country between now and September. (Dates are available at https://www.cristinavane.com/.)  Keep an eye out for her.

Mark Pelavin, the founder of Hambleton Cove Consulting, is a writer, consultant and music lover living, very happily, in St. Michaels.

Rock icon Jonathan Richman, who delighted an appreciative crowd at the Avalon Theatre last week, was dancing like no one was watching long before most of us had ever heard the phrase. In addition to writing a slew of great songs about dancing, including the crowd favorite Dancing in a Lesbian Bar, Richman is likely to break out in dance in the middle of a song. Where some might use guitar solos to take a song to another level, Richman just lays his guitar on the floor and dances.

Who is Jonathan Richman? He is a singer-songwriter who has been making music and touring for over 50 years. He is an iconoclast whose songs celebrate everything from his hometown of Boston to Dutch painter Johannes Vermeer and from the joys of wine to the joys of just walking down the street. Rolling Stone ranked his seminal song Roadrunner at #77 in its list of greatest songs ever (right between Richman would be amused to see, Reach Out (and I’ll Be There) and I Walk the Line). But Richman did not play Roadrunner last week. He plays without a set list and chooses the songs he wants to play at any given moment.

What he did play was a 22-song set of his unique music that absolutely thrilled the overflow audience at the theatre. Ranging from 1976’s Girlfren to a few songs that I’m pretty sure he improvised on the spot, and singing in English, French, Italian, Arabic (I think), and Ojibway, Richman shared a stunningly diverse set.  But, however diverse, every song was authentically Jonathan Richman. (Girlfren, it’s worth noting, contains, as Richman acknowledged from the stage, one of the worst rhymes in the history of recorded music: “That’s a girlfriend/Said G-I-R-L-F-R-E-N.”)

In a recent interview, Richman explained, “Some of the songs presented might be in different languages; this is not to be esoteric or clever, it’s because the different languages help me express different feelings sometimes.”  He is inspired by paintings (and has songs about Picasso, Vermeer and Matise), poetry, and by colors (as evidenced by one of his newer songs, an instrumental entitled “Guitar In Orange Drums In Pale Purple”).

At the Avalon, Richman accompanied himself on guitar and was joined by his long-time drummer, Tommy Larkins. Richman’s guitar sound is as unique as his songwriting – he plays an acoustic guitar strung with nylon strings such as a classical or flamenco guitarist would use, and often seems to get so carried away in his singing and dancing that he just forgets to play. Larkins – with his long-sleeve black t-shirt, jeans, uncombed hair, unshaven face, and dark sunglasses – looked just as much like a rock star as Richman looked like a suburban dad (or grandfather). It is challenging to provide rhythm for music that can be as quiet as Richman’s; Larkins got it just right.

Here is what is most memorable about Richman’s songs and his performance:  They are 100% guileless. Richman has an extensive set of lyrical tools at his disposal, but they do not seem to include sarcasm, snark, or irony. Their absence can be jarring to today’s listeners. When he sings, for example, “In Tompkins Square Park, a couple is meeting/Say what you want, but I feel my heart beating/ Cause I love springtime in New York/Springtime in New York I do,” (from Springtime in New York) there is no escaping his genuine and almost childlike enthusiasm. 

Richman is a one-of-a-kind artist. His songwriting is sophisticated and simple at the same time. His dancing is endearing, his stage presence welcoming, and his love of life is contagious. I cannot remember a more fun night of music.

Mark Pelavin, the founder of Hambleton Cove Consulting, is a writer, consultant, and music lover living very happily in St. Michaels.

For a few hours on Thursday night, the Avalon Theatre’s Stolz Listening Room felt like Nashville’s venerable Bluebird Café. Alaina Stacey and Madeleine Kelson, two singer/songwriters, childhood friends from Chicago now living and working in Nashville, brought a Bluebird-style “song swap” to the Avalon Theatre’s cozy Slotz Listening Room. 

A “song swap” — songwriters taking turns sharing their songs — works best when the songs are compelling, and the performers share a musical style (but are not so similar that their songs blend together).  That was certainly the case with Stacey and Kelson. They have both been writing songs since they were in High School (and before), and one of the joys of the concert was seeing how their songwriting has progressed. Their newest work is by far their strongest.

Stacey has a way of singing about unrequited love without being maudlin or weepy. She, for example, told the audience all about her first, high-school, love, someone who was never too interested in her: “I’m gonna get over you/I’m gonna say that we’re through/I’m going to go on my way/but not today.”  The catchy I Would, begins memorably: “I don’t’ remember how it started/but it ended with your stuff in boxes.”  I Would has all the makings of hit – powerful lyrics, a memorable chorus, and a strong vocal performance.

Some of Stacey’s songs were a bit more explicit about her mood, such as Love Me Like It’s Nothing (“It doesn’t have to be forever/call it whatever/take it night by night.  If it’s you and me together/call it whatever/’long as it’s you and me tonight”) or her opener, Jonesing, about how much she longs for a certain guy.  In the standout “If I Were a Song,” Stacey reaches out to an old lover, asking, “Would you put me back on/if I were a song?”

Stacey’s offerings were not all love songs. She sang about planning her own funeral (“Thank you for making my life/truly/a wild thing of beauty”), and about trying to protect a girl who she knew of only from a bit of graffiti in a club (“dangerous isn’t all it’s cracked up to be”). Take Care of The Baby is tearjerker about her (not much) younger brother, one of the loveliest songs I have heard about the bond between siblings (“Mama tried to separate us/but she always did underestimate us”).

Kelson’s rich, smokey voice brought a warm authority to many of her songs. Where the Spirit Meets the Muscle, the title of her latest EP (and perhaps a nod to Where the Spirit Means the Bone by one of her clearest influences, Lucinda Willaims) is a powerful example.    “She loves me like I’m worth all of the trouble,” she sings, conveying a powerful bond with her fiancée .  One of her newest songs, Pretty Wings, shows how much her songwriting has matured: “I was a kite/going wherever the wind blows/it felt like freedom/till I saw the rope.”  It’s no wonder Kelson chose Pretty Wings for her entry into NPR’s Tiny Desk Concert competition.  

Her take on the John Prine standard Angel from Montgomery highlighted the winning weariness that often seems to creep into Kelson’s own songs. That sweet, melancholy tone was also evident on Only One to Blame, which Kelson, rightly, introduced by saying, “this is the saddest of my many sad songs” and on Hard Wired (For Letting Go), about the challenge of making a life in music, being on the road, and missing home.

Kelson put down her guitar and moved to keyboards for a few songs, most memorably, Make You Proud, a complex and moving song about her mother and the various debts Kelson owes her (“Do you hold your breath, so that I can keep on breathing?”).

After an evening of songs that were on the sad end of the emotional spectrum, Kelson and Stacey encored by joining together on a song dating back to Kelson’s time singing with her sister (as The Kelson Twins), a light-hearted tune about a friend of theirs who refused to take no for answer from a guy, Honey Let That Poor Boy Be.  It was the perfect way to end a great show. 

The show at the Avalon was the last show of Kelson and Stacey’s joint tour. But it is a terrific time to explore their music.  Kelson just released her latest EP, WHERE THE SPIRIT MEETS THE MUSCLE, last month. In May, Stacey will release DAY, the middle of a trio of EP’s (DAWN, DAY, DUSK) which, she explains, “reflect different sonic and emotional moments in my life.”