Harried Potter

I just finished Mickey Rapkin's book on collegiate a cappella, "Pitch Perfect," and it conjured a host of feelings, from warm, fuzzy memories of my own time in a college a cappella group, to memories of a different sort -- the personality clashes and pettiness that also went with it.

And that's precidely the point. Rapkin's book is an excellent look at the current college a cappella scene through the eyes of three groups - Divisi from the University of Oregon, the Hullabahoos from the University of Virginia and the Tufts Beelzebubs. Written in a hip, savvy style, "Pitch Perfect" shows all sides of a cappella, from the innocent pleasure of singing to the cutthroat internal politics that often go with it - all filtered through the Animal House side of college life that these groups are in the thick of. It's a whip-smart book with humor and pathos, and a good read.

I read it, in part, because our annual College A Cappella show is coming up in Brattleboro on Feb. 7, and to my wildest delight, my old group, the Trinity Pipes, are coming. Add them to a powerhouse lineup that also includes the Beelzebubs, the Brown U. Jabberwocks and six other groups, and it's going to be a wild night.

I'm trying to rally old Pipes to come and cheer our team on. If you are one, or know one, tell them to come.

One of my favorite movies is "State and Main," a David Mamet film from about eight years ago with a stellar ensemble cast that includes William H. Macy and Phillip Seymour Hoffman, among others. It basically is about a Hollywood movie crew that invades a small Vermont town and finds that the locals are more than they bargained for.

As a Vermonter (albeit adopted), I like it, at least in part, because the native Vermonters so thoroughly get the better of the Hollywood glitterati. It's like rooting for the underdog and seeing the underdog win; on a deeper level, it's the triumph of small town, practical Yankee values over urban show-biz sophistication. It's just heartening that every so often Vermont, and all it is, can manage somehow to eke out a victory.

What got me thinking about all this was a moment of revelation I had Sunday morning while shoveling snow. We had another 10-inch snowfall, and I set out with iPod in my pocket, ear buds in my ears and shovel in hand to clear nature's latest bit of showy excess. Sly and the Family Stone's "Everyday People" sounded pretty good as I dug in, but gradually things went wrong. I found that my shoveling motion kept yanking the ear buds out of my ears. I put up with this for a bit, re-inserting the buds a few times, but eventually I got tired of it.

I turned off my iPod, put it in my pocket and went back to the shoveling ... tuneless. But not upset. I came to look at this as another victory for Vermont reality over the forces of technology. Shoveling is meant to be done without tunes. In fact, after a snowfall, even with the distant sound of snowblowers and plow trucks, there is a kind of profound blanket of silence that is present - and meant to be listened to.

I'm sure there's some sort of device, some Bluetooth thing that can help me plug in and still shovel. But I won't go for that. I learned a lesson. I love my iPod, and I won't give it up. But it stays inside when there's shoveling to be done. Sly prefers it that way.

Now that my hearing has come back, and I've come down from the adrenaline rush of last Thursday's concert featuring Johnny Winter and the James Montgomery Band, I feel compelled to drop a few lines about.

First of all, there's no question that Johnny Winter is a prodigious talent, a kind of guitar-slinging cult hero to the many fans of his in the audience at the Latchis. His has never been the kind of music I gravitate to, but it was a treat to hear him play "Highway 61." Johnny Winter playing Bob Dylan. That was big.

Likewise, James Montgomery is a real master. I was lucky enough to talk to him a few days before the show, and he's a real gentleman. On stage, he's a completely charismatic showman, with the talent to back it up, It's a real testament to him that he's able to surround himself with such brilliant musicians. Fly Amero, who played guitar with Orleans, and the Uptown Horns were the real deal. All his guys were.

But the real gem of the show, perhaps because this was an unknown quantity to me, was the performance of Jess Tardy and her band. Tardy has got a nice thing going on, kind of a sweetly soulful, jazzy, slightly country-ish sound a la Bonnie Raitt, Grace Potter or Susan Tedeschi. She opened for the big guns and more than held her own with a nice mix of originals and respectfully covered tunes. It didn't hurt that she features Sam Carmichael, a Brattleboro kid and great human being on keyboard and backing vocals. But Sam or no Sam, this Jess Tardy is the real deal.

After the show, I told Sam I hope she comes up to Brattleboro for a show of her own. She'd be a big hit here. In the meantime, check her out at jesstardy.com.