Ali Akbar Moradi and Pejman Hadadi
Saint John's Presbyterian Church, Berkeley, CA
January 27, 2001

It's too bad filmmakers didn't record the moment, because something unusual and wonderful happened when Ali Akbar Moradi and Pejman Hadadi performed in Berkeley: Members of the audience got up from their seats and danced in circles with friends and strangers, inspired by Moradi's legendary tanbur playing and Hadadi's deft drumming. Iranian concerts of traditional music seldom erupt into such spontaneous celebration, but this was no ordinary event. Moradi, who lives in the Kurdistan region of Iran, was appearing in the United States for the first time in two years — an absence exacerbated when American consular officials held up his application to return to the West. Two San Francisco-area performances were canceled before Moradi's passport problems were finally resolved. By the time he took the stage in Berkeley, dressed in traditional Kurdish clothing and bowing his head in acknowledgement, the audience was bursting to hear the music that has made Moradi an international favorite. Moradi didn't disappoint. From his position sitting cross-legged on a lush carpet, Moradi plucked his wooden instrument with verve and emotion, accompanied on daf and tombak by Hadadi, a Tehran-born musician who now lives in California. Moradi is an intense figure. During much of the concert he stared at his instrument in rapt concentration, looking up when he sang or coordinated rhythms with Hadadi, with whom he has played many times. Their collaboration on the CD Fire of Passion [7/8 Music Productions] captures the full range of Hadadi's music, which can be mystical and contemplative but also stirring and celebratory. In Berkeley, it was Hadadi's more frenetic songs that inspired men and women to race around in a group and — when it was over — applaud wildly. A Presbyterian house of worship may seem an odd place for this kind of embrace between audience and musician, but Saint John's was a perfect venue for Moradi's sacred tunes. The church has hosted a disparate range of performers — from didgeridoo artist Stephen Kent to Hawaiian slack key guitarist George Kahumoku, Jr. — and its location in Berkeley, near the University of California and famous Telegraph Avenue, guaranteed that young world-music fans would join families of Kurdish and Iranian descent in attending Moradi's concert. So relaxed and intimate was the setting that Moradi and Hadadi left their instruments on stage during the break between the first and second set, letting people in the audience practically touch the beautiful tanburs and drums that were brought to Berkeley. "It doesn't get too much better than this," a concert goer said at the end of the nearly two-hour performance. Those words spoke volumes about the night when Ali Akbar Moradi and his tanbur — an ancient instrument associated with Kurdish Sufi music of Western Iran — made a triumphant appearance before an adoring crowd in Berkeley. Said Moradi just before taking the stage: "I am here, finally." The audience laughed and roared, Moradi and Hadadi sat down, and a long-delayed night of rapturous music began in earnest. Better late than never. — Jonathan Curiel (San Francisco)

Robert Earl Keen
Fletcher's, Baltimore, MD
March 1, 2001

This is the concert for anyone who has ever been hounded by a folkie to sing along: "C'mon, everybody join in! I can't hear you!" Robert Earl Keen doesn't have to urge his audience to sing along; he can hardly stop them. From first word to last, everyone in the audience, beer bottles aloft, was on his own personal stage. Okay, so they let up a bit on the ballads. What Keen thinks about these participatory concerts is unknown. It's clear that he's resigned himself to go with it, since there's probably no stopping it. The audience can't seem to help singing: He writes just that kind of song.

The scene of this "joyful noise" was the upper floor of a Fletcher's, a tavern tucked into the historic wharf district of Fells Point in Baltimore. Although it was Thursday night, and Keen was scheduled to play at 11:00 p.m., the place was packed with students, professionals, blue-collar workers, and a sizable contingent from nearby Fort Meade. Doesn't anyone in this town work on Friday? Apparently, no one cared.

A succession of frat boys, country boys, and newly minted Texan wannabees have rocked the walls of venerable concert venues from Ann Arbor's Ark to Alexandria's Birchmere, and Fletcher's soon joined the list of ad hoc Texas roadhouses that accompany Keen wherever he goes. After enduring an hour of the over-amped Pourbillies (where was the slated Kasey Chambers?), the audience was on its feet (almost mandatory in a room with perhaps a dozen chairs) for two hours of Keen classics, including "Down that Dusty Trail," "Shades of Gray," "Feelin' Good Again," "Over the Waterfall," "That Buckin' Song" (radio stations won't play it), "Fuck It," (a really essential song for some of those days), "The Front Porch Song," "I'm Coming Home," "Merry Christmas from the Family" (so it's March; it worked for me), and, archetypal "The Road Goes on Forever." Outlaws, losers, lonely hearts all, who never lose hope.

I would have liked to hear some stories between numbers — Keen is obviously a consummate storyteller — and a few more songs from his latest CD, the exquisite Walking Distance, but Keen gauged his audience accurately: They were there to rock. The party never ends.
— Colleen Moore (Towson, MD)