Seven years and 99 performances ago, the Bosque House Concerts were almost another New Mexican What If—a fantastic idea that, somewhere along the way, disappears into the lazy obscurity of mañana. But praise la Virgen de Guadalupe! After this week's Sunday, Aug.12, show, the Bosque House Concerts will have collected a nice round number's worth of happy memories. The 100th Bosque House Concert will also be its last.
St. Vincent is not Annie Clark's alter-ego. "It's more like an alter ... I don't know. Just an alter," says the ambiguous multi-instrumentalist and self-proclaimed nerd.
Danbert Nobacon is one of those crazy genius musicians. Nobacon's folksy rock is part meticulously calculated political poetry, part ad hoc ramblings of a man holding on to reality's edge with the strum of his guitar. Just in case there is any doubt of his mental dispostion, he repeatedly outs the voices in his head in "The Last Drop in the Glass" and again in "Information Storm," beating the point to a pulp. His earthy, impassioned voice casts a charming line, baiting and hooking willing ears to his message. Whether or not the message is understood isn't the point—just that it's heard. [AD]
The clincher is a 9-volt amp peeking from his back pocket. You've seen this man before. Maybe he was shuffling through Downtown, maybe up near Nob Hill or down in Old Town, this guy who ambles and noodles on an electric guitar. This dude who skips muffled, dirty sounding chords down sidewalks, off storefront windows, into alcoves like stones across water.
Santa Feans watched the eight-foot letters, made of painted rocks laid on grass, slowly fade over time. "The Downs at Santa Fe" it said. The letters fell to disrepair as the venue fell to disuse.