Good chemistry

Jon Butcher and Diane Blue join together at Tupelo

Collaborations make the rock and blues world go ’round. Like Shades of Blue, led by psychedelic guitar hero Jon Butcher and singer Diane Blue, also a talented harmonica player. The band includes a rhythm section of AJ Vallee and John Ryder on drums and bass, along with guitarist Chuck Farrell.

Farrell, the force behind revival band Once An Outlaw, made the group happen.

“He put together a combo and said, ‘I’d like to have you and Jon Butcher featured in front,’” Blue recalled recently. “The first time we performed together, it was undeniable chemistry on stage. We were like, ‘We should make this a thing.’ Now it’s a thing.”

There is inspiring give and take between the fiery Stratocaster playing of Butcher, a New England Music Hall of Fame inductee, and Blue’s soulful singing. The two move between blues rockers like “Born Under A Bad Sign,” Bill Withers’ soulful “Use Me” and a blistering rendition of Hendrix’s “Red House.”

Another set highlight is a revved-up duet of the ’60s nugget (later a Grand Funk hit) “Some Kind of Wonderful.” Butcher will use the song to introduce Blue on harmonica and ask her how she learned to play it. “Nothin’ to it, you just suck and blow,” she’ll reply with a laugh, adding, “that’s what an old blues man told me, anyway.”

The real story about that goes back to Blue’s beginnings as a performer, singing in her living room with guitar player Paul White and later cutting her professional teeth in Newport, Rhode Island, venues like the Blues Café. She took up the mouth harp at White’s behest.

“‘Honk on this and see what you can do,’” she recalled White telling her. “‘Because there are a lot of chicks who can sing, but you’ll differentiate yourself from the crowd if you have something special that you can offer … see if you can get good at it.’ So I tried, and I just kept trying. I’m still trying.”

Blue got a big boost when Ronnie Earl caught her in a coffee shop in the early 2010s and invited her to sit in at his shows. In 2014 she became the first female member of the Boston blues legend’s band.

“What struck me was her ability to sing anything, from Sam Cooke to blues,” Earl said in a 2025 Blues Blast story. “She has a natural voice, a beautiful voice.”

She’s still with them, but performing with Shades of Blue is different.

“My job is to sing and to make sure that he’s OK on stage,” she said of Earl. “John Butcher and I have a mutual respect; we egg each other on to really strut our stuff. This is a chance for me to shine with a very strong backing band and all the encouragement to be the star of the show.”

Some of Blue’s solo cuts are in the set, like a rocking cover of Carol Fran’s Louisiana jump blues nugget “Knock Knock,” from her 2019 LP Look For The Light. The high points, however, happen when Butcher and Blue trade off. Bo Diddley’s “Mona” and “Spider In My Web,” a growling blues song written by Alvin Lee of Ten Years After, are good examples.

After doing just a few shows last year, Shades of Blue’s calendar is filling. A Tupelo Music Hall show on April 4 will be a twofer, with high-kicking harp player and singer James Montgomery sharing a band.

“James and I have co-billed on some of these Chuck Farrell productions in the past,” Blue said. “What usually happens is I do a set, and then he’ll do one.”

Shades of Blue w/ special guest James Montgomery
When: Saturday, April 4, at 8 p.m.
Where: Tupelo Music Hall, 10 A St., Derry
Tickets: $45 at tupelohall.com

Featured photo: Courtesy photo.

The Music Roundup 26/04/02

Organized: A listening room show with food and wine served features J3ST, a Concord-based organ trio led by Tom Robinson on the Hammond. Scott Solsky’s seven-string guitar takes on half of the bass role, with drummer Jared Steer holding down his share of the rhythm. Thus, the vintage keyboard is out front, as the group delivers jazz, soul and funk grooves for a smooth, elegant show. Thursday, April 2, at 7 p.m., Hermit Woods Winery, 72 Main St., Meredith, $18, eventbrite.com.

Loudness: Bring headphones for the kids, or better yet leave them home as Chiburi leads a five-band show promising lots of volume. The most recent release from the Granite State post-metal band is the relentless Exquisite Corpse, Part 1, released in 2024. Rounding out the raucous lineup are Lobotomobile, Miracle Blood, Lacquerhead and Noise Sludge. Friday, April 3, at 8 p.m., Terminus Underground, 134 Haines St., Nashua, $15, newhampshireunderground.org.

Rumbling: Feel big drops, deep grooves and pulsing rhythm at a night of electronic dance music led by Space Wizard, a Colorado-based DJ and producer known for blending old and new sound for a new kind of dubstep. Special guests Slang Dogs, also from Denver, promise an “immersive audio visual experience,” with Ainonow, She-Wolf and Swamp Wizard also performing at this Hachi event. Friday, April 3, at 8 p.m., Jewel Music Venue, 61 Canal St., Manchester, $34, posh.vip.

Stratophied: Many’s the musician that travels to Nashville for country music fame, but not Jax Hollow. The rough and tumble singer/guitarist left Boston for Music City with rock ’n’ roll dreams and a gritty bit of blues to boot. Rolling Stone France compared her to “an early Sheryl Crow or Melissa Etheridge,” who she opened for at the Ryman Auditorium with a “Hendrixian” solo set. Saturday, April 4, at 7:30 p.m., Rex Theatre, 23 Amherst St., Manchester, $40, palacetheatre.org.

Showtiming: Theater kids and cosplay fans will enjoy Broadway Rave, a pair of shows brimming with show tunes and dancing, along with a healthy helping of dressing up. The event promises sing-alongs to songs from favorite musicals like Wicked, Hamilton, Rent, Mamma Mia! and more. Audience members are encouraged to don the attire of a favorite character for the entertaining all-ages event. Saturday, April 4, at 4 and 7:30 p.m., BNH Stage, 16 S. Main St., Concord, $23, ccanh.com.

Send Help (R)

Rachel McAdams is a kooky delight as an overlooked office worker who blossoms into her best, insane self when she is stranded on a tropical island in this fun, queasy-making thriller. (Eye stuff, puking, big oozy gashes — this movie has it all!)

Linda Liddle (McAdams) is passed over for promotion by her new nepo-hire boss, Bradley (Dylan O’Brien). Though smart and capable, Linda is also awkward and messy and covered in tuna fish sandwich flecks when Bradley is first reintroduced to her. He nevertheless brings her along for a business conference in Thailand — for work purposes because she can solve the problems his dumb college buddy (who got the job she wanted) can’t but maybe also to have someone to bully. One of the dudes in the bro-pack accompanying Bradley has found Linda’s Survivor audition video, which reinforces both how deeply uncool she is and also her wildlife knowledge bonafides. Chekhov’s fire-making skills do not have long to foreshadow as the plane goes down (gruesomely!) and Linda is soon set adrift in a stormy sea. When she washes up on the island, she finds that an injured Bradley has also survived and sets about making shelter and a fire and finding food for them both. After he makes a few stabs at telling her how to island, Linda reminds him that, as she says in the trailer, they’re not in the office anymore and the power balance is not as it was.

Bradley of course deserves every gross thing that happens to him. The movie nicely never lets him learn and grow; he is an unlikeable wienie throughout. But the movie doesn’t just paint Linda as a poor wronged nerd who never learned to dress for success. She has weird, potentially violent, layers and her time on the island awakens not just confidence but a gleeful enjoyment of her power over a former tormentor.

And sure, this could all come off as nasty in a way that would be less enjoyable to watch. But McAdams is having so much fun here — reveling in the darkness of Linda as much as the earnestness. For me, the fun is what makes Send Help such a solid good time, with its winky needle drops and its dark comedy sensibilities. B+ Available for rent or purchase.

Featured photo: Send Help

The Official We Do Not Care Club Handbook, by Melani Sanders

(Harvest, 203 pages)

If you are a woman of a certain age who spends any time on social media, you’ve likely encountered Melani Sanders, glasses on her head, glasses on her face, glasses on a lanyard around her neck, speaking deadpan to the camera about the things she doesn’t care about.

Sometimes she’s wearing a shower cap, too, or has a travel pillow around her neck. The more ridiculous the get-up, the better. It’s comedy gold, born in a Whole Foods parking lot.

“Hello, and welcome to all new and existing members of the We Do Not Care Club,” she says. “This is a club for all women going through perimenopause, menopause and beyond. We are putting the world on notice that we simply just do not care much anymore.”

With dramatic effect, she opens a notebook and takes out a pen, which she uncaps with her mouth. “Let’s go ahead and get started with today’s announcements.”

The announcements are the punchlines — the things Sanders doesn’t care about anymore:

We Do Not Care if we are wearing leggings and a graphic tee. We are dressed for the day. We’re ready for bed and possibly dressed for tomorrow.

We Do Not Care if we excel at work. We will be meeting expectations.

We Do Not Care if you have no interest in true-crime stories. Celebrity gossip does not interest us; we need to know why Ann in Toledo offed her husband in 1983.

After the announcements, she invites her audience to send her things they don’t care about anymore. Couldn’t be simpler. Also couldn’t be more viral.

Not even a year after her first “Do Not Care” video hit the internet, Sanders is out with a book, the idea of which will surely thrill her followers. Just the idea — not the book.

What makes Sanders so funny on Instagram — her deadpan delivery — is absent on the printed page, and even the same jokes aren’t as funny when you’re reading them yourself. Moreover, trying to make her short-form persona become long-form in a book, Sanders has produced a book that is part menopause primer, part autobiography, part social media posts and part fourth-grade diary. These things do not go together. The wise crone has no use, truly, for any book whose resources include an Official We Do Not Care Club Membership Card, with dotted lines so you can cut it out.

The clippable Letter to Coworkers is probably a joke? Not so the templates for the letters she suggests we send elected representatives supporting menopause care and research. Peak ridiculousness comes with the lyrics to a song — two full pages of lyrics — that begin:

We’re the We Do Not Care Club / She’s Melani, the fierce leader / Where peri and menopause / Will not ever defeat us.

There were Barney the Purple Dinosaur songs that were more thoughtful and intelligent than this.

A married mom of three, Sanders had a modest social media following with whom she shared household tips and snippets of family life before she went viral pretty much by accident. It is that story, summarized in a few opening pages, that holds narrative promise, promise snuffed out with the “handbook” format, with its club songs and club patches (like Scouting patches).

The only tolerable parts of this book are the occasional “Real Talk with Melani” pages, where she gives tidbits of her life with her husband and their three sons, before ripping us away for a list of things club members have forgotten (“vaccuum cleaner attachments / books we were just reading / sanity”) and all manner of trite self-love exercises. Brief bios of honorary members of the Club add no heft, nor do “Challenges of the Day” such as silencing your inner critic.

Sanders’s appeal is more than comedy. But the deeper issues she speaks to are not plumbed here.

The Official We Do Not Care Club Handbook is evidence that there are many things worse than social media, and one of them is books born of social media. By all means, if you enjoy cutting dotted lines with safety scissors, there is fun to be had with this book. If not, just find Sanders on social media. She’s a queen there, deservedly. Not in this book. D

Featured Photo: The Official We Do Not Care Club Handbook, by Melani Sanders

Album Reviews 26/04/02

I See Orange, “Wine Boy” (self-released)

Eh, this is fine, if not exactly groundbreaking. This three-piece buzz-band is from the U.K., where they’re slowly rolling out what’s expected to be a major debut album. They’ve done showcases at New York City’s New Colossus Festival and Austin’s SxSW, catapulting their brand of “post-grunge” (in other words grunge) rock into the hype stratosphere, but for now we’re relegated to just a few tunes, including this one, whose lyrics focus on Mexican-born singer/bassist Giselle Medina’s fascination with the popular consumption of red wine in the U.K., where it’s considered a casual social drink, as opposed to Mexico, where it’s enjoyed in a more refined, serious manner. As for the sound, it’s choppy, paint-by-numbers Dave Grohl stuff; guitarist Cameron Hill adjusted all the knobs on his Marshall stack to bring maximum earache potential, while Medina’s wispy, moonbatty soprano tries to make things interesting but only succeeds in conjuring a metal version of the average Gilmore Girls soundtrack tune. This band will go far, I’m sure, but it doesn’t deserve it really. C+

Jon Anderson, Survival And Other Stories (Frontiers Music)

This one’s for Yes completists only, a vinyl-and-CD re-release of the singer’s 2011 LP, which was widely rejected by fans for its lack of progressive rock; Anderson’s focus at the time of this release was on New Age feel-good vibes, given that he had just had a health scare. But it’s not hopeless at all; the fact is that Yes did a lot of stuff like this back in their early days, stuff that the strummy, upbeat “New New World” resurrects, and yes, I’m talking about the mellower moments of Close To The Edge, not to put too fine of a point on it. But OK, “Understanding Truth” jumps the hippy-dippy shark for me, with its unplugged guitar and Anderson’s helium-filled, totally-not-falsetto-it’s-true vocals settling all the good yogis down around the campfire. Speaking of yoga class, “Unbroken Spirit” reads like Christopher Franke’s 1996 pseudo-soundtrack to The Celestine Prophecy, a record that had plenty of similarly nice, pleasant, loping stuff on it. In the end, as I implied, it’s for superfans, reiki practitioners, etc. B+

PLAYLIST

A seriously abridged compendium of recent and future CD releases

• Our next album-dump Friday is April 3, two days after April Fool’s Day, a national holiday whose origins are uncertain but likely stem from a mix of European traditions. One popular theory blames France’s 1564 adoption of the Gregorian calendar, which moved New Year’s Day from April 1 to Jan. 1 (which is kind of dumb if you ask me, since one is more likely to die of frostbite after passing out drunk from multiple New Year’s toasts in January than in April), and people who were slow to adapt were mocked as “April fools,” isn’t that kind of transgressive? Well, whatever, nowadays in America pranking people is a national pastime of which I fully approve, especially when it involves someone dumping unwelcome news on me and then going “April fools, no, dummy, Creed isn’t releasing an album with Justin Bieber, so you don’t have to listen to and review any such thing, had you going though, didn’t I?” In that vein, I hope I’m not getting trolled by telling you people that Grammy-winning American bassist Thundercat releases his fifth album, Disappointed, this week! This one includes feats from A$AP Rocky, WILLOW, Channel Tres, Lil Yachty and Tame Impala, the latter of which appears on the tune “No More Lies,” which I only listened to because focus single “I Wish I Didn’t Waste Your Time” rubbed me the right way in a breezy yacht-techno sense. That hinted that the Tame Impala appearance would be even cooler than usual, given that I’ve liked Tame Impala’s mellow-but-edgy approach since the first time I heard them. However, “No More Lies” is slightly louder and more soul-infused than “I Wish…,” deep-fried in reverb, like what MGMT would have sounded like if they’d been around in 1974. If you’re trying to parse all this information, I’m saying that it’s good and you should go check it out.

• Seattle-based drone band Sunn O))) is at it again, with a new, self-titled album, because it’s so cool to self-title one of your albums after you’ve already been around for 28 years! If you are totally unaware of these guys you’re excused, because their stuff is largely unfollowable on purpose; they specialize in overly long metal-guitar ringouts that go on forever. They’re basically a metal version of Yes’s Tales From Topographic Oceans, an infamous exercise in self-indulgence, but some people have convinced themselves that they get something out of listening to Sunn O))), so I will not argue about it but will instead toddle off to YouTube to listen to the rollout track, “Glory Back,” and report back about how self-indulgent it is. Yup, I’m back, a full 10 minutes later, to report that it’s tedious, consisting of like five chords played very slowly, but with the guitar tuned so low that it feels like being digested by a tyrannosaurus rex. No, imagine if your little brother bought a vintage Marshall amp and was warming up to play something from Black Sabbath’s Master Of Reality, but that’s all he ever did, strum a few chords as if trying to summon Cthulhu, that’s all this is.

Cripes what’s next. Charley Crockett is a cowboy-hat singer from Texas who sounds like a cross between Jim Croce and Buck Owens on the twangy, lazy single “Kentucky Too Long” from his new LP, Age Of The Ram. Why do country music artists always have to have at least one song on every album that name-checks a southern state in the title? No, seriously, text me, because I really want to know.

• We’ll call it a week with U.K.-based R&B-popper Arlo Parks’s new one, Ambiguous Desire! “Impurities” is a very listenable trip-hoppish chillout featuring a full palette of ’80s-pop sound; her high-pitched singing fits in pleasantly in the yadda yadda. She’ll be in Boston at the Royale on Sept. 1.

NOTE: Local (NH) bands seeking album or EP reviews can message me on Twitter/Bluesky (@esaeger) or Facebook (eric.saeger.9).

Featured Photo: I See Orange, “Wine Boy” and Jon Anderson, Survival And Other Stories

An unnamed character archetype

This is a drink inspired by a short story I am writing. All the characters are unnamed characters that you see at the very end of the cast credits of a television show or a movie — Bartender, or Jukebox Girl, or Nosy Neighbor. (In case you ever wondered, they have pretty fascinating backstories.)

The hero — actually the heroine — of the piece is a woman with the not very promising name of Hot Girl #2. There is no Hot Girl #1. She turns out to be much more complex and formidable than whoever named her would have ever guessed.

Her cocktail should reflect some of that complexity.

There is sweetness from an Italian liqueur. There is a not-really-in-the-mood-for-your-nonsense kick from brandy. There is lemon juice because — well, reasons. And, much like Hot Girl #2 herself, a couple of surprises.

Hot Girl #2

  • 2 ounces Pommeau – an apple brandy
  • 1 ounce Galliano – an Italian vanilla-scented liqueur in a seriously tall, skinny bottle
  • 1 ounce fresh squeezed lemon juice
  • ½ ounce grenadine
  • 3 drops rose water

Have your digital assistant play “That Girl” by Maxi Priest and Shaggy. This is a very quick cocktail to make, and this song will set a proper mood for this particular drink.

Wiggle your fingers and get to business.

Add the apple brandy, Galliano and lemon juice to several cubes of ice in a cocktail shaker. Shake thoroughly.

Strain over fresh ice in a rocks glass.

Carefully pour the grenadine over one of the ice cubes. Because it is denser than the rest of the drink, it will sink to the bottom and create a layer of red, which will fade into orange, then to the yellow color of the base cocktail.

Using a medicine dropper, add three drops of rose water to the surface of the cocktail, where it will dissipate into the air as you drink, giving the impression that you just missed a beautiful woman disappearing into a crowd.

At its heart, this is a basic utility cocktail — a base spirit, something sweet, and some sort of citrus juice. It is not unlike a brandy sour. The lemon is the dominant flavor at first taste, but the others sneak into your awareness as you sip over the course of 20 minutes or so.

Like our protagonist, the cocktail has hidden depths.

Featured photo: Hot Girl #2. Photo by John Fladd.

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