The New Yorker Festival was this weekend, and as before, there were some amazing events.  On Friday, B. and I went to see A.M. Homes and Jeffrey Eugenides read.  I'd only read excerpts or short stories of theirs, and now I want to read more. 

Saturday morning, we went to a talk by Malcolm Gladwell (he of the hair) on precociousness and how it's overrated.  It was fascinating...he pointed out that childrens' early successes do not necessarily predict later success, and laid out a number of rationales why that might be so.

That afternoon, we hit a cell phone store (where I splurged!) before going to the 4pm panel discussion "Stage to Studio", about musicians who produce records.  Sasha Frere-Jones moderated the discussion between Ric Ocasek, Ani DiFranco, The RZA, and Steve Albini.  Good discussion (and I want to go do shots with the gloriously grumpy Albini), but I kind of wish that Ocasek had commented more, given that he was the most "corporate" and glossy producer of the four.

And then it was up to 57th Street for a celebration of the banjo.  With -- boggle -- Tony Ellis (who played with Bill Monroe), Pete Wernick (Hot Rize), Charles Wood (winner of the 2005 Rockygrass contest), Steve Martin (yes, that Steve Martin), and the banjo god himself, Earl Scruggs.  It was incredible.  I was surprised at how good a banjo player Martin was...and that he was the only player on the stage who played clawhammer style.  All of the musicians (there was also a mandolinist and two guitarists, and Tony Ellis also played fiddle) were very good.  Charles Wood especially stood out for me (though Pete Wernick certainly talked the most.)  The jaw-dropping highlight was the conclusion -- a runthrough of "Foggy Mountain Breakdown" at blazing tempo with all five banjos taking breaks and finishing in unison.

We had barely enough time to go outside and pinch ourselves before filing back into the Directors Guild of America theatre to see Gillian Welch.  I've been a fan of theirs for a little while, but had never gotten to see them live.  Wow.  (B. was getting tired and had to get up early the next morning, so she said that she'd go home to bed if I could give away the ticket.  The friend I called wouldn't be able to make it in time, so she decided to stick around.  Literally thirty seconds after the music began, she turned to me with huge eyes and whispered "I'm so glad I stayed!")  They played some songs (including my favorites "Elvis Presley Blues", "Revelator" and "Miss Ohio"), talked with the New Yorker's Alec Wilkinson (who wrote a very good profile of them last year), took some questions, then played some more.  I'd say that their voices, individually taken, would be a bit thin or uninteresting.  Together, though, they're magic -- their sound is lush and soulful, their voices and guitars mesh together very, very nicely, and some of their unison singing is so close that one literally cannot tell the voices apart.  The emotional connection between the two onstage is palpable, and Welch is a quite expressive singer.  And David Rawlings is one of the very best guitarists I'd ever seen.

It was like seeing Mikhail Baryshnikov and Michael Jordan on the same night.  And I'm glad I live in a city where I can go to these kinds of things.

(Incidentally, the reason I took so long to post these impressions is because I'm in a city where I can't.  Sunday morning, I left for Atlanta -- on the same plane as Biff Henderson! -- for a business trip.  It's good to see old friends and walk around my former haunts.)