Fredheads gather in the basement

It has been many decades since we were last in that subterranean shrine to folk music, the Club Passim. In fact, the last artist we saw there was probably Joan Baez when she was one step up from street busker. Nowadays the Club runs concerts just about seven nights a week. Little has changed – it is very small and very crowded, with 4 to a table barely big enough for two. The food is casual hearty – burgers and fries style, with a lengthy drink menu. With a small kitchen, service tends to be slow. We were there to see Fred Eaglesmith, Canadian troubadour of cars and trains and unrequited love. This time Fred added a back-up singer, a big-haired Texas gal who opened and then sang harmony on many songs. He kept his drummer, bass player and guitar player of many years. Fred is one of those artists you either love or hate. His gravelly voice is a bit reminiscent of the early Bob Dylan, and his stage repartee is heavy on insults and irony. He doesn't get this way often, so the evening was a must for fans.