Lloyd Cole Still My Bag

Finally. After 30 years as a fan, I saw Lloyd Cole for the first time last night. I had never been to the famed Triple Door in Seattle, and it's not the way I'm used to seeing a show. As a bemused Cole said early in the set, this is not indie. It's a supper club, really, with cozy candle-lit tables, first-class service and pan-Asian cuisine from Wild Ginger upstairs. It worked for me because this was an intimate solo show.

And when I say "solo," I mean he was completely on his own. Cole told us he was his own opening act. He would then take a short break and return as the headliner. Between songs he tuned his own guitar. Cole intimated he could probably employ a kid to stand behind the curtain, waiting with a freshly tuned instrument, and it would be far sexier, but then he would have to eat dinner with him. When a woman shouted that he was sexy now, he stopped in his tracks, shook his head in bewilderment and said, "You're drunk." He paused for just the right amount of time and followed with, "And I thank you." To call Cole's banter between songs charming is a gross understatement. We were putty in his hands.

For us old-timers, the setlist couldn't have been better. There were a slew of singles from his days with the Commotions, including "Perfect Skin," "Are You Ready to Be Heartbroken?" "Forest Fire," "Rattlesnakes" and "My Bag." He was in perfect voice. I'm going to sound like a marketing flack, but I enjoyed the songs from his latest, "Standards," just as much. My No. 7 album of 2013 was finally released here in America late last year, and it should be required listening. In keeping with this solo theme, after the show, Cole sold his own CDs and promised to sign anything... inanimate. He cheekily added that for those of us who bought the import the sleeve of the U.S. release was just a teeeeeny bit different. I didn't bite.

Just a little bit more about the setting and audience. I'm sure it's just me getting old, but I could get used to sitting at a show. There were no elbows jabbing my belly. No bodies flew over my head. I didn't have some dope yelling to his friend about the hot girl at the bar... right into my ear. In fact, there was very little talking. Cole's fans actually listened. And very few held up their phones to record the moment. I would love to know what he thought about the experience. At one point Cole told a woman if she ordered the dessert he would glare at her. It reminded me of Lennon telling the Queen's audience to rattle their jewelry. It was all so civilized... and worth the 30-year wait.

You know you have been to a good show when you get home and pull out all of that artist's old records. It was an early show but a late night. Here's an extended version from the 'Mainstream' era I enjoyed in the wee hours.

My Bag (Dancing Mix)