Twitter used to be a magical and musical place; Looking for that IRL, swing by Lilypad’s Melt

Remember when Twitter was fun?

Remember when Twitter was “Twitter,” not named “X,” and not owned and operated by a Bond villain?

All of the above ran through my head as I chatted this week with Ryan Magnole, one of the founders of the Somerville-based, blog-cum-label EveryDejaVu. I was picking up where I left off last week, collecting insights from local musicheads as part of an upcoming series of interviews profiling the trials (and tribulations!) of running an independent label. Indie label, for short.

Ryan was full of great stories about the early days of his blog, which brought me back, like a flashback cutaway in a straight-to-streaming movie, to the simpler times of social media adventurism. Back when your feed was full of people you actually followed, rather than random weirdos shoved in front of your face by The Algorithm.

One particular story really struck a chord. While recounting some early influences and mentors along his journey, Ryan shouted out the owner of Fresh Selects, whom he “met” on Twitter around 2012 or so. Kenny, I think his name was.

Now, Kenny didn’t know Ryan from a hole in the ground, but when the latter peppered the former with a bunch of questions about how to start your own label, Kenny was happy to share his time and insights with a complete stranger on the other side of the country to whom he owed not a thing.

Why? Well, Kenny is a nice guy, Ryan is a nice guy, and two nice guys can have a nice conversation on any given day. But what I’d like to suggest is that there was something special about Twitter back when those conversations started to happen.

The platform felt fresh, the users were driven by curiosity rather than pure clout chasing and nobody had ever heard of a “Blue Badge.” I remember striking up conversations with total unknowns and getting the most helpful (and humane) responses in return. It was wonderful.

Fast forward to now, and it’s just … yuck. Anyone who can remember the “old days” has been searching for an alternative ever since. Not a Facebook, not an Instagram, not a TikTok. Something that does what Twitter did, but is not Twitter. And definitely not X.

Have faith. Social media platform churn, like the human spirit, is indomitable. Sounds like Bluesky has been getting some momentum lately. Cambridge Day is on it and my own joint Hump Day News is on it too. Check it out.

Hit this

Saturday: Steve Morse – A Celebration of Life (Middle East Downstairs, Cambridge)

The Boston Globe obituary for Steve Morse remembered the longtime music critic as a beloved figure in the local music scene. A great writer, a mentor and the kind of guy that you’ll never be sorry you ran into at a crowded club. On Thanksgiving weekend, remember the life of Morse at this memorial event: 5 p.m., free and happening in a performance space that birthed more than a few of his countless bylines.

Tuesday: Ms. Ezra Furman Doing What She Wants (The Rockwell, Somerville)

Furman returns to their familiar stomping grounds of late, the black box theater in the depths of The Rockwell, for a monthly residency presented by Once. What does Ms. Ezra Furman want to do? A little song, a little dance, a little you’ll have to go to find out. Maybe the artist will play songs off their most recent full-length album “All of Us in Flames” (2022), a marvelously moody folk punk ambler. Maybe a little stage banter about their run writing music for the Netflix series “Sex Education.” I’m hoping for a surprise cameo from another local yokel musician, Alex Walton, so the two can play their recent collaborative single “Tie Me to the Tracks.”

Dec. 5: Without Borders featuring Maxim Lubarsky Group (Regattabar, Cambridge)

Show listings often come packaged with wordy folderol that is of little use to the average music fan, who simply wants to know who is playing, where and when – like when you buy a nice pair of jeans and it’s so shot through with tags, stickers and ink-loaded antitheft devices that you can’t try them on without chafing. The equivalent in show listings is the “presenter” and “show series” information.

The Maxim Lubarsky Group is playing at Regattabar, and it will be great and you should all go. That’s it. The full listing on other calendars reads like a Russian doll: “JazzBoston presents Jazz All Ways at Regattabar Without Borders featuring Maxim Lubarsky Group.” Love JazzBoston, love that they hunted down the requisite arts and culture grants to fund the jazz series “Jazz All Ways,” but we’re burying the lede: the musicians. And I’m still not sure about the “Without Borders” part. I guess they hit their word limit before they had a chance to explain?

Live: The Melt at Lilypad

“We traveled around the world to be here …”

So joked Josh Rosen from behind the piano, warming up the room before a recent gig at the Lilypad. The Berklee professor plays enough gigs around town that he must be a local. Maybe “right around the corner” local, right? The Inman Square jazz spot is a favorite haunt, and The Melt are regulars.

On Sunday the rotating cast of The Melt included Andrew Schiller on bass, Dave Fox on the drums and, as always, Rosen on the keys. Add in special guest (and fellow Berklee teacher) Stan Strickland on woodwinds/vocals to make it four.

The band reflects Rosen’s love of improvisation. Each song in the set – a mix of standards and originals – left some breathing room for the individual musicians to maneuver. Space was reserved for solos, and these moments were handled with care. No shouting of sonic soliloquies from the rooftops for “set ’em up, knock ’em down” applause breaks. Instead, even as one instrument inched into the spotlight it remained in conversation with the rest of the group, and politely doffed its cap before returning to the fold.

Maybe too politely – the audience was itching at certain points to show its appreciation, but was not always sure where one solo ended and another began. Just as well, no one needs their socks set on fire on a sleepy afternoon. A little beauty and grace is enough.

After Strickland delivered a particularly stirring vocal performance on Billie Holiday’s “God Bless the Child,” he looked ready to linger in a moment, eyes half-closed in reverie. The room was ready too, swaddling itself in the dying reverberation of the final hit of the cymbal, pluck of the bass and chord of the piano …

Ready or not, Rosen stormed into the next stanza, breaking the calm with playful, uptempo phrase-making. Strickland jolted awake, eyes wide like dinner plates, looking like he had just been stolen from a beautiful dream by God’s own hand and tossed into a tub of ice water. He surrendered himself to a bemused grin for about a half-second before lifting his instrument to his lips and rejoining the fray.

Michael Gutierrez is an author, educator, activist and editor-in-chief at Hump Day News.

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