ALBANY—Listening to Bernie Barlow’s and Little Days’ catalogs—like it was my job—did not adequately prepare me for what I would hear Friday night at White Lake Studios for the relaunch of Upstate Unplugged.
The two are touring the East Coast together, having opened their leg with a show in Kingston just the night before. The merchandise table in the studio lobby featured posters: Mini Diaz and Jorgen Carlsson on one, Barlow on the other. Little Days CDs sat on one edge of the table, Barlow’s on the opposite side. By appearances, we were getting two distinct sets.
But as the sound check commenced, Diaz and Barlow sat front and center. It would be a joint effort, volleying songs from each band. And before the night concluded, the full house was singing along—treated even to an impromptu ditty about Barlow’s dog.
“Oh, we’ve been singing together for years,” Diaz said after the show.
They’ve been friends for more than 20 years and have shared the stage several times before. She had said she was looking forward to “a lot of fun” before taking off from Los Angeles, where she and Carlsson live.
“This is what I do,” Barlow said. “I sing with other people.”
She has a distinguished career doing just that. She alludes to the typical cocktail party question: What do you do? To which she shares that she’s a backup singer, which is always followed by, Who have you sung with?” She leads with Melissa Etheridge, an artist who shares the same raspy trait in her voice—sans the English accent Barlow possesses.
They usually nod, connecting the dots. She mimics this act as she shares the story with me. Anyone else, they usually ask. She runs down the list, including Joe Cocker, The Moody Blues, and finally, Sarah McLachlan. And that’s when the train of thought derails. They don’t sound the same. How?
“You spend 30 years on the road, you learn how to sing with other people,” she said.
To the side was John Nooney, Barlow’s husband, playing keyboard. He’s a composer with a litany of trademarks, franchises, and television shows tied to his name. In addition to pop culture icons such as Fear Factor and Big Brother, he has Fox Sports, Counting Cars, Street Customs, and “anything with a motor in it,” he said.
“You may not have heard of him, but you’ve heard his music,” Barlow boasted.
Carlsson sat behind them all. A friend of the band, an NYPD retiree who manned the rescue and recovery efforts at the World Trade Center after 9/11, handed him his assortment of guitars—including his bass—throughout the night.
He recently parted with Gov’t Mule, with whom he played for 15 years. He’s also been tied to Chris Cornell and is considered among the best in the game. At an ominous point midway through “Roger’s Boat,” Carlsson leaned over his bass, strangling the fretboard, squeezing each note out, giving the illusion that his instrument was alive.
“Oh, yeah,” Diaz said later that night, smiling. “He’s all right.”
“I’m just waking up,” he said after the crowd left.
