Here's the story...

So, remember when I went to Chiller Theatre in October? And how you got the feeling that, despite my protestations, I'd be back to Chiller the next chance I got?

Turns out you're very smart.

After a few checks of the guest list that left me underwhelmed (Ruth Buzzi? King Kong Bundy? Margot Kidder? Eh.), I finally found that magic person that would make me go back.

Christopher Knight.

Yessir. Peter Brady himself. And he'd be signing autographs with his fiancee and "My Fair Brady" co-star Adrianne Curry.

Sign me up and tell me what bus to take.

So, last Saturday, I headed out the door to board the #2 NJ Transit bus to the Crowne Plaza Meadowlands, conveniently located right near a bus stop. But I didn't make it a block out of the apartment before realizing, "Hey, I've got that Brady Bunch book signed by Barry Williams. I should get that signed." So I scurried back to Disgraceland and carefully removed the book from its place of honor, on top of the cabinet, between signed photos of Barry Williams and Maureen McCormick (and scant inches away from the Ann B. Davis and Florence Henderson signed pictures). Can't believe I almost forgot that. Tragedy averted.

The bus from Journal Square was running late, which made me nervous that I was going to wind up stuck in the back of another four-hour line once I got to the convention. My fears were unfounded.

As the bus dropped me off, I noticed that it was a lot different from the scene I encountered last October. Cars weren't backed up onto the highway. People weren't walking around with bloody daggers. Lines weren't snaking down the block. I started to wonder if I somehow got something wrong. Was I at the right hotel? Was this the right weekend? Was this some elaborate hoax planned by someone who infiltrated my computer and installed false hope of meeting a Brady?

And then I saw the sign.

And as I scanned down and saw "Fred the Hammer," I laughed very hard. If you're familiar with wrestling (and, if you're not, what are you waiting for?), you know it's Greg "The Hammer" Valentine. Not Fred.

OK, maybe you had to be there, 'cause I'm still laughing about it.

(As a side note, later on, I realized that for just $40, Greg [Fred] the Hammer would put me in a figure-four leglock
while someone took a picture. Sadly, I declined. I don't know what came over me.)

This Chiller convention (subtitled "Dead of Winter") was my kind of convention. No long lines. No waiting in parking lots. Plenty of room to move around. Within about five minutes of walking in, I was on line to "meet" Chris Knight and his beloved, and a half-hour or so later (and after five minutes of listening to a guy rattle off his favorite "Brady Bunch" moments while Chris Knight tried to look interested), I was shaking hands with a Brady.

I got my book signed, along with an 8x10 of the happy couple, and then settled in for the picture. I had introduced myself to Mr. Knight, but Adrianne was busy signing a Playboy ($40) for someone else when I stepped up to the table. So, as I went behind the table, I introduced myself to Adrianne, she gave me a hearty "How the hell are ya?" and it was magic time.

Unfortunately, I blinked for the first one, which would've been the better photo.

As I stayed in my uncomfortable kneeling position, Adrianne told me, "Dude, I can totally feel your heart beating on my shoulder." Awesome. Well, at least it was beating while I was next to an attractive woman. So, a rare moment that potentially proves my heterosexuality. And, yes, I know you're saying, "Your heart was beating for Peter Brady, fool." I find your mockery endearing.

Anyway, after my camera recovered, the second picture came out fine. Maybe you'll see it in December.


Since my day was pretty much done a half-hour after I got there (though I was still waiting for C. Thomas Howell to come back from lunch, so he could sign my "Soul Man" video cover), I had plenty of time to wander and look at the other celebrities in the room. Quite a selection. Nichelle "Uhura" Nichols was next to Chris and Adrianne, drawing a smaller crowd than I would've thought. Ken Weatherwax, the original Pugsley from "The Addams Family" had a table next to Felix Silla, a little person who played Cousin Itt, as well as Twiki from the "Buck Rodgers" TV show. Margot Kidder was by the door, chatting about Christopher Reeve with a fan. One of the Bay City Rollers, Ian Mitchell, was looking bored and forlorn at his empty table, while Robert Vaughan, who I would've thought was above this sort of gathering, found similar apathy a few tables away. Ernie Hudson (aka the Ghostbuster whose name you can never remember) was having a little better luck across the way.

There were also a few "Hey, It's That Guy"s around, like Irwin Keyes, who apparently has been in a lot of horror movies but is best known to me for his appearances as Hugo the dim-witted bodyguard on a few episodes of "The Jeffersons" and Luca in an episode of "Police Squad!" Also in attendance was Robert Picardo, who I guess was in one of the "Star Trek" spinoffs, but holds a place in the mind of Sigman as Coach Cutlip on "The Wonder Years." As I looked at his photos, I was reminded that he also played "The Cowboy" in "Inner Space." I was so excited when I realized that that I almost bought a signed photo of him in the movie right then and there. But I refrained.

After doing some laps around the convention space and then grabbing something to eat, I came back to the celebrity signing room and found C. Thomas Howell back in the house. So I asked the guy helping out at his table how much it would cost to get my "Soul Man" cover signed. He told me $25.

And so ended my desire to have C. Thomas Howell's autograph.

The odd thing is almost everybody else was selling their own photos for $20. I can't imagine that he'd be charging more. So I wondered if the embarrassment of having starred in "Soul Man" (a really, really awful movie) meant it would cost $5 extra to have C. Thomas sign the video. I thought of asking, but I didn't want to make a scene.

At the end of the day, I used the money I would've tossed C. Thomas's way to buy a Hatch Show Print from George Lowe, the guy who does the voice of Space Ghost. I didn't really want him to sign it; I just like Hatch Show Prints and thought it would be a funny addition to the bathroom at Disgraceland. But I didn't have the heart to tell him that. I don't think he did much signing that day.

It'll still look nice in the bathroom.

With so much time to kill (OK, technically I could've just gone home, but this blog entry may never have happened if I'd done that), I decided to check out a few Q&As that were going on. That meant I got to hear Luscious Johnny Valiant tell the story about Andre the Giant masturbating for the third time in my life. A life well-lived, I'd say. I do think he's starting to break me, because it seems like he's getting a little funnier. Or I could just be getting a lot more insane. Flip a coin.

The second Q&A I went to was supposed to feature Margot "Lois Lane" Kidder, B-movie icon Sybil Danning, and Jennifer Delora, whom you will, of course, remember for her star turn in "Frankenhooker." Well, the Q&A was going along fine--Margot Kidder talking about the flying scene in "Superman," Sybil Danning talking about Roger Corman, Jennifer Delora talking about the upcoming DVD release of "Frankenhooker"--and then some guy walked up to the Chiller Theatre worker and started whispering something to her.

Then, after Kidder finished answering a question, the woman from Chiller said this guy had an announcement.

"Are y'all familiar with the movie 'Walking Tall'?"

Grunts of agreement.

"Well, I would like to introduce you to the daughter of the real-life man that movie was based on, Buford Pusser, Miss Dwana Pusser, her daughter--Buford's granddaughter--Madison, and Steve Sweat, a friend of the family and a Buford Pusser historian."

And then Dwana and Steve joined the panel.

Now, I barely have an interest in what Margot Kidder, Sybil Danning, and Jennifer Delora have to say. But the daughter of a guy they based a few movies on? The guy himself (had he lived; he died in a suspicious car accident when Dwana when was young)--I'd probably have some questions for him. But his daughter? Even my attention span has limits. And what do you ask such a woman anyway? I mean, I saw "Walking Tall" in the Eva's Farm rec hall in Purling, NY, one summer Friday in the 1980s, and that, along with some songs by the Drive-By Truckers, is the extent of my knowledge of "Walking Tall." I think I liked it, and I think I may have watched the TV show once or twice, but if I sat in a room for five hours, I couldn't think of one thing in Dwana Pusser's head that I'd be interested in knowing. God bless her; I'm sure she's a nice woman, but, I mean, really.

Well, apparently no one else knew what to ask her either. That is, until one of the Pusser plants in the audience popped up and asked a long, detailed question that couldn't have sounded more rehearsed. I wonder if they just go around and drop in unannounced at Q&As they have very little reason to be on the panel for. If so, they should film it, because I'd probably watch that before I watched the "Walking Tall" remake with The Rock (a nice guy, according to Dwana) or the upcoming straight-to-DVD versions with Kevin Sorbo (an exclusive Tinsel & Rot tidbit straight from Dwana's mouth).

A few minutes would go by where people would ask questions of the actresses, and then another Pusser plant would come up with a question. I couldn't tell if everybody else realized the Q&A was being hijacked or if they just didn't care. Finally, one guy who wasn't a plant asked where the original "Buford Stick" was (Buford carried around a big stick to intimidate and use if necessary). She said he used many Buford Sticks, so there wasn't really one original. But if not for a Fed Ex screwup, we could've purchased Buford Sticks right then and there.

Eat it, Fed Ex. You miserable bastards.

(For the record, you can get one for about $18 at http://www.sheriffbufordpusser.com, or if you visit the Buford Pusser Museum in Adamsville, Tennessee. I know where I'm headed the next time I go to Tennessee.)


Though there were no Buford Sticks for sale, you could buy swords in the Exhibit Center. But there were conditions.

As I walked around the Exhibit Center and checked out the vendors, I realized that I had been there before, prior to renovation, and, in fact, had met Hank Aaron at a baseball card show in the very same room many years ago, just a hop. skip, and a jump from where I could now buy a wooden dagger.

And such, dear friends, is the sad, mildly entertaining circle that is my life.


Stay a little longer

Location, location, location.

They say it makes all the difference in real estate. But it can make just as much of a difference in shows sometimes, too.

Friday night, the Avett Brothers/BR549 Dogs & Thieves tour stopped at the Mohegan Sun in Uncasville, Connecticut. The show was held in a free venue smack dab in the middle of the casino floor, at the same time the tattooed and hammered were paying $40 to see Kid Rock in the Mohegan Sun Arena. Now, free is good; most things sound a little better when they're free (Kid Rock, for instance, would sound much better if I weren't paying to see him). But free is also bad, particularly when it attracts a collection of morose, overweight slot pullers who just want to sit somewhere for a few hours in between staring at cherries and bars.

And that's what made up a decent portion of the crowd at the Wolf Den. So when the Avett Brothers took the stage, and when Seth Avett started screaming during "Pretty Girl from Cedar Lane," the biggest reaction they got from down front was a guy briefly unfolding his arms before quickly returning them to their lofty perch on his prodigious gut. Though the shorter set (a little less than 25 minutes) was too brief for us (and maybe five other people who seemed to express some enthusiasm), it probably ended just in time for the Avetts. They did their best, screamed and shook and stomped, but, well, some nights it's just out of your hands.

The crowd was more into BR549, who have a slightly more palatable (but still real good) sound that is unlikely to offend the slot jockeys. Plus, they seemed to have a few bona fide fans in attendance. But they seemed to tone things down from the Annapolis show, and it was far from a home run for them, either.

The Bowery Ballroom--now that was a home run.

From the first bars of "Pretty Girl from Cedar Lane" (which got a much better reaction) to the last strains of "Salvation Song," the Avetts were on fire like I've never seen them before. And in some ways, I doubt the show would've been so great without the dismal reception the night before. The Avetts played like they had something to prove, though based on the initial crowd reactions, a lot of people came to the show with all the proof they needed. It was a perfect meeting of energized band and rabid crowd, and for 75 minutes last Saturday night, there was no better band in the world than the Avett Brothers.

Broken strings, knocked-over water bottles, buckets of sweat--nothing could stop the Avett Express (though after yet another string broke on his guitar on "Salvation Song," Seth refused guest Paleface's offer of his guitar, simply saying "I don't wanna play guitar anymore"). They steamrolled the crowd on the floor with old favorites, new songs off the upcoming CD, and what may be my favorite Avett song of the moment, "All My Mistakes," which is so new it didn't make it on the new CD. It's a song that makes "punk bluegrass" an inaccurate, or at least inadequate, description of the Avetts. So many bands do one thing real well and that's as far as it goes. But the Avett Brothers can clobber you with a fast-paced romp, then lull you into thinking that you'll be able to catch your breath by following with a slower number, only to knock that breath right back out of you with a song so beautiful it knocks you sideways.

If this is a just world, or at least a world where good bands who aren't Pitchfork-approved can find deserved success, then 2006 will be the Avetts' year. This time next year you'll be commenting on how prescient I was, even if you don't know what prescient means (I think I do, and I think it's the word I want). And you will pray to me at a shrine that you have lovingly constructed, sending me "donations" and worshipping me like Rerun worshipped that head of lettuce.

But I'll settle for just the Avetts being as huge as they deserve to be.

BR549 also stepped things up in NYC. Though their set list didn't change all that much in the three shows, the Avetts' set at the Bowery seemed to compel them to step up their game. And with a monstrous talent like Donnie Herron in the band, they cannot be underestimated. If I were to start a country band, I think I'd call Donnie first. My guess is he'd decline, though, citing some crazy reason like "But you can't sing or play an instrument, James." I wouldn't take it personally.

By the time the show wrapped up with the all-hands-on-deck encores of "Just Because" and "Stay A Little Longer," I was ready to murder anybody that anyone on stage wanted killed. What I mean to say is I was very happy. Happy that the two bands seem to get along so well. Happy that I wasn't back in the Wolf Den. And happy that I had an early seat on the Avett bandwagon.


And so I'll travel...

I've been a bad blogger. I apologize to the Rot-heads of the world. I'll pick up the pace.

Anyway, last weekend was another savage journey into the heart of American music, cutting a wide swath through three geographic states and many more mental states to see the two best bands in the land, Marah and the Avett Brothers (unfortunately, not together, which would have saved me some time and earned me some sleep). What follows is a partial rundown of the fun.

Friday, 1/13/06, 6:38 p.m.:

Hello, Newark!

The trip begins at Newark Penn Station, currently battling the Port Authority Bus Terminal for the title of "Official James Sigman Travel Starting Point." But I don't think it will get it. The Port Authority and me have something special. I'll see you soon, baby.

I board the North Jersey Coast line train, heading for Asbury Park and The Stone Pony, the legendary club that I have somehow never stepped foot in (or, really, any part of my body). So it's a doubly exciting night--triply exciting actually, as I will be in the Stone Pony for the first time, seeing Marah, and seeing Maybe Pete open for Marah. It's the perfect storm.

Friday, 1/13/06, 7:52 p.m.

Hello, Asbury Park!

The train arrives in Asbury Park and I commence my walk to the Pony. A thick fog adds to the atmosphere as I make my way down Cookman Ave. I am impressed with the fact that I am, in fact, able to find my way to the Pony even though I've only been near it once. I know it makes for a better story if I get lost and/or attacked, but, you know, sometimes it's nice to just have no obstacles. Sorry to let you down.

Friday, 1/13/06-Saturday 1/14/06, 8:30 p.m.-1 a.m.

The rock show takes place. It is a good time. The first band frightens me, as I'm not sure if the lead singer is parodying a cheesy Scott Stapp-like lead singer or actually being one. I think it was the latter. You may think I'm not mentioning their name out of kindness. Nope. I've just wished it out of my head. And I don't feel like doing research. Unless you feel like paying me to write this blog. Then I'll do whatever you want.

Anyway, Maybe Pete puts on a real good show, another one you didn't see, you lazy bastard. It's nice to see them play to a decent-sized crowd, particularly after being at two shows last year where I was the audience. That's awkward. We've discussed the proper audience etiquette in that situation. Does me clapping make them feel better? Worse? The band is undecided, and so am I. Hopefully, we will not face that dilemma in the future. And based on their new stuff, I doubt it. They're real good. Check them out, OK?

Marah comes out (not sexually) after a set by their rhythm section, Adam and Dave, and, as usual, the next 90 minutes or so go by in a happy blur. The soundman at the Pony apparently likes the drums to sound real bass-y and is not averse to putting an echo on the vocals at odd times (I swear I heard that; I hope it's not my own hearing loss). But, ultimately, Marah prevails, with help from the Shalitas and Christine Smith. There was a point at the end of the show where they played "Catfisherman," "Head On," and "The Closer" back-to-back-to-back that made me realize why I took a train to a show 90 minutes away, by a band that I have seen somewhere in the range of 30-35 times. During "Head On," I was screaming a lot. See, now, isn't that reason enough to see a Marah show--to hear me scream real loud during "Head On"?

1/14/06, 2:33 a.m.:

Hello, Jersey City!

I arrive back in my apartment (aka Disgraceland), courtesy of my friend Mark and his lovely wife Kerri (Mark's in the Hudson Falcons. You'll want to go see them, too...I hope you're taking notes). I have to get up at 6:30, so I can get a 7:32 a.m. train to go to Trenton, where I will pick up a train to Philadelphia, where I will change to a train to Wilmington, Delaware, where my friend Pat will pick me up and we will head to Maryland, so we can meet up with my friend Jesse, who will attend a Marah show in Arlington, Virginia, with us Saturday night.

Surprisingly, only when I write this down does it seem like anything out of the ordinary. And that's what separates you from me. Well, that, and you probably have someone willing to sleep with you.

1/14/06, 7:32 a.m.:

Hello again, Newark!

Made it. And I don't feel like I'm going to pass out. And I had time to buy breakfast. Who's the man? What? Not me. Oh, I see.

1/14/06, 10:21 a.m.:

Hello, Wilmington!

1/14/06, 11:30 p.m.

Hello, Chesapeake House Rest Area!

1/14/06, Some time after the last

Hello, Wherever the Hell I Am, Maryland!

1/14/06, 8:35 p.m.

Hello, Arlington!

After an afternoon spent bowling, watching the Redskins lose, and creating lewd double entendres out of situations involving the word "nuts," Pat, Jesse, and I arrive at the Iota in Arlington. Boy, that wind sure did pick up. Boy, I wish we hadn't parked a half-mile away.

1/14/06, 10:30ish until whenever it ended

Marah again brings the rock. And they're even better than in Asbury Park. The only downside to the show is the inability of several members of the crowd to (a) go without a drink for any period of time greater than 10 minutes or (b) not go to the bathroom. If I own a club, everybody gets fitted with a catheter when they come in and they can't order drinks during the actual performance unless they're standing next to the bar. How do we enforce that? We'll put an invisible electric fence around the bar, put dog collars on the patrons, and, voila!

And that's why I will never own a club.

I would run down what makes a Marah so brilliant, but the Tinsel & Rot devotee has heard it all before. I'm just saying, it's a good time. You like a good time, don't you?

1/15/06, 6:30 p.m.

Hello, Annapolis!

After still more football, a few spirited games of "Horse" on a three-foot basketball hoop built for toddlers, and a brief moment of confusion in downtown Annapolis, Pat and I (Jesse had a prior college basketball commitment) walk into the Ram's Head Tavern. I waited so long to get tickets that I thought we were out of luck in getting into this show as late as last week. But then, God took pity and provided two seats during a random, "well-I'll-give-this-one-more-shot" check of the club's website. I'd never been to the place, so the seating chart really didn't make much sense to me, though it seemed like we'd be reasonably close to the stage.

So, we go in, the hostess takes our tickets and directs us to a guy who will show us where our seats are. And they're, literally, right next to the stage. Maybe five feet away. Nice.

The husband and wife seated at our table ask me if I've seen the bands, and it turns out that they've never seen the Avetts, but are big fans of BR549. So I try to explain what the Avetts sound like (I've settled on "punk bluegrass," because I can't think of anything else...it's not accurate, but it's accurate enough in a pinch). They seem OK with that. We talk about the Gettysburg Bluegrass Festival and Trace Adkins and Marty Stuart and then I realize how nice it is to talk to people who like country music. That doesn't happen much in New Jersey.

So, we order some food (exciting culinary discovery made possible by a limited menu: I like crab cakes) and soon the Avetts take the stage. They start off with a slow(er) one, "Pretty Girl from Annapolis" (naturally) and then move into "Please Pardon Yourself," and we're off. Now, I'll admit a bias here, but I really do think the Avetts are on the brink of something huge. Every Avetts show seems likes they won't be satisfied until everyone at the show who didn't know them coming in leaves blown away. The guy at our table was hooked by the third song, and there was a healthy line for buying CDs during intermission. Hooray.

The highlight of the night--and probably the weekend (if you don't count the purchase of Philadelphia soft pretzels before the train ride home)--was at the end of BR549's set, when they brought the Avetts out to sing the Bob Wills song "Stay A Little Longer." Now, bringing out the Avetts would be cool enough; it's always good to see the headliners sharing the spotlight with the openers. But "Stay A Little Longer"...first heard by me on Willie Nelson's "Willie and the Family Live" album (and I mean actual vinyl album)...it was all I could do not to jump out of my chair, throw it against the wall, and start dancing like Pappy O'Daniel in "O Brother Where Art Thou." Luckily, I was able to prevent that from happening. But it was awesome.

Their new CD comes out on February 7. It's great. I'll tell you all about it some other time.

1/16/06, oh, I don't know, 7 p.m. maybe?:

Hello again, Jersey City!

I'm staying awhile this time.

Until tomorrow, when the Sigman family heads to Mohegan Sun in Connecticut for more Avett fun. And then back to NYC on Saturday for even more fun. Yes, my sickness has spread to the rest of my family. Be careful. You're next.

So, what are you doing on Saturday?


The Jimmies

Year-end lists published in December are just wrong. I mean, what if something monumentally fantastic happens on December 31? Is it fair to exclude that from a "best of" because it occurred at the last minute. Let me answer that for you--no, no it's not.

So, now that 2005 has officially passed, let's sit back and enjoy The Jimmies, Tinsel and Rot's salute to the best of 2005.

Best On-Air Performance by a Cast Member of "Charles in Charge": Willie Aames, "Celebrity Fit Club 2"

Nicole Eggert's underwhelming appearance on "The Real Gilligan's Island" paved the way for a runaway victory for ex-Bibleman Aames, whose short temper and ill-conceived tattoos smashed the idea that Gary Busey will always be the craziest person on whatever show he appears.

Jeff Conaway looks to be making a run at being this year's Aames on "Celebrity Fit Club 3," or, more accurately a combination of Aames and Daniel Baldwin from "CTF 1." I smell a 2006 Jimmy in Mr. Conaway's future.

MTV Show of the Year: "Next"

Lots of competition, but some boring "Made" episodes and the celebrity editions of "Room Raiders" give the prize to "Next," a show so blindingly stupid that it approaches brilliance. I'm not sure there's a funnier moment on TV than when that girl falls while coming off the Next bus. Actually, I bet something funnier happened on "Elimidate" or "Cheaters," but they're not on at normal times here.

A side note: this year's "My Own" smells like a disaster. Just make more "Next" episodes instead, MTV. Or keep having those Real World/Road Rules challenges.

And, for the record, both "Room Raiders" and "Made" would be better with people in their late 20s and up. I, for one, would like to be made.

Best TV Show Performance by a "Freaks and Geeks" alumnus: "How I Met Your Mother"

"Kitchen Confidential" (with John Francis "Sam Weir" Daley) tried a little too hard, "ER" (with Linda "Lindsay Weir" Cardellini), well, no one watches that anymore, and "Love, Inc." (with Busy 'Kim Kelly" Phillips) is just bad, even by UPN standards. So, Jason "Nick Andopolis" Segel wins by default, simply because I was able to sit through more than one episode of "How I Met Your Mother." The world anxiously awaits the reappearance of Martin "Bill Haverchuck" Starr.

Most Entertaining In-Person Experience with Corey Feldman: The second one

The first one (see photo below) was good, the third one was brief, but the second one was the one where he almost got into a fight with a cab driver, while wearing a white leather vest. An all-time classic, if a little awkward for me.

Best In-Person Experience with a Professional Wrestler: Abdullah the Butcher at Chiller Theatre

A closer race than you might think. Lanny Poffo was a good one, too. I had a far too long conversation (i.e., more than five seconds) with him in which he awkwardly brought up his divorce. And I stood in a wrestling ring for about five minutes, staring at a bunch of young children waiting in line, while Jimmy "Mouth of the South" Hart tried to put film in the Polaroid. But neither gentleman asked me to stick a fork in their heads, so Abdullah's the winner.


And a couple of lists for 2005:

Best Concerts (no particular order)
1. Marah, Theater of the Living Arts, Philly, PA
2. The Avett Brothers, Joe's Pub, NYC
3. Alejandro Escovedo, Tin Angel, Philly, PA
4. Todd Snider and the Nervous Wrecks, State Theatre, Falls Church, VA
5. Scott Miller and the Commonwealth, Iota, Alexandria, VA
6. Bob Dylan and Merle Haggard, Beacon Theater, NYC
7. Was (Not Was), BB King's, NYC
8. Rodney Crowell and the Outsiders/Will Kimbrough and Jedd Hughes, BB King's, NYC
9. Robbie Fulks, Mercury Lounge, NYC
10. The Yayhoos, Lakeside Lounge, NYC

Best CDs (again, no particular order)
1. Slo Mo, My Buzz Comes Back
2. Marah, If You Didn't Laugh, You'd Cry
3. The Avett Brothers, Live, Vol. 2
4. Rodney Crowell, The Outsider
5. Daddy, Live at the Women's Club
6. Maybe Pete, Between the City and the Stratosphere
7. Adrienne Young, The Art of Virtue
8. Jimmie Dale Gilmore, Come On Back
9. Shooter Jennings, Put the "O" Back in Country
10. Robbie Fulks, Georgia Hard

Adios, 2005. Good to see you go.