Written By James Barry
The line to the Stone Pony Summer Stage wrapped around an entire block, spilling into the streets, humming with the electricity of mass anticipation. Jam band pilgrims from all over the world donned their finest tied-dyed garments and marched in single file into the house of worship. It was Independence Day, and freedom was radiating from the asphalt like the summer heat. A wealth of stars and stripes shone proudly in the sun. If only it were legal to tie dye the American flag.
The flock had arrived to have their ears and their souls blessed by their musical leaders; a band named Goose. The small town Connecticut group has established a cult following over the past six years, drawing avid crowds and selling out bigger and bigger venues with their funk folk sound and their penchant for freestyles. They are known as masters of the extemporaneous. And they did not disappoint. The band showcased its unprecedented chemistry throughout the show, with no one hogging the spotlight for too long as they exchanged face-melting riffs. Each jam felt as natural as a conversation amongst friends.
After an early weather scare, afternoon thunderheads dispersed and the Fourth of July skies cleared, revealing hues of cotton candy blue and coral pink. The people continued to pour in for an hour or so, filling the venue to the brim. It was hot. The air was thick with humidity and smoke. The most perspirant men in attendance had already shed their shirts. A few eager souls may have gone too hard too early; they were already sitting on the asphalt with their heads in their laps. Restlessness began to permeate the crowd. People stirred like the leaves of a tree in a summer breeze. Every sound crew member who went on stage drew brief applause as they were mistaken for the band.
Then Goose appeared, and the cheers didn’t stop. The tension was released. Those few eager souls mustered enough energy to rise to their feet. The drinks spilled and the smoke rose in dense plumes. To the unknowing ear, it may have sounded like the crowd was booing as chants of “Goooooose” came in waves.
After some initial equipment troubles, the band began the ritual, and the fans began their odyssey. They kicked off the first set with “Atlas Dogs” and rode the momentum for over an hour. The jams felt inexorable. It was as if the band knew better than to struggle to contain them; their efforts would have been in vain. They were overcome by the spirit.
The second song, “Turbulence & The Night Rays,” brought one of the show’s most energetic jams. Rick Mitarotonda played the guitar like he had tied six strings to a lightning bolt. His warp-speed riff at the end of the version sent the crowd into a frenzy. Beach balls were bouncing off heads, glowsticks were flying, and inflatable tube men were waving their arms above it all. Mitarotonda maintained a stoic, confident stage presence; but during moments like this one, he couldn’t help but smirk. He knew he was blowing minds.
Soon after came the crowd favorite, “Butter Rum,” a beachy summer bop built to make even the stiffest wallflower shake his hips. The crowd echoed the refrain, screaming “Hey Butter Rum!” every time it arrived. The response even impressed Mitarotonda: “This is solid,” he said with an approving nod.
The first set was in full motion. Peter Anspach’s keyboard was hotter than a griddle after three rounds of pancakes. Devoted fans were singing every word from the depths of their lungs. And the sun was setting directly behind the Summer Stage, casting a backdrop of rainbow sherbet rays. July had finally come to Asbury Park.
Then Goose unveiled the first surprise of the night: a cover of a Grateful Dead classic, a song tailored to the holiday: “U.S. Blues.” It was the first time the band covered the song, and they played it like it was their own. Trevor Weekz shined on bass throughout the version, and Mitarotonda and Anspach traded airtight solos. Any time Goose covers the Dead it’s like they’re paying homage to the ancestors. It was the perfect finish to a glorious first set. The sun was finally eclipsed by the Asbury Park skyline during intermission. The second set would begin in the muggy darkness.
After chugging water bottles, sharing Gatorades, and perhaps replenishing the Tito’s Lemonades, the flock returned, ready for another hour of tasty folk funk jams. And Goose soon returned, starting the second set with another live debut: a cover of John Cafferty’s “Wild Summer Nights” from Eddie and the Cruisers. The stage lights shone down in fluorescent cones of shifting colors. Purple and yellow faded into red and blue; the colors changed to match each song. Sight and sound blended into one tongue-snatching psychedelic cornucopia. And the run of songs from “Thatch” to “Hungersite” to “Into the Myst” was a 40-minute sensory overload that left the flock in sweaty ecstasy.
And Goose kept riding the second-set wave into a crowd-friendly cover of “What’s Up?” by 4 Non Blondes. This was the climax of the show: a swaying flock of music lovers united by one simple refrain: “Hey! What’s going on?” It was a question dredged from the depths of the crowd’s collective unconscious. It was a demand for a reasonable answer, a group complaint, a galvanizing cry. It brought hundreds of people together for six minutes of undying emotion.
After a long, mellow version of “Arrow” to close the set, the band thanked Asbury Park and New Jersey for back-to-back nights of one-of-a-kind energy. And they played a smooth, autotune-drenched, nighttime encore of “Slow Ready” before they locked arms and bowed to the crowd. They couldn’t contain their smiles when they received the overwhelming ovation. After an historic two-night Fourth of July turnout, this group bow punctuated Goose’s statement. They are this generation’s finest jam band. They can blend any combination of genres into a delicious smoothie. Their cult is growing, and it isn’t going away anytime soon. Goose is here to stay.
