Kathryn Hahn Joins Middle Aged Dad Jam Band for Some Classic Rock Shenanigans at Beachland Ballroom

Credit: Photo by Eric Sandy, aspiring middle-aged dad

I couldn’t believe it when I first heard the announcement: David Wain? Ken Marino? Middle-aged dads? In a jam band? At Beachland Ballroom? On a Monday night? In September? These were some of my favorite things, so I quickly texted my buddy and told him that we needed to be there—pronto.

He said that’s fine, but let’s not get there just yet: The show wasn’t for another month or two. So we waited, going to our jobs and taking care of various things around our homes, mowing our lawns, changing light bulbs, etc., and then, last night, we went to the show, joined by throngs of eager fans decked out in their finest “I WANNA DIP MY BALLS IN IT” T-shirts.

By set break, we were outside on Waterloo Road, exclaiming loudly to random passersby how the show was exceeding any and all expectations. Middle Aged Dad Jam Band was ending its summer tour right here in Cleveland, and they were certainly treating it like a celebratory hometown show, balloons and all. Wain himself grew up in Shaker Heights with lifelong friend and fellow vocalist Craig Wedren. (Wain, of course, is perhaps best known for his 1978 tour of Shaker Heights.)

And then there was Kathryn Hahn—a true Hollywood star!—from just down the road in Cleveland Heights. She joined the band onstage in the first set for a stirring rendition of “Don’t Stop Believin’.” This was the big surprise of the night, and the crowd went nuts when she climbed out of the audience and joined the festivities. She and Wain bantered back and forth about local landmarks and institutions — the world-class orchestra, the world-class theater district — but they made sure not to pander too much.

This was the vibe throughout the night: classic rock punctuated by the sort of delightfully overwrought dialogue that you’d find in Wet Hot American Summer.

Middle Aged Dad Jam Band came together about a year ago, when Wain and Marino and some longtime pals just started jamming in the garage. That’s what middle-aged dads do. They get together and jam in the garage—or sometimes in the basement. These guys just had the dad-like gumption to see the thing through to the professional touring circuit.

As the show got going with The Cars’ “Bye Bye Love,” featuring a crazed Marino running through the audience, it was clear that the band was here to play music from every decade: the ‘60s, the ‘70s, the ‘80s. All of them. The setlist was great: “Centerfold,” “Rio,” “Fat Bottomed Girls,” “Kodachrome, “Long Train Runnin’,” and several very sexy songs like “Little Red Corvette” and “You Oughta Know.” One thing that kinda bothered me is that they didn’t play “Scenes from an Italian Restaurant.” I understand that they’d already played two Billy Joel songs, even after they said they’d only play one Billy Joel song, but not playing “Scenes from an Italian Restaurant” was a major oversight. The band might want to think about that for future engagements.

Nonetheless, the music was solid. Don’t be fooled by the big celebrity names: The approach to the craft was earnest and ambitious. Wain and Marino were flanked by serious musicians like Frank Barrera (himself a longtime friend of Marino), Sweet Teddy P, Jon Spurney, Jordan Katz and Henry Wain (with Amy Miles, James Eason and Wedren appearing as special guests last night alongside Hahn).

At one point, Marino mentioned that Sylvester Stallone was at the show, and he was excited to bring him up onstage. What an incredible lineup of special guests! The band started playing the Rocky theme, and Marino waved Stallone up, telling the crowd to make way for the big guy. Something must have happened, though, since Stallone never showed. Marino even went out front to see if he’d stepped outside or something. Bummer.

The band wrapped with “Born to Run” and then returned for “867-5309/Jenny” in the encore slot. Hahn hit the stage one last time at the very end of the night as the band did the “nah-nah-nah” portion of “Centerfold,” a recurring bit from earlier in the night. (Arguably one of the funnier moments, I thought, as band members took turns interrupting one another by launching back into that “nah-nah-nah” section over and over.)

For anyone who’s into Wain and Marino’s work, this was an absolute treat. I’d avoided YouTube videos of past performances so that I could go in blind; I had no idea what to expect, really. What we got was something much closer to a skit on The State than anything else, which, I’m assuming, is what most people in the audience wanted in the first place. Wain and Marino’s humor appeals to a very narrow band of weirdos, but those people tend to be devoted fans. This was not the sort of show that would attract the general public, for god’s sake. Everyone in the room knew the obscure references, understood the deadpan banter, bought into the joke.

When the late, great Gerry Rafferty showed up onstage, the crowd was genuinely shocked. He’s been dead for more than 10 years! He led MADJB in a tight rendition of “Baker Street” and then started taking audience requests before Wedren pointed out to the audience that, in fact, that was not Rafferty on the mic. It was Marino! As he sheepishly removed his wig, the audience was stunned.

This is why we go to shows: to share a brief moment of astonishment with other people.

I spend a lot of time thinking about middle-aged dads who jam in various bands. This is a language I speak fluently, and I’m on my own trajectory toward becoming the very same. This is also a prolific genre. Middle-aged dads and Fender Stratocasters, together, have shaped broad swaths of the contemporary American cultural experience. You simply can’t have one without the other. I say this, and I must point out how much joy it brings me nightly to jam out eight-minute versions of “The Wheels on the Bus” for my daughter and her stuffed animals.

There is no way to know how our lives will change. We can only move forward and play to our strengths.

We are all, each one of us, fitting into new shapes, new desires—slowly becoming middle-aged dads, middle-aged moms, middle-aged people without kids who travel freely and enjoy nights out at nice restaurants with other middle-aged people without kids, and then on to elderly grandparents, elderly… I don’t know, what do elderly people do? Elderly bridge players? What I mean to say here is that our lives are always warping further around the endless arc of time. We become something new each day. We are not who we were yesterday. It’s best to steer into the skid, to enjoy the turbulence, to mix metaphors and have fun doing it.

Seeing Wain and Marino out of context—onstage in a band, using all the right industry lingo—was a charming turn of events. On one hand, they were living out an extension of what they’ve always done. The show was very schticky, and clearly the band had poured a lot of love into this project. On the other hand, artistically speaking, this was a brave new adventure for Wain and Marino. They didn’t have to do this. They didn’t need to take the time to put together an actual band and then go around actually touring and actually rehearsing and performing music for audiences around the U.S., then actually hanging out at the merch table and signing posters and taking photos with fans. But they did. And maybe it’s all one great big inside joke, I don’t know, but it was a hell of a good party while it lasted in Cleveland.

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