Pretty much what's been going on the last couple days; extremely chill, enjoying the big, weird, wonderful city that is Portland. Seeing old, and some very old, friends (does 11 years make them very old friends? All relative, all contextual I suppose). It's been fairly rainy and cloudy, not a surprise, it being early April in the Pacific Northwest. I have had good and bad luck with weather in this city, that is for sure. Nonetheless good. Eating amazing food, a long (4 1/2 mile) stroll uphill to some mansion whose name I forget, and am not that concerned about remembering; the important fact being, it sits atop one of the highest hills in Portland, and meant I got to do a lot of walking uphill. The last mile or so was through rainforest; fantastic. After I'd emerged into the fairly swanky neighborhood through which I'd walked to get to the top, initially, I came upon a corner around which loud classical music was being played. Upon rounding the corner, there stood an old guy with a highball in his hand, enjoying the cloudy, but not rainy, evening (it was pushing 6:45 by this time), who informed me that the music sounded better from a distance. Strauss, it was. He, a tax lawyer in Portland, named Leo, had worked in town for over 50 years; just chilling in front of his house, smoking a cigarette, and listening to music.
Down the hill in time to pick up my friend Emmy, to go see a one-act play at my friend Annie's coffee shop. The play proved to be pretty bad (the synopsis will be omitted to protect the innocent), but mercifully short, after which, Emmy and I were able to exit pretty gracefully, whereupon I realized I was hungry; on to a former elementary school, turned multiple restaurant/bar, movie theater, hot-tub, gymnasium, hotel, with crazy interesting art all over the walls, everywhere you went. No joke; Portland does is like no place else. A giant chiminea in the courtyard, completely monopolized by a semi-circle of yuppies, talking too loud about nothing at all. We ate fish & chips, which was delicious, and worth every penny of the $14 it cost. Gotta live it up while you can.
The show at the Gotham the night before went extremely well; Annie sounded great, as always, and John (aka Right On John) played a couple of tunes - which ended up netting him a gig there, as well. Go Annie; way to motivate and facilitate. I did well looping this time, seemed to successfully get the timing down on just about everything. Played as well on the flute as i ever have; and used the loop pedal pretty successfully in terms of making several loops for the various parts, and playing over them as well. Rather cool. The people who ran the place, Barry (owner/chef) and Julie were both highly complimentary, and made it quite clear I could play again next time I came to town. Sold several CDs, always nice.
The drive up was fairly gruelling; just shy of 6 hours, cruising at 80 the whole way. But it meant I arrived in time to make a cup of coffee, and chat with Wendy for a bit - a friend from ten years ago in Flagstaff, who had turned up at my gig in Portland a year ago, and who has since hosted me when I've been in town. Coincidentally and conveniently, the extra room in her house has been roomate-less the last couple times I've been there.
The previous night's gig in Mt Shasta was a success, from the standpoint of playing well, and doing my job. The owners of the Wayside Grill were enthusiastic as well, and made it clear they'd be happy to have me back. Terry and Denise, both really nice people; he or they (can't recall if she was part of the music work as well) had had several songs in TV shows and advertisements, I believe; in any case, he gave me a CD to check out, rather cool of him. The walls next to the little corner stage were full of signed pictures of celebrities; tons of them, rather amazing really. They had originally double-booked the gig, and Terry had first said he'd just mail me a check & just not have me play; I talked him out of that, saying i'd feel badly if he did that, and then eventually it fell out that I'd play from 7 to 8:30 for the same fee, while the other guy would take over then & play the rest of the night. Worked out well for all concerned, really, as I got to finish earlier than anticipated, and head out for Portland much better rested.
There was tons of snow on the ground when I arrived in Shasta; a pretty cool contrast, given that in Chico it had been 80 degrees and sunny, awesome after all the rain in San Francisco.
Too much ground to recover now; in brief: Chico = sunny, beautiful, a walk around town, a visit to the yo-yo museum (who knew?), some cycling, a fun show at a volunteer-run art gallery/venue, and a surprisingly large crowd for such a circumstance. Looping didn't go well; timing off on everything, which makes the loop sound like ass.
And so, more or less caught up. Well, to the point when i started writing this post; now I will write another, to include my time in Bend, Oregon. Or perhaps I'll wait til Boise.
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Monday, March 28, 2011
Long Away from the Blogosphere; and Rightly So
It's important to remind ourselves that we need not be enslaved by the technology which we would have purports to serve us. One manifestation of this idea: I have not blogged since October 9th of last year, and I am really pretty content with that.
So: five and 1/2 months later. Book shows, book shows, Nicaragua, book book book book hike quit mia's open mic book book book tour.
Tonight I played as part of the family folk explosion; this is an event that takes place on Sundays at the Revolution Cafe in the Mission district, San Francisco. I dragged Amy Bathen down (who is my host at the moment), and got her in to play a couple songs, and to meet the folks who were playing. She got phone numbers, and will be putting on house shows with them at some future date. Lin (a dude), Aaron (piano) and me, jamming together. Taking turns leading songs, I played a lot of flute, actually. Sang about five or six tunes, mostly fairly accessible to the regular listener; I guess it would have been six of them: Let Those Axes Fall, You Tell Me, Inside Out, Little Numbers, Cruel Water, Somebody Else's Problems. (I like the idea of listing set lists here, maybe that'll happen again.) The bartender was Joe, the guy who used to run Bluesix, an illegal, underground venue that I played at last time I played in the Bay area, and which had subsequently been shut down (in June after I was there, which was in April) was tending bar, and recognized me; he had grown a grizzly Adamsian beard, hair longer, demeanor rather more grim. He was like, "from Arizona, right?" I later told him I thought that meant I owed him something, which proved to be a pretty funny joke from his perspective; humor as a way to analyze people, what kinds of things do they find funny being a window into the soul as clear and as unblemished as any could be. Lin, the guy running the night (which is to say, he hauled the gear down there to make it happen) was rather high, and kind of out of it, but very cool. Played great songs, to which I played flute, mostly. That was pretty fuckin fun. I've been playing guitar more like a horn lately, as well; holding notes longer, playing simple melody lines, repeated, for emphasis and tastefulness. Great fun. A fun night, songs pretty well-received; some random people showed up to play a song or two at the end of the night, it seems to be becoming a thing for people to do and a place for people to meet. Great energy, some real music lovers there.
Shows, shows shows. Well, no shows for the next three nights, which I am rather looking forward to. Doing the tour this direction sucks! Having to play my first show the day after driving 560 miles, and finishing that at two in the morning. NO bueno. That gig proved to be pretty interesting, in many ways; not many people there, but some, and a good handful who were really into it. Family-owned; guy who hired me cooking, guy behind the bar his nephew, who used to sell cars to people. Said every person has their own thing that they're into, their own hotbutton issues about cars, that will make them buy. Ah, the transparent manipulation of the commercially successful. But I do the same, in some respects, in trying to find places that will hire me - emphasizing one aspect or another of the way I go about things, to present the most appropriate aspect for the venue at hand. Why what I do is right for you. But honestly; the guy who booked me at Tresetti's, sending me an email a week before the gig, ready to not hire me because he was concerned that I wouldn't "keep the party goin", making a comment about playing Sublime and that bullshit. Man, am I glad i didn't kowtow to that; I just told him I played a wide variety of songs; and have had few complaints; and also pointed out that I would not be able to book another gig at this late date. Guy answered, "fair enough; the 25th it is". I also mentioned that he could find the conversation in which he had booked me in the exchange of emails dated January 8th and 9th, or whatever it was. Nice to have an e-paper trail. At the end of the day, he was really stoked about what I had done there, and said what I did was perfect for his place; this involved me playing a ton of my own songs, and using a loop pedal (which was happening for the first time this tour; looping guitar, playing flute, is a great attention getting thing to do. Fun for me as well, though I still do a fair amount of soloing sans loop, just me and the guitar, which is different enough from soloing over a rhythm guitar track to really catch people's ear. Maybe I should do that in the opposite order; have to think on that one.
Sandwiched between Visalia and Modesto: Fresno, one of the more abysmal gigs I've played. Rain, rain rain; empty place. Misadvertised! As the Matt Millar [sic] Band. What???? Shorted; claimed she thought, in fact, that I was a band, although every flyer I've ever sent her said "Matt Miller Baritone Guitarist Songwriter Flagstaff AZ" on them. Nothing to be done, but to appeal to her sense of honor (translation: guilt guilt guilt!), and let it go.
House show at Amy's place was great; had a rather good time. A buncha good people, all pretty into the music, nice vibe. Gave one CD to someone who said he'd bring a donation by the house on Monday, we shall see, but who cares. Told stories, played songs, got some pretty good laughs out of the situation. A rather amusing moment when all the dudes in the room were conversing fairly loudly, and all the ladies present were silent and attentive. Ah, the male of the species - so transparent at times. Have we really no subtlety?
Today slept rather late; expect I will again tonight. Perhaps another blog will ensue; perhaps not. Who the fuck knows?
ciao tutti,
Matt
So: five and 1/2 months later. Book shows, book shows, Nicaragua, book book book book hike quit mia's open mic book book book tour.
Tonight I played as part of the family folk explosion; this is an event that takes place on Sundays at the Revolution Cafe in the Mission district, San Francisco. I dragged Amy Bathen down (who is my host at the moment), and got her in to play a couple songs, and to meet the folks who were playing. She got phone numbers, and will be putting on house shows with them at some future date. Lin (a dude), Aaron (piano) and me, jamming together. Taking turns leading songs, I played a lot of flute, actually. Sang about five or six tunes, mostly fairly accessible to the regular listener; I guess it would have been six of them: Let Those Axes Fall, You Tell Me, Inside Out, Little Numbers, Cruel Water, Somebody Else's Problems. (I like the idea of listing set lists here, maybe that'll happen again.) The bartender was Joe, the guy who used to run Bluesix, an illegal, underground venue that I played at last time I played in the Bay area, and which had subsequently been shut down (in June after I was there, which was in April) was tending bar, and recognized me; he had grown a grizzly Adamsian beard, hair longer, demeanor rather more grim. He was like, "from Arizona, right?" I later told him I thought that meant I owed him something, which proved to be a pretty funny joke from his perspective; humor as a way to analyze people, what kinds of things do they find funny being a window into the soul as clear and as unblemished as any could be. Lin, the guy running the night (which is to say, he hauled the gear down there to make it happen) was rather high, and kind of out of it, but very cool. Played great songs, to which I played flute, mostly. That was pretty fuckin fun. I've been playing guitar more like a horn lately, as well; holding notes longer, playing simple melody lines, repeated, for emphasis and tastefulness. Great fun. A fun night, songs pretty well-received; some random people showed up to play a song or two at the end of the night, it seems to be becoming a thing for people to do and a place for people to meet. Great energy, some real music lovers there.
Shows, shows shows. Well, no shows for the next three nights, which I am rather looking forward to. Doing the tour this direction sucks! Having to play my first show the day after driving 560 miles, and finishing that at two in the morning. NO bueno. That gig proved to be pretty interesting, in many ways; not many people there, but some, and a good handful who were really into it. Family-owned; guy who hired me cooking, guy behind the bar his nephew, who used to sell cars to people. Said every person has their own thing that they're into, their own hotbutton issues about cars, that will make them buy. Ah, the transparent manipulation of the commercially successful. But I do the same, in some respects, in trying to find places that will hire me - emphasizing one aspect or another of the way I go about things, to present the most appropriate aspect for the venue at hand. Why what I do is right for you. But honestly; the guy who booked me at Tresetti's, sending me an email a week before the gig, ready to not hire me because he was concerned that I wouldn't "keep the party goin", making a comment about playing Sublime and that bullshit. Man, am I glad i didn't kowtow to that; I just told him I played a wide variety of songs; and have had few complaints; and also pointed out that I would not be able to book another gig at this late date. Guy answered, "fair enough; the 25th it is". I also mentioned that he could find the conversation in which he had booked me in the exchange of emails dated January 8th and 9th, or whatever it was. Nice to have an e-paper trail. At the end of the day, he was really stoked about what I had done there, and said what I did was perfect for his place; this involved me playing a ton of my own songs, and using a loop pedal (which was happening for the first time this tour; looping guitar, playing flute, is a great attention getting thing to do. Fun for me as well, though I still do a fair amount of soloing sans loop, just me and the guitar, which is different enough from soloing over a rhythm guitar track to really catch people's ear. Maybe I should do that in the opposite order; have to think on that one.
Sandwiched between Visalia and Modesto: Fresno, one of the more abysmal gigs I've played. Rain, rain rain; empty place. Misadvertised! As the Matt Millar [sic] Band. What???? Shorted; claimed she thought, in fact, that I was a band, although every flyer I've ever sent her said "Matt Miller Baritone Guitarist Songwriter Flagstaff AZ" on them. Nothing to be done, but to appeal to her sense of honor (translation: guilt guilt guilt!), and let it go.
House show at Amy's place was great; had a rather good time. A buncha good people, all pretty into the music, nice vibe. Gave one CD to someone who said he'd bring a donation by the house on Monday, we shall see, but who cares. Told stories, played songs, got some pretty good laughs out of the situation. A rather amusing moment when all the dudes in the room were conversing fairly loudly, and all the ladies present were silent and attentive. Ah, the male of the species - so transparent at times. Have we really no subtlety?
Today slept rather late; expect I will again tonight. Perhaps another blog will ensue; perhaps not. Who the fuck knows?
ciao tutti,
Matt
Saturday, October 9, 2010
And many days pass
yep.
I'm sitting in Loaded Joe's in Avon, Colorado; the front door is open, and it is fuckin freezing in here. Loud, obnoxious, obviously Sublime-inspired reggae-type music is blaring; and the girl who is working the bar just tried to get me to order my dinner off the late-night, shady, bar menu, though the lunch menu had stopped being served just a few minutes earlier. Ah, a warm welcome.
I must confess, this area just makes me feel uneasy. I went to a movie in the nearby town of Edwards today, and just walking around in the little hoity-toity shopping area beforehand left me feeling... dirty. Insincere smiles, so patently insincere, and the air of contentment that is only truly worn by the rich and insulated. So strange. And what a contrast to the gig last night, in Gypsum (the Rittenhouse), which could not have been more down-to-earth an establishment, patronized by people of the same mien. I have yet to begin playing here, but I can say I already have a bit of a bad attitude about it, which is never a good way to start a show.
Anyway.
Yesterday I went on a local radio station to promote tonight's show; they did the old "record the show the day before, broadcast the day of" trick. At least, I assume it was broadcast, I did not tune in. The guy doing the interview was named Weez, and he gave me his email address so I could send him a photo I took out the window of the studio. It was a beautiful view, with Aspens in full color, a walkway along the river, and a gorgeous canyon wall for a backdrop. Amazing.
The gig last night was a lot of fun; really nice, intersted, engaged people, who wrote down a buncha email addresses, and bought several CDs. Had one guy wander up and begin conspicuously examining part of my PA; a bit awkward, as I ended up having a conversation with him while I was playing, trying to figure out what the fuck he wanted. Turns out he was just impressed with the sound, and wondering about how many watts the rig was, etc. I thought he was gonna start screwing with the EQ or the volume, and was kinda annoyed with the way he was invading my space. A bit of an overreaction, but you never know what someone is going to do with your gear, and it's always better to engage than not to (As soon as he walked up & stood there for a moment or two, I leaned over and asked him if he was looking for something, as he was scrutinizing everything pretty closely. Gotta maintain the perimeter). He turned out to be pretty cool, if a bit awkward. Go figure.
The last week in Boulder and Denver was really nice; lots of time to chill, haven't really had the opportunity to just relax in a while. The show at Upslope Brewery was one of the most awkward setups I've ever played in, with an easy-up set up in the parking lot across from the door, and cars passing through every couple minutes. The guys running the place were super-cool, and told me that they had more people out that week than they had ever had before. I am not inclined to take credit for it, these things move with the tides, but it does make me rather re-hireable from their viewpoint (as opposed to when you end up playing to an empty room, where you might be slightly less re-hireable).
The weather in Boulder and Denver while I was there was amazing; I got some good hikes in, including one with a bear wandering around near the trailhead. A ranger was there, trying to shoo it away. I assumed (rightly) that it would be gone when I got back, so I headed up the trail. Green Mountain, which is right near Chataqua Park; the trail goes up behind the Flatirons. Beautiful, got some great pictures (which I will, presumably, post some of up here sooner or later).
Stayed with Johnny and Holly while I was in Boulder; they were both crazy busy, as they (in the last year) started a specialty cookie baking business called Wonder Foods, manking (appropriately enough) the Wonder Cookie and the Wonder Wake-Up Cookie, among others. The Wake-Up cookie has chocolate covered espresso beans on top, powdered coffee dusting the top, and chips of espresso beans inside the cookie itself. Needless to say, I think they're fantastic, and have a good stash of them for the road. Starting your day with coffee and a Wonder Wake-Up cookie is a bit... extreme, however I have done so for the last couple days. Ridiculous.
Albuquerque and Alamosa in the rear-view before the Boulder gig; not gonna sit down and try to recreate the scene, it never works out that way. But I will try to stick to the blogging a bit better, it's much more enjoyable for me to write about these things when they're fresh.
Off to Moab for a couple days tomorrow, for camping and hiking in the pleasantly warm, 4000 foot above sea-level climate of central Utah. Should be good times, looking forward to hitting up a campground that my companions my last time through the area were too cheap to shell out $4 to stay in (it's in the bottom of a canyon on the edge of town, leading into Canyonlands National Park, ferchrissakes. I mean, really. It's beautiful).
So, time to get set up to play. Until next.
I'm sitting in Loaded Joe's in Avon, Colorado; the front door is open, and it is fuckin freezing in here. Loud, obnoxious, obviously Sublime-inspired reggae-type music is blaring; and the girl who is working the bar just tried to get me to order my dinner off the late-night, shady, bar menu, though the lunch menu had stopped being served just a few minutes earlier. Ah, a warm welcome.
I must confess, this area just makes me feel uneasy. I went to a movie in the nearby town of Edwards today, and just walking around in the little hoity-toity shopping area beforehand left me feeling... dirty. Insincere smiles, so patently insincere, and the air of contentment that is only truly worn by the rich and insulated. So strange. And what a contrast to the gig last night, in Gypsum (the Rittenhouse), which could not have been more down-to-earth an establishment, patronized by people of the same mien. I have yet to begin playing here, but I can say I already have a bit of a bad attitude about it, which is never a good way to start a show.
Anyway.
Yesterday I went on a local radio station to promote tonight's show; they did the old "record the show the day before, broadcast the day of" trick. At least, I assume it was broadcast, I did not tune in. The guy doing the interview was named Weez, and he gave me his email address so I could send him a photo I took out the window of the studio. It was a beautiful view, with Aspens in full color, a walkway along the river, and a gorgeous canyon wall for a backdrop. Amazing.
The gig last night was a lot of fun; really nice, intersted, engaged people, who wrote down a buncha email addresses, and bought several CDs. Had one guy wander up and begin conspicuously examining part of my PA; a bit awkward, as I ended up having a conversation with him while I was playing, trying to figure out what the fuck he wanted. Turns out he was just impressed with the sound, and wondering about how many watts the rig was, etc. I thought he was gonna start screwing with the EQ or the volume, and was kinda annoyed with the way he was invading my space. A bit of an overreaction, but you never know what someone is going to do with your gear, and it's always better to engage than not to (As soon as he walked up & stood there for a moment or two, I leaned over and asked him if he was looking for something, as he was scrutinizing everything pretty closely. Gotta maintain the perimeter). He turned out to be pretty cool, if a bit awkward. Go figure.
The last week in Boulder and Denver was really nice; lots of time to chill, haven't really had the opportunity to just relax in a while. The show at Upslope Brewery was one of the most awkward setups I've ever played in, with an easy-up set up in the parking lot across from the door, and cars passing through every couple minutes. The guys running the place were super-cool, and told me that they had more people out that week than they had ever had before. I am not inclined to take credit for it, these things move with the tides, but it does make me rather re-hireable from their viewpoint (as opposed to when you end up playing to an empty room, where you might be slightly less re-hireable).
The weather in Boulder and Denver while I was there was amazing; I got some good hikes in, including one with a bear wandering around near the trailhead. A ranger was there, trying to shoo it away. I assumed (rightly) that it would be gone when I got back, so I headed up the trail. Green Mountain, which is right near Chataqua Park; the trail goes up behind the Flatirons. Beautiful, got some great pictures (which I will, presumably, post some of up here sooner or later).
Stayed with Johnny and Holly while I was in Boulder; they were both crazy busy, as they (in the last year) started a specialty cookie baking business called Wonder Foods, manking (appropriately enough) the Wonder Cookie and the Wonder Wake-Up Cookie, among others. The Wake-Up cookie has chocolate covered espresso beans on top, powdered coffee dusting the top, and chips of espresso beans inside the cookie itself. Needless to say, I think they're fantastic, and have a good stash of them for the road. Starting your day with coffee and a Wonder Wake-Up cookie is a bit... extreme, however I have done so for the last couple days. Ridiculous.
Albuquerque and Alamosa in the rear-view before the Boulder gig; not gonna sit down and try to recreate the scene, it never works out that way. But I will try to stick to the blogging a bit better, it's much more enjoyable for me to write about these things when they're fresh.
Off to Moab for a couple days tomorrow, for camping and hiking in the pleasantly warm, 4000 foot above sea-level climate of central Utah. Should be good times, looking forward to hitting up a campground that my companions my last time through the area were too cheap to shell out $4 to stay in (it's in the bottom of a canyon on the edge of town, leading into Canyonlands National Park, ferchrissakes. I mean, really. It's beautiful).
So, time to get set up to play. Until next.
Saturday, September 25, 2010
Pagosa Springs; still no new pictures. So freakin sue me, huh?
Today was spent pretty chilly; went for a hike up a nearby mountain, which was beautiful, but proved to be right underneath the flight path for gliders being towed up to altitude before being released from their tow lines. A rather majestic, though noisy, sight.
After that, rolled up to Pagosa Springs, where i would be playing at Kip's Bar and Grill, out on there patio. When I walked into the place, I was dumbfounded to discover that they were playing Todd Snider over the bar stereo. Fuckin crazy. Once again, good music at a bar I'd be playing at shortly, and once again it was the cook who got to choose it. Crazy; a trend I've not noticed anywhere else, that restaurants would let the cooks choose the tunes. Rather cool. Oh, this requires that I mention that at the Balcony, last night, Uncle Tupelo was playing over the house stereo when I got there; and during my set break, Wilco (Sky Blue Sky) got played - at the hands of, yes, the cook. Awesome. In both cases I gave them copies of my latest under the 1) assumption that, liking music I like, maybe they might perhaps like my music, too, and 2) hope that they might play it at the venue, should 1 pan out to be true.
The gig was awesome. People were receptive, responsive, and great. I love crowds in Colorado. Ended up getting asked to play a house party on Monday; actually, they were looking to have me do something tomorrow or Sunday, but I've got shows to play, and so the only possible date was Monday. Turns out the guy who approached me about it is from Sedona, and is hanging out with the guy who owns Oak Creek Brewery down there. Too funny. People were friendly, interested, bought CDs, and tipped well. Someone dropped a RMH cookie into the tip jar; I asked one of the waitresses, "Is this what I think it is?" and she said, simply, "Yes." Medical marijuana, alive and well in Colorado, changing the way people relate to intoxicants. Too funny.
There was one guy at the gig who looked kind of like a Hunter S. Thompson type - weirdly psychedelic mountain folk. I'm pretty sure he dropped the cookie in there.
Anyway, a satisfying and fun gig; which, I realize, makes for slightly less edgy blogging; but it made for a great night. Can only hope the trend continues.
After that, rolled up to Pagosa Springs, where i would be playing at Kip's Bar and Grill, out on there patio. When I walked into the place, I was dumbfounded to discover that they were playing Todd Snider over the bar stereo. Fuckin crazy. Once again, good music at a bar I'd be playing at shortly, and once again it was the cook who got to choose it. Crazy; a trend I've not noticed anywhere else, that restaurants would let the cooks choose the tunes. Rather cool. Oh, this requires that I mention that at the Balcony, last night, Uncle Tupelo was playing over the house stereo when I got there; and during my set break, Wilco (Sky Blue Sky) got played - at the hands of, yes, the cook. Awesome. In both cases I gave them copies of my latest under the 1) assumption that, liking music I like, maybe they might perhaps like my music, too, and 2) hope that they might play it at the venue, should 1 pan out to be true.
The gig was awesome. People were receptive, responsive, and great. I love crowds in Colorado. Ended up getting asked to play a house party on Monday; actually, they were looking to have me do something tomorrow or Sunday, but I've got shows to play, and so the only possible date was Monday. Turns out the guy who approached me about it is from Sedona, and is hanging out with the guy who owns Oak Creek Brewery down there. Too funny. People were friendly, interested, bought CDs, and tipped well. Someone dropped a RMH cookie into the tip jar; I asked one of the waitresses, "Is this what I think it is?" and she said, simply, "Yes." Medical marijuana, alive and well in Colorado, changing the way people relate to intoxicants. Too funny.
There was one guy at the gig who looked kind of like a Hunter S. Thompson type - weirdly psychedelic mountain folk. I'm pretty sure he dropped the cookie in there.
Anyway, a satisfying and fun gig; which, I realize, makes for slightly less edgy blogging; but it made for a great night. Can only hope the trend continues.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
An Eventful Departure, and Now Two Gigs In.
Well, well well. Here we are again. Oh my.
So leaving town was, somehow, once again... well, anyway.
One screwed up brake-job, two failed attempts to order the right part (third time's the charm!), one extra day spent home meticulously, obsessively organizing my crap for the tour, writing up flyers for every damned gig I'll be playing, and one strainedly, barely civil final conversation with Midas later (as I've said elsewhere, incompetent mechanics should be crushed for eternity in Satan's thorny sphincter), I'm on the road, in Durango. Two gigs later, and not enough pictures; none in Dolores, because the rechargables were dead in the camera, but several in Durango, which I've been far to uninterested in uploading onto the computer. Anyway; here it is.
I got on the road at almost exactly noon on Wednesday; which, if you do the math, and account for daylight savings time (laaaaaame; one thing I truly appreciate about Arizona is that it doesn't subscribe to changing the damned clocks twice a year), you will realize I had exactly five hours to make it to my appointed gig, set up, and begin playing. Hah.
300 miles, torrential rainstorms, and psychotic fellow motorists. All behind me; somehow, Google Maps had the distance listed as 280 miles, or is it just that the odometer is wrong on my car? Who the hell knows. Rolled into Dolores, which proved to be a delightful town; at least, what little of it I got to see, since I got to Colorado a day later than intended, and didn't get to hang in Dolores during the day as I'd intended. Ah, well, the vicissitudes of fate.
The Dolores River Brewery proved to be everything other people had purported that it was. (Oooh, that was a fun sentence). While I believe I erred in getting the pulled chicken sandwich rather than their wood-fired pizzas (duh. Maybe the wood-burning pizza oven should have been a clue), the atmosphere was great, the people were cool, and Billy and Deb (of the Porchlights) came out with a buncha folks and were listening attentively. In fact, they stayed around til the end of the night, which was awesome. Had a great time bullshitting with them, and talkin about "the biz". So insidery, it makes me sick, too. No, it was seriously great to hang out with them and talk to them; Deb hosted a local music show in Flagstaff nine years ago when I first got to town, and had me in on various guises a couple of times (once with Don't Feed the Bears, and once with Zen Bike Lock). Gave them several Song Walk CDs, and one of mine as well. The crowd was pretty big, and very responsive; there were tons of smiling, friendly faces. A great way to start a tour.
Packed up the gig, and headed out toward Durango that night; where I learned that finding your way into Durango is not necessarily easy. The main road runs around town, along the river, and you only have a couple of opportunities to cross into town, none of which really say anything like "Downtown Durango - turn here, jackass" (or they probably do, and I just missed them. I was sleepy). Passed out for 12 hours straight, woke up around the crack of noon, and screwed around, trading music, for a while; then borrowed a bike for a brief spin through Durango (the pedal of which fell off on the way back; imagine my embarassment. Turns out Travis had gotten it as a kit, and put it together himself; and hadn't, apparently, been quite so meticulous. At least, that's my story. Well, it was his story, too).
The Balcony was on... a balcony. Upstairs, a pretty long slog with lots of gear, particularly in light of my new, expanded merch and lighting setup. (I've been a busily creative little musician, I have. I'll doubtless post smug pictures of my somewhat slick, but more importantly highly compact and portable new display setup). There were a fair number of people there, pretty friendly; including a chain-smoking, whisky drinkin waitress from the local Denny's, complete with polo shirt, name tag, and - yes - apron. She was there with a cowboy who was the closest I've ever seen to a Sam Eliot look-alike - well, at least his mustache could have won a Sam Eliot's mustache look-alike contest. The staff were friendly, and gave me the most expensive thing on the menu without batting an eye (I think the fact that I don't drink, and had mentioned that I wouldn't be utilizing my free drinks, had some thing to do with that. Well, she told me it did). A combo barbecue platter, which was indeed awesome.
The gig there was a gruelling, 4 hour monstrosity; and for a crowd that, apparently, was more accustomed to seeing cover songs; and, perhaps more importantly, were so right on the beaten path (Durango being the largest town of some consequence near Mesa Verde National Park, and home to a college), that they had just enough of that big-city air, that they were inclined to clap politely, unenthusiastically, and grudgingly in most cases. I commented that they sounded all tuckered out. That's the tough thing about a gig like the one last night at the Dolores River Brewery - the people at the next show are rarely capable of showing the same kind of enthusiasm. Maybe it was just the crowd.
Anyway, after two songs, miss Denny's waitress (cigarette in hand) asks me if I play any Stevie Ray Vaughn. Now, my friends and many acquaintances know I can't stand that fucker; so I looked right at her, and just said, "no". Then she asked for Eric Clapton; again, now. I then proceeded to tell her my philosophy of performing, which is, I try to get the crowd to respond to my own music, and then work covers into the equation if I'm feelin like it. This is to say, I do whatever the fuck I want on stage. I didn't quite put it that way, but I think she got the point. Well, I did ask if she knew John Prine; when she said no (which, in a person of her years (I'm guessin around 50, plus or minus) is always a shock to hear. And it makes me lose some respect for them, or at least a desire for/interest in finding compromise. If John Prine ain't gonna do the job for you, then I'm pretty much stuck, there, and I'm not gonna work too hard to find an alternative.
Later, in between songs while I was talking to Travis, his girlfriend Jenny, and his buddy Louis, Ms. Grand-Royal-Slam yells, "Play some blues!" (by which she meant, something that would sound like Stevie Ray-ClapHendripoff). I said, "OK!" and proceeded to play The Sultan's Smile, which is definitely not blues, and could perhaps be termed jazzy, but not in a bluesy way. It's my way of handling requests; agree, then play whatever I want.
Abuse of power? Well, they had already agreed to pay me; the only real question would be, would they hire me back? Pertinent to that question being, did I care? The answer being, No! Fuck 'em. I only do this on my own terms these days; if I can't get away with playing just exactly what I want at these places, I don't bother to go back. There are plenty of joints that will hire me to do what I do, doing what I want to do; why should I do anything else? She was nice enough, just not imaginative, and not interested in seeing something new. Yer cigarette smoking, fiftyish alkie generally wants one thing from their music: familiarity. I am not that; and the sooner they can accept that, and move on with trying to get into what I'm up to, the better. She sat there and stared at me during that whole song, trying to figure out a way to call it blues. God only knows if she managed to. When I finished, I said "That was blues tune called The Sultan's Smile". Then moved on to play Cruel Water, which is also not particularly blueslike - though it does feature ninth chords. Which would be funky or jazzy. My point is, I was playing stuff that was fun, that I felt like playing, and so there you go, and people liked it, I believe. Did OK with the tip jar, though not as well as in Dolores. But that's the problem with a tourist place, which is what the Balcony is; there's always going to be a certain element of some hard-to-pin-down awkwardness about the whole thing. To tell the truth, I think that place owes much of its popularity to the fact that, being a patio place, you can smoke there; cause every damned person there, almost, was smoking like a fucking chimney. It was bugging me while I was onstage; I'm so used to playing indoors, or on patios where smoking is prohibited (thank you, Cafe Ole), that I am not used to having to deal with any cigarette smoke at all any more. Strange!
During the second set break I had a nice little chat with a fairly conservative, glassy-eyed couple from Ohio, near Columbus; I told them my Dad's family was from Columbus, and whatnot. They were highly complimentary, and we exchanged some stories. I had sung My Best Friend Used to Be, which was inspired by my moving out of a house because the new roommate and the one old roommate planned to conspire to get cable TV - an abomination I will not share shelter with. And so we talked a bit about what I didn't like about TV, and they sort-of-but-not-really made apologetic noises over being materialistic, and having TV (which was interesting, in that they basically immediately equated owning a TV with materialism. Which is not to say that they in any way were cognizant of the causal relationship which exists between those two things, i.e. that having and watching TV will make you more materialistic). They were nice enough, though when I mentioned that one of the lines was an oblique reference to the book of Revelation ("the beast with a billion flickering eyes is telling us all what to be"), adding the caveat that I was not religious at all (not bothering to get into the question of "spiritual" "mystical" "philosohpical", or "psychedelic"), they cooled noticeably cooled. (Don't talk to him, dear! He can't be saved!) Ah well.
After that, things were pretty slow; the sun was well-down, and it was getting rather chilly. Though the funny little awning/windshield/operashell looking thing behind and over the stage, combined with the stage lights, did a good job of keeping me a bit warmer than everyone else, I was a bit chilly by the end; that, coupled with the place being pretty empty by the time I got set up to do my last set, had me cut it short at 8:40 (twenty minutes early), and call it good.
Kip's Grill in Pagosa Springs tomorrow; which everyone tells me, is a great spot. Can't wait.
So leaving town was, somehow, once again... well, anyway.
One screwed up brake-job, two failed attempts to order the right part (third time's the charm!), one extra day spent home meticulously, obsessively organizing my crap for the tour, writing up flyers for every damned gig I'll be playing, and one strainedly, barely civil final conversation with Midas later (as I've said elsewhere, incompetent mechanics should be crushed for eternity in Satan's thorny sphincter), I'm on the road, in Durango. Two gigs later, and not enough pictures; none in Dolores, because the rechargables were dead in the camera, but several in Durango, which I've been far to uninterested in uploading onto the computer. Anyway; here it is.
I got on the road at almost exactly noon on Wednesday; which, if you do the math, and account for daylight savings time (laaaaaame; one thing I truly appreciate about Arizona is that it doesn't subscribe to changing the damned clocks twice a year), you will realize I had exactly five hours to make it to my appointed gig, set up, and begin playing. Hah.
300 miles, torrential rainstorms, and psychotic fellow motorists. All behind me; somehow, Google Maps had the distance listed as 280 miles, or is it just that the odometer is wrong on my car? Who the hell knows. Rolled into Dolores, which proved to be a delightful town; at least, what little of it I got to see, since I got to Colorado a day later than intended, and didn't get to hang in Dolores during the day as I'd intended. Ah, well, the vicissitudes of fate.
The Dolores River Brewery proved to be everything other people had purported that it was. (Oooh, that was a fun sentence). While I believe I erred in getting the pulled chicken sandwich rather than their wood-fired pizzas (duh. Maybe the wood-burning pizza oven should have been a clue), the atmosphere was great, the people were cool, and Billy and Deb (of the Porchlights) came out with a buncha folks and were listening attentively. In fact, they stayed around til the end of the night, which was awesome. Had a great time bullshitting with them, and talkin about "the biz". So insidery, it makes me sick, too. No, it was seriously great to hang out with them and talk to them; Deb hosted a local music show in Flagstaff nine years ago when I first got to town, and had me in on various guises a couple of times (once with Don't Feed the Bears, and once with Zen Bike Lock). Gave them several Song Walk CDs, and one of mine as well. The crowd was pretty big, and very responsive; there were tons of smiling, friendly faces. A great way to start a tour.
Packed up the gig, and headed out toward Durango that night; where I learned that finding your way into Durango is not necessarily easy. The main road runs around town, along the river, and you only have a couple of opportunities to cross into town, none of which really say anything like "Downtown Durango - turn here, jackass" (or they probably do, and I just missed them. I was sleepy). Passed out for 12 hours straight, woke up around the crack of noon, and screwed around, trading music, for a while; then borrowed a bike for a brief spin through Durango (the pedal of which fell off on the way back; imagine my embarassment. Turns out Travis had gotten it as a kit, and put it together himself; and hadn't, apparently, been quite so meticulous. At least, that's my story. Well, it was his story, too).
The Balcony was on... a balcony. Upstairs, a pretty long slog with lots of gear, particularly in light of my new, expanded merch and lighting setup. (I've been a busily creative little musician, I have. I'll doubtless post smug pictures of my somewhat slick, but more importantly highly compact and portable new display setup). There were a fair number of people there, pretty friendly; including a chain-smoking, whisky drinkin waitress from the local Denny's, complete with polo shirt, name tag, and - yes - apron. She was there with a cowboy who was the closest I've ever seen to a Sam Eliot look-alike - well, at least his mustache could have won a Sam Eliot's mustache look-alike contest. The staff were friendly, and gave me the most expensive thing on the menu without batting an eye (I think the fact that I don't drink, and had mentioned that I wouldn't be utilizing my free drinks, had some thing to do with that. Well, she told me it did). A combo barbecue platter, which was indeed awesome.
The gig there was a gruelling, 4 hour monstrosity; and for a crowd that, apparently, was more accustomed to seeing cover songs; and, perhaps more importantly, were so right on the beaten path (Durango being the largest town of some consequence near Mesa Verde National Park, and home to a college), that they had just enough of that big-city air, that they were inclined to clap politely, unenthusiastically, and grudgingly in most cases. I commented that they sounded all tuckered out. That's the tough thing about a gig like the one last night at the Dolores River Brewery - the people at the next show are rarely capable of showing the same kind of enthusiasm. Maybe it was just the crowd.
Anyway, after two songs, miss Denny's waitress (cigarette in hand) asks me if I play any Stevie Ray Vaughn. Now, my friends and many acquaintances know I can't stand that fucker; so I looked right at her, and just said, "no". Then she asked for Eric Clapton; again, now. I then proceeded to tell her my philosophy of performing, which is, I try to get the crowd to respond to my own music, and then work covers into the equation if I'm feelin like it. This is to say, I do whatever the fuck I want on stage. I didn't quite put it that way, but I think she got the point. Well, I did ask if she knew John Prine; when she said no (which, in a person of her years (I'm guessin around 50, plus or minus) is always a shock to hear. And it makes me lose some respect for them, or at least a desire for/interest in finding compromise. If John Prine ain't gonna do the job for you, then I'm pretty much stuck, there, and I'm not gonna work too hard to find an alternative.
Later, in between songs while I was talking to Travis, his girlfriend Jenny, and his buddy Louis, Ms. Grand-Royal-Slam yells, "Play some blues!" (by which she meant, something that would sound like Stevie Ray-ClapHendripoff). I said, "OK!" and proceeded to play The Sultan's Smile, which is definitely not blues, and could perhaps be termed jazzy, but not in a bluesy way. It's my way of handling requests; agree, then play whatever I want.
Abuse of power? Well, they had already agreed to pay me; the only real question would be, would they hire me back? Pertinent to that question being, did I care? The answer being, No! Fuck 'em. I only do this on my own terms these days; if I can't get away with playing just exactly what I want at these places, I don't bother to go back. There are plenty of joints that will hire me to do what I do, doing what I want to do; why should I do anything else? She was nice enough, just not imaginative, and not interested in seeing something new. Yer cigarette smoking, fiftyish alkie generally wants one thing from their music: familiarity. I am not that; and the sooner they can accept that, and move on with trying to get into what I'm up to, the better. She sat there and stared at me during that whole song, trying to figure out a way to call it blues. God only knows if she managed to. When I finished, I said "That was blues tune called The Sultan's Smile". Then moved on to play Cruel Water, which is also not particularly blueslike - though it does feature ninth chords. Which would be funky or jazzy. My point is, I was playing stuff that was fun, that I felt like playing, and so there you go, and people liked it, I believe. Did OK with the tip jar, though not as well as in Dolores. But that's the problem with a tourist place, which is what the Balcony is; there's always going to be a certain element of some hard-to-pin-down awkwardness about the whole thing. To tell the truth, I think that place owes much of its popularity to the fact that, being a patio place, you can smoke there; cause every damned person there, almost, was smoking like a fucking chimney. It was bugging me while I was onstage; I'm so used to playing indoors, or on patios where smoking is prohibited (thank you, Cafe Ole), that I am not used to having to deal with any cigarette smoke at all any more. Strange!
During the second set break I had a nice little chat with a fairly conservative, glassy-eyed couple from Ohio, near Columbus; I told them my Dad's family was from Columbus, and whatnot. They were highly complimentary, and we exchanged some stories. I had sung My Best Friend Used to Be, which was inspired by my moving out of a house because the new roommate and the one old roommate planned to conspire to get cable TV - an abomination I will not share shelter with. And so we talked a bit about what I didn't like about TV, and they sort-of-but-not-really made apologetic noises over being materialistic, and having TV (which was interesting, in that they basically immediately equated owning a TV with materialism. Which is not to say that they in any way were cognizant of the causal relationship which exists between those two things, i.e. that having and watching TV will make you more materialistic). They were nice enough, though when I mentioned that one of the lines was an oblique reference to the book of Revelation ("the beast with a billion flickering eyes is telling us all what to be"), adding the caveat that I was not religious at all (not bothering to get into the question of "spiritual" "mystical" "philosohpical", or "psychedelic"), they cooled noticeably cooled. (Don't talk to him, dear! He can't be saved!) Ah well.
After that, things were pretty slow; the sun was well-down, and it was getting rather chilly. Though the funny little awning/windshield/operashell looking thing behind and over the stage, combined with the stage lights, did a good job of keeping me a bit warmer than everyone else, I was a bit chilly by the end; that, coupled with the place being pretty empty by the time I got set up to do my last set, had me cut it short at 8:40 (twenty minutes early), and call it good.
Kip's Grill in Pagosa Springs tomorrow; which everyone tells me, is a great spot. Can't wait.
Thursday, May 6, 2010
New Mexico; and Back Home
Wow.
Seated in Winning's Coffeeshop, Albuquerque, NM; played my final show of the tour last night. Well, I'm playing at Cafe Ole tonight, to wrap things up; but last night was the last road show. But first, a recap of the final days in Boulder, and then the show in Taos.
Monday May 3rd I had a day off, to just hang out; the weather proved to be awesome, so I decided to go for a hike. Turns out Johnny Wonder lives there, hadn't known; but we ended up joining forces for a trek into the wilderness. Well, up the mountains next to Boulder, anyway.
I hadn't seen Johnny in a couple years; he had been part of the Flagstaff music scene in the early aughts, like so many of us. Actually, the first time I went to the Charly's open mic in September of 00, I saw him play. He did his parody of "La Bamba", called "Vagina", which blew my mind and brought the house down.
Anyway, up to Royal Arch, which is pretty incredible; you can walk through it, and the view on the other side is pretty much breathtaking. It was nice to get out and hike after so damn much time in the car, though I was feeling having spent three weeks doin nothing but play, drive, and eat. The hike is about 6 miles round trip, with a 1500 foot ascent/descent, which is fairly intense, especially after a long stretch of leisure and laziness. Felt great.
Headed out next day at around noon; met Seth for lunch at a crepe place in downtown Golden, pretty schnazzy. It was windy as hell, which would prove to be a royal pain during the drive; I was fighting the wheel the whole time, 60 mph gusts just slamming in the rectangular profile of the Volvo. I arrived in Taos about an hour before the show, basically enough time to change clothes and head on down there.
Shadows was a sports bar. No other way to describe it. Flatscreen TVs, a video projector, the whole bit. However, it also had a pretty sweet, funky feel; and it turned out they turned all the TVs off except for two behind the bar when I started playing. That was good, since the stage was literally right next to the projector screen.
I got some curious looks as I set up; but once I started playing, people were fairly indifferent (as will happen sometimes.) I've found that, when you start playing at a restaurant, the people who were there before you started setting up are the toughest to win over. They already had a groove going without your sorry musical ass interrupting, and they aren't really interested. So be it. I did manage to garner some applause, which was fine; but I was mostly feeling tired from the 5 hour drive combating the wind. The second set I felt better, looser, and sunk into a groove; there weren't so many people there, but they were enthusiastic, which was nice. A bit of a letdown after the Boulder show, but you'll have that; and frankly, it's good to be reminded that not everyone thinks your the shit, that in fact most people don't and won't. It's always enough just to reach a couple of people, and sometimes those couple of people happen to all be in the same place, and you get a rocking good crowd like the one in Boulder. Taos was the other end of the spectrum, but not totally; there were a good handful of people there enjoying themselves, and they made sure to let me know. At the end of the night the bartender tipped me close to ten bucks, which she didn't have to do at all; I had tipped her $5, for bringing me my dinner and supplying me with coffee and water, but I always do that, and feel like it's the right thing to do. She just returned the favor, and wouldn't take no for an answer.
I was pretty much exhausted after the gig; playing to a mostly indifferent and/or empty room is much more tiring than playing a full, enthusiastic place, and I was already beat. Slept well, got up early, and on the road to Albuquerque.
The road between Taos and Santa Fe is gorgeous. Winding between the delicately curved, green hills of northern New Mexico, I am almost instantly brought back to the delicate, pseudo-philosophical frame of mind I achieved while studying at Saint John's College in Santa Fe. It's always refreshing.
Along the way I stopped at the former site of El Quinto Sol, a bar I used to go to in the late 90s to see Thamusemeant and Apricot Jam. It had been shut down for five years, and had been turned into a restaurant before that. It made me sad to see. There were people doing some work on it, getting it ready for some folks who would be renting it as a residence for - get this - $850 a month. They'd be doing some work, too, but still that's a ridiculously smokin deal for such a space. I couldn't help think about the house show possibilities in such a place. Anyway, they let me in and I took a picture of the stage, then went on my way.
Santa Fe was as a I remembered it; I ate lunch at Horseman's Haven, home of the hottest food I've ever had in my life. They have a Saint John's College sticker on the cooler by the counter, and I combated many a hangover by eating there back in the day whilst going to SJC. I bought a pint of the level 2 green chili, with which I will make some green chili stew, and afflict everyone I know who will let me with it. It lays the most ardent lover of hot food low; I'm usually the only one I know who can eat the stew, which pretty much ensures I don't have to share. Afterward I stopped at a thrift store to shop for a hat, as I had misplaced my Old Time Hockey one (I later found it in the car, under some stuff).
After the trip to the thriftstore I went up to SJC, to reminisce and to hike up Monte Sol, which is right next to campus, and is a beautiful, short steep hike. In my brief sojourn through campus I ran into Matt Johnston, who had been my RA my senior year. He was the Res Life director, and had helped organize a blood drive. I didn't recognize him, he had grown a rather respectably scruffy beard, and walked right past him; then he said, "what's up Matt Miller?" and thus we started talking. I gave him CDs, and promised to talk about him at the show coming up for Reality (I'll be playing with Annie Jump Cannon on the 15th of May; Reality is a three-day party that the Sophomore class organizes every year at SJC, and while I won't be drinking of course, I will be there to get down). I still remember that we didn't even see him in the dorm for the first week and a half of senior year. Pretty funny.
Then it was off to Albuquerque, where I would play at the St Clair Bistro. They have a great patio, which is covered, but which was nevertheless really warm. I set up in my hiking clothes, which made me seem rather more scruffy than I would when I played. It amused me to think that I would look like a roadie while I was setting up, then would look like a somewhat more well-dressed performer once I got on stage. The place was just down the street from what used to be the Sheraton Old Town, where I had worked waiting tables in the summer of 95. I can't remember what the place was called, but I do remember being required to purchase and wear white tuxedo shirts and a silver bolo tie. Wish I still had the tie; I sold it at the yard sale I held when I left Santa Fe after college.
Anyway, just as I was finishing getting set up, Jared from Le Chat Lunatique walked up. One of the best bands in Albuquerque, I had played shows with them with Phantom Vibration, and always made the effort to keep in touch. As the man said, a swell buncha guys, really humble and cool for, which quite remarkable considering what a phenomenal band they are. Jared had basically gotten me the gig, as he told me I could drop their name while I was contacting the booker. He stuck around through a good portion of the first set, when people were still acting like there wasn't a musician there apart from a few bits of scattered applause. (cf my earlier note about starting to play in a restaurant, and the people who are already there). I took a break after a fairly short set, just 40 minutes, and resolved to drink coffee and water until the sun finished going behind the neighboring building. It was windy, and pretty damned warm.
While I was on setbreak Muni (pronounced "moonie"), another member of Le Chat, turned up and sat down with me. He's the most social of the members of the band, and it was no surprise that he knew a girl who worked there. He and I talked for a bit, I told him a bit about the tour, then it was time for me to get back on stage and play some more. I gave Muni the camera to take a couple pictures while I played. The crowd had filled out a bit, but was still fairly non-responsive until the last half of the set; I took a break at 8, got more coffee and water, then went back on to finish up.
By the start of my last set the sun had gone completely down, thus cooling things off considerably. Two older ladies sat down as I was playing the first song, and proved to be enthusiastic listeners and participants; sometimes that's all it takes to make everyone else feel more comfortable, and from that point on I could comfortably engage the crowd, and got rounds of applause after every song. People just aren't sure what the protocol is for a solo artist, sometimes; that, coupled with a natural tendency for most people to display a not inconsiderable indifference, leads to awkward silence after songs a lot of the time. That spell was broken, though, and people were even comfortable with me talking to them between songs, which also requires that they relax quite a bit. It turned out that she was a music teacher, and had a grandson who played guitar and wrote songs, too. She said she was the one who supported him, and bought him instruments, and encouraged him to play and be happy rather than to seek for wealth or fame. She bought both of my CDs, and I gave her two Songwalk CDs, as well.
A bit into the last set, Rowan Lange and her girlfriend walked into the place and sat down. I had sent her an email about the show; she went to SJC too, and we had had senior lab together. I had last seen her in Tucson, when I went to the Dust Devil - the southwestern regional rollerderby championships. She had wowed the crowd by body-checking Deadlock Doe off the track; Doe worked a jackhammer, she was an unstoppable force, and Ro (Death Ro, as she is known on the flat-track) had knocked her the fuck over. I should mention that Rowan is a shade over five feet, and weighs a bit over 100 pounds. The crowd exploded, and it is my most distinct memory of the whole event. She and I hadn't had much time to chat then, but it was great to see her at the show, and to shoot the shit. One of the neatest things about being on the road is catching up with old friends.
And that was the tour; the last show was more or less the whole in microcosm, with some indifference, some friends, and some enthsiastic, friendly strangers. And now, back to the car to see if I have a ticket for overstaying my parking meter; and to drive back to Flagstaff, where I'll play at Cafe Ole tonight, and then sleep like a pile of rocks. I had a great time; but it'll be great to be home, and to be able to get started on a number of other projects I have in mind - like booking the next tour, in September. Until then.
Seated in Winning's Coffeeshop, Albuquerque, NM; played my final show of the tour last night. Well, I'm playing at Cafe Ole tonight, to wrap things up; but last night was the last road show. But first, a recap of the final days in Boulder, and then the show in Taos.
Monday May 3rd I had a day off, to just hang out; the weather proved to be awesome, so I decided to go for a hike. Turns out Johnny Wonder lives there, hadn't known; but we ended up joining forces for a trek into the wilderness. Well, up the mountains next to Boulder, anyway.
I hadn't seen Johnny in a couple years; he had been part of the Flagstaff music scene in the early aughts, like so many of us. Actually, the first time I went to the Charly's open mic in September of 00, I saw him play. He did his parody of "La Bamba", called "Vagina", which blew my mind and brought the house down.
Anyway, up to Royal Arch, which is pretty incredible; you can walk through it, and the view on the other side is pretty much breathtaking. It was nice to get out and hike after so damn much time in the car, though I was feeling having spent three weeks doin nothing but play, drive, and eat. The hike is about 6 miles round trip, with a 1500 foot ascent/descent, which is fairly intense, especially after a long stretch of leisure and laziness. Felt great.
Headed out next day at around noon; met Seth for lunch at a crepe place in downtown Golden, pretty schnazzy. It was windy as hell, which would prove to be a royal pain during the drive; I was fighting the wheel the whole time, 60 mph gusts just slamming in the rectangular profile of the Volvo. I arrived in Taos about an hour before the show, basically enough time to change clothes and head on down there.
Shadows was a sports bar. No other way to describe it. Flatscreen TVs, a video projector, the whole bit. However, it also had a pretty sweet, funky feel; and it turned out they turned all the TVs off except for two behind the bar when I started playing. That was good, since the stage was literally right next to the projector screen.
I got some curious looks as I set up; but once I started playing, people were fairly indifferent (as will happen sometimes.) I've found that, when you start playing at a restaurant, the people who were there before you started setting up are the toughest to win over. They already had a groove going without your sorry musical ass interrupting, and they aren't really interested. So be it. I did manage to garner some applause, which was fine; but I was mostly feeling tired from the 5 hour drive combating the wind. The second set I felt better, looser, and sunk into a groove; there weren't so many people there, but they were enthusiastic, which was nice. A bit of a letdown after the Boulder show, but you'll have that; and frankly, it's good to be reminded that not everyone thinks your the shit, that in fact most people don't and won't. It's always enough just to reach a couple of people, and sometimes those couple of people happen to all be in the same place, and you get a rocking good crowd like the one in Boulder. Taos was the other end of the spectrum, but not totally; there were a good handful of people there enjoying themselves, and they made sure to let me know. At the end of the night the bartender tipped me close to ten bucks, which she didn't have to do at all; I had tipped her $5, for bringing me my dinner and supplying me with coffee and water, but I always do that, and feel like it's the right thing to do. She just returned the favor, and wouldn't take no for an answer.
I was pretty much exhausted after the gig; playing to a mostly indifferent and/or empty room is much more tiring than playing a full, enthusiastic place, and I was already beat. Slept well, got up early, and on the road to Albuquerque.
The road between Taos and Santa Fe is gorgeous. Winding between the delicately curved, green hills of northern New Mexico, I am almost instantly brought back to the delicate, pseudo-philosophical frame of mind I achieved while studying at Saint John's College in Santa Fe. It's always refreshing.
Along the way I stopped at the former site of El Quinto Sol, a bar I used to go to in the late 90s to see Thamusemeant and Apricot Jam. It had been shut down for five years, and had been turned into a restaurant before that. It made me sad to see. There were people doing some work on it, getting it ready for some folks who would be renting it as a residence for - get this - $850 a month. They'd be doing some work, too, but still that's a ridiculously smokin deal for such a space. I couldn't help think about the house show possibilities in such a place. Anyway, they let me in and I took a picture of the stage, then went on my way.
Santa Fe was as a I remembered it; I ate lunch at Horseman's Haven, home of the hottest food I've ever had in my life. They have a Saint John's College sticker on the cooler by the counter, and I combated many a hangover by eating there back in the day whilst going to SJC. I bought a pint of the level 2 green chili, with which I will make some green chili stew, and afflict everyone I know who will let me with it. It lays the most ardent lover of hot food low; I'm usually the only one I know who can eat the stew, which pretty much ensures I don't have to share. Afterward I stopped at a thrift store to shop for a hat, as I had misplaced my Old Time Hockey one (I later found it in the car, under some stuff).
After the trip to the thriftstore I went up to SJC, to reminisce and to hike up Monte Sol, which is right next to campus, and is a beautiful, short steep hike. In my brief sojourn through campus I ran into Matt Johnston, who had been my RA my senior year. He was the Res Life director, and had helped organize a blood drive. I didn't recognize him, he had grown a rather respectably scruffy beard, and walked right past him; then he said, "what's up Matt Miller?" and thus we started talking. I gave him CDs, and promised to talk about him at the show coming up for Reality (I'll be playing with Annie Jump Cannon on the 15th of May; Reality is a three-day party that the Sophomore class organizes every year at SJC, and while I won't be drinking of course, I will be there to get down). I still remember that we didn't even see him in the dorm for the first week and a half of senior year. Pretty funny.
Then it was off to Albuquerque, where I would play at the St Clair Bistro. They have a great patio, which is covered, but which was nevertheless really warm. I set up in my hiking clothes, which made me seem rather more scruffy than I would when I played. It amused me to think that I would look like a roadie while I was setting up, then would look like a somewhat more well-dressed performer once I got on stage. The place was just down the street from what used to be the Sheraton Old Town, where I had worked waiting tables in the summer of 95. I can't remember what the place was called, but I do remember being required to purchase and wear white tuxedo shirts and a silver bolo tie. Wish I still had the tie; I sold it at the yard sale I held when I left Santa Fe after college.
Anyway, just as I was finishing getting set up, Jared from Le Chat Lunatique walked up. One of the best bands in Albuquerque, I had played shows with them with Phantom Vibration, and always made the effort to keep in touch. As the man said, a swell buncha guys, really humble and cool for, which quite remarkable considering what a phenomenal band they are. Jared had basically gotten me the gig, as he told me I could drop their name while I was contacting the booker. He stuck around through a good portion of the first set, when people were still acting like there wasn't a musician there apart from a few bits of scattered applause. (cf my earlier note about starting to play in a restaurant, and the people who are already there). I took a break after a fairly short set, just 40 minutes, and resolved to drink coffee and water until the sun finished going behind the neighboring building. It was windy, and pretty damned warm.
While I was on setbreak Muni (pronounced "moonie"), another member of Le Chat, turned up and sat down with me. He's the most social of the members of the band, and it was no surprise that he knew a girl who worked there. He and I talked for a bit, I told him a bit about the tour, then it was time for me to get back on stage and play some more. I gave Muni the camera to take a couple pictures while I played. The crowd had filled out a bit, but was still fairly non-responsive until the last half of the set; I took a break at 8, got more coffee and water, then went back on to finish up.
By the start of my last set the sun had gone completely down, thus cooling things off considerably. Two older ladies sat down as I was playing the first song, and proved to be enthusiastic listeners and participants; sometimes that's all it takes to make everyone else feel more comfortable, and from that point on I could comfortably engage the crowd, and got rounds of applause after every song. People just aren't sure what the protocol is for a solo artist, sometimes; that, coupled with a natural tendency for most people to display a not inconsiderable indifference, leads to awkward silence after songs a lot of the time. That spell was broken, though, and people were even comfortable with me talking to them between songs, which also requires that they relax quite a bit. It turned out that she was a music teacher, and had a grandson who played guitar and wrote songs, too. She said she was the one who supported him, and bought him instruments, and encouraged him to play and be happy rather than to seek for wealth or fame. She bought both of my CDs, and I gave her two Songwalk CDs, as well.
A bit into the last set, Rowan Lange and her girlfriend walked into the place and sat down. I had sent her an email about the show; she went to SJC too, and we had had senior lab together. I had last seen her in Tucson, when I went to the Dust Devil - the southwestern regional rollerderby championships. She had wowed the crowd by body-checking Deadlock Doe off the track; Doe worked a jackhammer, she was an unstoppable force, and Ro (Death Ro, as she is known on the flat-track) had knocked her the fuck over. I should mention that Rowan is a shade over five feet, and weighs a bit over 100 pounds. The crowd exploded, and it is my most distinct memory of the whole event. She and I hadn't had much time to chat then, but it was great to see her at the show, and to shoot the shit. One of the neatest things about being on the road is catching up with old friends.
And that was the tour; the last show was more or less the whole in microcosm, with some indifference, some friends, and some enthsiastic, friendly strangers. And now, back to the car to see if I have a ticket for overstaying my parking meter; and to drive back to Flagstaff, where I'll play at Cafe Ole tonight, and then sleep like a pile of rocks. I had a great time; but it'll be great to be home, and to be able to get started on a number of other projects I have in mind - like booking the next tour, in September. Until then.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
The World Famous Dark Horse Saloon, Boulder, Colorado
After the hike with Seth, I showered and headed off to find the world famous Dark Horse (that's how they answer the phone) – a funky joint, it turns out, with tons of interesting stuff on the walls which I completely failed to photograph. I am a bad documentationer. Ah, well. Anyway, I was supposed to play outside; which, given my experience in Grand Junction, and the state of the sky in Golden when Seth and I went on our little walk up the bluff, seemed a tough option. I headed on over anyway, thinking I had to show up and give it a shot. Just as I pulled into the parking lot, the sun came out – and the clouds split up to reveal a huge swath of blue sky. It had been clearing up while I was driving, but the sun was still behind the clouds, and I didn’t really have a view of how much through the roof of the car.
The patio at the Dark Horse was pretty sweet, surrounded by 8 foot walls with glass constituting the top four, providing a great shield against the wind, and a nice little mini-greenhouse effect to keep you warm – provided it was sunny. I went in and met Mike, who had booked the show; he proved to be a really friendly, instantly likeable dude. He looked at me and said, “you’re playing here in a week, aren’t you!” to which I replied, “I’m playing here today!” Pretty funny. He had someone open up the door to the patio so I could get my gear inside.
The wind continued to blow a bit while I was setting up, and the clouds continued to move; I had gotten there around 3:40, so over an hour before the gig – which meant there was lots of time for me to relax, set up and upload pictures on my computer, and for the weather to change. I decided to record the show, figuring that it was an interesting enough joint that it might be a lot of fun.
By 4:55 there were like three people on the patio, who moved inside once they finished their cigarettes; there was one dude doing homework against the patio wall. I figured I’d give it a bit before I started, to either let more people show up or the sun come out; Mike had just gotten off work, and he came out and shot the shit with me while the sun went behind the clouds again and it cooled off considerably. Even so a handful of people, mostly friends of Mike’s and/or some co-workers, had turned up by then, so I started playing.
The guitar strings were damned chilly with the sun hidden, and I found my fingers growing a trifle clumsy as I tried to do stuff that would normally come easily. Nothing to do for it but play through it, though, so I kept at it, to good response from the people there. I loosened up, and started telling stories and bantering. One guy – Joey - kept asking for Freebird, and being shouted down by everyone else there. He proved to be a pretty good sport about me giving him shit over the mic, laughing along with everyone else, and thus the best kind of heckler. He told me later, he had a buddy who used to do comedy, and who would ask him to come to the show and start shouting dumb shit, so he had someone in the crowd to play off of.
Mike and his buddies sat and listened intently to almost every song, apart from some brief moments interrupted by the usual stuff that interrupts things in bars. He and Curtis, who worked there also, laughed at appropriate moments in the tunes, and caught some of the more subtle lines (read: stuff that most people don’t end up reacting to), and in general proved to be great audience members. (Curtis told me at set break that he mostly was into hip-hop, but even so was really digging my tunes; it’s always great to reach someone who’s into a vastly different style of music). They were being so responsive ant attentive in fact, that everyone else there started following their lead - which got me wound up and playing better, bantering better, and so on.
It had been cloudy for 45 minutes or so, and increasingly chilly as the clouds ate up more of the sun; Mike brought me a cup of coffee, which warmed me up quite a bit (especially when I stood there with it in my hand while I told a five minute story, which I can’t remember at all). I started playing “A Step in the Right Direction”, which people reacted really well to; Mike and Curtis both were catching some of the odder, quirkier lines, and everyone else there was getting into it, too. In the middle of the bridge, which culminates with “It’s a step in the right direction” repeated twice, the sun broke through the clouds, and everyone went berserk. It was an extremely special moment, and it set the tone for the rest of the show, and for how I’ll remember the day.
From that point on, more people filtered out onto the patio, and things warmed up even more – both in terms of the weather, and in terms of the crowd. Your Favorite Restaurant (which I went into once Joey, the guy who kept asking for Freebird, asked if I did any country) went over great, but so did almost every song. It’s not often a show goes that well, with the right crowd in the right mood. It was only the second show I had played all tour where I didn’t have any friends or people I knew in the crowd at all to help swing the mood, and it was easily the most fulfilling of them all – like winning an away game, I suppose. You can tell when people are really picking up what you’re laying down, and when they’re just enjoying you as background music, or when they are digging it, but maybe not resonating with everying you’re saying. People there seemed to get it. Of course, being as how I’m three weeks into the tour, playing almost every day, my chops are pretty sharp; and I felt very good about the performance.
From the funky to the strange to the folky to the country, every song I played went over really well. This tour has had some mediocre gigs; where peole haven’t been too excited or interested in the random longhaired dude playing and singing in the corner, or haven’t been demonstrative, or just haven’t been there. This was a fulfilling show; if you get one gig a tour that goes as well as the one at the Dark Horse did, I think you’ll be a happy performer. They were enthusiastic about having me back.
Off to Taos, NM, today, to play at Shadows Lounge and Grill. Back to the Land of Entrapment, and green and red chili.
The patio at the Dark Horse was pretty sweet, surrounded by 8 foot walls with glass constituting the top four, providing a great shield against the wind, and a nice little mini-greenhouse effect to keep you warm – provided it was sunny. I went in and met Mike, who had booked the show; he proved to be a really friendly, instantly likeable dude. He looked at me and said, “you’re playing here in a week, aren’t you!” to which I replied, “I’m playing here today!” Pretty funny. He had someone open up the door to the patio so I could get my gear inside.
The wind continued to blow a bit while I was setting up, and the clouds continued to move; I had gotten there around 3:40, so over an hour before the gig – which meant there was lots of time for me to relax, set up and upload pictures on my computer, and for the weather to change. I decided to record the show, figuring that it was an interesting enough joint that it might be a lot of fun.
By 4:55 there were like three people on the patio, who moved inside once they finished their cigarettes; there was one dude doing homework against the patio wall. I figured I’d give it a bit before I started, to either let more people show up or the sun come out; Mike had just gotten off work, and he came out and shot the shit with me while the sun went behind the clouds again and it cooled off considerably. Even so a handful of people, mostly friends of Mike’s and/or some co-workers, had turned up by then, so I started playing.
The guitar strings were damned chilly with the sun hidden, and I found my fingers growing a trifle clumsy as I tried to do stuff that would normally come easily. Nothing to do for it but play through it, though, so I kept at it, to good response from the people there. I loosened up, and started telling stories and bantering. One guy – Joey - kept asking for Freebird, and being shouted down by everyone else there. He proved to be a pretty good sport about me giving him shit over the mic, laughing along with everyone else, and thus the best kind of heckler. He told me later, he had a buddy who used to do comedy, and who would ask him to come to the show and start shouting dumb shit, so he had someone in the crowd to play off of.
Mike and his buddies sat and listened intently to almost every song, apart from some brief moments interrupted by the usual stuff that interrupts things in bars. He and Curtis, who worked there also, laughed at appropriate moments in the tunes, and caught some of the more subtle lines (read: stuff that most people don’t end up reacting to), and in general proved to be great audience members. (Curtis told me at set break that he mostly was into hip-hop, but even so was really digging my tunes; it’s always great to reach someone who’s into a vastly different style of music). They were being so responsive ant attentive in fact, that everyone else there started following their lead - which got me wound up and playing better, bantering better, and so on.
It had been cloudy for 45 minutes or so, and increasingly chilly as the clouds ate up more of the sun; Mike brought me a cup of coffee, which warmed me up quite a bit (especially when I stood there with it in my hand while I told a five minute story, which I can’t remember at all). I started playing “A Step in the Right Direction”, which people reacted really well to; Mike and Curtis both were catching some of the odder, quirkier lines, and everyone else there was getting into it, too. In the middle of the bridge, which culminates with “It’s a step in the right direction” repeated twice, the sun broke through the clouds, and everyone went berserk. It was an extremely special moment, and it set the tone for the rest of the show, and for how I’ll remember the day.
From that point on, more people filtered out onto the patio, and things warmed up even more – both in terms of the weather, and in terms of the crowd. Your Favorite Restaurant (which I went into once Joey, the guy who kept asking for Freebird, asked if I did any country) went over great, but so did almost every song. It’s not often a show goes that well, with the right crowd in the right mood. It was only the second show I had played all tour where I didn’t have any friends or people I knew in the crowd at all to help swing the mood, and it was easily the most fulfilling of them all – like winning an away game, I suppose. You can tell when people are really picking up what you’re laying down, and when they’re just enjoying you as background music, or when they are digging it, but maybe not resonating with everying you’re saying. People there seemed to get it. Of course, being as how I’m three weeks into the tour, playing almost every day, my chops are pretty sharp; and I felt very good about the performance.
From the funky to the strange to the folky to the country, every song I played went over really well. This tour has had some mediocre gigs; where peole haven’t been too excited or interested in the random longhaired dude playing and singing in the corner, or haven’t been demonstrative, or just haven’t been there. This was a fulfilling show; if you get one gig a tour that goes as well as the one at the Dark Horse did, I think you’ll be a happy performer. They were enthusiastic about having me back.
Off to Taos, NM, today, to play at Shadows Lounge and Grill. Back to the Land of Entrapment, and green and red chili.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Colorado (Yes, All Of It)
So. Several days to cover, as always. Hard to fathom that this is almost done; I'll be back in Flagstaff in just four days, maybe even three if I'm feeling feisty after the gig on Wednesday in Albuquerque. But enough about the future! Let us reminisce about the past.
I arrived in Grand Junction well before the gig; it's less than a two hour drive from Moab, and I didn't really feel much like dawdling there. I've been to Moab a ton; GJ would be a first for me, and I wanted to spend a little time there.
I hit up a coffee shop/bagel place downtown, to get some grub and catch up on me blog (an ongoing theme). The place was a little surreal, playing 40s pop music while people chowed on bagel sandwiches and joe. I spent a good couple hours there, then headed out to shower before the gig. I managed to get a brief nap in, too, which was just dandy.
I was supposed to play on the patio at The Ale House, a brewery/restaurant. The weather looked spectacularly uncooperative (c.f. the last two days in Moab); but I packed up and headed over to check the place out. When I got there the manager said I could set up and give it a shot if I wanted to, but that he expected that it would rain, and no one would be on the patio; he also couldn't have music inside, as it would just take up a table that people would have otherwise sat at (Fridays being, apparently, completely berserk there. And it was; though a waitress told me, it was actually a bit slow. Mahgod.) Anyway, he and I went back and forth a bit, and he finally agreed to pay me half of the guarantee, even though I wouldn't play at all and wouldn't even try. Nice sometimes to get paid for not playing; I was a bit disappointed, but at the same time somewhat relieved that I would get a night off. The previous few days had taken it out of me, what with the long drives and multiple giggery. So, I accepted my filthy lucre, carried my stuff back to the car, and tried to figure out what I'd do with myself.
Someone told me about an art show with live music downtown; that seemed like as good a place to start as any, so I drove over and parked across the street. It was about 8; the place was still pretty slow, and I needed to get some food anyway. The next building over was a coffee shop, so I decided to grab a cup & ask a few questions. Roasted Coffee and Subs was the name; a pretty small place, with a long-haired, bearded dude behind the counter, and a knot of people just inside the door at the counter. I ordered the coffee, and asked about music that night; he said "Those are the people you'd want to talk to", and directed my attention at the aforementioned knot. They proved to be mostly musicians themselves, but offered the opinion that there was, in fact, nothing to do in town, and nothing worth checking out. Kind of grim, really; we talked a bit about some other possibilities, but then I finally suggested that we just jam right there in the coffee shop, which they were into. One went to get a guitar, another a violin, and we sat around trading songs for a couple hours, attracting a small group of people in the process. Turns out that Roasted is quite the nexus for people to meet an connect with one another; the lady at the art show next door told me later that she had been waiting for years for that kind of connecting to really start to happen. Who knows, really, how in tune with everything in town she may or may not have been; but it was definitely an interesting idea, to think that Grand Junction might have been in the beginning of a renaissance (the Redneck Renaissance, as I like to call it). The guy running the coffee shop (he turned out to be one of the owners) fed me a sandwich for playing and getting the jam session going, which was nice. Sometimes that's all it takes.
I headed over to the art show, which by this time had wound down to an almost empty room. I paid the cover, figuring it is always good to support local art in its most interesting forms, and wandered around checking it out. The theme was "Gifts of the Goddess", and had pieces by something like 35 different artists, in all different media. Plus there were snacks, which always helps. There was a DJ, who seemed not to be super thrilled about spinning for nobody; I guess it was his last show in town, he was moving on to greener pastures - to be expected, perhaps.
I split after that, to head out to hang out more with the guys i had been jamming with before; the violin player had called it a musician's collective, which effectively meant six or so people living in an apartment together, playing music a lot, and letting things get cluttered and dingy together. Bohemia at its best, really. By the time I got there, the guys I had been jamming with were gone; but I ended up jamming with the folks who did live there, one of whom played clarinet, and gave me a basic intro to playing the clarinet. She said I was doing well for someone who had never tried to play one before, which was encouraging; the strange contortions you have to put your hands in to get the valves covered to play the most basic scale were definitely not, however. I wondered if my damned hands were just too big to play the dumb thing, but I will persevere.
Headed out at about 1 a.m. to crash, having counted the night a great success; the gig getting canceled was actually a very cool thing for me, as it gave me the chance to hang out and jam with several local folks, which I wouldn't have had the opportunity to do otherwise. I passed out and slept well.
Let myself have a nice, mellow morning the next day; the drive to Boulder wasn't that long, and the gig in Nederland didn't start until 9 PM, so it was fine getting out of town by 1. The drive was epic; amazing mountain views, with tons of fairly fresh snow in the higher elevations and carpeting the mountains all around. I took a bazillion pictures while behind the wheel; really ridiculously gorgeous. Drove through Vail pass, at 10,300 feet or so; tons of snow on the ground there. Then descended back down to more human elevations, at around 5000 feet: Golden, Colorado, home to one Seth Ruggles, younger brother to Erik Ruggles. Seth and I hadn't seen each other in a long time, and couldn't remember when the last time was; great hospitality, the first manifestation of which was offering to drive me to my gig in Nederland - a good 35 minutes and 3000 feet in elevation away. I took him up on it, and he and is girlfriend Shea helped me move my gear into the back of their Saab, so we could cruise on up to the Pioneer Inn, the site of my next gig.
Nederland is a funny town; kind of like Jerome in Arizona, but more remote - and, thus, a bit freakier and funkier. I'd been looking forward to this gig all tour, as being one sure to present a singular experience in one sense or another. Nederland is best known for having an annual festival in honor of a frozen dead guy - i.e., Frozen Dead Guy Days, in honor of a Norwegian man who is cryogenically frozen in a Tuff Shed. Google it, look it up on YouTube, whatever - my descriptions can't possibly do justice to what goes on there. Suffice to say, an interesting place.
The Pioneer was an instantly memorable locale; wood paneling, crusty-looking dudes at and behind the bar (the bartender was an ex-jerseyite named Bones, with the attitude and accent to prove it; he was a chill guy, very friendly, but no-nonsense in the way that you only find in the east coast.) Seth & Shea went off to meet some folks at a nearby barbecue place, while I set up my gear and ate the complimentary meal that was part of my arrangement with the Pioneer. They told me to order the fish & chips, which proved to be mediocre; but I had been pining for fish & chips all trip, and couldn't resist the possibility that they might actually be awesome. Ah well.
I ended up setting up in front of the (unlit) fireplace, which gave me a bit of a raised platform upon which to play, and stuck me right next to a stuffed elk head - makes for great visuals, of course. While I was setting up a dude named David came and chatted with me, telling me about his work as a stonemason ("who holds back the electric car?") and whatnot. This would all prove somehow salient later. I got done hooking up all my gear, and the computer (I had decided to record the show), then went down the street to hang with Seth, Shea, and their friends. And a good thing, too, since the place was otherwise almost empty when we got back, and I started to play.
As I'll often do when I've got a friendly, sympathetic crowd (read: there are people I know there), I blathered on for a while before I started playing. Several minutes in, the guy I had chatted with earlier started heckling me about starting to play - "I can't hear the music, Matt!" (reference to an earlier moment he and I had had earlier). Apparently he was annoyed that I was talking, and not playing, which I found rather amusing in that talking and telling stories is part and parcel to the singer/songwriter whole goddamn raison d'etre. I told him as much, hoping to shut him up without being too rude. He kept it up, though. This went on for a while, though I tried to blow it off, and made the group I had come with uncomfortable to varying degrees. I can take some heckling, of course, but this wasn't your good-natured stuff - he was drunk and ornery, and taking it out on me. I finally just told him he needed to settle down (I may have said "settle the fuck down", I can't really remember), which got an uncomfortable silence from the room but worked. I managed to soothe the situation with the other folks in the bar by going on about how I'd put up with anything up to a point, but eventually you have to draw a line, and everyone relaxed. I wondered to myself for a few minutes there if I wasn't about to get into a fight with a local just minutes after taking the stage. You have to expect that kind of thing when you play small, funky, mountain towns; but, though the heckling is of a higher intensity (and often, frankly, higher caliber) it's almost never driven by any kind of genuine aggressive spirit. This guy, I later learned, had just had a fight with his wife, and was looking to get into it with someone. Anyway, he left the bar shortly thereafter.
The small group that Seth had brought were pretty attentive and cool; I had a great time playing for them. They all left after my first set, except Seth and Shea, who were stuck there because they had foolishly offered to drive me to the gig. But when I got up to play my second set, the bar started to fill up; apparently night life in Nederland doesn't really get off the ground until like 10:30, or more like 11. There was a good-sized crowd there for my whole second set, including a couple who were into King of the Hammers, a new kind of racing that's a hybrid of Baja style high-speed desert racing and rock crawling - requiring that you build a vehicle capable of both. Real Mad Max type stuff, in my book; when the apocalypse goes down and shit gets real, these guys will have vehicles ready to handle whatever the roads or lack thereof will look like on any given day. I just watched a few second clip from the website, and it's fucking ridiculous.
The drive back to their place was a bleary one, and I was glad that someone else was driving down that crazy mountain road. In retrospect, playing such a late show at such a remote spot doesn't seem like such a swell idea, but there you go. Now I know.
The next day I would be playing at The Dark Horse Saloon, which would prove to be an awesome gig; Seth and I got in a quick hike up to the top of one of the bluffs overlooking town, the one behind their house, actually, before I had to roll out for it. More on the gig at the fabulous Dark Horse tomorrow, though, as it is pushing 1:30 and I feel the need to crash and crash hard. Hoping to do a burly hike tomorrow (Monday, being the last day off I have on tour before my two gigs in New Mexico, and my return to Flagstaff). Til then.
I arrived in Grand Junction well before the gig; it's less than a two hour drive from Moab, and I didn't really feel much like dawdling there. I've been to Moab a ton; GJ would be a first for me, and I wanted to spend a little time there.
I hit up a coffee shop/bagel place downtown, to get some grub and catch up on me blog (an ongoing theme). The place was a little surreal, playing 40s pop music while people chowed on bagel sandwiches and joe. I spent a good couple hours there, then headed out to shower before the gig. I managed to get a brief nap in, too, which was just dandy.
I was supposed to play on the patio at The Ale House, a brewery/restaurant. The weather looked spectacularly uncooperative (c.f. the last two days in Moab); but I packed up and headed over to check the place out. When I got there the manager said I could set up and give it a shot if I wanted to, but that he expected that it would rain, and no one would be on the patio; he also couldn't have music inside, as it would just take up a table that people would have otherwise sat at (Fridays being, apparently, completely berserk there. And it was; though a waitress told me, it was actually a bit slow. Mahgod.) Anyway, he and I went back and forth a bit, and he finally agreed to pay me half of the guarantee, even though I wouldn't play at all and wouldn't even try. Nice sometimes to get paid for not playing; I was a bit disappointed, but at the same time somewhat relieved that I would get a night off. The previous few days had taken it out of me, what with the long drives and multiple giggery. So, I accepted my filthy lucre, carried my stuff back to the car, and tried to figure out what I'd do with myself.
Someone told me about an art show with live music downtown; that seemed like as good a place to start as any, so I drove over and parked across the street. It was about 8; the place was still pretty slow, and I needed to get some food anyway. The next building over was a coffee shop, so I decided to grab a cup & ask a few questions. Roasted Coffee and Subs was the name; a pretty small place, with a long-haired, bearded dude behind the counter, and a knot of people just inside the door at the counter. I ordered the coffee, and asked about music that night; he said "Those are the people you'd want to talk to", and directed my attention at the aforementioned knot. They proved to be mostly musicians themselves, but offered the opinion that there was, in fact, nothing to do in town, and nothing worth checking out. Kind of grim, really; we talked a bit about some other possibilities, but then I finally suggested that we just jam right there in the coffee shop, which they were into. One went to get a guitar, another a violin, and we sat around trading songs for a couple hours, attracting a small group of people in the process. Turns out that Roasted is quite the nexus for people to meet an connect with one another; the lady at the art show next door told me later that she had been waiting for years for that kind of connecting to really start to happen. Who knows, really, how in tune with everything in town she may or may not have been; but it was definitely an interesting idea, to think that Grand Junction might have been in the beginning of a renaissance (the Redneck Renaissance, as I like to call it). The guy running the coffee shop (he turned out to be one of the owners) fed me a sandwich for playing and getting the jam session going, which was nice. Sometimes that's all it takes.
I headed over to the art show, which by this time had wound down to an almost empty room. I paid the cover, figuring it is always good to support local art in its most interesting forms, and wandered around checking it out. The theme was "Gifts of the Goddess", and had pieces by something like 35 different artists, in all different media. Plus there were snacks, which always helps. There was a DJ, who seemed not to be super thrilled about spinning for nobody; I guess it was his last show in town, he was moving on to greener pastures - to be expected, perhaps.
I split after that, to head out to hang out more with the guys i had been jamming with before; the violin player had called it a musician's collective, which effectively meant six or so people living in an apartment together, playing music a lot, and letting things get cluttered and dingy together. Bohemia at its best, really. By the time I got there, the guys I had been jamming with were gone; but I ended up jamming with the folks who did live there, one of whom played clarinet, and gave me a basic intro to playing the clarinet. She said I was doing well for someone who had never tried to play one before, which was encouraging; the strange contortions you have to put your hands in to get the valves covered to play the most basic scale were definitely not, however. I wondered if my damned hands were just too big to play the dumb thing, but I will persevere.
Headed out at about 1 a.m. to crash, having counted the night a great success; the gig getting canceled was actually a very cool thing for me, as it gave me the chance to hang out and jam with several local folks, which I wouldn't have had the opportunity to do otherwise. I passed out and slept well.
Let myself have a nice, mellow morning the next day; the drive to Boulder wasn't that long, and the gig in Nederland didn't start until 9 PM, so it was fine getting out of town by 1. The drive was epic; amazing mountain views, with tons of fairly fresh snow in the higher elevations and carpeting the mountains all around. I took a bazillion pictures while behind the wheel; really ridiculously gorgeous. Drove through Vail pass, at 10,300 feet or so; tons of snow on the ground there. Then descended back down to more human elevations, at around 5000 feet: Golden, Colorado, home to one Seth Ruggles, younger brother to Erik Ruggles. Seth and I hadn't seen each other in a long time, and couldn't remember when the last time was; great hospitality, the first manifestation of which was offering to drive me to my gig in Nederland - a good 35 minutes and 3000 feet in elevation away. I took him up on it, and he and is girlfriend Shea helped me move my gear into the back of their Saab, so we could cruise on up to the Pioneer Inn, the site of my next gig.
Nederland is a funny town; kind of like Jerome in Arizona, but more remote - and, thus, a bit freakier and funkier. I'd been looking forward to this gig all tour, as being one sure to present a singular experience in one sense or another. Nederland is best known for having an annual festival in honor of a frozen dead guy - i.e., Frozen Dead Guy Days, in honor of a Norwegian man who is cryogenically frozen in a Tuff Shed. Google it, look it up on YouTube, whatever - my descriptions can't possibly do justice to what goes on there. Suffice to say, an interesting place.
The Pioneer was an instantly memorable locale; wood paneling, crusty-looking dudes at and behind the bar (the bartender was an ex-jerseyite named Bones, with the attitude and accent to prove it; he was a chill guy, very friendly, but no-nonsense in the way that you only find in the east coast.) Seth & Shea went off to meet some folks at a nearby barbecue place, while I set up my gear and ate the complimentary meal that was part of my arrangement with the Pioneer. They told me to order the fish & chips, which proved to be mediocre; but I had been pining for fish & chips all trip, and couldn't resist the possibility that they might actually be awesome. Ah well.
I ended up setting up in front of the (unlit) fireplace, which gave me a bit of a raised platform upon which to play, and stuck me right next to a stuffed elk head - makes for great visuals, of course. While I was setting up a dude named David came and chatted with me, telling me about his work as a stonemason ("who holds back the electric car?") and whatnot. This would all prove somehow salient later. I got done hooking up all my gear, and the computer (I had decided to record the show), then went down the street to hang with Seth, Shea, and their friends. And a good thing, too, since the place was otherwise almost empty when we got back, and I started to play.
As I'll often do when I've got a friendly, sympathetic crowd (read: there are people I know there), I blathered on for a while before I started playing. Several minutes in, the guy I had chatted with earlier started heckling me about starting to play - "I can't hear the music, Matt!" (reference to an earlier moment he and I had had earlier). Apparently he was annoyed that I was talking, and not playing, which I found rather amusing in that talking and telling stories is part and parcel to the singer/songwriter whole goddamn raison d'etre. I told him as much, hoping to shut him up without being too rude. He kept it up, though. This went on for a while, though I tried to blow it off, and made the group I had come with uncomfortable to varying degrees. I can take some heckling, of course, but this wasn't your good-natured stuff - he was drunk and ornery, and taking it out on me. I finally just told him he needed to settle down (I may have said "settle the fuck down", I can't really remember), which got an uncomfortable silence from the room but worked. I managed to soothe the situation with the other folks in the bar by going on about how I'd put up with anything up to a point, but eventually you have to draw a line, and everyone relaxed. I wondered to myself for a few minutes there if I wasn't about to get into a fight with a local just minutes after taking the stage. You have to expect that kind of thing when you play small, funky, mountain towns; but, though the heckling is of a higher intensity (and often, frankly, higher caliber) it's almost never driven by any kind of genuine aggressive spirit. This guy, I later learned, had just had a fight with his wife, and was looking to get into it with someone. Anyway, he left the bar shortly thereafter.
The small group that Seth had brought were pretty attentive and cool; I had a great time playing for them. They all left after my first set, except Seth and Shea, who were stuck there because they had foolishly offered to drive me to the gig. But when I got up to play my second set, the bar started to fill up; apparently night life in Nederland doesn't really get off the ground until like 10:30, or more like 11. There was a good-sized crowd there for my whole second set, including a couple who were into King of the Hammers, a new kind of racing that's a hybrid of Baja style high-speed desert racing and rock crawling - requiring that you build a vehicle capable of both. Real Mad Max type stuff, in my book; when the apocalypse goes down and shit gets real, these guys will have vehicles ready to handle whatever the roads or lack thereof will look like on any given day. I just watched a few second clip from the website, and it's fucking ridiculous.
The drive back to their place was a bleary one, and I was glad that someone else was driving down that crazy mountain road. In retrospect, playing such a late show at such a remote spot doesn't seem like such a swell idea, but there you go. Now I know.
The next day I would be playing at The Dark Horse Saloon, which would prove to be an awesome gig; Seth and I got in a quick hike up to the top of one of the bluffs overlooking town, the one behind their house, actually, before I had to roll out for it. More on the gig at the fabulous Dark Horse tomorrow, though, as it is pushing 1:30 and I feel the need to crash and crash hard. Hoping to do a burly hike tomorrow (Monday, being the last day off I have on tour before my two gigs in New Mexico, and my return to Flagstaff). Til then.
Saturday, May 1, 2010
Boise, Idaho (well, Meridian, actually); Moab, Utah
Tuesday morning I groaned myself awake, after staying up until almost three finishing up stuff for the Song Walk (how did I manage to put it off until then? Oh yeah - my car had a minor seizure just five days before I left down, and ate up two days. Wunderbar!) I quietly packed my crap, and was on the road by 11 or so, bidding Jeff and Emmy a sleepy goodbye, and scratching Dinah on the head through the top of her cage.
The drive was one of the most beautiful I have ever seen. Starting with the Columbia river gorge, a canyon festooned with spring green, and working its way into the high desert, volcanic mountains in central Oregon, it was one spectacular view after another. I took many pictures through the windows of the car, which might give some indication of how awesome it was. When did I get transported to Middle Earth? I hit some pretty crazy, intense rain and wind, but managed to make pretty good time. My gig in Meridian started at 7, so it would be a bit tight; as it was, I drove like hell, made one stop for gas, and got there just 15 minutes before I was due to go on (having lost an hour traversing the border.)
Corkscrews proved to be a homey little joint, set underground (you descend a stairway to get there), with a friendly, low-key atmostphere and... no damn tvs! Almost always a good sign. (The lack of TVs is one of the first things I cite when describing how cool Mia's Lounge in Flagstaff is). And there, awaiting my arrival, was one Shawn Surber - one of my best friends in high school, who I hadn't seen in like twenty years. He and I spent hours and hours playing Dungeons and Dragons and the like together, but had lost touch after graduation. You never know when you see somebody after so long if you'll have a connection with them, or what form that connection will take; Shawn and I were able to pick up as if very little time had gone by, and were pretty soon trading gibes with one another as if we were still seated around a table littered with pencils, papers, and polyhedral dice. I gave him the twenty minute thumbnail sketch of the last twenty years of my life, and then he did the same. There too was another Gettysburgian, Scott, who I hadn't known well at all, but remembered hanging out with with Shawn back in the day, as well.
The crowd at Corkscrews proved to be a bunch of excellent listeners; very much into the music. Molly and Von (the proprietors, who were working there that night) have gone out of their way to make a place that's comfortable to go to, and a great environment for performers and audience members. I was pretty dazed after they day's drive, and hungry for having not stopped to eat along the way at all (clif bars and coffee whilst behind the wheel). At one point while I was playing a song I got dizzy and almost fell over; but it passed, I got some food in me from Corkscrews (which proved to be a rather pathetic excuse for a hummus plate - Strictly Organic Coffee in Bend had spoiled me, truly).
I got a late start the next day, choosing to get some food before leaving town (I slept til something like 10:30, after going to bed at something like 1). While looking for a promising restaurant, I happened upon a thrift store where I bought a decent little guitar amp and a pretty damned nice clarinet for $80 - score! I didn't end up getting on the road until around 3:15; which proved to be an unfortunate circumstance.
The drive until Salt Lake City was all cross-country driving could ever hope to be; I averaged about 85 mph, and made it to Ogden in about 3 1/2 hours - fantastic, if I do say so myself. The next 250 proved to be a completely different story, with rain and traffic all along the way past Salt Lake City; then I turned onto the 6, which took me over the pass toward Moab. That portion of the drive proved to be harrowing and difficult, as the road climbed, the rain turned to snow, and I was cursing myself for getting such a late start. I was driving at about 30 - 40 mph for like two hours, grinding through slush and snow, wondering when the road would level out and then finally descend; but descend it did, eventually, and I found myself once again pounding the highway at 60 mph, through the relatively open southeastern Utah desert. The moon came out as I finished the drive on the 6, just before it hit the 70 and I turned east for the final 50 miles to Moab, lighting up the escarpment along the highway in an unearthly, eerie glow. It's one of the reasons I live in the desert, y'all.
Moab was windy, cloudy, and cold for the time of year. I had envisioned 75 degree days and sunshine, and planned to hike while I was there; as it was, I stayed the fuck indoors, and slept late. I did manage to weasel my way onto the local radio station - well, I made a phone call, and they were cool enough to have me on to play a few tunes, and blather a bit about being on the road.
I had two gigs that night: dinnertime at the Slickrock Cafe, and an evening gig at Frankie D's. These two places couldn't have been more different, and there was some undescribed bad blood between their two proprietors - each had asked me not to tell the other that I would be playing at their place, too funny. As it happened, they were both really cool; who knows what went down?
The Slickrock was right downtown, on Main Street; had the weather not been apocalyptically bad for that time of year, there would have been scads of people out on the street. As it was I managed to lure about one in four in off the street, via a powered speaker set up outside which must have echoed for a couple blocks. At the end of the night the owner said I had "earned my keep", which was a cool thing. Next time: sunshine. The regular guy who plays on weekends turned up to scope me out, an irresistable urge among musicians to compare and contrast and soothe their inward dialogue that yes, I'm better than he is. Amusingly, he came up to ask about my guitar, and when I asked his name, and put it together that he was the regular guy, he seemed a trifle embarassed to have been positively identified. (note: why doesn't spell-check on this dumb website recognize "embarassed" as a correctly spelled word? Someone should be.)
Frankie's was a local bar in all the senses of the word you could imagine; vaguely divey, with several guys playing pool, and a handful there for dinner. There was one table who had heard me on the radio that day, and come to check it out; they were the only ones who consistently clapped and paid attention, everyone else being fairly wrapped up in their drinks and the TV. There were a few people at the bar who were listening, one of whom was a retired Marine with an oxygen tank on; we talked for a while, and he tried to convince me that I should go out on the USO tour. I filed it away under "future reference/desperation moves".
It was slow, and it was cold out; and, being as how this was the third gig i had played that day (if you count the radio show) I was pretty slagged. Made it through until around 11:40, then packed it in. Made a small, but respectable amount off the door and the percentage of the bar; I could imagine that, on a busier night, it might well go better. Overall Moab had treated me pretty well, considering the abominable weather for that time of year; off to Grand Junction the next day, to see what could be seen there.
The drive was one of the most beautiful I have ever seen. Starting with the Columbia river gorge, a canyon festooned with spring green, and working its way into the high desert, volcanic mountains in central Oregon, it was one spectacular view after another. I took many pictures through the windows of the car, which might give some indication of how awesome it was. When did I get transported to Middle Earth? I hit some pretty crazy, intense rain and wind, but managed to make pretty good time. My gig in Meridian started at 7, so it would be a bit tight; as it was, I drove like hell, made one stop for gas, and got there just 15 minutes before I was due to go on (having lost an hour traversing the border.)
Corkscrews proved to be a homey little joint, set underground (you descend a stairway to get there), with a friendly, low-key atmostphere and... no damn tvs! Almost always a good sign. (The lack of TVs is one of the first things I cite when describing how cool Mia's Lounge in Flagstaff is). And there, awaiting my arrival, was one Shawn Surber - one of my best friends in high school, who I hadn't seen in like twenty years. He and I spent hours and hours playing Dungeons and Dragons and the like together, but had lost touch after graduation. You never know when you see somebody after so long if you'll have a connection with them, or what form that connection will take; Shawn and I were able to pick up as if very little time had gone by, and were pretty soon trading gibes with one another as if we were still seated around a table littered with pencils, papers, and polyhedral dice. I gave him the twenty minute thumbnail sketch of the last twenty years of my life, and then he did the same. There too was another Gettysburgian, Scott, who I hadn't known well at all, but remembered hanging out with with Shawn back in the day, as well.
The crowd at Corkscrews proved to be a bunch of excellent listeners; very much into the music. Molly and Von (the proprietors, who were working there that night) have gone out of their way to make a place that's comfortable to go to, and a great environment for performers and audience members. I was pretty dazed after they day's drive, and hungry for having not stopped to eat along the way at all (clif bars and coffee whilst behind the wheel). At one point while I was playing a song I got dizzy and almost fell over; but it passed, I got some food in me from Corkscrews (which proved to be a rather pathetic excuse for a hummus plate - Strictly Organic Coffee in Bend had spoiled me, truly).
I got a late start the next day, choosing to get some food before leaving town (I slept til something like 10:30, after going to bed at something like 1). While looking for a promising restaurant, I happened upon a thrift store where I bought a decent little guitar amp and a pretty damned nice clarinet for $80 - score! I didn't end up getting on the road until around 3:15; which proved to be an unfortunate circumstance.
The drive until Salt Lake City was all cross-country driving could ever hope to be; I averaged about 85 mph, and made it to Ogden in about 3 1/2 hours - fantastic, if I do say so myself. The next 250 proved to be a completely different story, with rain and traffic all along the way past Salt Lake City; then I turned onto the 6, which took me over the pass toward Moab. That portion of the drive proved to be harrowing and difficult, as the road climbed, the rain turned to snow, and I was cursing myself for getting such a late start. I was driving at about 30 - 40 mph for like two hours, grinding through slush and snow, wondering when the road would level out and then finally descend; but descend it did, eventually, and I found myself once again pounding the highway at 60 mph, through the relatively open southeastern Utah desert. The moon came out as I finished the drive on the 6, just before it hit the 70 and I turned east for the final 50 miles to Moab, lighting up the escarpment along the highway in an unearthly, eerie glow. It's one of the reasons I live in the desert, y'all.
Moab was windy, cloudy, and cold for the time of year. I had envisioned 75 degree days and sunshine, and planned to hike while I was there; as it was, I stayed the fuck indoors, and slept late. I did manage to weasel my way onto the local radio station - well, I made a phone call, and they were cool enough to have me on to play a few tunes, and blather a bit about being on the road.
I had two gigs that night: dinnertime at the Slickrock Cafe, and an evening gig at Frankie D's. These two places couldn't have been more different, and there was some undescribed bad blood between their two proprietors - each had asked me not to tell the other that I would be playing at their place, too funny. As it happened, they were both really cool; who knows what went down?
The Slickrock was right downtown, on Main Street; had the weather not been apocalyptically bad for that time of year, there would have been scads of people out on the street. As it was I managed to lure about one in four in off the street, via a powered speaker set up outside which must have echoed for a couple blocks. At the end of the night the owner said I had "earned my keep", which was a cool thing. Next time: sunshine. The regular guy who plays on weekends turned up to scope me out, an irresistable urge among musicians to compare and contrast and soothe their inward dialogue that yes, I'm better than he is. Amusingly, he came up to ask about my guitar, and when I asked his name, and put it together that he was the regular guy, he seemed a trifle embarassed to have been positively identified. (note: why doesn't spell-check on this dumb website recognize "embarassed" as a correctly spelled word? Someone should be.)
Frankie's was a local bar in all the senses of the word you could imagine; vaguely divey, with several guys playing pool, and a handful there for dinner. There was one table who had heard me on the radio that day, and come to check it out; they were the only ones who consistently clapped and paid attention, everyone else being fairly wrapped up in their drinks and the TV. There were a few people at the bar who were listening, one of whom was a retired Marine with an oxygen tank on; we talked for a while, and he tried to convince me that I should go out on the USO tour. I filed it away under "future reference/desperation moves".
It was slow, and it was cold out; and, being as how this was the third gig i had played that day (if you count the radio show) I was pretty slagged. Made it through until around 11:40, then packed it in. Made a small, but respectable amount off the door and the percentage of the bar; I could imagine that, on a busier night, it might well go better. Overall Moab had treated me pretty well, considering the abominable weather for that time of year; off to Grand Junction the next day, to see what could be seen there.
Friday, April 30, 2010
Catching up: Portland
OK, seated in a coffee shop in Grand Junction, CO; at last, an opportunity to Blog up with myself.
I got to Portland around 7:30 on Saturday night, after a beautiful drive over the pass. There was, of course, some shitty weather, but nothing at all like the last time (which had proved to be some of the hairiest driving I had ever had to do; that was in December, though, so I pretty much expected to have to do some stupid driving). Anyway, Jeff was out, but Emmy was home & greeted me outside with Dinah (who freaks out on people when they first arrive, but much less so if she can be brought outside to meet them). We loaded some stuff inside (I'd be staying for 3 days, so brought up a buncha crap, including my coffee machine - don't leave home without it!), then I joined Emmy outside while she smoked. I promptly picked up Dinah, which Emmy greeted with some concern; but Dinah let me get away with it, and I thus established that I was allowed to do that in my relationship to her (which is what I explained to Emmy).
I was starving, and wanted to listen to some music; so, we went down the street to the Jade Lounge, where a local band called Paschal Coeur was playing. In choosing a place to eat, we had listened to a bit of their music on myspace (cursed, cursed myspace! How useful thou art, betimes), and it had sounded cool.
The Jade Lounge proved to be likewise cool; lots of various finger foods, including: yam fries with wasabi-soy ketchup (delicious!), pretty damned good pork egg rolls, and chicken wings with some kind of ginger sauce on them. The music was good, and I felt myself instantly to be in Portland: a cool little bar, with a cool little band, some great food at almost 11 PM (all bars are required to have food until they close, so there are tons of good restaurants there. (Amusingly, when I spoke aloud the idea that, perhaps that had something to do with there not being a Denny's in downtown Portland (indeed, they get lots of business from late-night drunks in Flagstaff) I was immediately shouted down by those around me; it seems Portland residents are quite attached to their city's eschewal (word?) of all things corporate, and won't hear a word of you suggesting that other, pragmatic forces might also be at work). ((Super-parenthetical!))
Anyway, We had planned to head out for the Sassparilla show after that, but Jeff was getting back from his ludicrously insane rafting trip any moment, so we opted to wait for him (we didn't end up leaving the Jade Lounge until around midnight). He had gone to raft a river that was classified, technically, as unraftable; that is, tons of V+ rapids. He had recently joined the Oregon whitewater rafting team, and they do things like that. Just two of them in the boat, though, so rather intense. Apparently he and his companion would be the first to raft some portions of that river. He had thus had a very early day, and only agreed to go out to the show on the condition that we have some coffee ready for him. Naturally willing to oblige, I fired up the mokka, made coffee, which we drank, and then stayed up playing Chez Geek instead of going to the show. Great to see them, as always.
The next day proved to be rather mellow; woke up elevenish, made coffee, then went to the Pied Cow, where one can get tea, greek sampler platters, and hookahs - all of which we did, and sat outside on a glorious Portland Spring day. It was around 70, and awesome. We wandered back to the apartment around 4, and I headed out for the show at Vergnetti's.
Annie had just gotten the place up and running in the last few months; when I was there in December, it wasn't officially open yet. So it was cool to see the place. The front room was small, and had around a dozen tables ordered around a coffee cart; the back room would house the show, which had a bunch of chairs in front of a small are just beyond a broad archway which would serve as the stage. We were supposed to go on at 6, but I knew good and well that wasn't going to happen; I had been telling people 6:30, but even that seemed unlikely (as it happened, we got things off the ground a little after 7).
I had just brought two loads of stuff inside the place when Wendy Cipolaro walked up; we hadn't seen each other in 8 years, and I had just remembered she was in Portland before I left Flagstaff. Somehow, we had kept in touch, and so I had told her about the gig, as I had many other people from the semi-distant past who I knew lived in Portland; she was the only one who showed up. Actually, that's a pretty expectable ratio; you tell all kinds of people that you'll be in town on tour, and one or two will actually make an appearance. Well, Lynsi, Dave, Emmy, and Jeff would all be there, as well as two friends of Dave and Lynsi who were visiting; but that almost doesn't count, since Lynsi and Dave (or Mimsy and Dimsy, as I started calling them while I was there) had just left Flagstaff a month before, and I was staying with Emmy and Jeff.
Wendy had been in Portland for a couple years; she had spent time in the Peace Corp, in Bangladesh, and a few years in Michigan or Minnesota or Wisconson (not having been to any of those three states, I somehow can't keep them straight in my head when somebody says they're from or have lived in one of them; a notable exception is Buzz Nichols, who I know to live in Michingan). We talked about what a trip it was to see Dom Flemons' face and name in all sorts of prominent places.
There was a decent little crowd of folks between the three of us. Annie went on first, and I joined her onstage playing flute on a couple of tunes; then John played, and impressed everyone with his display of dexterity - being a one-man band is a rather impressive thing, and rightly so. He even played Pile of Junk, which has always been one of my favorites of his songs. Then we took a break and I played, with Annie joining me at the end of "I Don't Care What You Say" for a ten-minute long improvised back-and-forth about boobs. It may well have gone on for too long, but it was fun, and people were laughing throughout. John played again to wrap up the night.
I felt really loose to be playing with such a group of people who knew me so well sitting there; and found them all laughing at lines in songs I had always found to be amusing to me, but had rarely gotten laughs for at other times. Strange how you can have that interpretation for your own lyrics, but not expect other people to pick up on it; they definitely proved me wrong, in a pretty cool way, actually. A lot of fun, as I told stories and whatnot, and directed various lyrics at various people there. It was a great time, and just what I wanted out of a show in Portland.
The next day was also mellow, and included a visit to Heart, a coffee shop right down the street from Jeff and Emmy's that served the fabled siphon coffee for a mere $6 per cup. I would never buy such nonsense ordinarily, and Emmy was appalled that I would even consider buying it, and (as it happened, completely correctly) divined that it wouldn't be my style of coffee at all. But I was feeling touristy, and was pretty curious about the device itself - what, indeed, could possibly justify anyone's spending $6 on a cup of coffee? I had to find out what the whole damned deal was about.
The device has a globe that gets filled with water in the bottom, and a carafe that seals to the top of that with coffee in between. The place sticks the globe over a $20,000 halogen lamp heating system, which boils the water, and forces it up through a glass tube that extends down through the water, not unlike my mokka; but after it has brewed, it is allowed to cool, which sucks the water back down through the coffee again, and into the lower globe (since a seal is maintained, once the steam condenses and contracts once again, it has no place to go but back into the lower globe). Quite a fascinating process; the device itself can be bought for $99, or you can drop $6 a pot at the cafe. The coffee was good; but I like my coffee to be completely opaque with superfine coffee sediment, and this stuff was (while pretty strong) also rather mild, a few steps toward tea in effect. Not my speed; but, i made a complete idiot of myself, and embarassed Emmy, Jeff, and their friend Will, by filming the whole process, and asking the barista lost of silly questions about how it all worked. He played along, pretty unironically and without getting visibly annoyed with me; he seemed bemused more than anything else, and perhaps thought I was with some kind of indie tv show he hadn't heard of, and so felt obliged to play along with my filming and questioning. These days you never know when your most unsympathetic, irritated and short-tempered incident might be caught on film as your defining moment.
Jeff had to go to work after that, and I had to finish stuff for the Song Walk; so we went back to the apartment, and I sank my head into the computer for an hour or so to do some emailing. Then Emmy and I went off to Powell's, the mecca of mecca's for used books. Every time I go there I find things I haven't thought about in forever, and end up spending tons of dough on books I will lovingly read over the next weeks and months. As it happened, this time I dropped about a hunnert, and emerged with a paper sack full of science fiction, vonnegut, hesse, and various others.
We went into the rare books room, where the most modestly priced specimen cost more than my car; the first things you see when you walk in are these giant photography books, all of which conicide in having pictures of naked ladies somewhere within, in large format and for all the world to see. Very funny; come see rare, giant photos of nekkid wimmin! I was amused. They also have a first english edition of the Little Prince, which I think was signed, for a mere nine thousand. More than all of my possessions put together in a pile and sold at their best price, I'd say.
We left Powell's after an hour and a half of used book orgiastics, and stopped in at Guardian Games, a local gaming store. I had asked the guy at Powell's about the expansions for Chez Geek, and he had directed me there. It proved to be an enormous place, with half the room dedicated to tables where the geeky could gather and game. Emmy was a bit overwhelmed, never having seen people waving their geek flag high with such abandon before. I was almost persuaded to buy Chez Cthulhu, which was a modification of Chez Geek to somehow involve the Cthulhu Mythos; but I restrained myself, and only bought the first expansion to Chez Geek.
With that, we headed out for dinner at the Screen Door, an amazing soul food restaurant that usually had a line out the door, but which was mercifully slow owing to the basketball game happening between Portland and Phoenix (Emmy and Jeff's friend Will had been pushed by some random dude for wearing a Phoenix Suns hat; even in the multiculturally hip, independently-minded metropolis of Portland, you have idiotic sports zombies). So we got a table, and got served, remarkably quickly, and had a fine time. Wendy and John joined us, John a bit later as he had to drive from whatever part of the bumblefuck fringe of Portland he had just moved to. John has always enjoyed living in the bumblefuck fringe of wherever; in Flagstaff, he lived in what was basically a cabin on the edge of town, heated via woodstove, and occasional host to various deadbeat songwriting friends of his (e.g. me a time or two).
And that'll do for now; I have some stories to tell about Boise and Moab, as well, but am pretty exhausted from Blogging, and so must pause. Tonight at The Ale House, here in grand Grand Junction, Colorado.
I got to Portland around 7:30 on Saturday night, after a beautiful drive over the pass. There was, of course, some shitty weather, but nothing at all like the last time (which had proved to be some of the hairiest driving I had ever had to do; that was in December, though, so I pretty much expected to have to do some stupid driving). Anyway, Jeff was out, but Emmy was home & greeted me outside with Dinah (who freaks out on people when they first arrive, but much less so if she can be brought outside to meet them). We loaded some stuff inside (I'd be staying for 3 days, so brought up a buncha crap, including my coffee machine - don't leave home without it!), then I joined Emmy outside while she smoked. I promptly picked up Dinah, which Emmy greeted with some concern; but Dinah let me get away with it, and I thus established that I was allowed to do that in my relationship to her (which is what I explained to Emmy).
I was starving, and wanted to listen to some music; so, we went down the street to the Jade Lounge, where a local band called Paschal Coeur was playing. In choosing a place to eat, we had listened to a bit of their music on myspace (cursed, cursed myspace! How useful thou art, betimes), and it had sounded cool.
The Jade Lounge proved to be likewise cool; lots of various finger foods, including: yam fries with wasabi-soy ketchup (delicious!), pretty damned good pork egg rolls, and chicken wings with some kind of ginger sauce on them. The music was good, and I felt myself instantly to be in Portland: a cool little bar, with a cool little band, some great food at almost 11 PM (all bars are required to have food until they close, so there are tons of good restaurants there. (Amusingly, when I spoke aloud the idea that, perhaps that had something to do with there not being a Denny's in downtown Portland (indeed, they get lots of business from late-night drunks in Flagstaff) I was immediately shouted down by those around me; it seems Portland residents are quite attached to their city's eschewal (word?) of all things corporate, and won't hear a word of you suggesting that other, pragmatic forces might also be at work). ((Super-parenthetical!))
Anyway, We had planned to head out for the Sassparilla show after that, but Jeff was getting back from his ludicrously insane rafting trip any moment, so we opted to wait for him (we didn't end up leaving the Jade Lounge until around midnight). He had gone to raft a river that was classified, technically, as unraftable; that is, tons of V+ rapids. He had recently joined the Oregon whitewater rafting team, and they do things like that. Just two of them in the boat, though, so rather intense. Apparently he and his companion would be the first to raft some portions of that river. He had thus had a very early day, and only agreed to go out to the show on the condition that we have some coffee ready for him. Naturally willing to oblige, I fired up the mokka, made coffee, which we drank, and then stayed up playing Chez Geek instead of going to the show. Great to see them, as always.
The next day proved to be rather mellow; woke up elevenish, made coffee, then went to the Pied Cow, where one can get tea, greek sampler platters, and hookahs - all of which we did, and sat outside on a glorious Portland Spring day. It was around 70, and awesome. We wandered back to the apartment around 4, and I headed out for the show at Vergnetti's.
Annie had just gotten the place up and running in the last few months; when I was there in December, it wasn't officially open yet. So it was cool to see the place. The front room was small, and had around a dozen tables ordered around a coffee cart; the back room would house the show, which had a bunch of chairs in front of a small are just beyond a broad archway which would serve as the stage. We were supposed to go on at 6, but I knew good and well that wasn't going to happen; I had been telling people 6:30, but even that seemed unlikely (as it happened, we got things off the ground a little after 7).
I had just brought two loads of stuff inside the place when Wendy Cipolaro walked up; we hadn't seen each other in 8 years, and I had just remembered she was in Portland before I left Flagstaff. Somehow, we had kept in touch, and so I had told her about the gig, as I had many other people from the semi-distant past who I knew lived in Portland; she was the only one who showed up. Actually, that's a pretty expectable ratio; you tell all kinds of people that you'll be in town on tour, and one or two will actually make an appearance. Well, Lynsi, Dave, Emmy, and Jeff would all be there, as well as two friends of Dave and Lynsi who were visiting; but that almost doesn't count, since Lynsi and Dave (or Mimsy and Dimsy, as I started calling them while I was there) had just left Flagstaff a month before, and I was staying with Emmy and Jeff.
Wendy had been in Portland for a couple years; she had spent time in the Peace Corp, in Bangladesh, and a few years in Michigan or Minnesota or Wisconson (not having been to any of those three states, I somehow can't keep them straight in my head when somebody says they're from or have lived in one of them; a notable exception is Buzz Nichols, who I know to live in Michingan). We talked about what a trip it was to see Dom Flemons' face and name in all sorts of prominent places.
There was a decent little crowd of folks between the three of us. Annie went on first, and I joined her onstage playing flute on a couple of tunes; then John played, and impressed everyone with his display of dexterity - being a one-man band is a rather impressive thing, and rightly so. He even played Pile of Junk, which has always been one of my favorites of his songs. Then we took a break and I played, with Annie joining me at the end of "I Don't Care What You Say" for a ten-minute long improvised back-and-forth about boobs. It may well have gone on for too long, but it was fun, and people were laughing throughout. John played again to wrap up the night.
I felt really loose to be playing with such a group of people who knew me so well sitting there; and found them all laughing at lines in songs I had always found to be amusing to me, but had rarely gotten laughs for at other times. Strange how you can have that interpretation for your own lyrics, but not expect other people to pick up on it; they definitely proved me wrong, in a pretty cool way, actually. A lot of fun, as I told stories and whatnot, and directed various lyrics at various people there. It was a great time, and just what I wanted out of a show in Portland.
The next day was also mellow, and included a visit to Heart, a coffee shop right down the street from Jeff and Emmy's that served the fabled siphon coffee for a mere $6 per cup. I would never buy such nonsense ordinarily, and Emmy was appalled that I would even consider buying it, and (as it happened, completely correctly) divined that it wouldn't be my style of coffee at all. But I was feeling touristy, and was pretty curious about the device itself - what, indeed, could possibly justify anyone's spending $6 on a cup of coffee? I had to find out what the whole damned deal was about.
The device has a globe that gets filled with water in the bottom, and a carafe that seals to the top of that with coffee in between. The place sticks the globe over a $20,000 halogen lamp heating system, which boils the water, and forces it up through a glass tube that extends down through the water, not unlike my mokka; but after it has brewed, it is allowed to cool, which sucks the water back down through the coffee again, and into the lower globe (since a seal is maintained, once the steam condenses and contracts once again, it has no place to go but back into the lower globe). Quite a fascinating process; the device itself can be bought for $99, or you can drop $6 a pot at the cafe. The coffee was good; but I like my coffee to be completely opaque with superfine coffee sediment, and this stuff was (while pretty strong) also rather mild, a few steps toward tea in effect. Not my speed; but, i made a complete idiot of myself, and embarassed Emmy, Jeff, and their friend Will, by filming the whole process, and asking the barista lost of silly questions about how it all worked. He played along, pretty unironically and without getting visibly annoyed with me; he seemed bemused more than anything else, and perhaps thought I was with some kind of indie tv show he hadn't heard of, and so felt obliged to play along with my filming and questioning. These days you never know when your most unsympathetic, irritated and short-tempered incident might be caught on film as your defining moment.
Jeff had to go to work after that, and I had to finish stuff for the Song Walk; so we went back to the apartment, and I sank my head into the computer for an hour or so to do some emailing. Then Emmy and I went off to Powell's, the mecca of mecca's for used books. Every time I go there I find things I haven't thought about in forever, and end up spending tons of dough on books I will lovingly read over the next weeks and months. As it happened, this time I dropped about a hunnert, and emerged with a paper sack full of science fiction, vonnegut, hesse, and various others.
We went into the rare books room, where the most modestly priced specimen cost more than my car; the first things you see when you walk in are these giant photography books, all of which conicide in having pictures of naked ladies somewhere within, in large format and for all the world to see. Very funny; come see rare, giant photos of nekkid wimmin! I was amused. They also have a first english edition of the Little Prince, which I think was signed, for a mere nine thousand. More than all of my possessions put together in a pile and sold at their best price, I'd say.
We left Powell's after an hour and a half of used book orgiastics, and stopped in at Guardian Games, a local gaming store. I had asked the guy at Powell's about the expansions for Chez Geek, and he had directed me there. It proved to be an enormous place, with half the room dedicated to tables where the geeky could gather and game. Emmy was a bit overwhelmed, never having seen people waving their geek flag high with such abandon before. I was almost persuaded to buy Chez Cthulhu, which was a modification of Chez Geek to somehow involve the Cthulhu Mythos; but I restrained myself, and only bought the first expansion to Chez Geek.
With that, we headed out for dinner at the Screen Door, an amazing soul food restaurant that usually had a line out the door, but which was mercifully slow owing to the basketball game happening between Portland and Phoenix (Emmy and Jeff's friend Will had been pushed by some random dude for wearing a Phoenix Suns hat; even in the multiculturally hip, independently-minded metropolis of Portland, you have idiotic sports zombies). So we got a table, and got served, remarkably quickly, and had a fine time. Wendy and John joined us, John a bit later as he had to drive from whatever part of the bumblefuck fringe of Portland he had just moved to. John has always enjoyed living in the bumblefuck fringe of wherever; in Flagstaff, he lived in what was basically a cabin on the edge of town, heated via woodstove, and occasional host to various deadbeat songwriting friends of his (e.g. me a time or two).
And that'll do for now; I have some stories to tell about Boise and Moab, as well, but am pretty exhausted from Blogging, and so must pause. Tonight at The Ale House, here in grand Grand Junction, Colorado.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Intermediate Blog: pictures in Portland
Once again, time has gotten the better of me, and I'm way, way behind in my Blogging.
Unfortunately, the restaurant I have chosen for the site of my Blogetry is closing around me; so, I have uploaded some pictures, chronicling part of my stay in Portland, as well as a few from the show at Vergnetti's Coffee Shop in Portland, but the rest will have to wait until I get to somewhere I can chill out further and blog, blog, blog. Driving to Moab today, which should take around 8 hours if the highway gods are kind to me; it will take closer to 9 if they are not. We shall see.
Unfortunately, the restaurant I have chosen for the site of my Blogetry is closing around me; so, I have uploaded some pictures, chronicling part of my stay in Portland, as well as a few from the show at Vergnetti's Coffee Shop in Portland, but the rest will have to wait until I get to somewhere I can chill out further and blog, blog, blog. Driving to Moab today, which should take around 8 hours if the highway gods are kind to me; it will take closer to 9 if they are not. We shall see.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Mountain's Edge, first gig in Bend
Rolled into Bend around 4:30, after a pretty yet cloudy/drizzly drive from Klamath Falls. 97 winds along next to a lake (Klamath Lake? I'm such an ignoramus), which would no doubt be gorgeous in the sun; as it was, it was still beautiful, in a brooding, windswept, brown way.
First stop in Bend was Strictly Organic Coffee, where I'll be playing on Saturday afternoon; they hook you up with an account there, which is sizable, and ensures that I end up spending a large chunk of my Bend time there. Good coffee, good folks - Rhonda and Richard, who run the joint, are both really nice people.
Headed over to The Mountain's Edge around 7:30; it reminded me a lot of the old (dearly departed) Mogollon Brewing Co, with lots of wooden trim and barstools; a big place, with a nice stage are & tables, as well as a number of pool tables set off toward the back, a big bar, and some amazing food. I had a steak (I don't cook steaks often enough myself to be able to do a good job of it, so when I get a free meal at a place that does I go for it), very tasty.
Ramsey, the sound guy/bouncer, was a jovial, friendly dude who was enormous. 6' 3", probably, 275, radiating goodwill, but obviously the kind of dude you wouldn't want to piss off - as difficult as that might be. He said he originally hailed from southern california, had moved to Bend intending to stay for 2 years, then wander on; that was 15 years ago. Reminiscent of the stories you used to hear more often about people living in Flagstaff, really.
I played the gig with The Boxcar String Band (http://www.myspace.com/boxcarstringband), a rockabilly duo. They were both really cool - Joe (guitar, slide guitar, banjo, vocals, kick drum) and Casey (stand-up bass, vocals) - and tore it up. They went on first, because the bassist had to get up early the next day to work. He worked in an auto paint shop, but had used some leftover paint to paint his bass; it looked awesome, so much so that I assumed it was an extremely expensive instrument when I saw it. Casey's folks were there to watch the show, and told me he had painted it himself; it blew me away, as the damned thing looked awesome. Ramsey was suitably impressed as well, and we both were of the opinion that Casey should go into business painting musical instruments, which I told him later.
Buck, the guy who booked me, turned up at the start of their set; he knew Heidi (my host) and her friend, Christina, and so he and I met while I was sitting with them. He was super cool, took good care of me; proved to be a bit of a biker-looking type, with a funky beard and mustache. I began to wonder how many people were inclined to hire me to play music at least in part influence by my own choice in facial growth, what with Jon Mangelos from the Barnwood and all.
I went on around 10:30, and had a great time. Best show so far, really; I felt completely relaxed, played well, and had a good time bantering with the crowd. I never get tired of telling the story about my old band, Phantom Vibration, getting yanked off the air when we played on Good Morning, Arizona, for using the word "masturbation" in a song.
After I played for around an hour, the Boxcar String Band went back on and played a few songs; then I joined them onstage, playing lead on a few songs using Joe's other guitar (he had it tuned open for slide, but gave me the nod to tune it up to standard). I backed them up on a few, then we closed with me singing "Folsom Prison Blues", with Joe playing lead. A lot of fun. Hung out and shot the shit with Joe and Casey for a while after the show, telling stories and exchanging ideas and viewpoints. They're playing today at Baldy's, from 6 to 8, provided it's not too beastly cold out. Been sunny all day, a bit breezy perhaps, but nothing the veteran performer can't handle; I might stop by their gig and say hey, just to show my support.
No gig tonight; had one every day for the previous six, and am not feeling tired of playing or touring at all. Feels like I've managed to pace things pretty well. Today is gorgeous in Bend, and I'm looking forward to tomorrow as well, should be even warmer. Tomorrow night I play at the Parilla Grill; Casey tells me the fish tacos there are awesome. Next day I've got the noon gig at Strictly O, then off to Portland for some fun in the big city.
I am a lucky, lucky man to be able to do what I'm doing.
First stop in Bend was Strictly Organic Coffee, where I'll be playing on Saturday afternoon; they hook you up with an account there, which is sizable, and ensures that I end up spending a large chunk of my Bend time there. Good coffee, good folks - Rhonda and Richard, who run the joint, are both really nice people.
Headed over to The Mountain's Edge around 7:30; it reminded me a lot of the old (dearly departed) Mogollon Brewing Co, with lots of wooden trim and barstools; a big place, with a nice stage are & tables, as well as a number of pool tables set off toward the back, a big bar, and some amazing food. I had a steak (I don't cook steaks often enough myself to be able to do a good job of it, so when I get a free meal at a place that does I go for it), very tasty.
Ramsey, the sound guy/bouncer, was a jovial, friendly dude who was enormous. 6' 3", probably, 275, radiating goodwill, but obviously the kind of dude you wouldn't want to piss off - as difficult as that might be. He said he originally hailed from southern california, had moved to Bend intending to stay for 2 years, then wander on; that was 15 years ago. Reminiscent of the stories you used to hear more often about people living in Flagstaff, really.
I played the gig with The Boxcar String Band (http://www.myspace.com/boxcarstringband), a rockabilly duo. They were both really cool - Joe (guitar, slide guitar, banjo, vocals, kick drum) and Casey (stand-up bass, vocals) - and tore it up. They went on first, because the bassist had to get up early the next day to work. He worked in an auto paint shop, but had used some leftover paint to paint his bass; it looked awesome, so much so that I assumed it was an extremely expensive instrument when I saw it. Casey's folks were there to watch the show, and told me he had painted it himself; it blew me away, as the damned thing looked awesome. Ramsey was suitably impressed as well, and we both were of the opinion that Casey should go into business painting musical instruments, which I told him later.
Buck, the guy who booked me, turned up at the start of their set; he knew Heidi (my host) and her friend, Christina, and so he and I met while I was sitting with them. He was super cool, took good care of me; proved to be a bit of a biker-looking type, with a funky beard and mustache. I began to wonder how many people were inclined to hire me to play music at least in part influence by my own choice in facial growth, what with Jon Mangelos from the Barnwood and all.
I went on around 10:30, and had a great time. Best show so far, really; I felt completely relaxed, played well, and had a good time bantering with the crowd. I never get tired of telling the story about my old band, Phantom Vibration, getting yanked off the air when we played on Good Morning, Arizona, for using the word "masturbation" in a song.
After I played for around an hour, the Boxcar String Band went back on and played a few songs; then I joined them onstage, playing lead on a few songs using Joe's other guitar (he had it tuned open for slide, but gave me the nod to tune it up to standard). I backed them up on a few, then we closed with me singing "Folsom Prison Blues", with Joe playing lead. A lot of fun. Hung out and shot the shit with Joe and Casey for a while after the show, telling stories and exchanging ideas and viewpoints. They're playing today at Baldy's, from 6 to 8, provided it's not too beastly cold out. Been sunny all day, a bit breezy perhaps, but nothing the veteran performer can't handle; I might stop by their gig and say hey, just to show my support.
No gig tonight; had one every day for the previous six, and am not feeling tired of playing or touring at all. Feels like I've managed to pace things pretty well. Today is gorgeous in Bend, and I'm looking forward to tomorrow as well, should be even warmer. Tomorrow night I play at the Parilla Grill; Casey tells me the fish tacos there are awesome. Next day I've got the noon gig at Strictly O, then off to Portland for some fun in the big city.
I am a lucky, lucky man to be able to do what I'm doing.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Arrived in Bend; some brief thoughts
So, got to Bend, Oregon a couple hours ago; tonight I play at the Mountain's Edge, with the Boxcar String Band, a rockabilly duo from the area. Pretty stoked to play with them.
Glad to be off the road for a few days; I get to hang out in Bend until Saturday, when I head to Portland for three days, and more time to chill. Three gigs here in Bend: Mountain's Edge, the Parilla Grill, and Strictly Organic Coffee. Very good stuff.
Last night at Waldo's in Klamath Falls was pretty cool; I really enjoy playing in smaller towns. Met several extremely cool people there at the bar, and the folks who ran the place were really happy with how things went. It was kinda shitty out, rainy and cold, drove through some snow to get there, so it wasn't a banner night, but cool all the same. As I expected, quite a contrast to the shows I played in San Francisco, where people can be so blase about new stuff - despite, or because of, being surrounded by interesting cultural experiences. The folks at Klamath were interested and talkative; while most people I talked to in San Francisco were to wrapped up in themselves to take an interest in you. Not true for all, certainly, and I met a few notable exceptions; but the overall vibe is, simply, that people just don't have time or energy enough to take an interest in you. I got much more in tips in Klamath, too. Just goes to show.
One extremely cool thing at the gig on Monday in Frisco (yep, I went there) was, folks from various points & periods of my life elsewhere turned up; Anastasia, who was in Germany when I was there; Nick, who I took some classes at NAU with (he was present when i almost got into a fight with some rude, noisy, fellow students in a Differential Equations class - and had my back, too); and Shawn, who had lived in Flagstaff years before, and had played in various bands over the years - most memorably to me was Vena Cavae, a 12-piece noise band who took over the Alley open mic one of the first nights we had it. Pretty incredible. They all hung out, and we went for a drink afterward; it had been seven years since I had seen Anastasia, and at least four since I had seen Nick or Shawn, I think. Very good stuff.
Snow on the ground this morning in Klamath Falls; fucking cold, and misty and drizzly on the way over the mountain. Once I got within 25 miles of Bend the sun came out. I went straight to Strictly Organic Coffee, where they pay musicians with an account you can access the whole time you're in town. I'll be eating there pretty much every day, and drinking their excellent coffee.
Well, anyway, off to get ready for the gig.
Glad to be off the road for a few days; I get to hang out in Bend until Saturday, when I head to Portland for three days, and more time to chill. Three gigs here in Bend: Mountain's Edge, the Parilla Grill, and Strictly Organic Coffee. Very good stuff.
Last night at Waldo's in Klamath Falls was pretty cool; I really enjoy playing in smaller towns. Met several extremely cool people there at the bar, and the folks who ran the place were really happy with how things went. It was kinda shitty out, rainy and cold, drove through some snow to get there, so it wasn't a banner night, but cool all the same. As I expected, quite a contrast to the shows I played in San Francisco, where people can be so blase about new stuff - despite, or because of, being surrounded by interesting cultural experiences. The folks at Klamath were interested and talkative; while most people I talked to in San Francisco were to wrapped up in themselves to take an interest in you. Not true for all, certainly, and I met a few notable exceptions; but the overall vibe is, simply, that people just don't have time or energy enough to take an interest in you. I got much more in tips in Klamath, too. Just goes to show.
One extremely cool thing at the gig on Monday in Frisco (yep, I went there) was, folks from various points & periods of my life elsewhere turned up; Anastasia, who was in Germany when I was there; Nick, who I took some classes at NAU with (he was present when i almost got into a fight with some rude, noisy, fellow students in a Differential Equations class - and had my back, too); and Shawn, who had lived in Flagstaff years before, and had played in various bands over the years - most memorably to me was Vena Cavae, a 12-piece noise band who took over the Alley open mic one of the first nights we had it. Pretty incredible. They all hung out, and we went for a drink afterward; it had been seven years since I had seen Anastasia, and at least four since I had seen Nick or Shawn, I think. Very good stuff.
Snow on the ground this morning in Klamath Falls; fucking cold, and misty and drizzly on the way over the mountain. Once I got within 25 miles of Bend the sun came out. I went straight to Strictly Organic Coffee, where they pay musicians with an account you can access the whole time you're in town. I'll be eating there pretty much every day, and drinking their excellent coffee.
Well, anyway, off to get ready for the gig.
Monday, April 19, 2010
Fresno, Ripon, day one in San Francisco
Gonna do a quick recap of the last few days, just to get it down; hard to fathom how much happens in just a few days. I really like this whole blogging thing, if for no other reason than I have a reason to get things down a bit myself, just to keep a sort of public journal of my adventures.
Fresno at the Patio Cafe. A slow gig; a kind of hoity-toity part of Fresno, I'm really an odd choice to book there. That said, everyone there seemed to like it, and I sold a couple CDs, had some good conversations. There were three people who were sitting right next to where I would play, rather in the way, in fact, and they stuck around for a half-hour after they were done eating, just taking up space and keeping me from playing. I finally just asked them to move. Funny thing, they knew I was supposed to be starting at 7; just didn't care, I guess. People are funny.
Stayed with a guy who's sells solar panels; electricity is so expensive in Fresno, it actually makes real solid financial sense to borrow money to put them in, then turn your $300 electric bill into a $200 loan payment on solar panels. So his business is booming; stayed up trading music and shooting the shit with him and his fiancee.
Next night was in Ripon (pronounced just like it's spelled: rip - on), at The Barnwood Restaurant. Kind of a surreal location, it's right off the highway, inside the loop that the exit ramp makes to get to the main street; so when you're outside, you hear the constant, rather loud susurration of traffic, all around you. Jon, the owner, had one of the most wicked, waxed handlebar mustaches I have ever seen. Later he said that it represented 5 years' growth. An incredibly generous spirit, and a talkative, entertaining storyteller; he also is fighting the good fight in Ripon, California (just north of Modesto), getting live music in there, helping to create a scene. So necessary to have someone like that around. He had hung up my flyer, and emailed it out to 4000 people, of whom a handful showed up specifically for the music. Everyone there was into the tunes, very cool, even a table of 10 high school kids on the way to the prom. Rather surreal, but they dug it; I started bantering with them the moment I sat down. Jon collects cufflinks, and showed us some that he had just bought as part of a lot from an old jewelry store that was selling off stock. He travels all over the world, catering conferences and whatnot; the restaurant has been in Ripon for 30 years. My hosts that night had eaten there 29 years before, and that was the last time they had been there. Totally strange.
Next day was a short drive to San Francisco. I hadn't been to the bay area since I worked for Trek America, in the summer of 99. Last night (Sunday) I played at Bluesix, as part of a sort of invitational open mic. I was supposed to be playing a proper gig there with a band called Honeycomb; but my friend, who was in the band, kind of flaked, and the gig had fallen through. Well, it's kind of an open question who flaked, since I could have called myself to double check; as it was, I called the venue three weeks back, and was surprised to find out that the show wasn't happening. Joe, the guy who runs the joint was pretty cool about getting me on the bill for last night, but it wasn't what I was expecting at all - I pretty much volunteered my services, where I had been expecting to make something to help me get down the road. It's what I get for not following up on these things, I suppose. I played four songs, basically an open mic set, for an appreciative audience. Got to see some great acts play, good & talented folks, a real mix; but I always get the feeling, when I'm hanging out in a big city, that people just don't bother to take the time to get to know people they meet, or are just not interested, or maybe they're just self-absorbed. I always ask people what they're up to, who they are, and so on, and so often they just don't respond in kind. The world of big-city life is so weird. Reaffirms my love of a small-town music scene; nobody's in such a rush that they won't talk to you, and nobody's so jaded or disinterested that they'll dismiss you offhandedly. Well, maybe not nobody, but at least most people.
Tonight's gig is at Socha Cafe; there are a bunch of folks I know in San Francisco, who have said they'll stop by, many of whom I haven't seen in years and years. Should be a good time.
Fresno at the Patio Cafe. A slow gig; a kind of hoity-toity part of Fresno, I'm really an odd choice to book there. That said, everyone there seemed to like it, and I sold a couple CDs, had some good conversations. There were three people who were sitting right next to where I would play, rather in the way, in fact, and they stuck around for a half-hour after they were done eating, just taking up space and keeping me from playing. I finally just asked them to move. Funny thing, they knew I was supposed to be starting at 7; just didn't care, I guess. People are funny.
Stayed with a guy who's sells solar panels; electricity is so expensive in Fresno, it actually makes real solid financial sense to borrow money to put them in, then turn your $300 electric bill into a $200 loan payment on solar panels. So his business is booming; stayed up trading music and shooting the shit with him and his fiancee.
Next night was in Ripon (pronounced just like it's spelled: rip - on), at The Barnwood Restaurant. Kind of a surreal location, it's right off the highway, inside the loop that the exit ramp makes to get to the main street; so when you're outside, you hear the constant, rather loud susurration of traffic, all around you. Jon, the owner, had one of the most wicked, waxed handlebar mustaches I have ever seen. Later he said that it represented 5 years' growth. An incredibly generous spirit, and a talkative, entertaining storyteller; he also is fighting the good fight in Ripon, California (just north of Modesto), getting live music in there, helping to create a scene. So necessary to have someone like that around. He had hung up my flyer, and emailed it out to 4000 people, of whom a handful showed up specifically for the music. Everyone there was into the tunes, very cool, even a table of 10 high school kids on the way to the prom. Rather surreal, but they dug it; I started bantering with them the moment I sat down. Jon collects cufflinks, and showed us some that he had just bought as part of a lot from an old jewelry store that was selling off stock. He travels all over the world, catering conferences and whatnot; the restaurant has been in Ripon for 30 years. My hosts that night had eaten there 29 years before, and that was the last time they had been there. Totally strange.
Next day was a short drive to San Francisco. I hadn't been to the bay area since I worked for Trek America, in the summer of 99. Last night (Sunday) I played at Bluesix, as part of a sort of invitational open mic. I was supposed to be playing a proper gig there with a band called Honeycomb; but my friend, who was in the band, kind of flaked, and the gig had fallen through. Well, it's kind of an open question who flaked, since I could have called myself to double check; as it was, I called the venue three weeks back, and was surprised to find out that the show wasn't happening. Joe, the guy who runs the joint was pretty cool about getting me on the bill for last night, but it wasn't what I was expecting at all - I pretty much volunteered my services, where I had been expecting to make something to help me get down the road. It's what I get for not following up on these things, I suppose. I played four songs, basically an open mic set, for an appreciative audience. Got to see some great acts play, good & talented folks, a real mix; but I always get the feeling, when I'm hanging out in a big city, that people just don't bother to take the time to get to know people they meet, or are just not interested, or maybe they're just self-absorbed. I always ask people what they're up to, who they are, and so on, and so often they just don't respond in kind. The world of big-city life is so weird. Reaffirms my love of a small-town music scene; nobody's in such a rush that they won't talk to you, and nobody's so jaded or disinterested that they'll dismiss you offhandedly. Well, maybe not nobody, but at least most people.
Tonight's gig is at Socha Cafe; there are a bunch of folks I know in San Francisco, who have said they'll stop by, many of whom I haven't seen in years and years. Should be a good time.
Friday, April 16, 2010
Final Night in San Diego
So this whole blogging thing requires you to sit down regularly, and have something to say. Yep. Sure does.
Two gigs gone by, only one worth writing about; the gig on the 13th at Hennessey's was one of the more forgettable gigs I've played, but it's definitely good to get a night like that out of the way at the beginning of the tour. Loosens you up, and makes you appreciate the better nights that are bound to come. A slow night, not my kind of room, not my kind of crowd; there were a couple of people there who were into it, but they didn't stick around too long. I was pretty much playing for Angie and Kevin (Angie Hammond, we went to high school together - she lives in Carlsbad, not far from Hennessey's; and Kevin Doyle, as mentioned in the first entry in this hyar blog).
Last night at La Gran Tapa was a different story. This gig had a lot more going for it for several reasons: an earlier set (6:30 as opposed to 9:30), downtown San Diego, classy joint (so classy that Doyle told me, when he walked in, he said to himself: "they're letting him play here?" Cool art on the walls, old bullfighting prints, a stuffed bull's head tastefully tucked away at the end of a hallway, old candelabras tucked here and there.
Ina and Mike were working behind the bar; Ina hails from Moscow, studying English. Beautiful and serenely disinterested in the way of so many slavic beauties. Mike had played professional tennis back in the day, and then traveled the country as a tennis program director.
Aubrey was sitting at the bar when I was setting up; I asked Mike and Ina if I could take their picture to throw up on my blog, and she ran off - so of course, I snapped a blurry photo while she was running away. Too funny; she signed my emailing list on the way out of the bar.
Small but enthusiastic crowd; one lady was trying to convince me to sell my songs and make a million dollars, her final trump argument for why I would want to get a buncha money being "there are charities that could use that money". I kept trying to explain that I'm happy driving a car I paid $700 for. Several tables of friendly, interested people.
Spent the day today bumming around Encinitas, a quiet suburb of San Diego. Bookstores, thrift store, guitar store, beach. A great day off; much needed after the hectic departure and the intense gigs already played, happy to chill out. Tonight a quiet night of laundry and blogging, and listening to random stuff off the internet. I plan to get an early start tomorrow, to avoid the evil that is traffic in and around L.A.
Tomorrow I'm off to Fresno, to play the Patio Cafe; couchsurfing with a dude who is involved in solar electricity somehow. I plan to pick his brain about the field, and see how much he knows about electric car conversions.
Two gigs gone by, only one worth writing about; the gig on the 13th at Hennessey's was one of the more forgettable gigs I've played, but it's definitely good to get a night like that out of the way at the beginning of the tour. Loosens you up, and makes you appreciate the better nights that are bound to come. A slow night, not my kind of room, not my kind of crowd; there were a couple of people there who were into it, but they didn't stick around too long. I was pretty much playing for Angie and Kevin (Angie Hammond, we went to high school together - she lives in Carlsbad, not far from Hennessey's; and Kevin Doyle, as mentioned in the first entry in this hyar blog).
Last night at La Gran Tapa was a different story. This gig had a lot more going for it for several reasons: an earlier set (6:30 as opposed to 9:30), downtown San Diego, classy joint (so classy that Doyle told me, when he walked in, he said to himself: "they're letting him play here?" Cool art on the walls, old bullfighting prints, a stuffed bull's head tastefully tucked away at the end of a hallway, old candelabras tucked here and there.
Ina and Mike were working behind the bar; Ina hails from Moscow, studying English. Beautiful and serenely disinterested in the way of so many slavic beauties. Mike had played professional tennis back in the day, and then traveled the country as a tennis program director.
Aubrey was sitting at the bar when I was setting up; I asked Mike and Ina if I could take their picture to throw up on my blog, and she ran off - so of course, I snapped a blurry photo while she was running away. Too funny; she signed my emailing list on the way out of the bar.
Small but enthusiastic crowd; one lady was trying to convince me to sell my songs and make a million dollars, her final trump argument for why I would want to get a buncha money being "there are charities that could use that money". I kept trying to explain that I'm happy driving a car I paid $700 for. Several tables of friendly, interested people.
Spent the day today bumming around Encinitas, a quiet suburb of San Diego. Bookstores, thrift store, guitar store, beach. A great day off; much needed after the hectic departure and the intense gigs already played, happy to chill out. Tonight a quiet night of laundry and blogging, and listening to random stuff off the internet. I plan to get an early start tomorrow, to avoid the evil that is traffic in and around L.A.
Tomorrow I'm off to Fresno, to play the Patio Cafe; couchsurfing with a dude who is involved in solar electricity somehow. I plan to pick his brain about the field, and see how much he knows about electric car conversions.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
The Day After (the first gig in San Diego)
A bit after noon, second full day in San Diego. Fell asleep listening to dorky fantasy on tape (well, mp3), and woke up feeling groggy, but pretty well-rested. Kevin has an empty room in the house, which I am occupying with a sleeping bag, a pillow, and an assortment of clothes.
The gig last night was at a place called Hennessey's, which is some kind of corporate chain restaurant. They were playing reggae over the loudspeakers; I heard Burning Spear's version of the Grateful Dead's "Estimated Prophet", for the first time in many years. It's a great version of that song, off a compilation of Dead covers that came out in 1991 or so, called "Deadicated". The place had that somewhat contrivedly relaxed atmosphere that you seem to find in so many corporate establishments; and the piped in, satellite reggae just seemed to fit the mold. This was one of the first gigs I booked on the tour, and I had no idea what to expect: a Tuesday night gig, with a good guarantee, and the person booking me hadn't even wanted to hear my music first (when I offered to email her the link to my myspace page, she said "Nah, you seem cool - I'd like to give you the gig").
I met Angella Hammond there; we had gone to high school together, and had barely seen each other in the last fifteen years or so; time and distance being what they are. I had forgotten she lived in San Diego until my brother reminded me. I wrote on he wall on facebook, and it turned out the gig was in her neighborhood (Carlsbad, CA, just north of San Diego). It is always a trip to see people from back in the day, especially because I didn't start playing music until after high school.
The place was packed when I got there, with old, bargain hunting folks taking advantage of their two for one burgers. They all cleared out by the time I played, and I was left with a pretty indifferent audience; there was a couple there who were into it, and Kevin and Angella were there and were quite supportive, but everyone else really didn't give a crap. Ah, well; a great way to start a tour, actually, since it gets that lame gig out of the way early. You have to walk into every one not giving a shit who or how many will be there, or whether or not they care. Own your musical space, enjoy the act of playing, and don't focus on the atmosphere or how people are reacting; fact is, often times (especially in restaurants), people are into it even though they're not terribly demonstrative; so you have to be able to suspend interpretation. At the end of that gig, there was more in the tip jar than I had expected; so maybe people weren't quite as indifferent as they had appeared. Nah, I think a lot of them were pretty indifferent.
Going and editing this after the fact; hopefully, I'm remembering stuff that seemed important and interesting. Retroactive blogging? Rewriting blogstory? Whutevah. More blogging is good blogging.
The gig last night was at a place called Hennessey's, which is some kind of corporate chain restaurant. They were playing reggae over the loudspeakers; I heard Burning Spear's version of the Grateful Dead's "Estimated Prophet", for the first time in many years. It's a great version of that song, off a compilation of Dead covers that came out in 1991 or so, called "Deadicated". The place had that somewhat contrivedly relaxed atmosphere that you seem to find in so many corporate establishments; and the piped in, satellite reggae just seemed to fit the mold. This was one of the first gigs I booked on the tour, and I had no idea what to expect: a Tuesday night gig, with a good guarantee, and the person booking me hadn't even wanted to hear my music first (when I offered to email her the link to my myspace page, she said "Nah, you seem cool - I'd like to give you the gig").
I met Angella Hammond there; we had gone to high school together, and had barely seen each other in the last fifteen years or so; time and distance being what they are. I had forgotten she lived in San Diego until my brother reminded me. I wrote on he wall on facebook, and it turned out the gig was in her neighborhood (Carlsbad, CA, just north of San Diego). It is always a trip to see people from back in the day, especially because I didn't start playing music until after high school.
The place was packed when I got there, with old, bargain hunting folks taking advantage of their two for one burgers. They all cleared out by the time I played, and I was left with a pretty indifferent audience; there was a couple there who were into it, and Kevin and Angella were there and were quite supportive, but everyone else really didn't give a crap. Ah, well; a great way to start a tour, actually, since it gets that lame gig out of the way early. You have to walk into every one not giving a shit who or how many will be there, or whether or not they care. Own your musical space, enjoy the act of playing, and don't focus on the atmosphere or how people are reacting; fact is, often times (especially in restaurants), people are into it even though they're not terribly demonstrative; so you have to be able to suspend interpretation. At the end of that gig, there was more in the tip jar than I had expected; so maybe people weren't quite as indifferent as they had appeared. Nah, I think a lot of them were pretty indifferent.
Going and editing this after the fact; hopefully, I'm remembering stuff that seemed important and interesting. Retroactive blogging? Rewriting blogstory? Whutevah. More blogging is good blogging.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Beginning
So here I am in San Diego, CA (well, Encinitas, actually), hanging out at the home of one Kevin Doyle, who I haven't seen in... 14 years? We went to St. John's College together, were freshman in Annapolis together and spent many, many hours playing pool in the basement of whatever dorm that was that had the pool table in it in 1992. I went to SJC Santa Fe after freshman year; he spent Junior year there, and we spent many hours playing ping-pong. Oh, and of course, drinking. Funny, on the way here I thought to myself, maybe I should mention to Kevin that I quit drinking, or he might assume that that was the order of the day. Turns out he quit recently, and had been wondering if he should mention that to me, too. So: nobody drinking, nobody mentioning it, but here we are.
The departure from Flag was hectic, as always; someday I'll learn to do things ahead of time. Actually, I had done some stuff ahead of time, but still managed to depart in a frenetic cloud of activity. Gave my car a tune up six days before, and the fuel regulator went out while I was doing that; a fortunate thing to have happen (if an odd coincidence), since having that happen on the road would have been debilitating. Got the car fixed, finished the tune up, and off we go. A busted fuel regulator means that the car continually floods, and can't start; it also means that the gasoline overflows the pistons into the crankcase. The guy drained 9 quarts of fluid out of the crankcase (should be 5 quarts of oil or so; which meant that there were 4 extra quarts, and it was a soupy, oil-gasoline mix). When I was leaving Flagstaff I had a cloud of smoke behind the car for a good 40 minutes, as the heat from highway operation burned off all the oily-gas mixture that had drained into the exhaust system. Finally stopped, and down the road I went.
My first show is tonight, at Hennessey's, in Carlsbad. Now off to prepare stuff for the Song Walk in May (which is something I had planned on getting done before I left... ah well.)
The departure from Flag was hectic, as always; someday I'll learn to do things ahead of time. Actually, I had done some stuff ahead of time, but still managed to depart in a frenetic cloud of activity. Gave my car a tune up six days before, and the fuel regulator went out while I was doing that; a fortunate thing to have happen (if an odd coincidence), since having that happen on the road would have been debilitating. Got the car fixed, finished the tune up, and off we go. A busted fuel regulator means that the car continually floods, and can't start; it also means that the gasoline overflows the pistons into the crankcase. The guy drained 9 quarts of fluid out of the crankcase (should be 5 quarts of oil or so; which meant that there were 4 extra quarts, and it was a soupy, oil-gasoline mix). When I was leaving Flagstaff I had a cloud of smoke behind the car for a good 40 minutes, as the heat from highway operation burned off all the oily-gas mixture that had drained into the exhaust system. Finally stopped, and down the road I went.
My first show is tonight, at Hennessey's, in Carlsbad. Now off to prepare stuff for the Song Walk in May (which is something I had planned on getting done before I left... ah well.)
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