Howe's Journal ....a book of lies

  

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howe on 12.22.05 @ 05:06 AM GMT [link]

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howe on 12.22.05 @ 04:52 AM GMT [link]

-- - - - - almost a christmas story - - - - - - - -

DECEMBER LAST WEEK


We gathered.
with all the kids.
And then after the birthday party, we were going to pile the kids in brad’s street ready golf cart with the dump truck payload. He had trimmed it out with a stream of Christmas lights, but the converter was on the blink. It wouldn’t twink.
This was a problem. The intention was to parade crash the “parade of lights” Christmas pageant held down here up on stone avenue.

It looked like a no go.

We ambled up the street instead with all the kids hoofing it.
Rainer’s, mine, brad’s and convertino’s kids. Others too.
A happy horde.

We got up to where the parade was parading down the policed off one way street going down the wrong way like it was the right way after all.

Near the end of it, brad showed up with the dark golf cart.
He had taken all the failed lights off. Dang.
Brad used to go by the name of thermos and played junk yard drums in doo rag way back when.

So. He had that look in his eye to crash the parade anyway even without the affording blend of christmas twinklings.

So he did. I road shotgun. Piled all the kids in the payload, and we skipped off. Brad handled that thing like it was a third arm. Stealth like we zipped. Found a break in the police line, and then poked right through their barrier.

The parade had just ended a few hundred yards ago now, so we had some catching up to do. When we would get too near the cops, we just get the kids in back to sing louder:
“we wish you a merry Christmas, we wish you a merry christmas…..” . had about a dozen back maybe.

We caught up with the soldiers first there at the end of the parade line. Then getting around the firemen was tricky; the hook and later truck was like a beast with two brains, one in each end. Then we caught up with the city street cleaner all adorned in lights. I think we confused them the most. Sing louder kids. Everything was adorned in lights except us. Johnny Gibson’s ride. The mayor’s. all the cops looking at us like we must know what we were doing. We were just passing through. It was a hoot to go parade bustin’ with old brad.

I wish the kids will ever know how much fun they really had.

Somewhere up there in the future it will hit them.
They’ll be gathered at a local bar or bar-b-q in the future. One of them will say something about somebody’s parents. The ups. The downs. And then they’ll reminisce some, until it darns on them that what the hell were they doing in a parade way back then anyway ?

That old thermos.
A fine saint nick.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -
HAVE A HAPPY CHRISTMAS






howe on 12.21.05 @ 07:09 AM GMT [link]

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howe on 12.06.05 @ 10:40 PM GMT [link]

DECEMBER 6 2005 - TUCSON - RECORDING AND THE LEADING UP TO

- - - - - -
DECEMBER 6 TUCSON
WAVELAB RECORDING STUDIO


Matt came into town. Almost forgot he was coming. Been spending the weekend busting through the thick adobe wall here at the house. Making a doorway. I am covered with that stank I will miss someday; adobe crumble dust. It has a smell all its own. It takes the entire weekend to get through and set it up. Doug does most of the real tweak. I am the laborer with his mind on other things. Sofie is the foreman. She has it figured out.

Then matt reminds me to come down to the studio. Good idea. I clean up and head over. Night time and beer-thirty.

In wavelab again. This place is a funny old vault. It gives way to innumerable forays in previous sonic clump-a-lots.
So many over the years. I remember the old place. I remember coming in there in the late 80s when it was called something else. Did up the ‘band of blacky ranchette’ record then. The 3rd one; “sage advice”. Wrote most of it on the way down from the drive outta Joshua tree. Parked my barracuda right inside the studio space then, which was just a revamped warehouse. Great sounds there then. We came up with the minimalist mic technique that I used to use to use back in the 70s when I had too many ideas and too few tracks. The happy side effect is the capture of the room sound on everything, instead of being able to mic way too many things way too closely on way too many tracks.

Anyhow. They still use that sound there today. But the place has maybe too many memories for me. Ups and downs. Its thick with them. still, I can find comfort there sometimes. Anyhow, matt is in the house and that feels good. Nick luca too. So we record some things he has in mind. Then neko shows up. And tom larkins too. we muster up the gusto and stick it to tape.

Spend the next day much the same. But any studio is not my friend anymore. Cannot stay in there more then 2 hours at a time without some kind of gloom setting in. maybe I have developed an allergy. Anyway, I can use this mood swing to work for me sometimes. Shove them emotions into the piano and see how it bleeds all over the tape.

I also meet chris Scruggs there. He is a fine slidesman. We take turns talking to each other on the tracks. My piano yammering with his steel appeal. We also discuss the merits of alveno ray (and his singing guitar), whom I figure must have been my very first inspirational force on guitar. Way back, on tv, every week, on the king family show, in the 60s, I would restlessly sit through the entire show waiting for the few minute spot that would feature that singing guitar. I must’ve been about 8 or 9 I think.

Anyhow. Some good fun got on tape. We could play hotels I bet.

n - - - - - - ---- - --- - - -- - -


NOVEMBER 29



I woke up and remember tonight is the benefit show for the 2 arrested humanitarian aid workers. They were arrested while assisting some migrant workers from mexico who were suffering in the swelter of the summer desert heat. Many die here like that every year. It’s a deep sadness. This time it was a father and son who got hit hard by the sun. so 2 aids, named shanty and dan, tried to get them up to Tucson for medical help. They were stopped by border patrol and arrested instead.

I wake up and figure I should write a song about it. Dare myself to go down to the community radio station (kxci) and record it so they can play it on the air and possibly garnish more air time for the cause and benefit that same night. So I do. "The ballad of the Tucson 2” .

it works somehow.

Meantime, susann is flying out of town and back to Dresden. Patti, her and I spent the day yesterday remembering chris whitley out there in the desert by where she spread his ashes. It was a stunning sunny cool crisp day in the desert. A memorable memorial.

Somewhere in that day she randomly mentioned something about matt ward playing in Dresden once. Circles within circles. Like a spring. A boing spring. If you look at the ups and downs of life as waves, and the familiar circular pattern of events here, it all kind of resembles the shape of a spring, this path we’re on.

This world is spring loaded I think.


Later that same night, the benefit for the aid workers goes very well. Tom walbank stuns the troops. Al perry proves why is the mayor of Tucson (without term restrictions). I did my set and attempted to remember the song I wrote and recorded and radioed all in the same go. It was a full day.

The next day my bed would not let me go. Just me and it. all day. The brain was busted. The heart, squee geeed. Time to do nothing. Soak in the nothingness. Sleep. Deep.
Tuckered and well tucked.

howe on 12.06.05 @ 10:30 PM GMT [link]

- recording 'SNO ANGEL with jeremy in ottawa -

howe on 12.06.05 @ 04:26 PM GMT [link]

. . . . the final missing diary clump . . . .

NOVEMBER 4 MADRID TO VALENCIA

I awake early for the plane. I need more sleep.
sms message on my euro cell phone.
“howe, It’s polly. Are you there?”
I peck her back; “I am here… somewhere. “

pestering feelings of mortality and the meaningness of it all out here on the road. There is a madness I keep hoping someone has the antidote for. Or at least a word or two about such endeavors. The very things that drive a man. extremes of his nature. To hunt down the unorthodox paradox. Or at least have breakfast with someone who knows a thing or two about a thing or two and can reveal some such filibuster over bread and cheese.

do we need to hear the urgings of a man that toys with the crumble and then invites it in to have a seat and stay for dinner ?

Ok I am stopping myself now…. I am not even on the right day here in this diary infuriation. Sorry I am speaking from Switzerland, but according to this paragraph I am yet in spain. Ok then.

Joan and I will head out to catch our flight to Valencia.
There we will be met by a man with a van to drive us to the festival in castellon. Archer prewett will be playing it tonight too. just saw him at my Chicago show. And sam prekop too. and Julie doiron. All old friends. My set time is 1:00. folks should be slurred just right by then I suppose. Hoping I find some anti-lag sleep prior to it all.

So that night is a fine night. I am surprised how good lou Barlow is doing a solo set. He is using 2 mics like me. he is also traveling with his wife and new baby. When I take the stage after him I tell his daughter not to worry (she is 9 months old) that I will not do a better set then her dad.

And I think I kept that promise.

I got satiated again with the set before me, like that time in Osaka with nika. So when I got up to play, I did not have that extra need to deliver. I think everyone still thought it was good. Except maybe the ending. At the last moment before going on stage, I realized that my computer had the ability to play a Spanish learning film. So I just attempted to activate it after my last song. Now the rest of the set was neat and succinct and well paced. The last 10 minutes or so got a little messy I thought. The real piano they provided always saves the day though. Anyhow, I attempted to segue into the Spanish lesson. No good. It hesitated somehow. And when it did come on, it came on louder then ac/dc. Massive blaring screaming women speaking polite Spanish very loudly, folks jumped and slumped.

I shot myself in the foot with over application.

I have to eliminate the inner urge for that.

maybe I should hire an editor to sit on stage with me.
A coach. Someone to stop me on occasion.
someone to calculate the odds of demise after such sonic gamble.

The end.

…then Julie doiron came on and saved the day. Another stunning set with a band called herman dune, whom opened up for us a few years ago in Seville but got hopelessly drunk on our liquor prior. Sad then. But great now. Apparently the main drinker fellow is no longer on board.

The night ends very late. 4:30 in the morning. Back to the hotel where me and lou and Julie and joan and mamen and herman dune band [david, nemen, andre and Jerome] all hang out in the abandoned bar area drinking some of our own stash. Mostly just happy to not let the night go.

5:30 when we finally do.

The end again.

- - - - -- -- - -- - - -
NOVEMEBER OTHERLY ….TRAVEL DAY .…NO PLAY DAY



Up at 12 to get going again. Have to make the plane by 4.
Leave the hotel by 1. And I get to the airport early and alone again. So. Plane I ride.

I have the bends too. weird permanent bends I think. Bent.
I believe I have been out of my mind for the last few days.
I hope it’s possible that I am not responsible for my own actions..
Now won’t get chance to say hello to françoise breut, who will be at the festival tonight after I am gone.

So I go. Get dropped off. I watch as the counter woman smiles at me like I know what I am doing. I happened to have bought this plane ticket on the internet when I was having coffee in Tucson at the outdoor café there at the hotel congress. now I am baring witness to its agenda and where it will fling me. I never even heard of this airline. I get a lunch alone. Its great actually. Very very old timey here at the valencia aeroporto. And I get free internet there at the table for some reason.

I board. I fly over france where there is a Tucson tour there called “we got cactus”, as well as riots for some reason. I am not sure why yet. Poor against rich probably.

I land in zurich and it finally feels like November. So I make like I know what I am doing some more and get my eruo-rail train ticket stamped before I get on a train. Very important that little detail. Then you can jump on any train going anywhere at anytime. The ticket is always issued to you with a first class seat too, which helps when touring cause it might fill up otherwise, and first class never does. And there will always be room for all your crap your hauling. But never anyone there you want to meet or talk too.

So I find a train that is direct to Lucerne where I am supposed to play tomorrow night. I get there alright, impressed with how nice the trains are here in Switzerland.
This car is like a long lounge and almost empty. The moods are still shifting hard. Its dark and cold out there.
I listen to ‘SNO ANGEL and it actually comforts me.

Spend some time on board with the lap top fixing up some art details and such for it’s release next spring. And then I get off in Luzerne an hour later. Fall into a taxi and zip to the hotel. The 3 kings. “drei konige”. And it’s a 3 star, but barely. I settle in. Enjoy being alone and entertain my thoughts of madness and flonk.

Then I head across the street for coffee, beer and internet cause its so there. The bartender woman recognizes me from playing here with giant sand whenever I was here before. She is likable and working hard. She says there’s no music in town tonight.

I catch wind of a casino that has poker. I grant myself the opportunity. It’s a Saturday night and I am on my own. But when I get there, there is no poker. I get myself a beer buzz to dare myself not to leave so quickly. I keep losing at the stupid games they muck you with. Hours crumple away. I don’t mind so much, but now I am down way more then I have ever been before, and I feel more bent on hitting a new low. I dive down deep. A plummet.

I also know if you have the stamina to “chase the dragon’s tail” (my own term) then eventually things turn around again, if you are not too damaged to figure it out. So I do. And it does. And then I know something. And I use it. and it works. And I finally win all my money back plus several hundred swiss francs more.

It literally became work. And that’s the only way to get it back if you are ever even going to get it back. It becomes like work.

Now it s almost 4 in the morning, when they close.
I happily exit the swank stank, chortling a bit with the security dudes. I go off walking in the exact opposite direction of where I want to go, thinking I have it under control. Soon I am ambling by a massive dark water with temptations to fall in so no one will ever figure it out. Dark water. Cold too. no fence or anything. Nobody around. Where exactly does the water begin and the earth end. its not certain. I get as close as I can. It felt great. You can feel the power of such a huge body of water when its dark and nobody’s around. Especially without the usual hamper.

Anyway. I get home finally after making some cell phone calls to my bretheren in denmark. Ok then.
Cab I ride. Taxi driver insists on helping pick up a drunk tourist. He is from spain. Me too today.
Home eventually.

And here I set and type. Listening to very old Dylan and then some little new song bits I have been working up on the piano.

Speakers on the road help. Fills the room and mind with possibilities instead of the usual drain of tv.


Ok. Good night. The end already. Its 5:30 in the morning again.

- --- - - - -- -

NOVEMBER 6 LUZERNE, SWITZERLAND


Mostly I sleep.
A lovely thing to have a day like this.
No one expects anything from me.
Can sleep the day away. so I do.

I get up for breakfast and then go back to bed.
That is severe luxury.
I awake about 4.
It is that dramatic gloom out the window.
The sky comes crashing in on the steep hills that are all clotted with castles and old stone homes. It’s the foothills to the alps. It’s the land that invented water.

I amble out to look for a good coffee at this time of day.
Its Sunday. Church bells have been ringing off the hook.
Now things have settled. Its almost dusk. There is a thick feeling of quiet like a blanket mixed with the whisk of tourist bustle to get anywhere other. Families clack and guffaw. Kids twiddle. Moms meander and dads dawdle.

I can not find a cup of coffee.
I have my lap top firmly tucked under my arm like it was a good book that needs reading soon. I am in my usual uniform these days: grey fake straw hat with a short brim. Sport coat of black wool. Glasses.

A woman comes out of a door next to a bar. There is a lot of murmur action inside this bar, but it does not have that inviting feeling for me. It feels foreign. Well, I feel foreign.
But it is the only place with any life around here. Folks seem happy enough inside. But it also seems in direct contrast to the Sundayness of this town.

So a woman comes out of a door beside the bar. She catches my ponder, not knowing what I am looking for, she seems to offer a suggestion with her half lidded bedroom eyes. She motions. I am not sure what she is saying. I think she is asking me if I want to come with her. Can she be a hooker here in switzerland on a Sunday ?

She has a purr about her. She seems sweet, actually, but also seems like she’s from somewhere else too. something does not feel right. She is now going inside the bar, and still asking me something with her smokey eyes and hip sway. I must look like a scientist from a different century. Maybe she is correct in deducing whatever it is she thinks I need. But I think she thinks I am in this proximity because of what she thinks I want.

So with a final toss of her loaded eyes, and a murmur of come on, I answer her with what is foremost on my mind, “coffee ?”

Now she looks confused. Maybe she was just stoned all along. But I walked in that doorway thinking maybe there is coffee in there. Man. It was a scene from a movie I never saw. Not sure what year it was in there either. But something from the swinging 70s I think.

Me standing in the doorway with my ibook.
Glasses. Hat. Coat.

I turned away to walk the streets again.

. . . .

I make it to the club for sound check. The sound check was the longest one I have been a part of. They are serious about their sound here in most of Europe, but this was a bit long for me. No other band playing tonight, so it gives the atmosphere a surreal delight. Very nice piano. Not like the Steinway that was in spain. It is a boston piano that has seen some real action. I can attack it without qualm.

I wonder how many people could possibly show up tonight. My guess is 24. andreas and Cybil is there to greet me and take me to dinner too. and angelica and rainer from germany is also there and it’s a good funny surprise to see them and ziggy too.

Then we go off for dinner. I have not eaten all day.
Dinner sets up the set tonight. Dinner, or lack of, is always the producer of the night’s set. And tonight was a simple satisfying one. Good rich Italian red wine from down the road. pasta made up surprisingly well. Even some brussel sprouts, which of course they don’t call that here. It all is very good and warm and enriching. I remember now also how delightful andreas and cybil were last time. She is somehow rivetingly beautiful in a way you do not see unless you just talk to her for a little while, and then it becomes overwhelming. I remember this now from last time we played here when anders the sound sound man was all over her irregardless of her boyfriend’s proximity. She had that kind of effect. Interesting to see that in a woman who doesn’t know it herself. Kind of great actually. And andreas made up an excellent mix cd for the show tonight, which he gives me afterwrards. It even has some rainer on it. they are one of those few perfect couplings. I tell them to have some kids soon to seal the deal.

The show begins with an Italian wine beer buzz.
It allows a certain abandon, which in turn allows me to find a room when many songs are living, there in the ether all around us. I begin with a symphonic “steadfast”. Soon I will even attempt a new song I have not written yet. It was coming earlier at the hotel room, but now it wants to stick its neck out and breathe. So I let it. seems friendly enough to me. No one there knows its just been born.

The piano is my best friend tonight. Later I will place my electric guitar in there and the over tones are creamy and zen full. I am controlling the guitar feedback and Octavia fuzz while the piano strings toys with certain frequencies that the guitar is happy to deliver.

I love that it works.

I am done eventually, but they want more. They should not really have much more cuz it will diminish the miles of songs before the encore. But I give in after an embarrassing long applause. Thanks folks. I continue.
I make an end.

A very good night. Healing too somehow. Got rid of some devils I think. So then I let the night get long again. Sorry.
Back to the hotel by about 3. it was just me and promoter eugen scheuch (same last name as the guy I learned guitar from back in Pennsylvania) …and the couple left slurping the solitary beer of the evening, rapidly enjoying the tunes on the pa from his great mix cd. I get back to the hotel home. the phone blips: polly. . . there alone in a bar in la and nick cave stuck on the stereo. She sounds like a country song. A waltz I think. A beautiful melody with severe sway.

some messages get pecked until it goes dead. I am beat. I finally allow the drench of sleep to wash over me and float me to the morn.

- -- - - - - - - - - ----- - -- - - - - -- - ----- - - - - - -- ------ -- -
NOVEMBER 7 TRAIN TO MECHILIN, BELGIUM

I am up again too early for my own good.
But its ok. I do not feel the devils of Madrid anymore.
That is when they hopped aboard me, waiting for my lag to creak open the door for them.

I am out the door in 30 minutes, packed and headed for the station. While I am outside getting in the taxi I notice a girl crossing the street whom I think for a second is the bartender from the club I played. But no. just a girl with headphones on and not looking my way. I get in. hey, there is the waitress from the coffee shop across the street, sitting outside beginning her day with a smoke. We wave hey. She sends me the thumbs up for the show. Good.

It will be a full day of train travel. More then 8 hours.
The show will suffer some from it. then I will only get 3 and a half hours sleep again. And the same kind of travel tomorrow to hamburg. Only worse.

The hamburg crumble beckons.

But I still hear from folks who loved the same show some people there hated. That little bit of info is somehow intriguing enough to perk a smirk.


The end.




howe on 12.06.05 @ 04:18 PM GMT [link]

mood: e t buckle for good luck


howe on 12.05.05 @ 07:15 AM GMT [link]

the missing tour section between the pacific rim and the hamburg crumble

NOVEMBER 1 20005


Halloween was successful. Sofie had done up the kids to make up for last year when we were hit with the news of her mom dying and had to fly back to denmark.

So this year no detailed was spared. Luka was a punk rocker. Sof did him up in a spiked necklace and metal riveted bracelet. She sewed a bunch of zippers on some stove pipe black pants too. Then she bleached the anarchy symbol on the back of a black t-shirt and wrote the clash on the front with ‘London calling’. She mohawked his hair and sprayed it blue. A touch of mascara under the eyes to top it off. He fell right into character like an actor, only I think it was an easy part for him to play. He then set to break dancing, punk rocker style.

Talula was a fairy princess. Sof dolled up her dress by sowing all kind of silk swirly things on it, added removable sheer wings, a magic wand that glistened, and an amazing hand made crown made out of golden metal wire and crystal jewels. It was a real royal crown.

I threw on a skull wall decoration I found at a club in san Francisco last year. Done.

We skirted the hood in a posse with brad denbore (thermos from doo rag) and his kids, done up as a gypsy and a Japanese cowboy. Both our littlest ones were born on the same day.

When the kids buckets got too heavy for them to carry, we spent the remainder of the evening over at patti’s mom’s house, which is the house rainer died in. this place has always been the spot we gather during the holidays. Big family hoo doo and tons of home made Mexican food.

That was that. Home then. Linda ray dropped off a sign to protest the arrest of the two folks that were trying to help a severely hurting father and son during their time of need trying to cross the desert from mexico last summer. Too many migrant workers die along the way since the desert this side of the border is way more treacherous and hotter then the one they are familiar with in mexico. It’s a constant heartbreak.

As we were cleaning up the house a bit, an interview came over the local community radio station (kxci). It was kurt Kirkwood talking up his new solo record. There are some weird things about the parallel existence of our two bands over the years. It mostly doesn’t figure or make any sense or real connection. I can’t even go into it. But it is there to even if I don’t know what to do with it. It’s like 2 different parallel worlds that can never really meet without disastrous ramifications. The clincher tonight was him talking about Montana. I have been making plans to retire there and open up a truck stop for wayward bands that travel that endless spans between seattle and minneapolis.
I found the location there in Livingston. And already have the name: TRIPLE 2 TRUCK STOP. A homage to the Tucson triple T truck stop, and to the fact that every phone number in Livingston begins with 222. A good omen, I think.

So there he was yammering about Montana.
There was a time when we almost got to be friends.
His brother has the same birth date as me. And I liked hanging with his brother chris when the chance was there.
Then there was the time we both released a record with a strikingly similar cartoon cover. That was weird. He drew his and I drew mine and they both had cartoon clouds.
They were released at the same time. And there was a phone call from kurt once, asking if I would be interested in playing guitar for the puppets.
That did not ever really play out though.

And I think Bettina was instrumental in getting them signed to a label she worked for called london. And now she has her own label I record for called thrill jockey. There’s other stuff too, but that’s the jist of it.

So that was Halloween. A little scary fun. A little ghostly.
And kind of haunted.

This morning I got the kids off to school. They had a candy hangover and were restless and rambunctious. I still needed to pack for my plane leaving in a few hours for more solo tour. got the kids to school late again.
This happens every day. I suck that way.
But it was good to have that extra time with them and its kinda cool to have it walking through school when the halls and playground are all empty and quiet.
It gives our conversations more of a memorable surreal tinge. I think we like that.


Then it’s time to head off to work.
Good work if you can find it, but the commute is hell.

Sof drove me to work and I always get to the airport late.
They always attempt to lecture me about being that late especially in these times. I can’t care about that. I can only fake caring if I have the energy. And they always manage to get me on the plane anyway, which is one of the reasons I live in a small town. To be late for the plane.

If I would add up all the hours that I would waste my life there waiting for a plane from getting to the airport early, I would just slit my wrists. Airports suck.
They are called terminal for good reason.

Tonight will be Chicago with john parish’s new band and doug mccombs’ opening solo set. I have not yet secured a hotel for me there either. Or spain tomorrow. Some things just fall through the cracks. Too much to manage with all the kids and family poking in to get me to do things.

So I am at odds. What should I really shoot for these days anyhow? I have no idea. I have no ambition.

I heard Kirkwood talking about the same thing on the radio, but it felt like he was lying to himself. Or at least wrestling with the notion of whatever this job description entails.
Maybe I am too.

Maybe I should track him down to have a talk. Maybe just about nothingness at least. Although when he was asked about what local tucson music he might be aware of, he just mentioned seeing calexico in Austin.
That was funny and haunting too.


- - -


I arrive in Chicago.

I amble down alone to the baggage claim.
It takes a while for the bags to come out.
Just the circular motion of the belt. Folks standing around.
It is just one form of despair at the terminal.

Once I collect my bags, it all seems like it is finally too much luggage for a solo tour. I have 2 guitars (one acoustic, one electric) one small roller bag (filled with my effects pedals and a couple mics and wires), 20 or 30 cds to sell off for ‘tour support’, and a small amount of clothes. I also have a very small back-back for my life on the plane. In it is the cd player and some cdz and dvdz, a lap top computer, the shaving kit, a magazine and some other implements of diversion and work load.

Junk.
Too much of it. I assemble it altogether like a puzzle and roll away to find a cab. The Chicago air is rich in crispy coolness. My taxi driver is dressed like Samuel Jackson in a movie I can’t remember, but it gives a solid comfort to the otherwise dreary ride through traffic and human commute.
Its 5:00 rush hour, but we seem to avoid any. I get to the club and it all comes back to me like an old dream.

The empty bottle. And it is empty, almost. I am let in and it is a small joy to dump my stuff off and secretly hope it all gets stolen. Then I walk through the connecting doors to the ‘bite’ restaurant next door and find the only folks there: john parish and his band. A sweet reunion. Hugs and kisses from the Italians and warm embrace from the French and british.


The weather outside is bleak. The street is a big city bleak street. They unload they gear from the van and don’t let me help. That was nice. We set up. I do my wires and see what works today. Its all good enough.

After their sound check, john and I are meant to do an interview where they photograph us and record us just talking to each other in coversation. Fine.
We are also dressed very similar. Funny that.

Then we catch doug mccombs (tortoise, broke back,
11th dream day) opening the night and he sounds great solo. He sings too, which is something I never knew he would do, and he sounds really wonderful. He is also playing my guitar which sounds better then I thought. (he showed up with one just like it, but no pick-up yet…so)

Then john parish and band took the stage. They sounded better then ever. I heard their first show a year and a half ago in a tiny village in italy, rough and shambolic, but great and every time since then they have sounded better and better. I got up in the set with doug’s small amp and provided some mosquito guitar. Fun.

Then I took the stage. It turned out all right. All the solo touring in recent times kicked in. fortunately. John parish played some drums, and then i got up susan voelz on violin, got up frank orall from poi dog on drums too. got up doug on bass and marta on piano from john’s band. And jean marc on drums too. just more fun.

And then we got to soak up the evening a bit. Lots of old friends and acquaintances. A fellow from Tucson I did not know came up to me to talk cuz he spends time in aarhus denmark too with his girlfiend. Some girl bought me a beer who had never heard of me before, so I think that was lucky. And then the poetress simone muench whom I have not seen in years, showed up and handed me her new book of poetry, which is beyond splendid. she had written the lyrics to a song on one of my ‘upside down home bootlegs’ called spider woman. She is a great writer of such. Sucks me in it does. And Tania bowers also showed up. A stunning woman from Australia, who manages to make very few but very good recordings now and again. Some folks from Madison also drove all the way down to catch the show. And a dad showed up with his 22 year old daughter, who also went as bob Dylan for Halloween like my patsy. Ha.

Bettina (boss of thrill jockey) was looking good especially since I had not seen her since her drastic and successful brain aneurism operation. All seemed to go well on this little incidental coincidental layover to the european solo tour.

So then we loaded up john’s rental mini van. Georgia and marta squished together for me to fit. Marco took the wheel. We headed down to the red roof in downtown Chicago. I knew the rooms would be like they were. The windows were locked tight because rooms like these inspire suicidal flippancies. You flip, in them, see ?. they are thick with the trample of human parading over the years. Not good. There is no love in these rooms. They is a residue of something else. Something deadly if you let it seep in. best to attempt sleep as soon as possible and wash the room away with the passing of the moon. These kind of rooms are dangerous in how they hamper the notion of remaining on the road.

At this point, at my age, it usually becomes essential to perk out the details of the road to allow for the most mileage left. When I was younger, this stuff didn’t make a dent. Now it attacks with a deadly thrust. You can feel the despair rise to the surface, waiting for you to see its invisible hate of your kind and its dire disregard for whatever you left behind.

A nasty room. Thick with spell bind. better avoid these rooms. Go to price line dot com and get yourself the swank remedy of something that cost the same but comes with several more stars attached to it. the end.

- - - - -- - -- - - - - --- - - - - -

NOVEMBER 2 CHICAGO


John and I woke up early as men with children are apt to do.

We headed out to the airport. Our different flights, his to los
angeles and mine to Madrid, were coincidentally leaving within 2 minutes of each other at gates directly across from each other. We all had some food. I showed john’s posse around the airport some, knowing it all too well.

And then I took john for a drink alone in the club reserved for people that travel an ungodly amount. We talked of love and passion and how it still comes into play at this age and how it mucks us and we can only serve as witnesses with no resolve, but instead to just know better and figure out exactly how happy we need to be anyway. We clocked in with what it’s like for men of our age up here in such a similar sonic realm. And then the clocked scolded us, and he hurried off to his gate while I meandered a bit more up there on a last minute email or two. I can’t help always fucking with the scolding clock. So I got to my gate just as they were about to write me off. Normal stuff. They took my ticket and before I boarded I turned to stare at the gate across from my own. Got sad then. John and his band had already boarded of course. I lamented the leaving and not having more time to figure out this life with him. And to hug the sweet Italians and frenchy one last time, at least, for good luck.

I got on board my solitary path.

Got my seat. Hung up my hat.

I played me the tribute set for rainer back at the hotel congress in Tucson from the 25 years celebration of the town’s music scene. Jim blackwood, the archivist, made me a cd of it. Have not heard it yet. It will need to be served up with a shot of something on the rocks. Otherwise its all too much sometimes.
Too much and and not enough too.

got to Miami for my connection to Madrid. Not much time there. Very confusing airport. None of the phones worked. I desperately wanted to call home. Hear sofie’s voice. Talk to the kids a bit. Last chance. You never know. Every time you kiss them good night, you have to do it like it’s the last time. You never really know.

No luck. None of the phones were working anywhere. Ran into a woman there who filled me in on that fact. Turns out she was a jazz singer. Almost told her about my love for monk. Instead she told me monk was her favorite and how she would sing a lot of his stuff. I was happily shocked. Then I ran off for the next 45 minutes looking for a phone in an airport where the ac was not working, and the odd November florida heat was there seeping in like it too was trying to hide from the next hurricane.

Anyway… when I finally found a phone I was miles away from my gate. I got the message machine at home. I left the kind of message that begs to be erased. Blah toned and unexplainably lost.

And then I did get a little lost. All the while the clock ticking like a bandit. Might miss this plane. The luggage of my carry on load only vexed me. What is with all this crap ?

Why am I so unhappy all of a sudden.

I find my gate. About the last one on. I am upgraded in business class and I still sulk.
I suck right about now.
Maybe I am missing something.
A mineral or a vitamin.
A vitality or an urgency.

No. I will belly up to the beverage cart.
I am going nuts again I guess.
So.
Plane I ride.



- - - - - - - - - - --- - -

the passenger next to me is also from Tucson I find out. He is coming to Madrid too for business. He works for a weapons or defense company. This has unsettling effects as the night wears on.

I watch a couple of movies:
The interpreter. …not bad. Sean penn always good. The plot is good too. thick with the muck of the world these days.

The ring 2. I have not seen the ring 1, so it could be why this movie is lost on me. Mostly I think the shots are beautiful as is the supposedly disturbing music. It sounds beautiful. But the mom in the movie is scary just thinking she actually makes a living acting. And the son is a funny one and totally reminds me of my son when he is screwing around with me. Makes me miss him a lot. Wish I were back there with him, or have him travel with me alone, father and son style.
To quote Rainer quoting George Harrison:
“ I am quite prepared for that eventuality.”

So. I watch a few scenes of the movie in hopes I can learn something more about humanity and what scares us. But instead I only learn what makes us laugh, and how beautiful water is.

The final film I check out is the old Wilder flick:
“some like it hot”. Now that one has me riveted, but the plane ride ends before its finished.
Drat.

n - - -- - -- - -- -----


howe on 12.02.05 @ 11:38 PM GMT [link]

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howe on 12.01.05 @ 07:09 PM GMT [link]