'SNO ANGEL TOUR (April 21 - May 20) Summer 2006
APRIL 21 2006 - TUCSON
I decide to take on the fast. I can just slip in enough days and still have that final morning of poco cosa salsa on my way out of town when I head to the airport. The massive ‘sno angel tour is impending. It begins for me may 1. I can jump on the lemonade fast for about 6 days and then jump off in time to hit the road. Give everything up. Clean up.
I got to get ready.
During this time I am not myself. I am wobbled from the lack of meals, which in itself is indication of how much I need to stop eating and drinking too much junk. I am free now, but wobbled. I am wobbled at the cat power show. It is about the best live show I have seen and I want to talk to chan, but I am too wobbled. I am wobbled hanging there with neko. I was wobbled playing piano for chris Scruggs there in the studio. The only time the wobble feels safe is watching my son at his basketball practice in the school yard. The winds blow through me. They are strong and certain. The sun stains my back and the light bouncing off the young players is startling. It is a sunset mirror on small humans.
I am wobbled.
MAY 1
Jumped off the fast on Sunday.
Headed down to poco cosa on Monday, but they were closed because of another mexican solidarity march. I leave a note. Right before I head to the airport, Sandra from poco co shows up at the house with some salsa to go.
That helps.
Leaving for the airport, I have exactly 10 minutes to spare, if I want to make my plane on time and arrive at the very last minute allowable. I chose to vote first, just to see if I can, and still make the plane. I play these kind of games heading to the airport, always daring the plane to leave without me. Daring destiny to alter its course, but always end up making the plane even when I think I shouldn’t.
So then I end up sitting on the tarmac in a middle seat back in coach for almost 2 hours. Big winds in chicago dictate. I am thankful for the fast. I fit in between these large humans much better now.
The end.
MAY 2 - OTTAWA
I am homeless. Thought I would use the price line dot com method of hotel stay to get me through the day to day. Worked the first night, but now I am sunk. The town is sold out because of a tulip festival.
I’m stumped.
When I head down to check out, the woman at the front desk who woke me to kick me out, now remembers me from staying here last time. She finds me a room for the next 2 nights and then discounts it.
I once was lost but now I’m found.
I walk off to the embassy to get more pages for my passport book cause all my pages are used up. They tell me at the embassy they are closed. Will have to try back the day before we leave. Otherwise england always has a problem when my passport has no room for them to stamp me in.
- - - that night we attempt a rehearsal at dave’s studio.
- It is that overwhelming feeling of focusing back in to this matter of business from so many years ago. I intend to wrap it around me, but at the moment I am just enjoying eating again. Too many things to do. It all might be too much. I will wait and see when the mind just shuts off again. That has happened a lot with the infinite details of setting this tour up. The mind just shuts down when it gets besieged with an overwhelming amount of information.
After having a meeting with the choir and fielding all their sweet questions, I go off to the manx alone for a dinner and a wine. I leave and pick up some carrots for the hotel room.
MAY 3
So today I spent the morning like an office worker. At the desk here in this hotel room, doing up all kind of things. Lap top stuff. Amazing amount of details that seems to wait for you to water it, and then buds and blooms.
Like an allergy waiting to happen.
I hit my usual favorite little restaurant for lunch.
2 blocks away and perfect after the fast.
Italian.
The rehearsal tonight turned a corner for me. I was more there. And then the choir surprised me with their version of ‘mountain of love’. It was a big slice of original inspiration for me. They also showed off some of their choreography for the funky tunes. And we were all able to work up this idea I have of an encore that marries my sweet lord in to oh happy day….but have not told them yet about me starting it off with walk on the wild side… I might save that for the first night live.
The night ended with lucie idlout coming into town with a friend. We sat up most of the night in a dingy hotel room going round robin singing songs. Her friend casandra brought along the most severely amazing ancient wurlitzer piano I have ever witnessed.
We set it up in the room and had at it.
MAY 4
Got up at the crack. Got to the US embassy before they opened. Needed to get those passport pages. Everything goes ok, but they cannot do a decent name check on me. Something is amiss they think. I wait. And then I wait. After a while I wait some more. Eventually they just over ride the system and let me out of there. But the name check thing never panned out. I might not be really me after all.
This could be a relief.
Last rehearsal tonight. A fairly quick one. Then jeremy gara shows up and we head off to dinner atop the spinning restaurant there in the center of the city. Every time I make the mistake of taking my hat off and placing it on the ledge next to me, it slowly disappears… riding on the spin. Jeremy and I get a rare chance to talk. We both be tickled by the critical success of this record we recorded, and by the band arcade fire he’s now in and their upcoming recording endeavors.
The night spins slowly. I retire early. I am in the crown plaza, because of the gamble of price line dot com, and they only offer me a stanky smoking room. I shove myself off to sleep to just try and get to the morning.
MAY 5
The bus. We all get there early. It seems more like this tour will actually happen now, but I always remain unconvinced till we are all aboard the plane. The choir however has not heeded my warning of traveling light. They have a stunning array of large suitcases, each combined with a smaller satellite suitcase attached. I tried several times to make this clear, but they need to find out for themselves now. Traveling with too much stuff on the road diminishes the treasures of momentum.
So we bus it to montreal. Get on board. We take off, and now it feels like we are on tour. Everyone is a glee. No problems at passport control. 13 of us and no problems yet.
We fly into the next day.
MAY 6
Arrival in Brussels. Its easy. The hotel needs us to wait for our rooms. Most everyone falls asleep in the big lobby chairs. I go for a walk in the turkish section there. Every other store front is a turkish pizza joint or a barber shop.
This night I manage to take everybody out to my favorite italian restaurant. This is no small event, but its good practice to try and make a move with 14 people like this. All goes well. Then it’s over to the outdoor café section where I usually hang when I’m in town. Also nice. Then the choir heads back to practice and me and the band take in the old jazz bar ‘the arch`duc’ just for good luck. They like that just fine. Then hotel home.
MAY 7 = BRUSSELS
Natalie showed up with her daughter bruna to try to tour manage us some. We show up for sound check and there is never really enough time. We are set up unlike we all decided we were going to set up. Then off to dinner.
I dress all in black with a big turquoise bolo tie and grey hat with brown lizard shoes. The choir has all dressed in white and khaki. We commence. The crowd seems to adore. I am surprised by the weight of it all. It has an enjoyable thrust. It’s only the first show ever, so it is not perfect, but way way better then any first show I have ever been privy to.
MAY 8 = BONN
The train.
This is the part of the trip that is all of us traveling by train. 16 of us now, with sound man, and tons of luggage. This is us by train. This is the big test. We make the first train on time. Ride it the 2 hours to koln. Then I decline the connecting time of 8 minutes by sending the band and choir off to go check out the giant ‘dome’ cathedral which is just above the station there. It’s a perfect tourist op. We pile the ton of baggage in a coffee shop near the platform. Anders, bruna and I wait with that heap. Then an hour later we catch the next train to bonn… and just as I figured, the duration was short enough so our now incorrect tickets will not be checked. I will have successfully snuck on 16 people on a german train with all that baggage.
Bonn is a small town on a lovely spring day. The kind of day you remember from your childhood or old movies. White birch trees sway in the breeze.
Blooms bloom in multitudes.
Its an effort to figure out the taxi situation with all of us and the bags. Some of us walk after we load up a couple of large taxi vans. The hotel has no elevator. Folks are figuring out now how much luggage not to bring next time. They now marvel at my little bag, but that took years to whittle down.
The hotel is cozy and clean. The breeze comes in and hangs out. The beds are deliriously comfortable. The vibe is slow and leisurely. Sleep deep for an hour. Then sound check. Another 4 taxis to the club… this time without bags.
The club is mostly an outdoor beer garden. But the stage is not bad inside, and it fills up good. Tonight we sound like we have played together for a long time. It is a very fine night. After we have dinner I keep trying not to sign autographs. Already word is spreading that I do not sign things anymore, and it is very interesting to see some of the old timey collector folks struggle with believing that. But when I do sign something, the signature has eroded severely now.
It is barely an X now with a dot or two.
We pile in another 4 cabs back to the hotel then. There is a sweet little beer garden tucked away in the back yard there. We attempt to linger, but the usual lack of sleep on the road coaxes me back up to slumber land while the youngest choir girls hang out with the road encrusted band dudes.
MAY 9 = BERLIN
Show was held in a church. A beautiful spring night unfolds. The place fills up. About 600 people with some stuck outside. We commenced at 8 pm. Done by 9:30.
It was an extraordinary night. The encore with walk on the wild side, my sweet lord, and o happy day was resounding.
Afterwards, we have mexican food. A very good omen. Amen.
MAY 10 = TRAVEL DAY: berlin to london
So we end up avoiding a demonstration that has tangled traffic in town, and still got to the airport 3 hours early. We couldn’t check in till 2 hours prior so we settled in and found some food. I am never happy being early for the airport.
Too unnatural.
I had already missed at least one interview because of not being able to check any ‘heads up’ on my email, so it seemed I should get my lap top out and make sure I am up to date with word from headquarters. Eventually I settle in a small office shop. They have internet and I click on for the minimum. Right before my time is up, sound man anders appears all frantic. He acts mystified by my disappearance because it’s past the 2 hour check in time. I am mystified by his mysticism. So then we check in and there is no problem with all our tonnage of baggage. O happy day.
There can be no getting upset out here in the flow. That loss of control only adds to the confusion. What you need here on the road with so many people is at least the illusion of organization, and then actual organization often falls in behind the simulation. So we talk. I am the old man. I offer up some evidence in story book fashion.
Losing it means losing it.
We land in luton, outside London, greeted by steve left, trusty tour manager since 1989. Natalie did a good job. She’s from Belgium. She tied all the loose ends in a sweet bow of her disposition. Anders comes from denmark, and the thing about the danes is that they always move in a pack. It’s a stunning thing. They look out for each other and they always make a move together. In the states we are rogues. Free radical movement. Lost cowboy mentality.
The 2 vans are large and seem comfortable. Tomorrow will be john parish and posse in Bristol. Meanwhile, dave draves, co-producer and engineer of the record, has shown up from ottawa to complete the band. It’s been a good travel day, with a slight tinge of muck. It will be the only day off we can afford with so many people on the road.
We are 17 now.
MAY 11 = BRISTOL
We pull into Bristol during its normal traffic turmoil at about 3:00. Drop the stuff off at the hotel, and head to the venue. It turns out to be a converted church. John parish shows up and we head off together to find a guitar shop to fix my 1952 Gibson. The luthier says he thinks he can have it done by 5:30. john and I wander off to hang out some. I throw in some laundry at a laundry mat, and him and I take in a half pint of bitter. Then over to adrian utley’s place for nice cuppa. He’s busy there working on the next portishead record. His house has a great view looking over the city. Then its time to fetch the Gibson and grab the washing.
It’s all back up and running again.
I head back to john’s house and visit the family until the traffic dies down. Then back to the church. As he drops me off, a fellow with crippled legs falls off his crutches in front of me and hits his head hard on the jagged rocks there. I help him in to the club, back stage, bleeding like a river from his skull. His girlfriend shows up, and she is a nurse, so its all ok eventually. 2 women are looking after things there; mary and kale. They in turn keep an eye on the poor bleeder. They also seem like sirens their amongst the jagged harbor. A man could easily crash upon their rocks.
I have been messaged by plant and polly that they both cannot make the show tonight. It dispels some, but then the excitement of finally playing england with this group kicks in. Vetiver opens the show and sound pretty good to me too.
We take the stage and make some serious zing.
Yep. Zing. It’s a wonderful night of playing again.
The band sounds even fuller now with draves on organ, and the joy of having steve left tour manage is again a huge relief. there is now so much less I have to concern over, and so instead just focus in on the delivery of the songs. It is the first night I am able to get through the entire set list without help from the lyric sheets. I trade a cd for a wallet made from the opening band’s singer’s girlfriend who plays cello. Not leather at all, made from an old tennis racket cover.
It’s a fun and sweaty show. It’s a spine tingle and a glow.
At the very end my guitar strap wrangles around and catches the mic stand and topples it, the way I used to knock things over in my endless tangle mucks. But this time, unbeknownst to anyone, I cannot get out of the predicament because of my frozen shoulder. And this cracks me up more and keeps me tangled longer. I have to hook my arm out of the strap in such a strange way, against the weight of the mic stand which I have caught with my foot when it was falling.
The end.
After the show, maria and john and michelle and their friends all hang for a bit. Just before that I practice my ‘no autograph’ rule. It works most of the time. And the guitar worked beautifully, in many ways, better then ever.
There will be a 5 star review in the daily UK independent on this show. First time for me to ever have such a live review. Severe yippity.
MAY 12 = NEWCASTLE
Ah. Geordies. My fave. I love it here. The gateshead sage looks over the town across the river tyne. A lovely setting. Today the cherry blossoms were a flutter. The city a buzz on a Friday. We performed very well. the crowd not shouting back much this time, unlike most times here, as if they might be done in by the weight of the sound. We also launched 2 new songs tonight: ‘spiral’ and ‘ballad of the tucson 2’ with its new complex choir chordings on the part just before the chorus. The band plays it tight now too. I am amazed at how well structured the song is and how much fun it is to play with all the pieces combined. Plus, it gives a good loud shout to the cause. We begun it with a brief verse/chorus from ‘underground train’, the 20 year old song of similar scenario.
It was a tight set too. We took the stage slightly late and this provided the challenge of fitting all the tunes in by editing out some of the stuff that doesn’t need to be there.
That in turn increased the pace of the 2nd half a bit which aided in spirit. I loved it. So did the choir, band and crowd.
After wards, we hit the hotel, way outside town, and went back into town to shove a couple of pints into the night.
It was patrick’s birthday. The pub was a buzz.
It was the first night courtney tidwell opened the evening for us. She was spunked and spirited. Wyndham wallace is on board then to watch over her from his new berlin label. He used to run city slang in london. He used to put out the calexico records.
The end.
MAY 13 = LONDON SORT OF; BLACKHEATH
Long drive. We show up on time. No food at the venue. No nothing. No good. The end.
But the hall was beautiful and large. Pianos all over the place. The stage had a theatrical pitch, so the grand had to be set up in front of the stage, which was a big jump down. During the show I would be able to hang out down there with my wireless guitar, then bound back up to the stage off the piano bench.
It was a good show, but could not connect as well with the crowd vibe. They were seated too far back from the stage and the lights were blinding. I could not make out a single soul there. Had to keep that in check and make it seem more intimate. The choir was joyous per usual. And the new songs took on a heightened glory.
A very good night again.
The town of blackheath was a great discovery. There is a giant hill, kind of flat on top. A large spans of grassy field. Nothing on top of it. No trees at all. Apparently it is where the black plague had made the towns folk of London bury massive graves there with heaps of bodies piled upon heaps. And they say that there the plague lives for about 1000 years, and so they are not too excited about ever digging in that field yet.
Back at the hotel, we gather in room 77 and listen to the stream of Ottawa hockey. Its not good. They lose in overtime to the buffalo sabers.
The end.
Come morning I venture out across that heath. Maybe nothing grows there because of the amount of lime they have dumped on top of the mass graves. When I get to the end, I cross into greenwhich park and follow that to its edge, which fantastically looks out over the city of London.
MAY 14 = READING
Another glorious venue. Stunning. We go for a walk behind the place and run into some ruins of an abbey from the 1100s, which is also right beside a modern prison, where oscar wild had been jailed, and now has a bloke screaming at the free folk below from the high tower window there. It all lends itself, but Bryson is disturbed by it. it does have a haunting attached to it. I think maybe because us musicians always feel just a slight step away from said incarceration.
The show this night is a spectacular thing. Magnificent. We have changed the set list a bit and it stands up way high.
Afterwards …I amble across the street and meet some folks.
Celion and haley and olie and james. Then another table with a boat load of folks who were at the show. It s a sleepy Sunday but oddly comfortable here in reading. They all offer congrats and beers if needed. But I head back to the venue. Lemmy has shown up from italy and brought cheeses.
And then I bound off alone. Hit the streets and try and get lost by myself. Nothing happens. I am alone in a bar where everyone who works there has to wear pirate hats.
Not good.
MAY 15 = BBC 2 MANCHESTER
We have had to separate today. Left the other half of the band and choir at the holiday inn express in reading, made even more sad by them just sitting there in the ugly americanized lobby with a power shut-off and an incessant door alarm ringing. They seemed completely removed from these depleteings however. It was just my scene to carry.
So 5 members of the choir and 3 of us band men are to go off and have a 4 hour drive on our one day off to play at a live bbc 2 radio show this evening with mark Radcliff. It should be interesting to see what we sound like with this stripped down line-up. If it works it could offer up a plan B possibility to certain shows out there that cannot afford the whole shebang. So it is cristine, jerusha, neema, faith and Patrick from the choir, and fred, andrew and me from band land, with steve left at the helm. The rest of the band and choir will head off to London proper and have the day off.
- - - -
We do the show. It’s not bad. The dialogue between me and mark was fluid I think. I liked him a lot. He had great timing and seamless delivery. His mix of tunes were wonderful. So we set up and got to it. 3 songs in his 90 minute show. We were half a band and half a choir due to logistic restraints set by the booking agency and record company and space of the place. I was against doing this with anything less then the full entourage, but went with what the dust settled on. For some reason we played the 1st song way too fast. The drums kicked it off. And the grand lack of low end combined with the slam of the radio compression made the whole sound like something the chipmunks might have recorded. The 2nd faired a bit better, but still lacked that enjoyable lope and delve I thought. It simply suffered from the whole band and choir not being there. The 3rd song was the ballad of the Tucson 2, something brand new, and that one did ok I think.
Anyhow. There it was. I bailed out of the van on the way back to the hotel. Me and neema and christine went and had some impromptu Chinese food at 1:00 am. The talk was good. They are both from Africa. Tanzania and Kenya. Everybody’s lives are the same mostly. Tragedy and comedy. Romances and happenstances. The end.
- — - - -
MAY 16 = LONDON
So… we get up way too early to make the long drive back to London for the show tonight. Up and out the door by 8:00. Pick the independent newspaper today and the entire issue is edited by bono. It wreaks havoc on me. It focuses in on the notorious aids epidemic in Africa.
Next up, there is already some problems with having maria shoot some video of the show tonight, let alone the confusion with her friend steve to also do so.
The venue wants us to pay up for the privilege.
I am tinged with the bends I believe. Even breakfast at the truck stop began to piss me off. I wonder if I am letting my self get angry because London always seems like an important show, so maybe this is some involuntary way of dealing with the stress of that.
Or not. Maybe things just suck today. Ok then, suck away.
- - - - -
Arrival at saint lukes is a subtle delight. The venues continue to impress and inspire. I also figure out what the distortion has been coming out of my amp. Done. Then we do up another new old song, ‘ astonished ‘. It sounds like a dream with the choir and band.
After sound check, we opt to walk a bit and find a good old style pub. Its this kind of moment that allows the feeling of a momentary holiday. The band all congregate in a dark comfortable pub while the young women of the choir go off shopping nearby. It’s a family here on the road again.
Or a small town.
I am in a much better mood. The folks here at st. lukes and the barbican folks promoting it are all very sweet and it’s contagious. I try and set up some folks to film the night but have to pay about 300 bucks for the privilege. Very costly, especially when 2 of the 3 camera operators cannot get their equipment in time for the show. So it is left to only maria to film with her mini cam.
Funnily enough the choir decides on their most casual dress to date. Denim and white. So the band goes on denim and black. We play a very tight elegant set. But maybe the length is now bloated just a bit from all the new songs. I will have to cut a tune or two from now on. And also we opt not to do the walk on the wild side, my sweet lord medley and just launch straight into o happy day. And I think it lacked the sheer tickle of glee from finding our way from point A to point B.
But the piano songs came across extremely beautific tonight. Especially the brand new ‘astonished’. Apparently dinosaur jr. were in the house, but I did not go back out to mingle after the show. I was having a full time just saying hello to well wishers and agents and such back stage. Stewart lee showed up with bridget, the feel good couple of the year, and was good to hang a bit. And the new agent who brought us all over here for this tour was there as well the usual old agent, whom both needed some time to chat. And then, London was over. Everybody filed out fairly quick.
I was left alone back stage gathering my stuff, thinking about things. Tucking some clothes in my small bag. Wondering about the worth of it all. Thinking about the family back home. Thinking about the workload. Thinking how lucky I am with this choir attached to me.
Maybe a little prayer escapes.
Some thanks in there.
Amble out into the night. Feel the wonderful heavy moist air chilled to perfection. Decided to walk back to the hotel and get a little lost instead of riding in the van. Some others came along. A good walk home from work.
That night just the band and the choir gathered in the hotel bar still feeling so delighted in that hang time. Lemmy from italy and nickie the photographer came along too. sometimes you pick up on the folks thoughts hanging with us and how much they enjoy the warmth of contingency.
The day breaks apart into small particles and ends there.
MAY 17 = BIRMINGHAM
I have to wake up early. 8:00 am again. Have to go to work. Head down to a radio interview there in London. BBC 6 digital station. The dj is over the top with accolades about the new record. It feels so funny and unfamiliar to deal with such glee over one of my own records. I take it in with slight tickle, like enjoying a fine lunch but ends when the meal is gone.
They have a copy of giant sand’s first record there from 1985 that they were playing earlier In the show. We look very young on the back cover photo. It’s of the band; tommy, scott and me at the cathey de grand punk rock club in los angeles back in the early 80s. The dj phill said they got calls very interested in wanting to know what the music was when they played it. it occurred to me that that was the one thing rainer and I had decided to do so long ago; to make records that would stand up 20 years later. In hopes they would not embarrass. I am happy with the ilk of mine, though his records seem to soar way higher now more then ever.
Ok then. we play a track from Isobel and lanagen’s record.
And I am off to a couple more interviews, then back to the bus. And we ride in the rain up to Birmingham. I wonder if Robert will show tonight to sing o happy day. He had done so with Victoria Williams back up in pioneer town last month. I lament the absence of polly during this run. I find it funny how much I miss her when she’s never usually there anyhow.
— - — - -
We hit Birmingham in the hissing rain. I like it. The venue tonight is a club, not a hall like the rest. It’s called glee. On the way up I happened to break out the moana glee club for a listen. The end.
The backstage is tiny with us all crammed in there, as if we actually stretched it out some by the time we left. Anyhow, since it was a club tonight and raining out, I authorized the use of the scotch prior to the show. The audience came in and set up very close to the stage. It was going to be good doing a club show after all the big halls. And so we hit the set hard. The folks there liked it. They were a great crowd. And brave too, since they had to chose between the big football match on the tube tonight.
Well ok. We left em satisfied. Robert plant was a no show.
The end.
Back to the hotel, which was like a skanky ‘shining’ hotel. But on the tv was a poker match between denmark and france. Never seen that before. Yip.
MAY 18 = GLASGOW
Tonight’s hotel has a ‘barton fink’ feel. What gives? I get the suicide room. It’s on the 4th floor. they are renovating that floor. Every room is stripped down to the ancient floor boards. So many things that have never gotten cleaned. I walk down a truly endless hall way.
All the rooms doors are open down that walk and show off the old floor boards and filth and scrapings of chipped lead paint and crumble. When I get to my room, its down a little cul-de-sac hall. The room has humungous windows with that kind of curvy panes you can’t see through. Of course the room is dark except for the blur blare of the outside light, but every time it begs you to have a peak, them visionless windows bite your eyes.
I turn on the tv instead to look outside. Its an old episode of ‘the big valley’. The rich rancher brothers are being held in a prison by a warden who send his men out to arrest people for no reason. The beautiful sister back home on the ranch feigns concern. Then the scene is back to the prison where one of the brothers is being strung up for a whipping.
I got to change rooms.
— - - - - -
My new room is even further away. About 2 miles from the elevator. But it’s the 3rd floor, no renovations, and is huge. The bathroom is about the size of a ballroom. It looks out over the magnificent rooftops of Glasgow and their stunning facades in corrosive brilliance.
Lucky for us, the club is in walking distance, which is always good luck. But the innards were also voluminous.
It shrunk us for a bit. The folks there seemed keen on us.
Maybe it’s just their normal overall welcome way, but it felt like the place was happy for us to come to play.
The show that night had that singular northern spirit. You begin to feel it the more north you go from London. When you get to Scotland, there is something big about it. Folks are tough, but with a severe willingness to partake in merriment. The show was a spirited one. Lots of fun on stage. We played everything we knew tonight. Even “shiver” and “astonished” without a piano. And we went back to the original medley encore, except with “ballad of the tucson 2” thrown in first, and a dollop of “underground train” prior to that. Worked up a righteous sweat. Soaked.
When it was all over, the band and choir was ecstatic from the set still. I slipped off to have a drink with some folks in the quiet bar there in the club. Some fine crack there. Or however you spell it. Met up with the 2 ians who came all the way to Tucson last September for the 20th year anniversary. This time with their wives, who were also dancing up front near the end, which always helps. And met up with the edmonton fellow who had me play at his little club years ago. He said he will try to get me over for the summer maybe at his new club. And then a woman there with enough charm to get me to commit to some benefit shows here that would take me to other even more northern regions of the country at some point later. But no Isobel Campbell. The omens were leading up to what I thought was going to be a run in with her here, but nope. The end.
- — - - - - -
MAY 19 = MANCHESTER
More sleep then I have had all tour. 8 hours solid. Then we hit the road, already reading a review of the Glasgow show in the morning herald. Nice one.
When we pulled into Manchester, the club is in the university building. Folks there are charming enough but there is too much tangle of steps and halls and elevators and no humpers to help. It almost sucks. Plus fred discovers his bag of pedals is a miss. Him and I go off to just catch a closing music store, and purchase a couple things for him. It changes his sound for the better this night.
The choir has changed into yet another outfit I have not ever seen them in before. This helps explain their massive luggage tote I reckon. A woman appears out of nowhere back stage, walks up to me and gives me a startling kiss, hands me a cd. Then I recognize her as the lead singer form the band that opened for us last time giant sand played in town here. I remember them sounding very good then. she looked completely different, and so I enjoyed the moment of startle, which never really happens anymore.
It is the first night on the tour that chairs were not set up. The crowd was on their feet from the onslaught, and this helped a great deal to get them well into it. it has been uncomfortable for the audience to get up and stand once they are seated. So this was a happy happenstance. We rocked for them. maybe it was the most rocking night yet.
Me and fred had some wonderful crazy duels. I brought Courtney Tidwell up in mid song to sing with us on “robes of bible black”, it being her final night with us. Lovely.
Then we slammed the encore hard and left in a stately triumph, soaked again. the facility shut down fast around us. We had not eaten yet today. It was midnight. It takes forever to unload by ourselves, with steve left doing all the pack up himself. Steve will me a poppa soon, and his momma to be was their for a visit. Sweet.
Then the hotel was a big drag again. way out of the way and modern cheapness, motel style crap. Takes forever again to get back into town to find some food. Forever to order. Forever to get back. The usual linger with multitude on empty stomachs when the day has taken its toll and delivers only exhaustion now.
Finally back to sleep land. its after 2. we have to be in the van tomorrow by 8. My phone does not work in the room.
Sucks. Need a family fix.
Morning comes and the fire alarms all start screaming at painful levels because apparently mat used some foot spray that sent a cloud of muck up to the ceiling. It felt like permanent damage. Outa there.
Tonight will be the last show. Rumble in brighton. The handsome family will be there too, just like family.
Then the long flight home tomorrow.
- - - - - - - -
We arrive about mid day in brighton.
The weather is perfect for brighton. Damp and fresh and chilled and windy. Back home its already 100 º. I take it in and can’t get enough of that air in my lungs. But its also been a short night of sleep and there is some work to do in email land. so I venture in to the venue. It’s a massive elegant place called the dome. It will seat 1500 people tonight and be sold out for us and the handsome family.
I spend most of the afternoon sorting out some emails and eyeing my luggage to figure what not to bring back to Arizona. Its always good to jettison the extra weight collected on tour. There is just no room and the extra lug of it does not work. I am finally able to head out for a 30 minute walk before dinner. I grab steve left so we can hang a bit. Anders joins in too.
We head to the sea of course. On the way there my cell phone rings. It’s Isobel Campbell. a happy surprise. The omens have been pointing toward a meet up with her, but when it didn’t take place in glasgow, I figured something’s wrong with the omens. Now walking and talking on the phone in England is very tricky. The cars attack you from different directions when you cross the street of course.
And then we round the bend and the wind kicks in and it’s howling a gale. I can barely hear her at times on the phone, but at the same time I am hooked by the sound of her voice. When she says making music confuses her, I am sold.
I do not want to let her chirp out of my lobe, but the wind is scraping it out to sea violently.
I put up a pretty good fight, until we agree to have at it at some other point. After I hung up, I was wondering why I didn’t get hooked to her voice from her record. But here on the phone I couldn’t get enough. Maybe there is something I can do about that up there in the future.
- - - - so we walk down to the sea and out on a long stone pier thing and the water slams against it, rises up and whips us with a salty wave. The ocean is severely tormented and in full rage. I am able to hang on to my hat, but just.
We head back to dinner then, but run into the entire rest of the band at a sweet little pub along the way. So yeah we go in and partake for a moment. Then we all head back down to the sea for a quick video of us all being battered by the waves coming over the walls.
Ok then…
The show this night will be sedate compared to how rocking it was in Manchester and Glasgow. Even Birmingham was way more rocking. I am not sure why. It was a great set, but I thought it might be bloated again with too much material maybe. Although certain high lights like “astonished” and “dirty from the rain” as well as the usual nuggets from ‘sno angel…but also especially “spiral” all go down very very well.
I think more then anything it is the big stage and how spaced out we are set up. It steals the vibe a bit amongst us. I have gotten severely used to th echoir being right behind me and pulsating there. Anyhow, we get through it good enough. And then we all just stay back stage and enjoy each other. Hang with the Sparks and event folks and let the tour slip away under us tonight. I strip off the sweaty duds and the hot shower save my life. Sip the last sip and head out into the night with my posse like it was a small town on wheels. Me and steve know a little fish and chip shop, we fill up the troops. 9 fish and chip to go for our van, and then pass the other van stopping for there’s.
And ok then. we drive the hour or so to the London airport hotel. I sit up front with steve driving and we yammer all the way there. Talk about the old times. The tours. The road. The life at home. I love steve. He looks good right now, coming through some hard times the last few years, and looking good now. Everybody here is sweetly taken with his prowess on the road here. The man is righteous.
Sleep comes and sleep goes. The hotel is way modern and space ship like. I can’t find steve’s room to do up the final economics. I am beat. His room is a million miles down some endless halls. I retreat back to my room and to tuck the tour in and put it to bed.
So the morning comes. I repack and leave my bag with anders to take it back to denmark with him. I leave with only my 2 guitars and a small bag of wires and such. One dirty shirt stuck in there too, from the stage.
I am good to go and amazed at such glory. The sound and the brotherhood have surpassed anything I have known.
The end.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
— - - — — - - — removable appendix:
We manage to make our connections in new york after a lengthy passport control line. But this is where we separate now. I am heading home to Tucson for the next 5 days, and the choir and band continue on to Ottawa.
Goodbyes and hugs all around. It’s a thick leavingness that has the heady aspect of seeing each other again in a week in new york, if all goes well with border crossings and such.
So I get to my plane. I am finally allowing myself that moment of solitary joy of a tour gone well. A tour better then any other I have ever been on. I am traveling on a mileage ticket with an upgrade, and the plane is a 767, so the seat is large to allow this moment of celebration and pre flight fizzle drink. Especially after a sweaty long rush to get to the gate with the usual lug and wool coat steam. Then we set on the run way for a long time and it does not matter to me. Its just like flying.
Then we fly off. I glance out the window and see something like 5 huge aircraft flying parallel to us. Its like a dream. How can so many planes fly at the same time so close to each other ?
I am trying to take in all that has just happened on this tour, but it is too much yet to digest. I just stare at the big ships flying out the window, until I realize that they are actually ships and not planes. The line between sky and sea does not exist. It is comprimised in haze.
Weird. Seeing them ships fly like that.
Time for home.
The end.
howe on 09.22.06 @ 08:52 PM GMT [link]
April 10-17 2006
In a plane over the desert.
Leaving when I don’t want to.
I want to go up on my roof and wrestle with the swamp cooler again, like last night, when it won. In all these summers it’s never beat me and now I want another round.
I am having strange attachment disorders with my kids. I am addicted to their drastic actions, their subtle movements, their smells, their annoyance, and their sheer spark. Most specifically,
the flamboyance of their laughter. Such fine form compared to the hapless pontifications of the adults they will join into someday.
They are set on stun right now.
— — —- - - - - - -
I am headed to Newcastle. I can rely on them Geordies to snap me out of this. But at the moment I am drenched in self mired muck.
I am filthy with it.
- - - - - — - -
Matt ward dropped me off at the airport at noon back in tucson.
He and his lovely wife came to town the night before, so they dropped me off nice and late today, me hoping I’d have missed my plane. I always want to miss my plane. But no. I am an hour early somehow. This sucks. It’s a terminal feeling.
- - - - - - — - — - - - - - -
A few weeks ago matt and I recorded a couple songs together with neko case. I am not sure where they ended up. Songs are like that. They get emitted and then omitted.
But I ‘m committed and I admit it.
Before the ride to the airport, we had breakfast at poco cosa.
We were talking about the Dylan concert the night before.
It was Monday morning, and I had postponed my flight to Newcastle by a day in order to stick around for the Dylan and haggard show on Sunday. This would mean I would have to perform in Newcastle the same day I would arrive, which is never a good idea any more, but the concert seemed worth the hard ship.
The strangest thing at the concert was the our seating arrangement.
dylan’s guitar player had ended up comping us 2 seats.
But they ended up directly behind patti (rainer’s widow) and tom larkin’s (first giant sand drummer), and they had bought their seats months ago. Then, winston watson (dylan’s old drummer for 4 years and giant sand’s other first drummer) showed up and sat with his date exactly in front of tom and patti. That all seemed like strange coincidence out of the 10.000 people all seated there. Until mr. and mrs. matt ward showed up in mid concert and had the seats exactly in front of winston. Everyone got their seats from a different source, but there we all were in a clustered formation, 2 in front of 2 going up the stands like that.
Merle haggard had opened up for bob. He sounded fantastic and brought back many memories from my early days living in Tucson in the 70s. My room mate then, jon tucker, would play a lot of haggard. I was 19 then and tucker would turn me on to a ton of country music like hank snow, david alan coe, and willy’s “red haired stranger” album. Now at this moment over breakfast, chuck tucker, jon’s brother, walked in the restaurant. I have not seen chuck for 20 years. - - - — -
Last Friday, I stopped in for lunch here at my usual joint, the little poca cosa café. You know I love this place cause I sang about it in that song “cowboy boots on cobble stone”. They have managed to make the absolute best chile rellenos in the world.
Now they are mired with that distinction.
A distinction in which you just have to add mire.
— - — - - - — — - - - -
The place is run by sisters who are fiery and hug and kiss everybody who comes in the door. Sandra, the one that rides a harley, asked me the friday before the sunday he was supposed to play here, if I could hook it up to have bob dylan come in for dinner.
Blank space here.
No I said. So she asked again. She asked 4 times actually. I repeated my inability. Now the original native folks around here have a thing about asking for something 4 times. I don’t think she knew about this.
I paid and left it alone.
- - — - - -
Saturday came and and patty stopped by the house. I casually mentioned the invite for dinner at poca cosa because I knew that bob’s bass player, tony, always hooks up with harvey, her old man, to buy some new old basses.
Aesthetically speaking, them basses are loaded,
So now then, here comes the pitch.
- - - - -
The next day was Sunday. Harvey called. He asked if that dinner thing was still a possibility. I said maybe. Tony wants in, apparently.
Sandra freaks out on the phone and says yipes, then calls back and says she’s in. Sets it up for after closing hours of course.
None of this means bob will come. Of course he won’t come, but the band will come. And if the band comes, then there will always be that last minute chance the boss will jump on board.
They both ask if I’ll be there.
I tell them I’ll be taking my son to ‘funtastics’ because he did well in school this week, and will stop in late, if I can.
- - - - — - - - - - -
Anyhow, after the tastic fun, we head home. Poca cosa is down town on our way. My son and I stopped and went to have a look see.
As we cross the street to the front of the restaurant, it already fires off an eerie illuminating glow. A box shaped shop of low light almost that of an impossible theatre. This restaurant is always closed by 2:30 in the afternoon, but the sisters opened it up after closing to feed them dylanistas. Now it has a glow never witnessed before.
As I approach, I was beginning to look forward to talking with tony and offering up my function as a piano player one day if they ever figure out they need one. I had the idea that we could get one of those little pianos you only find in denmark, and thereby avoiding those digital pieces of crap. Overtones are everything.
But the dull lighting in poca cosa gives way to a peculiar symmetry with everyone there seated in formation like the ‘last supper’.
There was a long table made up of several small tables, and
there in the middle facing out toward the street was bob dylan.
To his left and right were seated the disciples of decible.
Easter conveniently lingered just around the corner.
I walked in with my 7 year old son, who had insisted on dressing in his punk costume from halloween. The boy looked good and natural in his black anarchy t-shirt and black stove pipe jeans with the chains . No one said a word when we walked in.
It was like a moment in a western.
Things went silent.
- - - - - — — — -
the end.
- - - - - - - - - - - =- - -
begin again.
There I sat. inches away, and I would not ask him for anything. Not the time of day and not even a hello. He looked good. He looked better then he does on stage or in pictures and was gratifying to see him ageing well. He had a fire in him, in his body motions. He was in deep conversation with tony and kept it that way. And it began to occur to me how much we seem to want from these situations. I have never known a world without dylan, and that has played out into some kind of difficulty here.
So I just hung around some and ate my chile rellenos. The sisters were cooking and kept looking over the counter at me and silently mouthing “ thanks”, but all I did was connect the dots. So I hung out mostly with marsela, winston’s daughter, who had just lost a friend to a severe car wreck on a dark desolate desert highway. I know that road, and it always plays with your mind out there. She was sadder then her years should allow. It was giving her a ride, some years ago at the request of her dad, that put us all here in this same situation with dylan. So I hung with her now and let dylan’s posse eat without interruption.
At one point, at the end of dinner there, I went out to get the 12 pack of beer in my truck, incase anyone was thirsty, but mostly because patty, winston’s ex and mars’s mom, asked me to go get her one.
Bob just managed to expertly not look around the room much, just took in his food and continued his talk with tony and the other new guys in the band. The new guitar player was right next to me and he looked like he really wanted a beer, but no one from the group would take one. Like there might a be an ordinance not to drink in front of bob’s sobriety. Makes some sense. The situation was very sobering.
Shortly after that 1st beer got cracked, bob stood up quick to leave and the entire table got up with him like they were an extension of his physical motor actions. I was exactly in the way. Bob would have to at least acknowledge my existence by walking by me.
Nope. He was a professional. He stopped next to me for a moment, sighed, then continued on out the door.
So that was that. I would not attempt to punctuate such a barrier . My friend harvey was reduced from his normal social practices too. Every one was socially inept except for the children of course. But the crushing thing of all was that bob did not touch his chile relleno.
Just ate the rice and beans, like in his song.
- - - - - - - — — — -
The clouds gathered that windy evening .
Something was in the air. The next day there would be more then 12.000 people marching in streets protesting the current immigration bill attempting to pass in the house. The very same day dylan and merle haggard would play that night.
As bob and entourage left the building, he encountered a truck unloading some equipment out on the street. He mumbled something to the loader about the truck and the fellow answered back and said “you look a lot like that bob dylan fellow”.
“so I’ve been told” bob said leaving the scene.
- - - - - - - - - - -
===================================
So this is the wild concern. Why do we need things like autographs or anything else in these situations. Are they a form of capture? Like a photo op? Another opportunity to acquire ?
I have never asked anyone for an autograph. It always seemed useless and just simply really made no sense. The only good thing about the autograph ritual is that it grants purpose for converse. But other than that, it seems only like a habit.
I’d like to sign off on that.
Have you ever walked into an office that had those pictures staring back at you with the famous people they have been able to get pictures with. That is the saddest display. Like it should matter. That‘s a bit what autographs seem to lean towards. Evidence to show off which might only cause negative gloat energy to a responsive envy on an otherwise good buddy having to bare witness.
You will alienate your friends, and we can’t have that.
Sick kids. That is the only good reason for autographs. If a kid is sick and couldn’t come, so his friend can bring him back some element of the show, or proof that he was thought about in the moment of yippity, then fine. So, you should be sick in order to get an autograph.
The end.
Unless… I can get a stamp made like a passport stamp. That makes more sense. I can validate the date with a stamp. One big stomp and its over. Next. Ka-chunk. Next. Ka-chunk. Yes sir. You sir. Wait behind the yellow line sir. Now then, how long do you intend to stay here this evening ?
And is this visit for business or pleasure?
Your documents please.
Ka-chunk.
That’s making some sense to me.
And no more handshakes either. What’s up with that ?
That’s like asking for a fresh disease please.
When we get sick out here on the road its not so simple.
I can’t remember a time I cancelled a show when I was burning with fever on the road. I just get through it and it’s miserable. Although for some reason, the hot lights provide a sweat to burn the thing off by the sets end. But it’s a miserable ordeal. And I am still not sure what’s more fair to the audience, performing like that in a zombie state, or just calling the whole thing off.
What about kisses?
Lips or cheeks, its still a risky business. In belgium they kiss the cheeks 3 times, like they want to make certain some of their germs will stick. Kisses used to seem ok, especially when disinfected with a stiff swallow of good tequilla. No problem. Just good hygiene there. But these days, maybe not so good, cause drinking sucks too. It does not offer up the resolve it used to.
There is nothing out there that does anymore.
Except the music.
So what else ?
Maybe no more lyrics either. Why bother with such a derived ego driven display of dingy doldrums.
The end.
- - - - - - - - - - -
Later that same day.:
I make it finally to newcastle and the hotel. Travel is at an end and so am I. The hotel is the trampled variety. Too many humans have come and gone and treated the place like it was just in their way. The elevator is broken of course and the first room I am given has no phones working. It’s nobody’s fault. It’s just the state of affairs out here on the road sometimes.
They switch me to the next room. Somehow it feels better too until I hit the light switch and sparks fly. The whole room goes dark.
Perfect for deep jet lag afternoon sleep.
The cell phone wakes me several hours later.
It’s robert plant from morocco.
Apparently I texted him.
— - - - - - - - —– - –
I should get up anyway. A moroccon plant is a good wake up call
and a great antidote for my other bob hangover.
Voice in my head asks: “what are you doing now ?”
Lips barely blurb: “I suppose I’m between bobs at the moment.”
I gather my stuff. My ride is down in the lobby to get me to the venue. His name is adam. A good bloke. Champion I say.
I am still a little off.
It happens out here with constant motion.
Something like the bends. You get bent.
It comes and goes. Hangs out for about a day or so.
So this is just me bending.
I am happy, but bent.
Then the venue is what I think will be the last for me on several fronts. I like the place, but this will be the last night I sign any more autographs. A fellow comes at me with a little professional looking tablet of paper for me to sign, so I make it a contract with myself.
I print out :
”This Is the last autograph I will ever sign” and then I sign it.
This makes him very happy too.
The evening is off to a fine start. I play a long time and include a huge amount of yammer. I love playing Newcastle. I love the crowds here. I do not pause to figure out why. The club fills up with a lot of people. Earlier today when they set up the piano for me, they mentioned it was last used for Daniel Johnston.
The coincidences continue.
So. I also mention that I will not shake any more hands and explain why. I tell them that and I tell them songs might be on the way out too. So the evening rolls on. I play stride piano. I play fuzz guitar. I orchestrate a string section with my ebay pedal. I jam with Daniel on my cd player, which I won’t do anymore either. The show is long and folks stay to the very end and seem satisfied.
After the show a few of us all chill in the emptied pub. We come up with an important revelation there. It started out with the bar manager talking about a mysterious woman’s high heel footsteps they heard one late night in the empty club there. Just the sound of those kind of shoes going up the far stairs and then disappearing. This reminded me of a time when I heard something similar.
The screen here goes all wavy whilst I reminisce;
T’was a night like no other. Long ago and very dark. I was alone in a house in a town called kutztown. I was 19. I had a puppy with me named ‘dobro’. There was a kitten in the house called ‘banjo’. No one was home. I went to sleep on the couch. Was woken up by a loud clatter which sounded like the animals chasing each other around and then whizzing by my head and up the bare wooden stairs. Then the sound just vanished up at the top of them. It was winter and I was sweating. It began to get very hot when I heard all that sound that woke me out of my deep sleep . I flicked on the light and the dog and cat were still sound asleep there on the floor. I got out of there fairly quick. The next day when the people of the house came home, they told me of the ghost there that walks up to the top of the stairs and then disappears.
Here then in Newcastle was the same thing. And then another man there told of his friend who witnessed a regiment of roman soldiers marching down an ancient road. The image of these phantoms were only from the belly up because the ancient road they once walked on was now a meter below the current terrain.
I determined something there and then. The explanation of all this seemed to be that they were not ghosts at all. They were recordings. It made some sense, more so then ghosts anyway. It seems that there are more things on this magnetic earth that gets recorded then we know about. It has to do with repetitive actions. And if this occurs as such, then sometimes long after the cause of the actions are gone, the recording of the action remains.
Why not?
We have heard sound recordings on petroleum (vinyl), metals (wire), even paper coated with alloys, and of course magnetic tape. We have seen visual recording transmitted through the waves we are all ready saturated with, there on the TV. We live on a magnet. Sometimes things must get recorded on the elements around us.
What’s more is this would explain the difficulty in trying not to obsess over a lover that has left us. Or worse, a loved one who has died. After so many repetitive actions with this lover, their imprint on you is stuck. You have to suffer that recording long after they are gone. This will drive you mad of course, unless you acknowledge it as a recording. Then maybe you will figure you are lucky to have such capture.
So…
Adam and I head back to the hotel. I drop my stuff off at the hotel and we try to hit a bar that’s still open. I am way bent now and jet lagged the wrong way. Not sleepy at all.
The bar we find is closing fast around us when we get there, and so we have to leave. Walking back in the restless night I order a pizza to go from just across the street of my trampled hotel.
Adam says that there is still another bar that might be open and it’s just below the hotel. Wondering why he didn’t mention this earlier, he says because it’s a lap dance joint. Ok. Never have been in one before, and since I love newcastle so much it seems I can almost trust the notion. So I poke my head in and they have a rule that says although they are open to 3 you have to be inside before 2:00. It is 2 minutes before at that moment and seems like enough of an omen to me. Adam has to leave so I venture in while I am waiting for my pizza.
It is almost empty and seems ok enough. They have san miguel on tap, so I set down and drink my last beer of the night attempting to tuck away the endless miles of my commute to work. I sit and try to sort things out in my head of all that has happened the last few days:
The dylan dinner, the mighty march of mexican nationals, merle haggard + chuck tucker, the matt ward breakfast, the robert plant wake up call, the impending daniel johnston ho-down, hooking up soon with vic chesnutt in london, and having henriette fly in from denmark to sing there too. It’s like I am catching up with myself. Or maybe this is what is meant by “collecting yourself”.
I am alone thinking about everything and shedding the last stumblings of the bob hangover, forgetting where I am. A girl comes over and walks away with my hat. She hands it back after checking herself out in the mirror. Now it’s almost pizza time.
I suppose it’s all like a study on the reproduction ritual drenched in female lure. A display of basic essence which is some pause for ponder. When one of the women working there approaches, of course I begin to lecture her. “Make good choices” I preach. I am the preacher man here in the bordello. It has a classic ring to it, but I wonder why I have to be here when I just wanted to be somewhere other then what ever was left available. Anyhow I have a pizza to get to.
It all reminded me of something similar to what college used to be like so long ago. Sitting there drawing the naked models in art class. Thinking about the reproductive zing that can deliver us unto family eventually, which is always a funny think. The temptation of egg. And it still seems so fantastic why it works at all. It is primal enough to have to be ok. Nothing but a pause and effective reminder of how this universe works us over here.
I wonder if its habit forming.
Another woman stops by and is wearing glasses. I like to wear glasses too. Piano players should wear glasses. Thelonious monk seemed to acknowledge this even though his frames had no lenses in them. Now I really need pizza.
Back outside the air is cool and damp. I get my food and head back up to the dank room. They have fixed the lights. I can finally let the day go. Such a long travel day. But it ends at last and pizza fills the void.
The end.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - — -
Next day I am heading down to london by train. It’s a beautiful spring day. Billowed clouds and stern winds. Extremely pleasant. The train is full from it being the easter weekend, but I am recognized by some folks because they were at the last barbican show in 2001. Weird.
When I get to london I am fetched by a nigel. Then off to the hotel, and before I can check in I see vic in the lobby having a coke. It’s so very good to see him. We sit there for hours. We talk about everything. He tells me about how much fun he has been having playing bass with a band that has mark eitzel singing in it. Later when his manager rep shows up, he reminds me of how lucky I was for turning down his offer to play the sxsw show he set up last year. He also mentioned mark eitzel was there and how terrible it was for him because of technical spoinks and a maniacal methed up sound man.
Eventually daniel johnston comes in with his brother who looks after him. We meet again after 20 years and when he sees vic, he calls him floyd. The afternoon slips away. Then vic and I go off to meet polly harvey for dinner. Rob challis is there too. It’s a fine delve. I put on the table my new theory on human recordings on the planet and how they stick in us long after relationship break-ups.
It seems to make sense still.
The night ends without the need for pizza.
— - — — - -
Next morning is an early radio call for me. Turns out ok. It’s a plug for the gospel choir tour next month. Then back to the hotel. Nap time. Jet lag does not know what to do with me.
Henriette and nils grøndahl (form ‘under byen’) arrive sometime after that. We all head down to the barbican for some rehearsal and sound check.
It feels good to be here again. Its been 5 years since the last time.
The page gets all wavy here.:.:.:.:.:.:.
It was almost a month after 9/11. No one was flying anymore.
Bands were canceling tours. Nothing was worth the gamble of travel.
Now originally we were invited by the barbican people to do a giant sand/calexico show. But the boys in calexico opted not to go through with it, though it was never made clear why. John eventually said he needed to be home with his daughter after having been away touring way too much with calexico. And there just was no word from joe at all. We had all still been trying to keep both bands going, but something unexplainable was working against it.
At the time, it didn’t matter much to me cause I had no clue what the barbican thing really was. When I contacted them to say we could not do it as giant sand, they suggested I do it solo and hand them a wish list of performers to have on hand as guests. That seemed like wishful thinking, but I obliged them with a list and continued to forget about the whole thing.
Several weeks later I received confirmation that the barbican people had secured the list of guests I had suggested plus a couple more. They included: john parish and his large band, evan dando, vic chesnutt , kurt wagner from lambchop, and mark linkous from sparkle horse and polly harvey would also show up to sit in throughout the night. But Kristen hersh found herself pregnant and opted to remain home to nest, especially given the current circumstance of the new world order. A sound idea I thought.
So, amazed at the notion of the show, I set forth to assemble a band for it all. I invited the folks that had been playing in the current line up of giant sand: saholy and laureline, the girls from france on guitar and bass; susan voelz and noah thomas on violin and trumpet; and I figured to ask john parish to sit in on drums.
When john convertino came off the road about a month before the gig date, he changed his mind when he saw I was going ahead with the show without him or joe anyway. It all seemed like too much fun, I guess, so he asked if he could still be a part of it.
Ok.
The week before we were to leave, joey came around the house. He had developed a habit of never coming around to hang out, so it was strange when he kept coming over every day. This was his way of wanting to now be a part of the show. After so many days of this routine, I asked him if he wanted to get re-invited to the show he canceled out of.
Yes he did thanks.
So that was that.
We all flew over, did a week’s worth of giant sand shows to warm back up as a band, and then landed in London to commence with the barbican show that was now billed as a howe gelb show under the auspice of [UPSIDE] DOWN HOME.
• the name HOWE is HOME spelled upside down.
• DOWN HOME is a phrase for a good time home spun feeling.
• UPSIDE DOWN is just what happens when our music gets all topsy turvy… which happens a lot.
Anyhow, we then got to London a day early and rehearsed some songs with everybody on the bill, and the show felt very much like a family reunion in a world that had just gone dark. It felt like this gather was way more important then we could have imagined. The world now needed positive happenstance and any amount of music more then ever. It needed a strong sound too to combat the ill will and negativity that was now festering on the planet. And we all just needed to hang out with each other like it might always be the last time.
That show somehow went on to be voted the best live show of the year for 2001 by London’s ‘time out’ magazine.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Back to 2006:
Tonight will be sold out too. I go over one of vic’s renditions of a daniel song, then he sings with henriette on ‘classico reprise’ and then just henriette and nils on ‘man on a string’. But I also have a couple of dan’s songs to do later, and one I wrote up this morning:
‘daniel johnston: king of the wild frontier’.
Then we break. Daniel is still looking like he could tip either way, but it will turn out to be mostly nerves. After the show he will be much more relieved and animated, buoyant and jovial.
The day mangles into night. We have a dinner, and share a table with what will be jason pierce’s 3 piece choir. The last time I met jason was with sonic boom back when they were ‘space man 3’. The year must have been 1989. John and I were the giant sand 2 piece thing playing vienna and they wanted to come up and jam. I looked down at my little fender deluxe amp, which was all we all would of had to plug into, and opted that we all just get together and get stoned in the kitchen instead. After the set.
Now the barbican show here begins. The back stage is so massive, it always feels funny to realize there is an actual performance going on the other side of the stage wall, especially when you watch any of it on the backstage tv screens. You almost feel like channel surfing.
Then it’s vic’s turn, and he sounds stellar. I needed to hear him sing again. He is the best. When he calls me up to play guitar on the last song, I use the ebay string thing on my git and then some piano with stuff piled on the strings. That then segues into my set. And it’s a pure joy to have vic and henriette sing and have nils on singing saw. The last song will be a duet with me and ‘hank’, which is what I call henriette. She is beautiful and very much reminds me of the way a girl gets drawn on the page, but not how they ever actually look in this dimension, so I take in that impossibility about her.
The duet warrants more. I will have to figure out some new material for us maybe. My instinct clues me in that some kind of duet project is something I might gravitate towards. But for now, my part of the night is over in those 20 minutes. That’s all that was needed.
A slight intermission then ‘teenage fan club’, jason pierce with a string section and those brilliant backing singers. And finally daniel.
He does alright that daniel. His guitar is far out of tune and that helps somehow. And then after several songs, he goes over to the piano, which was not set up anymore since he said he would not use it. And there lies the grand finale;
daniel way off to the side of the stage, stage hands frantically trying to accommodate, stage lights just missing him. But he is rocking on that piano. A great song about beating the devil while unbeknownst to him, a huge drawing of his of the devil himself is projected up on the screen for the duration of the song. This is a wonderful random coincidence, but shows the elements of the evening coming together in glorious yippity.
The end.
No encore of course. We all huddled there in afterglow.
- - - — - -
After some manor of mingle backstage, we slip off to the hotel bar and finish off the day. I do not feel like drinking much and call it a night early after getting to know the ‘teenage fan club’ tribe some.
I will miss ol’ vic.
- - - - - - - - - - - - -
When morning comes, we meet for breakfast. I am sad to be leaving.
I drag my heels. I leave alone for the airport.
Back to another terminal feeling.
I fly down to italy for a show this night. Its become a game to sneak my old guitar on board every time. I arrive in milano and am fetched by a luca. I fall asleep in jet lag fashion on the long ride to wherever we are going. I don’t know where. It will turn out to be a small village that is part of the parma-emilio reggio. The club is one of those that seems impossibly out of the way, but always fills up. The dinner will be stunning. Sicilian, my favorite. Northern cuisine is usually more meaty and has too many cream based sauces. The south is more red and spicy with lots of seafood. The pizza is the best in the world.
The hotel is the depressing kind of impersonal excuse for shelter.
But its ok. It seems deserving somehow. Basic and lean. Stark and mean. But it’s all in my head. There is also the only statue of lennin in all of Europe just across the street here. He looks like he has a headache. I head back to the club ache.
A young fellow is there waiting for me. He has a daniel johnston t-shirt on. He doesn’t know I have just come from the daniel johnston tribute show. I have a hard time not signing his cds, so I just do it. And I give him my unused backstage daniel johnston pass for his girlfriend who couldn’t come. Maybe she was too sick.
Antonio is opening up with his band ‘sea of cortez’. They always sound good to me. Then my turn. I make due with the electric piano and attack it. The crowd is full. 2 beautiful women work the bar. I guess I am sad because I have a barbican hangover.
Did I just say bobby conn ?
I wish vic was here. We need to tour together. Maybe we need to do a record together first. Maybe get john doe in on it. We could have a cover drawing of us looking like the pep boys.
After the show I do my best not signing autographs. But the next morning I will lament disappointing those folks. I think the Italians invented the whole process of autographs anyway, and maybe they continue to do it just to make the entertainer feel better. I bet its something they don’t really want to do.
They sure do make the planet tastier.
The end.
— - - - - - - - - - - - — - - — - - - — -
I get up late the next day and right on time to get a pizza for breakfast. It’s easter in eat-a-lee. We head off to the tiny airport of parma. Luca thinks he would like to work at this airport because all the people there are in good moods and smiling. Yes, I say, he should.
I take off to London, sneaking my guitar on board again.
I have to spend just the night there and head off to my flight the next day for home. I arrive in the tumultuous stansted airport. Tons of people clotting up the place. My name is called. I turn to find mark eitzel there. “Hi howe, its mark”, he always says to me every few years when we run into each other. We share a train back into London. He tells me his story of when he sang for bruce springsteen. So my dylan story haunts me a bit.
Later I am back in the same hotel where I left all my friends the morning before. It is weird there now that they are gone. All that excitement in the air is gone too. it is a funny weather system when there is a show. There are certain elements in the air that spark it some. There is a climate. Afterwards the place feels foreboding and empty. Like the enemy forces have regained the ground they had to give up. I head up to the room, and its wrong. I change it. I am ill placed is all. A hot bath might be the medicinal pizza I need.
- - - — - - - - - - — -
Mark calls up and we should meet for a drink. Ok then.
I walk down to a place suggested. Not many people in there, it being easter. Mark is lost. A fellow comes up to my table. He says that he saw me play last week in los angeles with john doe. That’s weird. There were only about 70 people there that night.
Mark shows up to help end the day.
That’s about it. Back at the hotel. Not what I call lonesome. But there is a missingness in play. Tomorrow I head home. Find my way to the airport again. I will be home now for 10 days before I have to leave again. Up to Ottawa to rehearse and then commence with the gospel choir tour.
Meanwhile the new record is still hovering high on the metacritic.com chart. It’s back up to number 2, which is sweetly insane and does not mean anything in actual sales. But it is a tickle to see it there as a sort of batting average based on how many stars the selected reviews gave it. It has a score of 88. ghost face killa is just below at 87. neko case down a few titles at 85… and calexico at 69. The only title in my way at first place with a score of 93, is the ‘tropicalia’ complilation, and coincidently enough, that is the next event being put on at the barbican.
epilogue:
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Now when I get to dallas. I make another mistake. I walk out the wrong doors and can’t get back into the terminal with out having to go through security again. They tell me I am not allowed to fly with my guitar on board. I tell them I am allowed because I just did. This plays itself out and I finally get to board with it again. By the time I leave for the next tour the same guitar will be splitting apart anyway. Everything is cracking.
For now, more primitive time travel ensues.
The bourbon comes when we hit the heavens.
Tucson tugs at my shirt tails.
There is a nail in the sky and home is where the hat hangs high.
= = = == = = == = == = = == == = = = === = == = = = = = = = == = = = ===
the end
howe on 09.22.06 @ 01:41 AM GMT [link]
