Dec 11, 2001 - Let Sleeping Dogs Lie
So I should really be in the shower. I have to be in the city to rehearse in an hour and a half, so I should take the ferry at 11am. But I'm cozy here, at my desk in my little office space, which is really the 2nd bedroom of this "2 bedroom railroad" (although I don't know where you'd put a bed in this room), with my coffee and my dog Siggy lying next to me, snoring and farting. Clyde is pattering around in the kitchen, rummaging through the garbage. I can hear him, but I'm too comfortable to get up and yell at him. If he really wants the eggshells, he can have them.
I drove to Albany the other night to play The Larkin. There was snow on the ground and I almost got weepy. A month of 70 degree weather, Christmas around the corner and my winter coats lie fallow in the closet (or is it "lay"? I can never remember...). Wish it would snow in Hoboken. We have no room for a tree this year. Too much stuff in our small place. I just got a piano. Was given, really, by Bob Scheffler. My Santa. A beautiful Kimball console. Cheers to the guys who moved it up 4 flights. But to have a piano in my apartment is a dream come true. Not that I can really play. I mean, I CAN play. And I will, now that I have one, but I'm not really that good. I was once. That was long ago.
This month's news is that "Two Ships" was named a Finalist in the Folk Category of the USA Songwriting Competition, alongside Sam Shaber and Steve Tannen. Not bad company to be next to, since I'm a fan of both of their musics. Pretty cool stuff. Tonight I play the Nat'l Academy of Popular Music Showcase at Makor. I get to play 2 songs and I'm playing w/ one of my favorite guitar players--David Patterson, so it should be a blast. Although I have to really THINK about what to wear since we're getting our photos taken for industry people. Ugh.
Which reminds me. I should go take a shower....
Planning a tour of the south w/ JEnny Bruce in January. Yet, my big crazy news is that I've decided, for better or for worse, to tackle the entire friggin' USA. Yup. A national tour. I'm hoping to entice Jenny to come with me for company. We can hike the Grand Canyon AND play Los Angeles. Probably go in April/May. Have to figure it out. I'm scouring other touring artists' databases to figure out where to go and how to do this. A bit daunting (a whole lotta DAUNTING), but thrilling to think of. And since "Fable" will FINALLY be out...a good reason to go and play to the country.
That shower....
Okey dokey. Have a great Holiday season and hopefully we'll see each other next year.
Amy
Oct 27, 2001 - Tales from the Heartland pts. 1 and 2
Tour stories part II
I have to say, the day I quit my law firm job (before they pushed me out!) was the best day ever. Because it freed me to really jump head first in the life I want. Touring is a blessing. It has changed the way I go about my music. Once you start, it becomes addictive. And you meet so many new people, and believe me, outside of NYC, people LISTEN! So, although it might seem daunting, it's not so hard if you have a car that (barely) runs, a Super 8 discount card (easy to get) and a well-developed sense of humor and patience!
From Indianapolis Fred and I headed to Chicago to play the Uncommon Ground, a cool space. We split the opening bill, Terry Farmer, a Michigan folkie with amazing classical guitar chops, came on at 9pm, and then at 10pm on came Pat MacDonald (formerly of the band Timbuk 3), who blew us all away. A lanky shy man, long-dark-hair, sunglasses hiding his weathered face, with a beautiful 20-something wife/manager (sharp as a tack and really cool) along to help out, Pat took the stage in a self-effacing manner, set up his Fender Twin, his stomp pad mic'd for his foot (think Chris Whitley) and proceeded to blow the room away with his de-tuned blues songs, very dark, very poetic, absolutely beautiful. Pat lives in Barcelona (nice life) and is on a German label. I suggest everyone should find his album "Degrees of Gone" on ulftone records. Rare beauty. Cathy Braaten, a Chicagoan (is that right?) singersongwriter offered to house Fred and I and we made a new friend and I found a great songwriter! We were up all night talking music, sharing songs. I'm hoping to get her east for some shows in NYC. She can wail! I'm amazed at the hospitality of strangers on these tours.
Onto Osh Kosh, Wisconsin, where the sky lifts a bit and reminded me of Montana. There's something about the color of the sky and the position of the sun that is unmistakably north. I lived for 5 years in Minneapolis, so maybe it's just the familiarity of getting up there! Osh Kosh is a small town. We played to a few people at the New Moon Coffeehouse, which seems to have a nice music scene building. Pat MacDonald had been there the week before. Blue ice-cream! After our sets, two local kids invited us to join them for the local open mic. A divey bar with a foos ball table (what more do you want from life? Old Milwaukee brew and foos ball). We stayed very late watching all the locals play their original music and some covers. It was great to be so welcomed. From there, we went to Milwaukee to play Marquette University (the paying gig of the tour!) and then a long long long long drive home. Through the cornfields of Indiana and the length of Pennsylvania's I-80 -- you don't realize how BIG PA is until you're on that drive. Passed by Williamsport (my home town!) and thought of stopping in for a visit with the Flexers, but we needed to get back to NYC.
Best parts of each place.
1. Indianapolis: The rail trail. Can't remember the name. Monos or Moros or something like that. Perfect for my morning run.
2. Cincinnati: Mr. and Mrs. Miles.
3. Chicago: The view of Wrigley stadium as the sun set. And the pumpkin ravioli at Uncommon Ground. And seeing that Andrew Kerr had graffitti'd our poster with love notes!
4. Osh Kosh: Blue Ice Cream and the two guys who covered Tenacious D at the open mic (little did they know....oh the irony....)
5. Milwaukee: Deep dish pizza.
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(part 1) Howdy from Indianapolis!
After only a full day home, I'm off again. This time with Mr. Fred Gillen, Jr., Woody Guthrie's bastard grandchild. The king of the road. Fred is the reason I'm touring in the first place. A year ago this time I met him and Mr. Johnny Miles up in Albany and was seething with envy at Fred's touring schedule. So I stole it, stole his musical heart (because his lovely lovely wife Bev has his real heart) and forced him to take me with him on the road. Hence, the reason why I'm in his brand-spankin'-new Ford Focus in the midst of REAL cow country. I feel almost embarrassed to wear my cowboy hat here.
We landed outside of Cincinnati on Wednesday night at The Miles' residence, Johnny's parents house. Wayne Miles is a former pastor and guitar playing god all his own. He collected Gretsch's, so you know, he's all right in my book. He and Mrs. Miles couldn't have been nicer and it's so nice to stay someplace where you can raid the fridge for a ham sandwich after your gig at 4am. So. Thursday night we played Stanley's in Cincinnati, a cool little bar near the river. Our gig was 10pm to 2am. 4 hours??? I'm in the middle of my all original set thinking, geez, I shoulda learned some Dylan covers before I came on the road, when my new fans, Victoria (who gave me her toe ring, off her toe onto mine...it was a lovely moment at 1am) and her friend, dancing beautifully to "Two Ships" say, "You sound like Jewel...can you do any of her songs?" One semi-sober man in the back says, "Do country. Don't do your songs. You've got the country voice. Do Patsy." Yee-haw. So I spent my day downloading chords and lyrics off the internet for the next occassion that presents me. Ay yi yi...I'm not really cut out for those gigs. Fred, who is a road veteran, was prepared with enough Dylan, Neil Young, and Stones tunes to keep the drunks at bay. Actually, I met some amazing people last night, and Steve, the bartender/booker is a great guy. So I'll be back....
We drove today to Indianapolis to play Cath, Inc. ("coffee tea and hospitality"), a small coffee house. Nora, the manager, was so amazing and kind enough to lend us her house for the night! Tim, from Paging Raymond, came by to say hello (he knew me from CDBaby.com). Nora's boyfriend Aaron is in an alt-country band called Middletown and they were playing tonight at Utopia, a hip lesbian bar in town. Nora invited Fred and I along, and, not one to pass up the opportunity to see what the alternative lifestyle in the heartland looks like, we went. Middletown was great. Stacia on vocals and accordian, with a raspy voice and a red flowing skirt over her stompin' boots, was beautiful and soulful. They invited Fred and I to do a few songs in between sets. We met some great people, all alt-country fans, and this is a definite highlight. Who knew??? Indiana???
Onto Chicago....
Oct 15, 2001 - Viva Nashvegas!
So...just returned from Nashville where a few really cool things happened. Coolest of all was meeting Lucinda Williams at the Goldrush on Elliston Place, actually having a conversation with her and giving her an advance copy of "Fable". My God. I almost peed my pants. Second coolest was playing the Exit/In, which has a huge capacity and the greatest soundman alive, Frank and his co-hort Paul on monitor sound. It was an amazing experience to step out on a very large stage, just me and my acoustic guitar, Jagoda on his drum stage high above me behind. Frank did an artistic job on sound, making me feel like I was a band, not just the Taylor. Right after me played Jonah, a band from Portland, Oregon, who really moved me. Check them out at Jonah. Dig their CD too! I spent 4 days hearing all sorts of amazing music: Marly Hornik from Brooklyn, Abi Tapia from Maine, Jeremy Wallace from NYC, Anne Mccue from Australia, a cute boy band (of all things to find me at) from Nashville--NJ-3, and my very favorite of all, Sammy J! a 13-year old Jon Benet look a like from London with a twangy accent, slurred s's like an old country hack and the best "Stand By Your Man" since karaoke night. Watch out for her! Star Search beckons....(of course, she'll probably be baring her belly in no time and be plastered across the front of "Rolling Stone" before I can stick my foot in my mouth--the truth is the little girl can sing!). Jagoda and I found Jack's BBQ on Broadway to be the cheapest and best bet, since we had no car and were stuck with little choice in the way of food. We spent way too much time and money at the Hatch Gallery. And I spent a few minutes pondering my "Star Style" in panels led by country music makeup artists and stylists. Hmmm...think the overalls, un-brushed hair and badass hat did the trick? Jagoda, Marly and I stayed on Music Row where everything is for rent or sale and not even the Shoney's Inn can get you a $2.99 breakfast since the restaurant is boarded up. Music Row looks like a corporate park, which sort of frightens me, but makes sense. And everyone is a songwriter. I kept hoping to find Shook, my Music City Taxi driver from my first Nashville trip 6 years ago. I'm sure he's still around, singing his tunes in his cab #45.
I have 1 day for laundry then I'm off to the midwest. From 70's and sunny to Chicago's 50's and windy. Need to re-pack....
Oh. It's official. My band is now The Amy Speace Showmobile. Bearded ladies, barkers and all....
xoxoxox
Sept 17, 2001 - September 2001
I just watched Dan Rather break down on David Letterman tonight. Of all the things that I've witnessed and/or heard about this horrible and unbelievable week, that was perhaps one of the most affecting. I hope that does not come off as shallow. Journalists, whatever you may think of them, are humans, and so would of course be as affected as you or me. But it's a bit like witnessing your father cry for the first time. It makes the world less safe. That's how I'm feeling. Less safe. I should have been feeling this all along. Jerusalem. Ireland. Afghanistan. Africa. We're all guilty for feeling caressed by the easy life of Master Card Ad's and Monday Night Football. Not an easy wake up call to live through.
I really can't write. I'm too filled with confusion and horror and waves of emotion, coming in and out like the tide. Suffering a cold brings up a slight paranoia of biological threats that might be floating in the air, undetected by our sophisticated EPA technology. A thunderstorm on Friday night gave me little sleep as every boom was the plane hitting the towers again.
I hope you and yours are well. I pray that Alexine has a lifetime of peace and security ahead of her.
Sept 3, 2001 - Final Tales
Sept. 4th
Home. Sweet. Home.
The Six String Cafe in Cary, North Carolina turned out to be a highlight. A great space, beautiful room. I was running late and stuck in traffic, thinking, oh well, this will just be a little cafe, so I'll call and cancel. I'm SO glad I didn't. It was perhaps the best room I had good fortune to play on the whole tour. I opened for The Bluegrass Experience, which is a mesh of brilliant players, some have been together for 30 years. The banjo player had done a stint with Bill Monroe, so these guys were for real. A bit nervous in front of REAL players, I took the stage for 30 minutes and was warmly received by the audience, who bought my CD's (paid for the gas!). I sat at the bar with Al, a Colonel Sanders look-a-like who entertained me with tales of his days in and around the music scene and recommended a few bands he's currently working with. North Carolina is the friendliest place I've been in a while. Drove back to the hotel to meet the Jake gang, who got a pick-up gig back at the Open Eye in Carrboro thanks to a cancellation. Meghan Cary, who hooked me up with both these gigs, is the BEST!!!!!
We hightailed it 5 hours to Harrisonburg, Virginia to play the Artful Dodger Cafe. I had been craving good BBQ since stepping foot South, and hadn't really found anything yet. Luckily, Matt and Jagoda found the Pig. A tiny bbq joint, TOTALLY CHEAP, and the best pulled pork sandwhich I'd had in a while. I wanna know who invented the fried dill pickle! Quite odd, but it works. Not much of a crowd at The Artful Dodger, a very large coffeehouse with mod garage sale furniture and hip stuff covering the walls. A great local hang, I'm sure, on any night but this one. Ah well. We made $8. At this point, I'm ready to go home. But I liked the cafe, so I'd make it a stop again.
After an unsuccessful attempt at a Tack shop to find a cowgirl hat, we drove 5 hours again to Philadelphia to play Borders Bookstore, our final show. A nice crowd, sold some CD's, and lost my voice (finally). It'll be good to rest it for a few days.
So now I'm home. Calculated my expenses to happily find I did pretty well for my first tour. The dogs recognize me, Kal cleaned up and claims the apartment stayed spotless with me gone, and after 2 days sleeping in and going through my mail, I have 3 shows this week and another road trip ahead of me this weekend. Back to Shephardstown, WV.
By the way, if any other touring musician is reading this, go directly to Gigamerica.com and sign up. They saved me. Discounts on hotels all across the states. And great info too!
August 29, 2001 - Tales from the Road Part 3
Richmond to Chapel Hill (the hot week)
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Our drive from Frederick, MD to Richmond, VA on Thursday August 23rd was doomed from the start. The back window on the Beaster stuck. In the open position. And it was raining. Hard. Took it back to the Chevy dealership that supposedly fixed it a few days before and my buddy Jim who said he'd be there to fix it again was gone for the day. It took a lot of charm and begging to get the overtime shift to at least get it in the "up" position. I don't mind it stuck if at least it's closed. That delayed us by a half hour. Then we got lost on the back roads of Ol' Virginny and arrived in Richmond EXACTLY as I was supposed to be going on stage. We were sharing the night with local band 59H2O. I was to go on at 10, Jake at 11, 59water at 12. So we arrive at 10 and I'm thinking I'll just not play, because by the time we'd get things loaded in it would be 10:30 or so. Swingers, the club, is a swanky eatery downstairs, and your older brother's basement hang upstairs. Long and narrow with crappy sound and not so inviting vibe. There was some miscommunication between the bands, the managers, and the sound guy and somehow 59h2o went on at 10:30 and played until midnight and then I decided, with 3 people in the audience, I didn't think my folky sound would be right at midnight after a loud rock band. Bad planning. C'est la vie. SWINGERS is to be avoided.
THE COFFEE MILL in Clayton, North Carolina is a gem. A little place in the middle of nowhere, the owners, Rick & Cliff are really attracting a crowd of music lovers and it was truly enjoyable to walk in and feel completely welcomed. Had a great time there.
Asheville, North Carolina is where you'll find me if in the future I'm lost or missing. MALAPROPS is a cool independent bookstore, Annabeth, the manager, is a hip great chick who told me all the cool and not-so-cool places in town to hang. We had Tapas and good red wine at a Spanish Bar. Ate bbq sandwhiches at Tupelo Honey. Went to Stella Blue to hear a funk/latin/ska band who had come to see Jake at our gig. Stopped by the Grey Eagle Tavern to drop off press kits for our next tour. Spent the next day, our day off, driving around the mountains and lounging in the Econo Lodge's pool!
Chapel Hill. THE CAVE is truly a Cave. But a hip place to play. Tiny and dark, the sound system is great and you can rock out there without offending (Jake was happy for that...I think Jessie is OVER the coffeehouse scene). Jennifer Layton from Indie-music.com came with her buddy Michael to review the show and they shot some great photos, which I hope to have on my site soon. Then, last night we played at THE OPEN EYE CAFE in Carrboro, NC. Again, these cafes along the route are turning out to be my favorite places. Mellow vibes. But people listen and buy the CD. Met 2 girls who have downloaded my music off the web and were anxious to hear "Chesapeake Bay" and "Cows". It's been so great meeting the people who have found my music somewhat randomly.
Tonight I open at the SIX STRING CAFE for a local Bluegrass band. ......
8/29/01
August 22, 2001 - Tales from the Road (The Maryland/DC Diaries)
Tales from the Tour 2nd Installment.... August 22, 2001
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Market Street Cafe, Friday August 18th:
It's an ice-cream shoppe. Ok? Not necessarily the greatest place for a tour called Twang & TRASH to play. So...I would NOT recommend this place. Not my fault. I was slightly steered wrong. The owner, excuse me, is not what I'd call a warm, welcoming, music-friendly bloke. I hate to remind him that he's in FREDERICK, MARYLAND, not exactly a hot spot, and perhaps it would be good for him to take a Dale Carnegie course before he makes the touring bands feel, well, not quite at home. Especially since the guy who hooked me up with the show (great guy) is trying to create a music community there. Sigh. Some people. However, I was happy to play for my friends and family and the few locals getting their dose of mint-chocolate chip ice cream. And I'll be back in the summer for the local Arts Festival. Not a small thing. Good folks play this. So all in all not a waste.
After that fiasco, my band and I sat outside my parents' log cabin (free place to stay, Mom's home cooking, log cabin on a creek in the woods...life is good) with my cousin Stan and talked about life and drumming and music and conflicting personalities and how you effectively deal with difficult people. Then Stan climbed inside the Beatser, tightened a belt, and fixed the damn car better than the Chevy dealer. Not so bad having a mechanically-inclined cousin.
Sunday, August 19 10:00am
Back to Shephardstown, the coolest place around. For the surprise gig of the century. The Lost Dog Cafe. A little coffee shop owned by Garth & Lissa which is a mecca for the post-church, post-hangover, post-kayaking crowd. Blearily, Matt, Jagoda and I drove to West Virginia to set up by 9:30am and played until 1pm to a receptive, attentive crowd. All ages. 10 under-5 year olds danced and sang along to "Fallen" (doubt they got the Tom Waites reference). Garth is great. We got t-shirts. Then went for brunch and Matt taught us about good Southern cooking: biscuits and sausage gravy. This from the man who religiously gets a colonic every week. He'll be blocked for weeks!
Monday, August 20
Still staying in Frederick, although Jessie and John ditched the country for the city and met us at gigs in the evening. I'm not remembering what we've done during the days. Sleeping late. Drinking coffee on the porch. Watcing the hummingbirds dance. Walks up the "mountain".
Zig's Bar. Alexandria, Virginia. A "menu venue". The vibe was a bit "Hard Rock Cafe-Lite", and it was in a strip mall in a relatively yuppie suburban area, but I liked the venue. Cory the sound man was amazing--great sound, nice guy. The owner didn't show and I suggest to all touring musicians to heed my new rule: if you dont' have a written contract, bring the e-mail with your notes for your compensation. Our deal was that we got the door. There was never a mention of "money off the top" for the sound guy or the house. Then I meet the baby-faced maitre'd who, despite his years, tried to bully me into $250 off the top for the house. And no food or drinks. And then proceeded to not have someone at the door the entire time. So. Heed my warning. Take the e-mail. I'm sure Zig's is happening on the weekends and I'm sure Tom the owner is a great guy. Make sure you deal with him. Not the kid in the tie.
Tuesday August 21
More sleeping in late. Eating Mom's cooking. Whining about my sprained ankle. [Oh. Side note for anyone wondering how my marathon training is going while I'm on tour: I wrenched my ankle on Saturday and haven't been running.]
The Metro Cafe in Washington, DC was as wonderful a find as Ed's Taproom in West "By God". Nick, STeve and John, the owners, couldn't have been nicer. And Jack the soundguy was amazing. I got off stage and Jack hugged me. Now what sound person would do that in NYC? You tell me. It's got a vibe similar to Arlene Grocery or Maxwells, but smaller and warmer. Very hip. I'll be back.
Today we had off. Slept late. Matt and I went to Antietem and took 3 hours soaking in Battlefield lore while Jagoda stayed back at the ranch hanging with Roro my grandmother and Maggie my cat. Tonight, after a cookout, we lit the fire down by the fire circle on the edge of the creek abutting my parents' house (which backs up to a State Park Forest) and Jagoda brought his djembe down, while Matt and I argued over the best way to cook a marshmallow.
On the road again tomorrow: Richmond, VA. We'll be most definitely south of the Mason Dixon. Body, mind and soul. So Jagoda's mouth should stay shut. His Bronx accent gets thicker by the minute while Matt's southern drawl, until now non-existent, is creeping out more and more.
Thanks for the emails from home. Tune into http://Grassyhill.org. Tom Neff runs a kick-ass radio station, as I found out when 2 new fans came to DC to see me play specifically because they heard "Cows" on Grassyhill.
xoxoxox
Moi
August 22, 2001 - Notes from A Beat-Up Suburban Truck Carrying Two Bands (or The New Jersey-W. Virginia Diaries)
Here's how I know I'm REALLY on the road:
1. The tour truck has already been in the shop. 2. A gig was cancelled without letting the band know 3. We lost Jagoda in West Virginia 4. Matt woke up on the floor of the bar covered in deer hair
...
Tales from the Tour
There's nothing to see in Asbury Park. Except the vestiges of an old beach resort. From like 100 years ago. We played with Lincoln the Chain, a Jersey-based alt-country band. Great guys. They brought in a crowd. Our first attempt at lodging was the Flamingo Motel, which we chose for the cache of it's name. As we pulled up and noticed the "rates per hour" sign, we decided to find the nearest Econo Lodge. Which, unfortunately, was near an oil refinery. Or at least it smelled that way.
Franco's Lounge in Williamsport, PA was a great show. Lots of old friends. GREAT FOOD! Fred Daniele and his sister Maria are the greatest. It's so nice to get out of NYC and be treated really well by club owners.
Baltimore was a bust. Drove up to Paloma's to find a sign on the door with "Closed for Vacation" handwritten. Looks like they left in a hurry. They didn't even have time to call and let the BANDS WHO WERE TRAVELLING MILES AND MILES TO PLAY THERE KNOW THEY DECIDED TO HEAD TO THE BEACH....I've recovered. We left signs on the door for our fans (Jagoda and Matt wouldn't let me leave "This club sucks" signs). Sigh. Road Rule #1: Get a freakin' guarantee in writing. Then sue for the $$. Road Rule #2: Don't Burn Bridges No Matter How Much You Want. I hear Paloma's is a great place to play. I WOULDN'T KNOW!
Now, Shephardstown, WV, as small as it is, is my new favorite place. There's a hippie-musician community vibe going on there that's infectious. We played Ed's Taproom, which is a combination Deli, Liquor Store and Ye Olde Taverne. Great show. Great owner. Great night. We go back on Sunday morning for a brunch jam at the Lost Dog Cafe. If I can get Jagoda up that early. Oh. Jessie, John, Matt and I made a rule: Schlomo Jagoda was not allowed to talk once we hit south of the Mason Dixon. Matt (from Atlanta) had to translate. It worked. However, he did a Blair Witch on us in Boonsboro, WV when we lost him for 15 minutes on the way back from Shephardstown (which happens to be very close to Burkettsville...home of the aforementioned witch).
August 2, 2001 - Life On The Road Pt. I & II
Part 1:
8/5
I'm writing from the JavaNet in Northampton MA, watching the rain fall down on this town as I wait until 8pm to go check out whomever is before me at Fire & Water Cafe. I go on at 9pm. The Indigo Girls are in town, though, so I fear my throngs of admirers will be singing "Galileo" rain or no rain...sigh....
I'm crossing Jitters Cafe in Southington, CT off the list of places it's worth the drive for. It's a nice little cafe, very quaint. But not many people go, the owner didn't even show up for my show, the PA sucks (good thing I brought my own) and they charge musicians for the food. Give me a break. They lost money that night. They could have at least given me a bagle. This is not an attempt to trash Jitters. I met Shirley, the owner, when I played the Sober Festival in New Hampshire in May and she's a really nice woman. I guess you've made it when you've played for the girl behind the counter, her boyfriend Jaime, and his 60 year old toothless construction working buddy Bob, and none of them give a rat's ass if you play or not. Jagoda and I played a few songs for ourselves, ate bagels and coffee, watched the rain fall, sat on the porch watching strange looking bugs wander over the clovers, and finally, after hearing Bob and Jaime discuss their weekend plans (an out-of-town drywall job and lots of drinking), we packed it in for the night.
The Java Hut in Worcester is a nice little joint and Roberta the owner is very friendly and makes you feel right at home. So intimate I was having conversations with the folks listening, they'd call out questions, and I'd spend some time answering them. Felt very welcomed there. First time I set up the Passport PA system as well. Let me tell you, that was worth the money! A 10 minute set up. Unbelievable. Highlight of the night was the drunk (or stoned) man who came in with a pizza from another restaurant, sat down in the front, played "air bongos" and wandered up to the stage while I was in the midst of a song and asked me if I'd like him to play bongos with me. Roberta had to ask him to leave.
After this gig, I drive 1 1/2 hours back to Catskill, NY for a free place to stay. Need to save cash on this one. I'm in Somerville tomorrow at the Burren. Looking forward to that one.
LIfe on the road: mcdonalds, little sleep, always tired, losing picks everywhere, bad choices of clothes (I'm learning), water and gatorade everywhere, Tom Waites and Pete Yorn on the CD player, tired tired tired.....
Part 2:
8/7
Fire & Water gig turned out to be really nice. A nice sized crowd of people intently listening who actually HEARD the lyrics. Sold some CD's, spent some time in my old 'hood. Then drove 2 hours back to the Catskills and joined the band Jake at The Point in Catskill, NY to watch Spin Cycle Lava and their fire-breathing, body-painted lead singer. They did a cover of "You May Be Right, I May Be Crazy". Hmmmmm....
The Burren in Somerville, MA is a really nice place. There was an Irish jam going on in the front room, lots and lots of people. The back room held the Songwriter Series. Jagoda and I had fun playing, but the crowd was loud. Very loud. What can you do with a Sunday night beer-drinkin' Irish crowd?
Then the highlight. Monday night at the Hardware CAfe in Marion, MA. I was filling in a set for Amy Fairchild, who has some vocal chord problems and needed to save some strength for her upcoming gigs. Marion is down by the Cape and it's a combined hardware store/penny candy store/ice-cream parlour and acoustic venue. John, the owner of it all, is a big-hearted warm man, who has great instruments on the wall for us to borrow, chords and capos and picks, the best vocal mics ever (!) and his own comedy routine he adds in from the soundboard mic. A great place to play and I can't wait to go back.
Ahhhh...7 days at home. Then I'm off again. My poor Kal. He's wondering when I'm gonna have time to rent a movie and eat Chinese food with him without having to worry about press releases and posters.
:) Amy
July 31, 2001 - Summer Lovin'
I've been away from this page for awhile. Summer slows me down. In a good way. And my keyboard is sticking so it's not as fluid writing...
Good news all over the place. Just check the NEWS page on this site. I got accepted to play a Songwriter's Hall of Fame Showcase in September at the swank and lovely Makor.
Onto more ponderous thoughts. Just got home from my vacation. A week at Bethany Beach with my family. My ENTIRE family. Kal. My mom and dad, sister Lee and her husband Adam and 18 month old niece Alexine (my new favorite thing in the entire world who says 'there you go' everytime she gives you something and I was lucky enough to see her expression the first time her hand felt sand and her feet felt ocean foam), brothers Matt (who I see all the time since he lives down the street in Hoboken) and Dan (who I don't see often enough), Uncle Will, Aunt Sandy, Stan & Brandon (my cousins who are more like brothers). And assorted guests. Bliss. My mother spent a month here with her cousin Mary Ellen when she was very young. We used to spend weeks in a bayside house at Ocean City when I lived in Baltimore. My father came here on vacation when he was in high school and college. So the Maryland-Delaware shore has deep meaning. Landscape memory. The soul going back to where it is destined? Dunno. It's a place that just feels right, deep down. We've rented a house next door (or 2 doors down) from Uncle Will for years. It's been 3 years, though, since we've all been together here. I got up at 5am twice to catch the sunrise. Did yoga on the sand while watching it once. Ran every day. One day, Lee and I ran for 1 1/2 hours, with our new "friend" Jack, who was eyeing Lee the whole time ("you should be on the cover of Runner's World..." tongue barely in his mouth). Had a big crab feast on the deck of Uncle Will's house--our mouths on fire with the Old Bay seasoning, cans of beer nearby, ears of corn on the way. Then the regular trip to Dumsers Ice Cream parlor. I played a show at the Dogfish Head Tavern on Thursday night. Wonderful beer there-tried the Raison D'Etre (heavy and fruity), the Midas Beer (shades of peach and apricot). Played "Chesapeake Bay" right near the inspiration. While I was setting up, a guy eating dinner says to me, "Are you related to Jerry Speace?" Well....Jerry is my cousin who I rarely see. He's at least ten years older than me. When I was really young, at our family reunions, Jerry was the hippie with long hair, an acoustic guitar and a harmonica around his neck, playing America and James Taylor tunes. We loved him. Turns out, he's still playing the beach gigs. Good for him! Funny to have something "run in the family". My Uncle Bob was in the audience as well, which made it all the more special since he's never heard me play before.
It's hard being back in the city. Or on the edge of it. I leave on Thursday to go to New England for a few dates. Then head south with Jake to tour. Hoping to do a kind of "tour diary" for August.
CD is done! Artwork is almost done. Below is the cover....beautiful job by my buddy Supah D (Dana Foti Sharp).
Stay cool, kids.
June 17, 2001 - A rage and a rave
THE RAGE
Will someone please tell me what a table of strippers was doing at the Philadelphia Music Conference? Now, you know me, I got over my raging feminist diatribes long ago (although not at all abandoning the sisterhood and politics...just seeing that there are grey areas I can't always yell about). AND I am no prude. I appreciate a good exotic dancer. I see the art in a lap dance. I've been to Bangkok and gone to Soi Cowboy and witnessed amazing feats of balance, creativity and strength by a young woman onstage with nothing but a bottle of coke and a bottle of Jack Daniels (need I write more?). BUT--at a conference that sponsors a panel on Women in Music, boys, do we really NEED the woman with the nipples protruding from her semi-t-shirt, exhibiting whipping techniques while daytime showcases of folk music are being enjoyed? How many Women In Music did I see at that exhibit booth? Zilch. How many booths of Chippendales Dancers did I see there? Zilch.
A-hem.
THE RAVE
My upstate mini-tour was a blast. Russ and Lauretta at the Ozone Cafe in Sidney, NY are the coolest couple who work tirelessly (Russ had to leave the music set to go work his "night job" at 10pm...after spending all day in the cafe). Their kids are adorable. And Fred Gillen, Jr. proved to me once again that he's the most soulful white man out there wielding an acoustic guitar AND the most unbalanced. The man WILL fall into the drum set one day. I swear!
And if you're in Syracuse, go to the OPL and buy Robert and Kenny's wings. They won't tell you what's in that sauce, but let me tell those are some damn good wings. While you're there tell them I say hello. FYI, it's a jam band bar. Why I was booked there is beyond me, but it was a real challenge to find ways of stretching my songs past their usual 3-4 minutes.
In Albany, go to Lark Street and go hear some great music upstairs at The Larkin (and buy yourself a good meal downstairs). There's a good thing going on in Albany. Be the first on your block to discover it! http://www.thelarkin.com
So now the heat and humidity is upon us in NYC, my air conditioning is on full, my dogs are panting more than usual, and I'm finding a lot of excuses NOT to run my 5 miles everyday. It can only get worse...
June 3, 2001 - June is busting out all over ....
That song...reminds of a long time ago. My first professional theater job. Weston Playhouse, Weston, Vermont. I played a chorus girl in "Carousel". Stephen DeRosa (now a well-known theater actor, then an unknown post-college grad like me, getting his feet wet) and I played like we were husband and wife during that song, just to make the time in the backline of the chorus a bit more interesting. What was her name? The amazing actress who sang that song? ... Georgia something. She was incredible. Been a long time...
So. I'm officially sick of the self-inflicted title "Twangirl". It was meant to be a respectful nod in the direction of the music I grew up on. My father's collection of Johnny Cash and Ernest Tubb and Conway Twitty and Tanya Tucker and Dolly Parton. Stuff I used to make fun of. Then I read the amazing two-book biography of Elvis Presley by Peter Guralnick (my favorite music writer, next to Lester Bangs) and went out and bought every CD I could find on early Elvis. And some late stuff for camp value. And all of Jerry Lee Lewis. And Johnny Cash ("I've been everywhere man, I've been everywhere..."). And Chet Atkins. And then re-discovered Dolly on her latest Bluegrass ventures. And Graham Parsons. And Emmylou. Who I'd always loved. Not that I write country music. I don't. Nor do I have a voice that's at all country. But I dig the sound of a Gretsch Nashville guitar, and I dig the sound of the lap pedal steel, and so, why not, I figured. And anyway, there's so many of us singersongwriterchickswithguitars playing Stanton Street and the nearby environs, hoping to get onstage at the Bottom Line someday, and there's way too many Amy's out there (Rigby, Correia, Fairchild, Allison, in Space...). Anything to separate me. But now I'm wondering if it's pidgeonholed me. Well, only for myself. Because who am I fooling? It's only me that's expending mental energy on this. I'm not being deconstructed by any masses yet. My music isn't even on the radio. Yet. Welcome to my world. I'm having a day where I'm thinking about the construction of image and music and all those Outer things that really don't matter but somehow make people who are mediocre stand out above the throngs of talented folks. Brittany. Prime example. Even Faith Hill. Who way back when had a perky haircut and looked like the girl on the farm next door. And now look. So while I'm wondering about whether to cut my hair off and do the punky perky thing, or to grow it long, drop 20 pounds, beg the Gods for flat abs, and wear the pushup bras ... I'm stopping myself in the middle of the thought to say outloud, "For christ's sake, Amy, go pick up your guitar and write a song. Step away from the mirror." I got stuck for a moment in vanity. Or the pursuit of image. Whatever the hell that is. I wear cowboy boots because I bought them in Taos with my buddy Rob who is from Albequerque and they wear well with Levis. I borrow my friend's cowboy hat. I like sequined cowgirl shirts. I really like Dos Equis and Negro Modelo and good tequila. And I really really like Dolly Parton's voice. But I also like Yma Sumac and campy cocktail music. And I like good red wine. Although it gives me a headache. I like to have a bit of a tan. I like wearing pajamas all day long. I like running 5 miles but I don't like sit-ups and I don't like lifting weights and I hate dieting, so I don't. I like my body. Oy. Is it cool to say that? I could stand, in some people's eyes, I guess, to lose 10. To get a flat stomach. I probably could if I tried. But I kind of dig my feminine hips and stomach. And I like bread and cheese too much to be really skinny. It's hard, though. All of these women I work with and like a lot are beautiful and skinny. It's tough sometimes to stand next to them and maintain my own confidence in my normality. In my lack of glamour, mystique, great hairstyle, funky clothes, edgy image. I think I've got enough of whatever it is that I need, though. So as much as I'd like to take on my middle name (Frances) and become Frankie Speace, have a "persona"--I could--I have only the Edith O. CD out there. Nobody really knows me. I would feel uncomfortable. Like I was wearing clothes that were beautiful but stiff and itchy. I'd probably end up laughing at myself. I'm a geek that way. So be it. There may be a zillion Amy's out there. I'm sticking with my own name.
But I might drop Twangirl. Don't know yet. I dig the character. But I also like my new idea (actually, given to me by the wordsmith Linus Gelber). Right Foot Red Records. Don't steal it. I already own it.
Happy June. Take your Claritin.
May 11, 2001 - May 11th
I think I'll wrap my mind around life here, out in the open, in this Wild West of the New World, this cyberland of friends and strangers who read this. In the manner of my own psuedo-confessional lyrics, I will write. But veil.
Lost a friend. A very very good friend. To miscommunication and anger and deeply hurt feelings. I'm baffled. I did all I thought I could do. And still have lost a friend. Never had this happen. Well...except in the horrible 7th grade when Chrissy Young and Teresa Savidge would decide every other week what girl in our clique they should ostracize for kicks. It was usually me or Laura Kline. Life sucked in the 7th grade...but back to now. Not to minimize the impact of the loss. It's big. Huge. Can't even really begin to comprehend it. To be honest, I'm the one that has decided on the "death" of the friendship. Things have been said and done that are simply unforgiveable. And in my life, so much is forgiveable. Everything should eventually be forgiven. Except for a total and absolute lack of compassion. And assuming the worst about someone before looking for the best. This sucks.
Something else on my mind. I can't really write about it. I'm just praying about it. To my own form of "God" or "Goddess", although I don't believe in anything that actively changes events. Listens to prayers. I do believe in some kind of universal energy. Universal compassion and healing that we can tap into. I'm hoping I don't need to find that. Yet. Oh boy.
I sometimes feel I write these pages in a void. And then someone taps me on the shoulder at a show, or writes me and says, "I read your stuff." I just want to say that means a lot to me. You reading.
Hug your mom on Sunday. Send her roses. Twirl her around and make her feel like she's 18 again. Tell her how much you love her.
May 7, 2001 - CORN CAM!!!
Hey everyone! Isn't it nice to see so much blue sunshiney days. Makes me want to get out my old LPs and singalong to The Brady Buch, the Partridge Family, the Archie's album. Don't deny it. You have them too. That and the best of all...The soundtrack from Disney's "Cinderella" ("Galapa goo and mystica-zoo... put it together and what do ya got? Bippity boppity boo!). Ok. Maybe just XTC's "Skylarking" and/or "Oranges and Lemons" which might be my two favorite sunnyspringday records.
So...this from my friend Rob who is always quick to point out to me the goings-on at my favorite random site: The Corn Cam (see OuterSpeace):
The CornCam is back for another season! I was beginning to get worried (to the greatest extent that I "worry" about these things, which isn't much)that it was perhaps gone for good, but they're readying to plant in just a few more days. Just so you don't think that I've been checking regularly, I heard about this on, of all places, the Osgood File on WCBS radio this morning at 8:40. I looked around a bit, but neither the station's website nor the main CBS Radio site have yet posted a transcript. But according to the report, more than 2.5 million visits were paid to the site during the last growing year.
My God. And to think, perhaps part of those 2.5 million came from little ol' me. Come on y'all, check out the corn. Take a breath of the sweet outdoors. Put your nose in some feed. Go pet a cow.
By the way, got lots of e-mail about my mailing list dilemna. Thanks to everyone for the help. I think I'll try to tackle Access, since I have it already. If that doesn't work, oy, I might have to buy a book. A real self-help book. Access for Dummies, or something like that.
I'm re-mixing today. Out at "The Viewing Room", Scott Anthony's studio/house which is at the edge of a graveyard. WAY COOL. There are ghosts who pass through. But I believe they are kind ghosts, who appreciate the music. Although I was here last Halloween for a party and went running around the graveyard with Amy Fairchild, Fran Azzario and some new friends and freaked one of Scott's friends out by jumping up on a very old gravestone and shimmying. I'm sure Ebenezer liked my little dance. Out here, in the suburbs, there's a nice breeze, big old trees, pollen-covered cars, grass to lie down in. Flowers. Azalea bushes. Houses with flags hanging off the front. Volvo station wagons. Kids on bikes. Makes for a nice respite.
Maybe one of these days I'll go back to a dayjob. It's been awhile. Can't seem to get it up to get back into the 9-5 swing. I'm starting to bartend in a few weeks, 2 nights a week. That should be fun. I've never done that. But, as Kal can attest, I make a great martini and am good at pouring shots, so not to worry. And maybe I'll temp once or twice a week, but it's been nice having days to do my biz. Makes me feel like I've committed finally to my life, the life I want. Although not having cash on hand to pay ALL the bills or buy Kal presents bums me out. And I didn't get to snowboard this season. And don't have the lifestyle yet to fly to Italy for vacation. But it's a sacrifice I'm willing to make right now and I'm very very lucky enough to have a partner willing to make it with me.
Of course, someday it will be his turn!!!!
April 30, 2001 - May Flowers
Happy Spring! Oooooohhhh...the warm sun is making me so happy. I feel like this winter I went into a kind of hibernation from my SOUL, you know? Too busy to run/do yoga/eat well. I got too wrapped up in what seemed to be going wrong, rather than seeing what was right -- right in front of my face. Lack of air-catching snowboarding opportunities, my friend Karen might say. Lack of sun on my face. Too much time on this computer (reminding me of Jenny Bruce's song "Heaven.com"). But last weekend it all turned. The sun shone. I got the tank tops out and didn't even care that I have probably put on 20 pounds with all that beer and all those Checkers burgers. Enough is enough. I'm signed up for the NYC Marathon again and I will do it in under 4 hours. You heard it first. (Lee, my sister, promises to come to NYC for it as well, and she's skinnier and faster than I. Even with a one year old girl.) So get outside, y'all. Smell the magnolias.
Will somebody please get me a free copy of Filemaker Pro? I'm dying to organize my mailing list database and Excel isn't doing it and Access is just too hard to figure out.
Mastering the final tracks of the CD this weekend. Went back into New Soup w/ John Abbey last weekend and got a great mix of "Fairytale" and threw some Edith O. like harmonies on "Two Ships". I think I'm done. Now to the art...and stickers...and t-shirts for the Twang & Trash Tour...(donate money to my cause at http://www.adoptaband.com/amyspeace. I need it now!)
Come to think of it, why am I inside? I should be out. Getting a job. Taking a run. Getting a tan. Walking my dogs. Reading a book. Not in front of this thing. Bye bye. Call your mother.
Check out me w/ Sheriff Bob at the Ponkiesburg Pickin' Party a few weeks back. (all photos by webguru Pierre)
April 1, 2001 - April Fool
Midnight on a Sunday. Dogs are sleeping. Movie is over. Wine in my tummy. Ready for bed. For a book. But feel like I've neglected these pages. I'm starting to get feedback from friends, from strangers, who reach across anonymity to comment, to connect. It's a strange strange world. Can't decide if it's comforting. Like being the loner, lonely awkward kid in 7th grade and finding a pen pal from across the United States who seems to get you even if you only speak in written blurbs. Making it up as you go along. Or if it's a bit scary. Like stalking. I'll take them both, I think. This world confuses me. I'll take communion where I can get it, I think.
I took my Muse gals to my hometown last weekend. My folks are long gone, but many of the people who raised me, at least who shaped me, are still there. The streets, the trees, the dying small town center, the friends who returned to make a family and contribute young life to the town in the center of PA, the favorite pub, the favorite restaurant. It's all there. Tastes and smells that seem so familiar. That I ran away from. But feel cradled in when I return. I brought my UrbanMuses there for a show. And felt welcomed. And home. And felt like Julie the Cruise Director. Thanks to Steve Koch at the Bullfrog Brewery in Williamsport, PA for making us feel welcome. And to all who came out. We'll be back.
And I can't even begin to thank my surrogate parents the Flexers and the Evans for taking my clan, eccentrics and all, in for the weekend. And going above and beyond the call of hospitality.
So much change around me. People fighting and breaking up right and left. Or re-visiting their reasons for being together. Some kind of pushing at retainer walls. I had a revelation. I thought it was that I was irresponsible. Couldn't keep a dayjob. Couldn't get out of bed. But I think I've come to the truth. I don't belong in a 9-5 office situation. Really. ANd it's not just me justifying. And I'm good at that. I've been reading this book by Stephen Cope on Yoga and psychotherapy, lent to me by my mastering engineer. A kindred soul, this man. I feel my True Self emerging and fighting all these walls I've put up. I've relied upon. I feel like as much as I try to deny the truth, it's crashing through and disallowing me to continue in patterns. So. I dont' have a dayjob. I can't work a 9-5. In an administrative capacity. I can't. I found this past weekend, when I threw together the URbanMuse presentation at the Naca convention that I have a talent for promotion I didn't realize I had before. And more importantly, I think, I have the talent to literally pull it out of my ass and make something happen. So I need to do that. Or teach. Or write. But not fucking answer phones for some corporatation. Or do financial charts on Xcel. Or Follow up bullshit applications. I'm just suited for that. I'm not a good secretary. Let's just be honest there.
Whew. It felt good to go to confession.
Hey you want a great description of the end of the PA trip? Go to www.amyfairchild.com and read her journal. See the photos. It's worth the click.
Like I have been saying, out like a lamb my ass. Snow tomorrow I hear? April fool.
March 18, 2001 - Lee Winston
The Ides of March.
Maybe it's appropriate, this date then. Lee did Shakespeare. I'm pretty sure he was in "Caeser." For a moment, I paused to title this entry the Ides, thinking I shouldn't be my usual tongue-in-cheek self. But now, I realize, of course. The Ides. A Bard reference.
I'd been sitting at the computer for the entire day today working. Duping CD's for a conference I'll be going to this coming weekend, sending out e-mails, making press kits, and all of a sudden, the bright sunny day I was planning on spending cleaning the house, then going to see one of my best friends, Maitreya, perform in a show, was gone and now it's almost 6pm and the sky is darkening and I didn't go to support my good, good, talented friend, and I'm feeling really guilty. I just got a call from another one of my best friends, Vinnie. To tell me a mutual aquaintance has died suddenly. I hesitate calling him a friend, because the truth is, as much as this man, Lee Winston, was a part of my daily landscape for so many years, I barely knew him. Lee Winston was an actor. Not your regular 20something, "I'm just out of college but I'll be a star after this one showcase" actor. But one over forty (I think, I'm pretty sure), whose resume reads of struggle and work. Broadway. Off-Broadway. Off-off broadway. Theater. Film. A rare person to find when you're casting Shakespearean Dramas in a parking lot on the lower east side for no money. But Lee was in many plays I did with Expanded Arts, a Ludlow Street staple of classical theater. Lee played Burgundy in "Henry V" when I played Katherine. Lee came to see me in almost every show I performed in NYC. Lee and I did a film together this past summer, a film a friend wrote and directed. Lee was at every cast party, every gathering at Motor City. Lee was a part of my landscape. But I didn't really ever know Lee. I spoke to him. Laughed with him. And sometimes at him. Because, as most older actors who still work for nothing downtown are, he was a true eccentric. And for a girl from the country, Lee didn't fit into any category for me. He was strange, but not strange enough to be frightening. He was odd, but not cool enough to be hip. He was good, but not good enough to be in awe of. But what Lee was (at least to me) was reliable. Lee was always acting. Always in a show. Always working. I don't know what Lee's dayjob was. Or if he had a family. OR if he had a lover. But while the rest of us sat drinking our faces off after the show, trying desperately to connect with each other in the haze of post-performance, maybe even to makeout with someone in the dark corners of the bar or the theater, Lee talked. And hung out. And laughed. And was a very nice man. And supportive. And he was always there. I always wondered what he thought of all of us.
Lee died. I think yesterday. While hiking with my friend Jack, who wrote and directed the film we did last summer. I'm a bit in shock. Lee wasn't exactly healthy. But he wasn't sick. Or at least I wasn't aware he was sick. I don't want to be inappropriate and cry or wax maudlin. Because he was not a friend. What I feel is regret that I didn't go see Maitreya's show. That I haven't called Vinnie in a while. That my relationship with the director of the theater might have ended badly. That I didn't ever say to Lee, "good job."
There are these people we come across. Who are peripheral. Who blend in. And we don't really count them. But they do count. And they have lives. And maybe they blend in because being around the crowd makes them happy.
I'm lucky to not have lost anyone really essential in my life. Yet. But what is essential? And how lame to qualify people that touch your life, even in periphery, as non-essential and essential.
I was going to write this entry about how great a time I've had at the last few shows I've done. How I'm feeling stronger and stronger, and so happy to be meeting and playing with new people. But that feels a bit thin now. I'm thinking now of life. How short it is. How it can be taken at any moment. During a hike in the woods. Rilke has a poem that ends with the imperative "You must change your life." That always gets to me. He's right. There is no time but now.
Tell that person you love them. You can't live without them. You would risk it all to be with them.
Don't wait to decide where you want to be because you might not wake up. Just go.
Don't wait for next month's sunrise. Wake up tomorrow morning.
Feb 26, 2001 – 99
I'm sitting amidst this stack of papers and emails and things I just should have done a week ago. Like dupe CD's and send them for contests and festivals. Or maybe I should go to sleep early for the first time in a long time. Get some sleep. Real sleep. But instead, I've tuned into a show my good friend Amy Fairchild did in London a few days ago, and I'm seething with envy that she's traipsing abroad with her guitar playing a new club with new faces and I'm sitting at this computer with a neckache wishing I had a few more bucks in my bank account. You wanna check the show out? Go to Sound Advice. While you're there, check out Kimball's site. She's in her 3rd song and I can hear how freeing it must be in her voice. Hear the din of people in a short-ceilinged brick room with a great sound system holding their pints of Guinness and wondering who the blonde chick in the red leather pants is and where they can buy her CD. "Hell, I think I'll move here." Yeah.
Maybe it's that February is almost over and I haven't gotten on a snowboard. No time. Not complaining. I've been playing a lot lately. Which is wonderful. Refining what I do. What I want. Who I think I am. Caring less about all that exterior shit, too. Just wanting to hear the chords and lyrics. Say what it is I feel. Hope that I reach someone. Anyone, really. Just someone to reach out and say, yeah, there's a reason for you to be here. Me too. You know? My grandmother turned 99 yesterday and I didn't call her to wish her a Happy Birthday. Not that she would have remembered today. She'd ask me a few times where I live. What I do. Am I happy? Am I healthy? And then forget who she's talking to. Which is completely understandable and forgivable at her age. Hell, she can still remember Portia's speeches. She's allowed to forget that I live in New Jersey. But she's my angel. The one who didn't hesitate when I took her hand and lead her into the ferns and asked her to be the white rabbit. I wrote a song about her finally. Played it live for the first time last night. "Seafaring Widow". I don't think she'll ever hear it. Just because I doubt I could sing it live to her.
One of my best friends from high school. His father is sick. And his father is like my father. Close to my dad. Always takes care of me. And my favorite uncles have had a hard year. One with health and one with family. It's hard when you don't believe in miracles and angels and you just have to breathe and hope that regeneration is possible and that there is some pattern in the chaos and that at the end, somewhere, we might look back, in whatever form we are, and nod in appreciation. Or maybe not and my friend Kennan is right that's this is all there is. The rest is chaos. Beautiful chaos.
Amy's singing "Home" now. Which breaks my heart.
I've just written this and I've decided to not look back and edit. Let it pour out. I'm tired and on cold medicine. But no drink. And no smoke. I swear. Just music, I think.
Feb 21, 2001 - Grammy's? Who cares?
Everyone seems to be having a Grammy party tonight. I hate to be the cynic, but you know, I'm no fan of Eminem, can't really deal with the J-Lo thing, and hate boybands/girlfluffysingers, so I'm thinking I'll skip tv tonight, go out to the lower east side, and see some real music! People with something to say! Michal the Girl rocks!
What a week. I was in Harrisburg this past weekend at the Milennium Music Festival, playing a show at the Whitaker Center. Great fun. Great sound system. Great sound & lights guys. I felt very taken care of, and that was so nice. Skipped all the heavy metal-head showcases and went to the hotel (the Hilton! How swank!) bar where there was a jazz trio playing. That drummer was the bomb. Marco. Amazing. Jagoda was drooling. We ended up hanging out with him afterwards, going out to meet some more jazz guys at a different bar, talked about the importance of SPACE, about doing your own thing, and then at 3am, was initiated into the clan by eating chili dogs from The Spot. Needless to say, this tour did not include the Saturday morning IHOP run. Alka selzer, maybe, but no International Breakfast.
Stars and planets are alligning fast and furious. I keep meeting people I've been told about. Steve Tannen played after me last night at The Living Room. I'd heard his name around and was anxious to hear his set, and had a great time talking with him beforehand. Dig his music!!!! Reminds me of Michael Penn. Love anyone who can start off with "she gets me drunk in a taxi" and ends with "and the total silence on the morning train." Plus, his brother Greg joined him onstage for harmonies and I've got to figure there's quite a musical gene in that family. Kyler, another singersongwriter I've recently met, was there. As was Karen Jacobsen, a fellow Urban Muse, who's music moves me (too many "moo" words in that sentance). Then today I had coffee with Meghan Cary who I'll be playing with this weekend and found soooo many similarities in our lives. I think when you decide to be a certain thing, quit your job, quit the distractions, just do what makes you happiest, then the universe conspires in a really positive way and throws opportunity at you right and left. It's just up to you to recognize it. That the person on the bus next to you might be a new friend or a new contact. That the industry insider you're having a conversation with doesn't have to intimidate you but you can see the meeting as a great opportunity to meet someone cool. It all sounds so Pollyanna. Really. I promise I'll get the angst back in, but it's nice to feel inspired by others and excited by new ideas. Maybe it's just that I had too much coffee today or that I need to go running. Oh god. I need to go running. I need to get myself some exercise. That's a whole 'nother entry. Oh for a life of music & snowboarding & no money worries...
If life is getting you down, let me suggest this: IMAX. Dolphins. That's all you need, man. It's a drug.
Feb 13, 2001 - Valentine's Day
Love. Flowers. Chocolate. Cherubs in diapers. Surprise trips to Paris. Balcony serenades and sonnets....
These are a few of my favorite things...
Actually. I never really get the Valentine's Day thing. I have always dated (and married) men (only married one man) who rightfully believe that it's a concocted holiday by the United Corporation of Hallmark. And I'm with them. Every day. But Valentine's Day. When it comes and I'm sitting there with no little cards that say "Be Mine" or candy hearts. However, ask and you shall receive. I was in college and dating an older man who was 3 states away. The relationship was definitely waning and I was not into it. He was sweet, but you know, it just wasn't happening. And I was trying every way to just let him down easily without being blunt. Well, Valentine's Day comes around and I'm woken up at 7am in my dorm room, bleary and cranky, after a particularly late night at the library, by a loud knocking. I shout "Who the hell is that?" "Open up. Valentine's Day", I hear. So I throw a robe around my barely-clad body, with my hair askew and mascara circles crusted around my eyes like a hangover. There is a young man in a tuxedo there. With a violin and a dozen roses. And he proceeds to play me all sorts of romantic serenades. The note on the flowers told me this was the older man's doing. Unfortunately, it was not the best morning for this. And I'm pretty sure I stood at the door, holding it open, impatiently waiting for the end of this loud racket. A violin played by a junior high school boy is not a pleasing thing to hear at 7am. Needless to say, I ended that relationship, but I was forced to stick it out for a bit longer, since he did put the effort in...
I'm planning to go to Manitoba's tomorrow night to see my friend Courtney Lee Adams, Jr. play and my other friend Debby Schwartz back her up on vocals. Should be a blast.
I hope this jpeg file translates here. Mark Susskind, fan extraordinaire to all us folkies, named a Beanie Baby for me, or after me, or something, and I'm tickled. It's a bunny named "Sprightly." I coudn't be happier. So if you see Mark at a show, with Sprightly dancing, tell him I said Howdy! 
Feb 9, 2001 - Angry moon my ass...
I survived the full moon, much to my, and the warnings of more astrologocally inclined friends', surprise. I heard this might be a rough birthday. Full moon. Angry moon. Conflicts with my partner. All the angst rising to the surface and all. As I'm not necessarily the most low-maintenance friend or lover, I was fully prepared for a complete and total breakdown. Kal said he was going out of town for this weekend. And knowing that any other potential conflicts were either out of or town or out of sight, I was prepared to just sit this one out. But then my star guru tells me that Saturday Febuary 10th might be really tricky. That the 14th is just supposed to suck for most of us. So we should all propose to celebrate Valentine's Day on the 10th. But for me, an Aquarian, with a birthday on the full moon of the 8th, I should just suck it up for a volcanic eruption. And only I know that all hell could possibly break loose on that day, so I was prepared to not do my anticipated and much-looked-forward-to Herradura shot before my gig on the 10th. I love the C-Note, if only for the fact that the cute bartender, god I wish I remembered his name, who's an actor and is really really cool and nice, WITHOUT FAIL brings me a shot of good tequila on stage and joins me in a celebratory toast. I'm a lightweight. Don't get me wrong. One shot and I'm either sleeping in the corner or telling everyone how much I love them. But, I do like a bartender that offers up the agave.
Anyhooo....yesterday passed without incident. In fact, it was a blissful day. I've started to go the gym. A big thing for me. I've been a lazy ass since running the marathon. Nothing. And I'm signed up for next year, so i've got to get it together. So, I went swimming yesterday and rediscovered how much I love the water, being in a pool. Goggles. The smell of chlorine. Then, a sauna. Oooooooh. My YMCA membership paid off in spades. Home to my birthday present of Coletrain's "Giant Steps". Blissful. A letter from an old friend I had written off as lost and a jerk. A "forgive me I was a jerk" letter. Something I've wanted to read for a year. A major weight lifted. An opening. Then a complete surprise phone call a part of me did not want but was SO HAPPY to get. Too happy. So nice to have people in the world who I love. Who love me. Love is a good thing. Then, Kal took me out for a great, candlelit, romantic dinner. Good good Shiraz. Duck. Scallops. I think I fell asleep on the couch.
Tonight my gang went out for Dana's birthday. We met at one of my old fave haunts in the city, the Shark Bar (actually the Spring Street Lounge). Then for great Ethiopian food at Ghenet on Spring Street. We ended up at a bar in that area that's between Little Italy and the Lower East Side. NOt sure what it is, but it's got great boutiques that are overpriced. The bar was like an Upper West Side transplant. A bit too wanna-be-trendy. Bad bass-thumping music. IN a jazz phase, I was trying to convince everyone to trek up to Harlem to an after-hours jazz club, but I had no takers.
Enough about my night. IT's late and I'm tired and dizzy. THe dogs have probably taken over my pillow. Did you know Clyde sleeps with his head on the pillow and his body under the covers. He's no dog. He's got a cat in the world who he's related to. That cat knows who he is. Actually two cats. Johnny Sunday. And Jack.
Walter Parks, musician extraordinaire, the energy behind fellow Urban Muse Rachael Sage's label MPress Records, took some photos of me last weekend. Here's one. He's awesome.
:)
Feb 3, 2001 - February 3rd...
Howdy!
So here I sit, suffering with a cold I feel coming on, doped up on Nyquil...we rented a bad bad bad movie tonight "Me, Myself & Irene" and I couldn't even get through the first 1/2 hour of it and I have a high tolerance for stupidhumor. Then, I was hoping that I could catch J-Lo on SNL, but nope, just wrestlers and AC/DC. You don't think I'm serious about J-Lo do you? I hope not. You should know me by now.
Mastering "Fable" next weekend with Scott Anthony. I'm really liking how it sounds. Lo-fi. But not "cheap"--you can't believe the quality of sounds John "GeorgePaulRingo" Abbey gets out of New Soup Studio. Amazing. I'm ready with another batch of tunes for the next one and I already know New Soup is the place to go and John is the man to produce. NOt to get mushy, but I feel blessed with my band. I've got 2 guys who just seem to get it without me needing to explain too much. We all share a sensibility. It's rare. Like finding your musical soulmates. Of course, they're both professionals. So there you have it. Jagoda (drummer/percussionist extraordinaire) and I have been writing together (oops--J-bag, did I let out the secret?) and his music is really beautiful. I just la la'd over his chords and then added some random words and now we've got a few songs. Can't wait to get them down on tape.
I keep putting off the release. Money. I want to do it right. Need to get the artwork together. Been thinking about the cover. Americana. But jazzypoppyfolkyrocktwang. I've got Edward Abbey, Walker Evans, Steinbeck, Hopper, Steiglitz on my brain. Stark. American. No pitchforks, though. I promise you that. Maybe me and my truck and my dawg. And of course, the borrowed Gretsch. Always, the borrowed Gretsch, until I can shore up $2000 to buy my own. Actually, there's a Guild I want at the Guitar Bar for around that. Red. James Mastro will know which one. But I also could use that Guild 1969 Starfire with one pickup. Warm sweet sound. Under $1000. I've got to give Pete's Gretsch's back at some point and it's really gonna cramp my style...you do know it's my birthday next week, dontcha? I'll be the age Jesus was when he died (oooh...is that offensive? I'm sorry...it just seems kind of milestone-ish). I'm gonna just call it my Rolling Rock Birthday. 33. I've got no problem with shouting that out loud. Fuck 'em if they're only looking for the next 22 year old blonde cheerleading flattummied bimbet. There's a ton of us 30 somethings with a bit more depth and womanly curves that are worth listening to these days. You just might have to chance an indie...but then again, do you really want to listen to Destiny's Child?
Ok. Enough bitching. Wish me a good day on the 8th. The 7th is the birthday of Paul Kellerman, my best friend from kindergarten. Haven't seen him since I was 8. The 12th is my good good friend Dana's birthday and the 13th is Karen Quiana's. The world is filled with Aquarians.
So come celebrate with me at the C-Note on the 10th. I can promise lots of fun. And tequila. Although I'm not buying.
Jan 28, 2001 - Good poetry always wins out...
See? The power of the pen is mightier than the sword. Or the Giant. Although I think it's a bit lame that my home city of Baltimore has a football (like football players really read poetry) team named for a Poe poem (say that 10 times fast), it's pretty cool that they won. Not that I really care past the chips and beer and, of course, the halftime show which ROCKED. Come on!? Brittany & 'N Synch totally strutting their edgy, rocknroll stuff with Steven Tyler? The only thing that would have made that more blissful would have been a surprise performance by Kathie Lee Gifford. Be still my beating heart....But really, didn't we all watch "Survivor" tonight anyway? Admit it. I won't step near "Temptation Island" but I admit freely I almost filled out an application for the 1st round of Survivor. Although in retrospect, I would have never held up. No bugs for me. And I might have had to get sassy with Susan. This time around looks entertaining so far. My vote would have been to get rid of that annoying Long Island bartendress Kimmy who'd drive me crazy with her voice and her screeching at night. I'd try to stay as nice and zen as possible. Strategy. You know, do the work, find the food, make the fire, play nice with everyone, vote off the island any chick with a harder body than me.
Played my first show at the legendary Maxwells. Which was cool for two reasons. First, it's across the steet from my apartment, so load in was a cinch. Second, because I once went there to see my ex-boyfriend play with his band at the time, and brought my good friend Kal (who is now my husband). So the other night, Kal and my ex were standing side by side watching me and I had a moment of glory, thinking how funny life turns out.
Thanks to everyone who has so generously donated money, small and large, to me at the GREAT AND WONDERFUL SITE Adopt-A-Band. Even the smallest amount helps. Since my last plea for donations, I made enough to pay for my publicist when the CD comes out, so thank you thank you thank you. And a big thank you to Alessandro Bologna and everyone at AdoptABand for their generosity.
This is my birthday month coming up. Aquarius. I'm freaking slightly. Too many people around me having babies and settling in to their lives. I still feel restless. At least I've got a roof over my head, a man who loves me and two big dogs who steal pillow space. And my health. That--we all take too much for granted. Breathing.
Been listening to Graham Parsons. Dolly's new one. Still on Ryan Adams. Love him. Also going backwards. Buddy Holly. Elvis' Sun Sessions. The Cure. Bob Mould. Kate Bush (oooooh looooooove her). Reading Rilke poetry for research on a new song I'm writing. Usually I have 5 books going, but lately, I've been pretty slack with that. Spending way too much time on-line, I fear.
G'night, says the Twangirl.
Jan 18, 2001 - Night on Earth
Kal is in the living room listening to Conan. We've just come home from my show at the Triad Lounge, which I thought would be my last show there, since I had heard a rumor the doors were closing to live original music. But Greg Schiff, who books me there, is now a manager and told me they'll be doing live music Thursday, Friday and Saturday nights. Good thing, too, since it's the only place above 23rd street I've played. A good post-work, happy hour joint. And it's got a different vibe than the east village/lowereastside haunts I frequent. I feel freer to play my slow ballads and folkier stuff. My ABBA covers. My cover of "Bohemian Rhapsody" (don't laugh. I remember playing the 2nd clarinet part to that opus in Band in 7th grade. I ROCKED.)
I had a strange dream last night. Dreamt I had booked a show at the Living Room with me and another act opening for me. A woman from Brazil who played a Sheila E. kind of drum thing. And I got there very early and saw Jennifer Gilsen there (who books and owns the LIving Room, cool woman) and she had shaved her head. The Sheila E. clone came late, and played for 2 hours, and I had to cut my set short, which I didn't mind except that my boss from my dayjob had shown up and I had to explain why I wasn't at work that day but I could still show up at my own gig. And then I was politely trying to show my disappointment to Sheila E., who didn't speak English and wouldn't acknowledge me, so I just turned beet red and told her to fuck off. On Stanton Street. It was all so real. I was in the bathroom of the Living Room trying to put my makeup on before the show and ended up flushing all my brushes down the toilet. Then it got odd (you say, "Then..."). Andy Boose was giving me a lift home on his double seated bicycle down Canal Street and we ran into Sasha Barnes, newly home from Bosnia. We were all dressed in carnival garb. But I kept trying to tell Andy that I had to go back to the Living Room to get my guitar, which I had left behind.
You may ask why I write all this. Because it's almost 24 hours after the dream and it's still extremely fresh in my mind and I DON'T KNOW WHY. Strange.
Do you ever feel like you misplaced your life? Like you should have been somewhere else and maybe you lost yourself along the way and here you are in some strange situation? Yeah. I love what I'm doing, don't get me wrong. Although my path has been less planned than maybe what might make my father comfortable, by waving in the wind and following intuition, my gut and the scent of a good red wine, I've ended up in a nice place. Playing my tunes to people who seem to enjoy them. I've quit the toxic acting company I once belonged to that brought me nothing but angst for 2 years, while I wondered why I was putting any heart and sould into a dictatorial, unorganized, messy, toxic company that could have done so much. I live in a nice apartment with two beautiful healthy dogs and a loving husband who is the best friend anyone could ask for. I am healthy. My family is healthy. And yet....what? I feel sometimes, don't you?, that someone left out the important chapter...
Oh God. It's my uppermiddleclasswhitebread upbringing whining again. I drank a few beers tonight after my show watching the wonderful Michael Kroll play his whitefunky ass off.
If this ain't a journal entry, I don't know what is.
Here's another photo....hope you are all hopeful for the next 4 years. Cross your fingers.
Jan 9, 2001 – Twangirl
I'm totally engrossed in PBS this week, so don't call, don't email, don't bother me on nights that "Jazz" is on Channel 13. Can't break away...In fact, you should be watching too. It's really a beautifully done series (and so far I'm only on Episode 2). I'm sure there will be a lot of critics out there who'll say nasty things about Wynton M. or about Ken Burns or some other cranky point about the depth and validity of the series. But screw it. Nobody else has done it yet. So, if you're a jazz fan, and I am, you should be glued to the tv. Hell, if you're a music fan you should be glued. ANYONE should be watching. And if you aren't a jazz fan, run, don't walk and buy some Louis Armstrong, Billie Holiday, Charlie Parker, Bill Evans, Lester Young, Miles, Coltrane, Mingus...listen...listen...listen... If you're really bored one day, you can ask me to tell you about my senior thesis in college on Billie Holiday and the desconstruction of race, celebrity and jazz. Yeah. Name that tune!
Big news is this: I have come up with a record label name. Finally. My first choice was taken (Defective Monk Records--I'll give prizes for anyone who can guess where that's from). So... (drum roll)...my new indie label (very indie--just for me right now, but I've got BIG plans) is TWANGIRL RECORDS. A little bit country, a little bit rock and roll. A lot of Sun Sessions in my history. A bit of Willie and Waylon. A touch of Neil and Carole and the Brill folks. A whole lot (some might say too much) Joni. And a swank pair of black leather jeans.
I'm mixing "Fable" this weekend with Scott Anthony who's previously worked on stuff with John Abbey. A really soulful guy. Who lives on the edge of a graveyard, so I feel right about the karma of his home studio. Things are sounding great and I'm getting more and more excited. Now if I can just decide on cover art. Part of it is that I can't decide whether to keep growing my hair or to chop it off short short again. I think I need to go snowboarding and not think too much about it. Just get someone to take a friggin' photo.
Did a photo shoot this past weekend with Amy Fairchild and Debby Schwartz (photos by Walter Parks), collectively aka "The 'Boken Hos". Come see our show! MAXWELLS, Wednesday January 24th at 9pm. Get a babysitter. Go to bed a bit later on the school night. Do it. It'll be worth it. I swear.
Remember: support indies like me and the other Amy and Debby and Michal the Girl and Morgan Taylor and all the others out there without major label money because otherwise all you'll get is Brittany and Christina and Eminem.
Top listen picks of the week for me: Just bought Gram Parson's "Grievous Angel". Love him. Wilco "Being There". Leif Arntzen "I Love You" (jazz vocals/trumpet a lot of Chet Baker...makes me weep). Brought back Uncle Tupelo's "Anodyne" into rotation. Reminds me of college. Also like Edie Carey's newish CD (check her stuff out on CDbaby.com). And the new U2. The new Ryan Adams (no..not Bryan Adams). Tell me what you're listening to...
Rock on.
