Time Warps and Cheeseburgers

Ann Arbor to Chicago. I'm sitting in a high rise hotel in Chicago this morning, big fluffy pillows, too many of them. They are all small squares and really, way too fluffy for comfort. The room is artfully Euro styled, minimal and chic. Browns and light greens. There's a chaise lounge. I wonder about the choices of furniture in these hotels. Does anyone really use the chaise lounge? I sleep and shower in my hotel room. I don't hang out. If I'm checking emails, I'm sitting at the desk or bringing the laptop in the bed. I guess one might linger over morning coffee with the Chicago Sun spread out on the chaise lounge in their bathrobe. Maybe. I wouldn't. I'm just coming and going here.

Ann Arbor. The Ark. One of my favorite rooms to play. Great sound, friendly and supportive volunteers. Good wine. And popcorn. What's not to love? An old college roommate showed up and we ushered in the morning catching up. 

Chicago. The Uncommon Ground on Devon. Another nice room, more of a stage set up in a restaurant, so you can't help but sometimes feel like you're only a few steps from Dinner Theater (and when I was an actress I made a proclamation that I would take almost any job with the exception of 2: Rennaissance Faires and Dinner Theater).  The silverware clanging.  It is a lovely room with good food (amazing mac & cheese). Two more college friends showed up. Haven't seen them in almost, yikes, 20 years. Again, hung out, catching up.

So I'm thinking of the past a lot as I'm driving through time zones, back and forth, losing an hour, gaining an hour. That space in between. My old friends haven't changed a bit and yet, everything has changed. Its tempting to get idyllic and look at the past through rose-colored glasses, wanting it all to match some guidebook like the cover of the Amherst College Alumni magazine, fall colors around Johnson Chapel on a perfectly groomed quad. But it isn't that. It was that once in a while, and then sometimes it just wasn't. Michael my friend last night said that its amazing how all of us are just fucked up in our ways and I said, well, if we're all fucked up, then we're all just normal, so maybe we should stop calling it fucked up.  He also mentioned a boy that I had a crush on who never asked me out had a crush on me. People are stupid. Scared and stupid. Missed opportunities out of fear. Makes me want to pick up the phone and end a long-standing silence with an old friend. Bury the hatchet. Makes me want to go back to that quad and take my shoes off and twirl in the grass, unafraid if its cool or not. 

Today back over the time zone warp to Michigan. That's a photo of the band at the diner in Ann Arbor eating cheesburgers before the show. I should have eaten. It would have helped stave off that wine hangover from the night with my roommate, hanging in her backyard drinking wine until 4am. But I think the hangover kept me quiet and reflective the next day, suffering in the back of the van. I got to look at some old memories, turn them over like a page of a photo album.

Cleveland Rocks

We drove in the rain in one day from Jersey City to the Bronx to way way northern Manhattan across The George Washington Bridge, across New Jersey, across all of Pennsylvania to the Great State of Ohio to Cleveland yesterday, the motherland of R&R (they say).  A few thoughts...

Pennsylvania is a fucking long state. I-80 goes on forever. Would you put a few Starbucks in there for a girl? Seriously? Nothing but truckstops and trees. Lots of trees. We saw one of those old faded signs for a restaurant, a family restaurant with a photo of the Dad and the Mom and the girls taken by Olan Mills in some Mall somewhere, powder blue carpet backdrop. Luigi's Restaurant in Dubois, Pennsylvania (pronounced "DooBoys", of course). It was way off the highway, but right off the highway your only choices are McD's, BK, Subway and the truck stop Sapp's Bros. diner/buffet thingy. Let me tell you, after watching "Supersize Me!" last week, I'm way off crap food. So I see that Luigi's sign and think, "Italian food in Central PA! PERFECT!"  I'm here to tell you, if you're travelling down I-80 and you want something to eat that's not fast food before you hit Pittsburgh, Luigi's is your place. Good, solid, Italian food. Gnocchi with meatballs did not disappoint. We hit the road and made it to Cleveland before Midnight.

I'm on the road with Dave Kincaid, as my guitar player/singer from the band The Brando's, and Jagoda on drums. Jagoda has taken up a new hobby that is rather interesting: cigar smoking. He recently quit smoking cigarettes (we're all happy for him) but he's now taken up Cubanos. Oy vey. He is also quite the wine guy.  Dave is a great guitar player, amazing musician, and fascinating historian on all things Irish Civil War era. Seriously. Check out his CDs on Irish American songs from the  Civil War.

So tonight at Wilberts we played to less than a handful. I was on the Ohio NPR station this afternoon talking about my record, Shakespeare, life, love, breakups and language. All interesting NPR'ish stuff. We got to Wilberts, a big bar/music venue with food in downtown Cleveland. Really lovely stage. Dylan was our sound person. Our opener was Chris Castle who has a lovely deep sultry voice, thoughtful songs, plays a Martin and occassionally a harmonica. Really nice guy with something there that should reach beyond his concentric Ohio circles. I was trying to proselytize to him of Kerrville. I tend to do that. Tell songwriters I meet they must make Mecca. I wrote down "Jonathan Byrd" on a napkin and told him to find that music. I hope he makes his way south. 

So, yes, just a handful. But Rick from Cleveland, our one male fan from the Beechland Ballroom show last year (when we played to 5 people and Rich, my guitar player, said "don't worry. I came here with a full band with Amy Rigby last year and played to 3. You beat her in terms of draw." And Amy Rigby's a verifiable rockstar), was there. Which was nice. And next time those people might double. Its all about showing up. 

But we played in the shadow of the Indians stadium with the RRHOF down the street and I wanted to shout "Hello Cleveland" and so it was all good.

Tomorrow: Ann Arbor

Jam

Sometimes you gotta just invite friends and srangers over to jam.

Juxtaposition

You never know what you may find walking down the Village on a rainy Tuesday afternoon.

Heroes

Meeting your heros is an odd experience, elating and deflating all at once. Like opening your presents at your birthday party too fast. In the end, what you've got is a bunch of torn up wrapping paper in wads of tape and ribbon, and some toys you will tire of in a few days. The idea is better than the reality. Not always. Sometimes they live up to the hype in your head. I got to meet Gregory Hines once and he was genteel and lovely, asked all about me (although I was simply someone's assistant, someone he could have easily looked over). I also got to meet the guy who played Skippy on Family Ties. We shared an agent who took us to a college booking convention and I had to share a hotel room with Skippy, Rhonda "Up All Night" from the old last night 80's USA channel movies, and Gallagher II, Gallagher's twin brother who had franchised the act. Rhonda and GII were lovely people. Skippy, who actually insisted the college girls he was trying to make out with call him Skippy, was kind of a douche bag.  I don't even know his real name. Skippy suits him. He was an unfunny, creepy guy. Maybe he was having a bad day. 

Tonight, at the NY Ethical Society, I was involved in a concert that was sponsored by the Lyric Chamber Society as a gala tribute to Judy Collins. Performing were some of my heros. Jimmy Webb. Suzanne Vega. Ned Rorem. Jimmy Webb is a hero of mine. A truly great songwriter, who has also written one of my favorite books on songwriting and creativity called Tunesmith. A wonderful Oklahoma crank with amazing stories, a lopsided charm. I asked him how long it took him to write his latest opus, "Gauguin" that Judy has been singing. He said, "Oh, I never take too long to write anything. Maybe a week. But I tinker for years. I'm still tinkering with songs that have already been recorded. People will tell me I messed up the lyric, and then I say 'but I WROTE it, so I couldn't have messed it up'".  He told me about musicals he's written that have never seen the light of day. "I fell in love with those songs. But if they only raise 5 million, not 10, what can you do?"  

I met Suzanne Vega. I was a freshman in college, in Stearns dorm, Jenny my roommate had a mixed tape she lent to me that had Jackson Browne, Van Morrison and Suzanne Vega. When I first got a guitar, "Gypsy" was the first song I learned to play. The second was "The Wind" by Cat Stevens. Suzanne was singing "Since You've Asked" a song by Judy Collins. She told a story about how it bothers her when people come up to her and say they've been a fan of hers for their entire lives, because she doesn't think she could be that old. And that she herself had been a fan of Judy's her whole life. After the show was done, and we were all gathering around the olives and cheese and champagne and little triangles of pumpernickel bread with salmon and chives, and I was standing next to Suzanne, and I could introduce myself, I had to say "I know especially after your introduction I shouldn't say this, and I run the risk of being an ass here, but 'Solitude Standing' made me buy a guitar." She smiled politely. Said something nice, like "You're a good singer" and "I heard the song you wrote that Judy's been singing. Its good" [note: Weight of the World is that song]. She was nice. Maybe a bit awkward, but artist to artist, even unfamous-fledgling-awkward-emerging artist-fan to iconic-award-winning-famous-but-not-super-famous-yet-famous-in-a-cool-downtown-way artist can be strange and odd and, well, awkward. I want to appear cool and she probably just wants a cucumber sandwich.  

Ned Rorem was there. Ned fucking Rorem. I sang his "Stopping By The Woods" when I was in high school and read a lot of his prose on art and music in college. Pulitzer prize winning thinker/artist/savant. He walked by me, took my hand, said "You are a lovely singer. Good diction. That's so important. I can't hear voices anymore. They bore me. But good diction is what is so important, so I can hear the words. You have that." I'm telling you, I almost passed out. My grandmother would be so proud. She used to always chide us if our diction wasn't impeccable.  Of course, Ned is a bit old, a bit doddery. I'm not sure he even knew who I was. But it was lovely despite.

Jimmy Webb was upstairs in the green room with me before the show. I was headed down. Humbly, he asked me, "If I stay up here, do you think anyone will mind? I don't want to seem, you know, aloof or snotty or anything. What do you think?"  What I think, Mr. Webb, is after you write a song like "Wichita Lineman" you are allowed to do whatever the hell you want with your pre-show time. But thank you for asking me. Because for a moment, I felt ten feet high. 

The Duchess of York

Sitting backstage at The Duchess in York, UK at a long picnic table. The first band is on. They're called "Top of the Box", a trio. The woman who is singing back up for them -- this is her first show. Ever. First time singing in front of people on a stage. I went out to hear her soundcheck and she looked halfway between thrilled and terrified. I remember that. My lip quivered and my knees buckled and I thought for sure everyone could see the line of sweat dripping down my back.  She has a lovely Sandy Denny like voice. Sitting backstage with all of us, she was a bit nervous, maybe. Maybe not. Maybe she's just excited and quiet. Hard to read some people and how they are backstage. Do we all sit quietly, nervous, or contemplative. Centering ourselves, keeping our energy in, or sussing each other out? Not this crowd. Seems a bunch of nice folks, just a bit awkward. Aren't we all. Who makes the first gesture? Who introduces first. Who's the famous one? Who are the Americans. Where's everyone from? The shelves in the fridge have our names and our "Riders" as they call it. For James and myself, waters, Kronenbourgs. Fruit and sandwhiches. The headliner has cheese and red wine.

They just finished their first song. "Cheers" says the lead singer. We're on 2nd. Then Charlene Soraia, this adorable big cheeked woman, who greeted James and I as we first walked in with an explosive smile and a lopsided ponytail. Then she took the stage for her soundcheck with her big hollow body electric, a self-rigged kind of Japanese version of something else, talked gear and humbuckers and replacement bits with James like one of the boys, and proceeded to skip from song to song, little pieces of verses, checking bits, like the record was skipping, and her voice, this light piece of air reaching and flipping like a hummingbird, her fingers just velvetlight over the jazzish chords, a style all her own, as she sat on a high stool. Nothing fancy but all perfect. I loved her immediately.  First to check was Howard Elliot Payne, the headliner, in Dylan leather and slouchy hat, Ryan meets Dylan with shadows of folk songs I recognized but his own, a Liverpool man with a thick accent who would seem at home in a place like Kerrville next to Jon Byrd, picking out some song at 4am at Crow's Next.

Charlene is on now. She was #1 on the US Folk I Tunes charts, she just mentioned from stage in a really offhanded humble way. I love her more and more. Want her to come to NYC. I'm backstage because the sound is best here and I can sit and write and hear her music. Rather than stand in the dark cavern club. 

I was happy with our set tonight. We've been playing a brand new song. Brand new. "Hurricane". The lyrics started on a plane ride home from France. In a whirlwind. My own private storm. I plucked them out when searching for ways to say the thing I needed to say. To myself or to someone.  Or to the clouds. I thought it was this little thing, nothing for anyone else, just for me and the cloud itself. But with James swirling and tremelo'ing, its become something else and now we end the set with it. Its the song that prompts the "is THAT song on this record?" question, which I'm sure is dangerous marketing, but there it is. Its what I want to sing now. Need to sing now. Far from home.

Sometimes you look up and June looks vastly different than January and I'm talking about much more than weather here. And all you can do is look into the sun, wear some SPF, and keep a towel nearby.