Inkwell: Authors and Artists

    

Wednesday, September 15, 1999, 12:30 pm PDT

Trying a new airline -- America West. To Philadelphia via Phoenix. I will
return home via their other western hub, Las Vegas, on a redeye the night of
October 2.

Heard a sax-fronted Muzak version of "Back on the Chain Gang" at the Oakland
airport this morning. Not sure what, if anything, that portends.

Flying into very bad weather. Hurricane Floyd missed Florida and is expected
to make landfall in the Carolinas later today. It's raining everywhere in the
east right now. I should be able to get my car and drive to the Marshes' in
media PA before midnight tonight, and I hope to be able to get to the
Springsteen show in Philly tomorrow night.

5:31 PM PDT, probably around 7:30 pm local time

In the air, flying away from the sunset. Everything outside is purple except
a small metal flange sticking up from the top of the wing, glowing bright
orange in the last rays of the sun.
  

    

Thursday, September 16, 3:10 PM EDT

No Springsteen concert today.  It's raining about an inch per hour here in
Philadelphia, as Hurricane Floyd passes by.  It's already lovely down in
North Carolina, and it'll be fine tomorrow for my drive to New Jersey.

Hmmmm, the electricity just went off. That will make it harder for us all to
amuse ourselves here.
  

    

Saturday, September 18, 3:00 am

The power was still off at the Marshes' when I left there a little before
2:00 this afternoon.

The hurricane dumped a foot of rain on the area on Thursday.  We called a
Chinese restaurant for take-out food, brought it home and ate it, and then
when the sun went down, Audrey and the boys asked me to play a few songs on
one of Dan's acoustic guitars.  I lasted about three numbers before their
attention started to wander; I put the guitar down, reclined the chair I was
in, and went to sleep.  After a while I woke up, brushed my teeth, and went
to bed in the guest room with a copy of the Calvin and Hobbes Tenth
Anniversary Treasury.  It was a delightful book, full of commentary by Bill
Watterson and, of course, some of the warmest and funniest comics ever.

In the morning, I used what little power I had left in my laptop to send and
check my email.  I volunteered to drive young Josh over to a neighbor's
house, where they still had electricity, to stash a couple of coolerfuls of
perishables from Audrey's refrigerator and freezer.  Then the three of us
went out to a bagel shop for lunch, and then I hit the Turnpike.

I really enjoy spending time at the Marshes'.  I love watching Audrey
interact with her kids. It's great to see someone of my age group , who went
through the same sort of middle-class debauchery I did, becoming a loving
mother to a couple of great kids without losing her edge, her sense of fun
and adventure, etc.  And I like her sons, Josh and Steve.  Dan has been away
the last couple of times I've visited.

I get excited when I see Manhattan from the highway.  The World Trade Center,
the Empire State Building, the Chrysler Building gleaming in the afternoon
sun -- I wonder how long that will continue to thrill me.  I had a
conversation with somebody in Teaneck, in which I declared I was enjoying the
hell out of touring solo.  And it's true: I am doing this for the fun of it,
for the pleasure of seeing the country from street level.  I'm sure if I was
dependent on this for my livelihood it would be a different story; as it is,
I am having a grand time being a 45-year-old novice troubadour.  The gigs are
fun, the trips between are fun, and the coming home is a wonderful thing,
too.

The gig at Mexicali Blues was strong but disjointed.  I played and sang very
well, but I had a hard time building any momentum.  I couldn't get any
information from the audience, even though there were large numbers of people
paying attention and applauding enthusiastically.  There were also some
people on the side of the room, particularly over near the stage, who were
conversing and not paying any attention.  The air conditioner was on for most
of my set, making a large difference when it finally stopped.

I am quite sure I've said exactly the same thing about one or both of my
previous performances here.  I get good reports after the set, and I am
satisfied with the individual performances, but I don't feel any flow, nor do
I feel much connection with the audience.


Jan and his girlfriend and bandmate, JoAnn, invited me to stay at their house
here in Teaneck.  I'm in the guest room now, avoiding eye contact with a
nasty cat named Boris.  Jan and JoAnn and their bass player Dan went into
Manhattan to deliver Dan and dine at Veselka. In a rare display of
responsibility and good judgment, I elected to stay here and crash.
  

    

Saturday, September 18, 2:15 pm

I got a very good night's sleep in Teaneck.  Woke up around 11:15, wrote a
thank-you note and hit the road.  I found my way to the Garden State Parkway
and headed south to I-78, then west to Allentown.  Took a left on state route
100 and proceeded south through some lovely farm country, past cornfields and
farm stands, antique shops, a flower farm, even a couple of vineyards, and a
yard full of sheds and gazebos for sale.  This green rolling forest country,
on my way to Hereford PA for the Hexfest.

I listened to the cassette version of Charles Kuralt's memoir on this trip,
and he made a very good point about the Interstate Highway System being a
great way to get around America if you don't want to see anything or meet
anybody.

I turned right, at a clump of black and white dairy cows, onto Huff's Church
Road.  Funny little farms on hillsides, with odd little low-slung
outbuildings.  Weeping willows?  A left on Dairy Lane, an even narrower two-
lane road, winding through more pleasant country, to Forgedale Road, passing
the sign for D&S Archery - "Custom bow strings."   And a left onto Airport
Road, right past the airport: a dinky, beat-up air strip that ends a few feet
from the road.  It must be quite a sight to be on this road when a plane
takes off, flying right over the DANGER sign at the end of the runway.

Another quarter-mile or so down the road, I took a right into the driveway of
the hotel where the Hexfest people have booked a room for me: The Inn at
Bally Spring Farm.  It's an 18th-century farmhouse, and it is stunning.  My
room is on the ground floor, downstairs from the reception level, overlooking
a broad green lawn beyond which are a row of trees and a quiet stream.  Bugs
and birds are singing in the sunshine, and the sky is brilliant blue.  "If we
have to have another hurricane like Floyd in order to get a day as perfect as
this, I'm all for it," said the innkeeper, Judy, as she showed me to the
room.  Now I'm sitting in a patio chair on a brick terrace, under the wooden
deck.  Beside me is a rusty hand-cranked pump; I wonder if the well is still
working.  There is a modern plastic pipe emerging from the bricks next to the
pump, closed with a big plastic plug that screws in.

I am in no hurry to get over to Hexfest, though if this is the sort of
accommodations they've made for the musicians, I expect the concert site
itself will be equally pleasant.

My room has a Jacuzzi that looks most inviting.  I expect I'll head back here
from the gig fairly early in order to take advantage of that amenity, and I
will get up early enough to enjoy the buffet breakfast (8:30-10 am) before I
check out at 11:00 and head back to Philadelphia.

My oh my, this is pleasant.


4:00 pm

As advertised, the gig is only a mile from the hotel.  This is where Steve
Walker and his family live, on a glorious hillside moist from the 7.5"
downpour that swept through here two days ago.  The stage is adjacent to the
shack where Steve has his shop.  "This is where I do my repairs," he says.
Not much foot traffic around here.

There's a string band on stage now, singing "Whiskey in the Jar," a very
upbeat arrangement.  They have a banjo, guitar, standup bass, fiddle, and
maybe one more instrument I can't see from here.  I'm sitting in my rent-a-
car, parked on a hillside maybe 50 feet from the shack; the stage is on the
other side.

There are a few dozen people in the small area in front of the stage.  Beyond
this clearing are dozens of tents ranging down the hill.  I took a walk
around the whole area, through clumps of people gathered around loudly
hissing nitrous tanks.  Everywhere I look there are people with huge balloons
in their mouths.  Lots of beer in bottles, too.  No one has offered me a
balloon.  There are some glass pipes in evidence here and there, but this
scene seems to be a nitrous and beer scene.

"There's a lot of air mattresses being filled in the campground," says a
voice from the stage.  "Must be pretty comfortable down there -- it's
nonstop."  And while the band tunes for their next number, a large explosion
issues from downhill: another huge balloon gives its life for the advancement
of delirium.

"It looks like we're at the circus," says the voice from the stage, regarding
the plenitude of balloons.

Steve Walker seems so nice and wholesome.  He invited me to jam with his
band, Born Cross-Eyed, during their set, which follows mine.  I am to play
from 7:00 until 8:30 or so.  There are lights on the stage, which will be
necessary by the time I start because this is a very shady hollow.

The Red-Eye Ramblers are now playing "Me and My Uncle."  Earlier I heard them
performing "Big River" and "I Know You Rider."  This is a Dead-cover string
band, I guess, give or take a few non-Dead favorites.  "Deep Elem Blues" now.

There seems to be no hot food here.  There are many porta-johns, and a few
vendors, but no food.  I guess this is a BYO event.  There is a tray full of
raw vegetables and dip for me backstage, along with a cooler stocked with
beer and cherry cola.  I will be fine.

Lots of beautiful young women in vivid tie-dyes and hair wraps, walking by
with cigarettes and/or balloons in their hands.  Clumps of guys in their 20s
and 30s, drinking beers.  Some older heads, too.  Lumpy young girls in twos
and threes walking by.  A young mother with a balloon in one hand and a
toddler's hand in the other; several of them, actually.  People stretched out
in patches of sun, tripping or recovering or relaxing and enjoying it.

This scene looks wholesome enough at first glance, but there's something
vaguely disturbing about it. The gas seems foremost.
  

    

Sunday, September 19, 1999, 10:00 am

My performance at Hexfest went very, very well.  It took people a few numbers
to come in out of the mountains.  First they came to the edge of the
clearing, and then, a few at a time, they started dancing; eventually, the
dance area in front of the stage was filled with people.  This was a major
Deadhead crowd, and I surrendered to that reality with gusto and great
pleasure.  This may have been the best solo acoustic dance set I've ever
delivered.  But I also had people's attention for the quieter stuff,
including the dedication of "Brokedown Palace" to Dick Latvala.

I sometimes worry that a set like the one I played at Hexfest is the wrong
kind of success for me: a one-man classic-rock revue.  Sometimes I go through
an internal dialogue when I'm in the middle of a performance, trying to
decide rationally what songs to perform and reminding myself that the songs I
choose have intrinsic merit in addition to nostalgia/familiarity value, i.e.
it's not that the kids should recognize "Things We Said Today" from their
youth; they'll fall in love with it because its a great fucking song, and I
make a monster groove happen when I play it.  (I was tempted to say something
to this crowd about seeing the movie "A Hard Day's Night" if they wanted to
know where their parents, and the Grateful Dead, got the idea of life as a
nonstop adventure.)

I made a list of possibilities before I started yesterday, and I did perform
a lot of those songs, but there were quite a few surprises and some unusual
sequences.  Dear Mr. Fantasy-> Uncle John's Band-> Born to Be Wild-> Blue
Roses was a major surprise -- I had been figuring to do the usual Born to be
Wild-> Fantasy-> Thunder Road thing, but I decided to start with Fantasy
because it would be more familiar to the young Deadheads, and the rest of the
sequence emerged of its own accord. I love it when that happens!


After my set, I hung out and played with Born Cross-Eyed, quite a few
thrilling Dead covers.  I led them into China Cat-> Rider, and I thought I
played very well.  The crowd went nuts, and the other players seemed pretty
happy, too.  I played a lot of steady support guitar, and also stepped
forward and did some lead work that came through surprisingly well.

The nitrous balloons weren't so pervasive on the dance floor when I was
playing and when I was onstage with Born Cross-Eyed.  That was a relief.
  

    

Wednesday, September 22, 10:00 am

I got sick on Sunday.  Drove into Philly form Barto, enjoying the lovely
Pennsylvania countryside, and attended a housewarming party at Michelle
Waughtel's.  But I was fading fast, and when I got back to Audrey's I hit the
couch and stayed there until this morning.  I'm still sniffling and sneezing
a lot, and I've got a touch of bronchitis that I hope doesn't get any worse.
I'm leaving for Baltimore in an hour, and I've got to play tonight.  I
haven't tried to sing in four days.
  

    

Thursday, September 23, 8:20 pm

Staying out of the way at Fat Tuesday's in Fairfax VA while they clear
the tables off the stage and prepare for tonight's show.  The opening
act, Ordinary Way, is performing acoustically or the first time in two
years, and they're providing the sound system.

I picked the wrong time to drive in from Baltimore, apparently.
Traffic was moderately heavy getting out of Baltimore at 4:00, and
brutal once I got on the Beltway.  It was nearly 7 when I arrived at
the club, which is located in the back of a very busy shopping center
across the road from George Mason University.  The place was crowded
with diners and post-happy-hour stragglers.  There are still plenty of
people here, including a couple who arrived a few minutes ago -- Pete
Herrick and his wife Robin -- who saw me in February at Patriot's Cafe
(the night of the darts tournament) and came back for more.

The club's calendar lists me as DAVID GATZE, which is a truly novel
mutation.  No idea where they got that.  Greg Keyser, the promoter, is
mortified about it, and he happily showed me the handbills of his own
design, which got my name right.  He also pointed out the text which
describes me as "a very talented and thoughtful lyricist playing on his
second acoustic east coast tour, who also happens to host the Grateful
Dead Hour."  A characterization I can live with.  "This will be an
evening of originals and remembrance," says the handbill.  "Hope to see
you there."

Greg and I had a nice conversation at the bar.  He seems smart and
sensible, and even soulful.  He wants to make money putting on shows,
but he also wants to do shows in clean places where the audience is
treated with respect.  He also seems to understand the importance of
community in the Dead/jamband scene.  Makes me want to see him succeed,
and this feels like the beginning of a productive relationship.  He
also wants to see about doing some Dead dance parties, in five or six
cities in VA, DC, MD and DE.  Worth exploring; I gave him James
Olness's phone number.

I met the opening act, a nice interracial group of young people who are
happy to meet me and honored to be on the bill with me.

So, to catch up on the diary: I left the Marsh house yesterday morning,
still sniffling and desirous of another day's rest, and made it to
downtown Baltimore in the advertised two hours.  Chris Szalay was
waiting at the agreed-upon location, and we drove over to her apartment
building.  She let me in and went back to work, and I spent the
afternoon catching up on email and soaking in a very hot bath -- just
what the doctor ordered.  Chris returned before six, and after she
changed out of her business clothes we headed over to the district
where the gig was located, parked the car right in front of the 8x10
Club, and walked around the corner to get a drink.

We walked back over to the club, where we were greeted by the sound
man, a garrulous but affable character named Craig.  A few minutes
later, the promoter, Greg, arrived -- an earnest young guy who also
does vending at various events.  He and his team provide coffee drinks
at Whole Life Expo events in the eastern half of the country, for
example.

After a quick sound check, Chris and I walked out in search of dinner,
settling on a sushi place not far from the gig.  The food was good, the
company excellent -- even though Craig joined us; we didn't really have
the heart to tell him we weren't interested in his company.

We walked back to the club and headed for the privacy of the dressing
room, located at the top of a narrow, winding stairway.  No such luck
on the privacy: there were two guys waiting for me -- friends of the
promoter -- with tapes for me and a pipe to pass around.  We were
polite, and I partook of the conversation but not the pipe, and
eventually they went downstairs and I was free to warm up a bit.

When I went downstairs, I was disappointed by the paucity of paying
customers.  But I gave it my very best shot, on my theory that the
people who are there should get more than their money's worth so
they'll say to their friends, "You should have been there."

My sinuses were pretty stuffy, but I sang well anyway.  The sound
system was good and clear, so I could hear myself well, and I had no
trouble hitting my notes.  The intimacy of such a small crowd was a
mixed blessing in this case, 'cause the most vocal and close-in
spectators were the sort of Deadheads who wanted to hear all sorts of
songs that just didn't make sense in the solo context.  Still, they
were there and they were responsive and for the most part, they paid
attention.

Natalie Davis showed up at the start of the set, and that made me
happy.  She seemed friendly with Craig, the sound man, and in fact they
slow-danced to one of my songs!

Greg had paid me my minimum before the show.  I don't know how many
paid to get in, but there were never more than a dozen people in the
place (aside from bartenders and Greg himself); Greg's girlfriend was
the most responsive and attentive audient; she handed me a list of
requests I was not able to honor ("Pride of Man"), except for my second
Dylan tune of the set, "Masterpiece."

I made a small but significant change to the last verse of "Normal."
In honor of my friend Chris Szalay, who just took a job doing marketing
for the nation's largest operator of outlet malls, I changed "major" to
"outlet." I'm gonna keep it, because it is a much better word choice,
packing lots more information into those two syllables.

So if you'll come with me
I'm going for a ride in the SUV
Gonna hear that V-8 hoppin'
Gonna do some outlet shopping
Anything that can be bought can be exchanged
What say you and I get normal for a change?


After the show I hung out with the nice Deadheads for a little while,
but I was really tired and so we drove off pretty quick.  Chris had to
get up really early to go to work, so after she crashed I sat up for a
while and ate the sushi I had saved from dinner, called Rita, and went
to sleep.

This morning I hung out at Chris's apartment until it was time to hook
up with Natalie for lunch.  I was all packed up so I could leave after
returning from lunch.  After driving around Baltimore for a while (we
tried Haussner's, on Stephanie Vardavas's recommendation, but this
legendary restaurant is about to close for good so there was a huge
line for lunch), we wound up at a seafood place right on Chesapeake
Bay.  Excellent lunch, with excellent entertainment provided by
Natalie's rambunctiously adorable three-year-old, David.  On the way
back to my lodgings, Natalie drove through Fells Point and showed me
the "Homicide" police station on Thames Street.  A landmark!

And then I was in the car and stuck in traffic, and now I am here in
Fairfax.
  

    

Friday, September 24, 9:15 am

What a weird gig Fairfax turned out to be!  The main problem, I think is that
there was a large hard-liquor bar full of people who didn't pay to see me and
weren't interested in my performance as anything but background to their
conversations.  With all that singles action, the room was noisy as hell and
it was hard to connect with the couple dozen people who were actually there
to hear me.

The opening act, The Ordinary Way, had a nice, loose, hippie-family-groove
kind of feel. All original material.  The front guy's Ovation broke a string
before the last song, and he asked me for my guitar. It was interesting to
see someone else playing it, and I swear his performance went up to a new
level when he had it in his hands. He was very enthusiastic about the
instrument when he handed it back to me.

From the start, I had a hard time getting information from the audience.  It
wasn't just a "gimme the Dead!" feeling, although there was a persistent
enough "Friend of the Devil" call that I stopped asking for requests pretty
early on.  That, and the fact that the crowd at the bar sent an ambassador
with a napkin full of requests that were pure Steak and Lobster: "Me and
Julio Paul Simon" ("You Can Call Me Al" was crossed out); "Poems Prayer [sic]
Promises John Denver"; "Southern Cross CSN"; "Edmond Fitzgerald * Gordon
Lightfoot"; "* Fire + Rain James Taylor"; "* Sweet Home Ala Skynyrd"; "*Jim
Croce*"; "Bob Dylan."  There weren't people who were listening to my
performance.  I did "Mr Tambourine Man" in there somewhere, but not in
response to that list.  The bass player of The Ordinary Way called out for
"some Stones" at one point.  Jeez.

Nothing I did seemed to work.  The performances were fine and strong (though
my voice cracked alarmingly a couple of times!), but here was no critical
mass of audience members participating in the show.  I played several
originals, and strung together some interesting sequences, and I did get good
responses at times from people in the front of the room.  But it was a
frustrating night.  I played nearly 90 minutes, finishing with a requested
"Monica."

After I left the stage, Greg Keyser asked me if I had had a bad night.  "Not
at all!" I said.  He was expecting me to play another set -- or the
management of the bar was, anyway.  That was the point and the problem here:
the bar wanted music until 1:30 -- music as commodity.  Yuk.  After I packed
up, some members of the opening act took the stage again to finish the night.

I told Greg I'd prefer to play a quieter place next time.  He allowed as how
the options are limited.  I understand; I may just skip this area until I
qualify for the Birchmere

I got out of there and drove for a while.  I really wanted to get away from
there!  Wound up at a Holiday Inn outside Ashland, Virginia, 80 miles toward
today's destination.

On the upside, there were definitely people who were there to hear me: Dave
Sorochty, from the Compendium and Deadlists groups, who had seen me last time
and who maintains the web pages for Greg Keyser; and a nice couple, Pete and
Robin, who had been to the Patriot's show.

Tonight I will play in a cafe/bookstore full of friends!

I like this Greg Keyser -- he seems to have a good heart, and some good
ideas, and (most importantly) he seems to think I'm pretty good. But as I
drove out this morning, thinking about how it went last night, I wonder if
he's got what it takes to do the job. Allowing the club to advertise "David
Gatze" was pretty lame. "They'd already spent the money on the flyers" is not
an acceptable excuse. The club might have been an okay venue if there had
been more people there for the show and not just there for the bar; my name
not being in the ad and calendar was a big downer, no matter how much
leafletting Greg did with the correct name.
  

    

Friday, September 24, 5:30 pm

Reviewing the list from last night, I recall the sense of desperation that
grew as the show progressed.  Well, maybe "desperation" is too strong a word.
 "Frustration" will suffice.  I got a good reaction from the front row at the
start of the set, but it soon turned into a feeling that the music wasn't
being heard -- the intro of a familiar song was noted and responded to
approvingly, but the attention wasn't sustained.

Someone called out "Norwegian Wood," and what the hell, I did it. But that
may have created the impression among the swingers in the back that I was a
bar singer. "Dixie Chicken" didn't do a thing for this crowd, but I had a lot
of fun playing guitar -- I stretched the ending out with a nice instrumental.
After another pathetic attempt to get a reasonable suggestion from the
audience, I announced that I was going to play one of my own damn songs and
launched into a nice aggressive jam that led into "River and Drown."

There were positive reactions to everything, from various people.  There were
_very_ positive responses to some songs, e.g. "Terrapin" -- but it was all
like pulling teeth, with that loud bar roaring in the back of the room.

I've been cranky and depressed all day.
  

    

Sunday, September 26, 1999, 7:00 pm

The show in Chapel Hill was a great peak. The evening began with a pleasant
WELL dinner across the street at Mama Dip's. Present were Beth and John, with
whom I am staying; Sherry, aka izzie, who drove in from Fayetteville NC; Dave
Blount and his fiancee, Traci; and Carl Laird and his fiancee, Mandy.

I left the restaurant a few minutes ahead of the group, and as I was crossing
the street I ran into Bernie Bildman, in from Birmingham to visit with an old
friend. He had that old friend and several others with him, including
Bernie's godson, a young Deadhead guitarist with whom I bonded over his
excellent taste in instruments.

Gary Pattillo, from the non-GD WELL world, showed up a little late but stayed
for the whole show.

The wife of the owner of Skylight Exchange, Maclyn, is a serious Deadhead;
she became a big fan my my music the last time I played here, and she was
back to handle the door and give me much support.

The performance was a pleasure from start to finish. There were 24 paid, and
the staff were all very attentive, too. This is how all performances should
be: intimate, dynamic, interactive. People had good ideas, good feedback,
good ears. I felt totally at home and free to do what the moment suggested,
and the muses were full of good energy. I was in total command of my
resources, and I was thrilled with my improvisations all night. This was the
finest reading of "Autumn Day" ever, for sure.
  

    

Saturday, October 2, 8:00 pm PDT - in the air

I got to the Philadelphia airport, turned my car in, and presented myself at
America West's counter (which they share with Continental) two hours too
early to check my bags. I never knew it was against FAA regulations to check
bags in for a flight until four hours before departure.  I managed to kill
nearly six hours without eating, nor reading, too much crap. I did hear a
flute-fronted Muzak version of Steely Dan's "Do It Again" while I waited at
gate D6.

It was a busy week in Lake WTFIGO. After the Chapel Hill gig, Beth and John,
and their house guest Sherry who drove in from Fayetteville, decided to
become Gans-heads and make the trip with me to Charlotte. So Sherry and Beth
went in Sherry's car, and John and I went in mine.

We had dinner at Jack Straw's with Tom Constanten, his wife Beth, their
daughter Clarissa, and Beth's friend Beth. That made three Beths at the
table, yes.

After all our joking about fried everything at dinner in Chapel Hill the
night before -- I remarked that we were lucky the bread-and-butter pickles on
the table weren't fried -- I shouldn't have been surprised to see that the
appetizer menu at Jack Straw's featured fried pickles. They were crusty,
spicy, and not half bad.

The turnout was respectable, but not impressive. There was a opening
(acoustic) act, Tom Ballenger and Jason Hawthorn of Uncle Bud's Band. Weak on
the vocals, but Jason's guitar playing was impressive. They invited me to
join them, and I had a pretty good time doing "Terrapin" and "Uncle John's
Band."  Then I left the stage for their last number.

My set was too Dead-heavy for my taste, but that's what the vibe demanded. It
was well-received, and I was happy with my playing and singing, but I would
really like to get away from bars that are expecting loud electric music
until 1:30 in the morning. This show started late; I thought I played a good
long set, but although I left the stage at a quarter to two, the tape showed
I had played only about 75 minutes. I was exhausted anyway.

I must also report that the big adventure of four people sharing a hotel room
meant for two, sleeping in your clothes, etc., is no longer terribly
appealing to me. I would have preferred privacy and a reasonable bedtime.
Still, I was glad my friends had decided to join me, and the ride back to
Durham with John and Beth (Sherry left us in Charlotte to return to
Fayetteville) was a pleasure. We stopped at Cracker Barrel for breakfast, and
it being Sunday, we had a good long wait on the rocking chairs out front,
watching the colorful folk, before our party was called.

We had a nice quiet Sunday evening.  Beth made a delightful dinner, and then
we watched the Simpsons and the Saturday Night Live 25th Anniversary Special,
and then I got a very good night's sleep. It rained hard that night, and it
was raining when I left Durham for Asheville on Monday. It rained *very* hard
for parts of that ride, but when I could see it, the scenery was lovely.

Frank Kracher was away in Chicago, having been offered Springsteen tickets,
so his wife, Barbara, had to entertain me herself. We went to Bistro 1869, at
Pack Square in the center of town. After dinner I did some laundry and we
watched some TV. Tuesday morning I left for Spindale, about an hour away,
because the folks at WNCW were itching to put me to work.

The radio station is located on the campus of Isothermal Community College.
There's a television production facility there, too, and WLOS (where Frank is
the evening anchorman) has a bureau right next to where the WNCW fund-raiser
was happening. When I arrived, reporter Tracy Martin was reviewing the stack
of tapes Frank had left for her, doing her homework so she could do a decent
job of presenting the famous Deadhead in the context of WNCW's tenth
anniversary fund-raiser. I went right to work on the air, pitching with the
regular staff, and they also had me playing and singing that afternoon, too.
I sang "Autumn Day," "Brokedown Palace," and "Monica Lewinsky" during a 30-
minute interview/performance that afternoon, and I hung out until around 6:00
helping with the pitch for funds. In the late afternoon I was taken into
another studio to do an interview with Tracy for WLOS, and damned if she
didn't do a pretty good job of preparing herself. I only made one tiny change
in her script. I didn't see the 6:00 version, with Tracy's live shot from the
fund-raising studio, but I did see the taped feature on the 11:00
rebroadcast. It was a great plug for WNCW's fund-raiser.

I found the entire WNCW crew, including the very strait-laced station
manager, comfortable from the start. They worked me right in, and I picked up
their style pretty quickly. Linda Osbon and Marshall Ballew took me to
Morganton, 30 miles away, for dinner that evening. After we got back, I
joined World Cafe's David Dye (appearing via ISDN from Philadelphia) for some
very effective pitching in the early evening. Then they let me go back to the
hotel.

It was pretty silly that I had done all my gigs before my marathon radio
appearance. The WNCW folks got on the phone and found me a place to play in
Asheville Thursday night, so I had something to announce during my marathon
broadcast. I did fund-raising with the regular crew all Wednesday afternoon,
and then at around 8:30 I went on the air in place of the canned Grateful
Dead Hour. I played unreleased stuff and pitched Dead Air t-shirts until
around 11:00, when Uncle Dave, host of Dead Air (four hours a week, following
my show) took over as host and had me as his guest, pitching and also singing
a few songs. I got out of there a few minutes before 2:00 a.m.

I spent all day Thursday at WNCW, pitching and also playing a few songs to
plug my gig at the Basement in Asheville, downstairs from Almost Blue
Records. The owners of the store and bar are Brian and Susan Haynes, he being
the brother of Warren Haynes. Very nice people, and I appreciated the
opportunity. There was a trio called Vespertine due to play around 10 that
night; after they set up but didn't sound check, they moved their stuff out
of the way and I put my stuff up there.

I was in a cranky mood, exhausted from three days on the air and nervous
about whether anyone would show up for this short-notice gig. We had plugged
the shit out of it Wednesday night during the GD marathon, and to a
presumably more secular audience all day Thursday.

By the time I took the stage at 8:30, the small room was pretty impressively
populated. Most of the crowd were very young Deadheads. I had major
competition in Asheville: Gillian Welch and David Rawlings at Be Here Now,
and Adrian Legg (who had played live at WNCW earlier in the day) at, I think,
the Grey Eagle. I was pleased that Barbara Fisher had chosen me over Gillian,
arriving with a friend just as I started my set.

I felt compelled to do Dead stuff. The attention span of this audience
wavered some, and the familiar GD material was what seemed to keep them
pointed at me. I prefaced "Normal" by saying, "This song is gonna piss you
off," but it actually got some very good laughs. I can't really remember what
else I played, because I was so tired.

After my set was over I was surprised to see Bill Bost of Acoustic Stage, who
I had been introduced to at the station. Linda Osbon had been raving about
his venue, where they do public and private events and also have invitation-
only living room concerts. Gillian Welch and David Rawlings were due to play
there the next couple of nights, along with Peter Rowan. This was a venue I'd
aspire to but not seriously expect to get booked into at this stage of my
career. But Bill had heard me at WNCW, and although he had told Linda he had
other obligations that night, he stopped by to hear my set and indicated (she
says) that he was pleased with what he heard. He said something mildly
promising to me when we were schmoozing after my set, and on the ride back to
Spindale, Linda told me Bill had been impressed and I can expect a booking
when I return in April. She also said he had identified some of my cover
songs (particularly the Dead stuff) for her. Thank god I did some originals!
I asked her to make it clear to Bill that I am capable of doing entire sets
without any Dead stuff, and that I would do much more original material at a
venue like his.

I was back at my hotel in Spindale and sound asleep by midnight, and up early
on Friday to go back to WNCW for some more radio fu. They didn't want me to
go, and although I was more than ready to be back in Oakland, I had a hard
time getting out of there. This is a terrific radio station, with excellent
DJs given tremendous latitude to be creative, and they were all a pretty
pleasant bunch to hang out with, too. They definitely want me back in April;
I'll do a longer GD fund-raiser for them, and I'll play some gigs in the area
*after* I'm on the air, for maximum synergy.

I finally got out of there around 2:30 in the afternoon, and I drove up US
221 to Marion, moved over to state route 80 for a scenic, but slow, trip over
Mt. Mitchell (where WNCW's transmitter is located), and then onto the Blue
Ridge Parkway. The foliage was just on the cusp of Fall, with bright yellow
and deep red leaves scattered among the green. There were overlooks with
breathtaking views, and I took full advantage of some of them. I had NCW on
the car radio for about 150 miles, way past Boone.  I couldn't resist calling
in a pledge before I was completely out of range, and I got a kick out of
hearing my name on the air as the station faded into static. Eventually, I
moved off the gorgeous but slow-going Parkway and back onto US 221, which was
also annoyingly slow but delightfully scenic, past small farms, tobacco
drying in barns, a yard full of gazebos and sheds, cattle, road construction,
a high-school football field with two teams and two marching bands preparing
to do pageantry and battle, and so on. I was 200 miles into this trip and
well past sunset before I got onto Interstate 81. I drove as far as Roanoke
before getting off the highway to find a room.

After grabbing a chicken sandwich at Wendy's, I checked into a Day's Inn for
$45 or so. I put my backpack down on the bed and went back out to the car to
get the rest of my stuff, and when I tried to re-enter the room my magnetic
key card didn't work. I stood there fuming for a minute, wondering whether I
was stupid/impatient enough to leave my valuables there unprotected while
sprinting the quarter-mile or so back to the office to get a new key. Three
rooms down, a door opened and a woman stepped out to have a cigarette. I
asked her if she'd let me use her phone to call the front desk. "My husband
is getting ready for bed," she said. "I'll be happy to call for you, though.
You must have had a long day."  I was pretty damn cranky, it's true.

Almost immediately, the young man from the front desk showed up with a new
key card. I let myself in and didn't leave again. And again, I was asleep by
midnight.

Fortunately, this hotel didn't have blackout curtains. I was awake, showered,
and on the road by 8:30, uncertain of how long it was going to take me to get
to Philadelphia for my 8:30 pm flight. I didn't even stop to get a cup of
coffee until around 1:00, on I-95 halfway between Baltimore and Philly. I
could have taken my time: it was 2:30 when I presented myself at that counter
and was told I couldn't check my stuff til 4:30.

We'd been in the air for more than  two hours when I realized we weren't
getting fed. I had been told by the guy who checked my bags that there would
be meal service on this flight, but that turned out to be a lie. The flight
attendants who confirmed the absence of food mentioned that other passengers
had complained about this. "Maybe you should tell your gate agents not to lie
to your customers," I suggested. The excuse they offered was that it's
Continental Airlines personnel who run their ground operations in
Philadelphia.

I will have two hours to kill in Las Vegas. Better I should eat something
than gamble the whole time.
  

    

Sunday, October 3, 12:30 pm

I spent 21.5 hours in transit yesterday, leaving Roanoke VA at 8:30 am,
arriving at the Philadelphia airport at around 2:30 for my 8:30 flight,
killing an hour or so playing video poker in Las Vegas, landing at Oakland at
around 2:00 am, catching a shuttle that stopped in Alameda.
  

    


Wed  6 Oct 99 09:21 10

Nice page-and-a-half story in the new Relix, with photos of me with Tom
Constanten and Donna Jean MacKay.  There's also a review of my show in
Brooklyn, which lists a song I didn't perform but is otherwise accurate :^)

"With his extensive songwriting abilities and increased touring experience,
Gans can look forward to yet another career as a performer in the folk
tradition.  Catch him when he comes to your town."
  

    

Fri 15 Oct 99 10:37 19

I flew to Atlanta last night.  The counter person at the Oakland Airport
informed me that America West allows only three bags, and she'll just WARN me
this time but next time that fourth item will cost me $50.

Got into Atlanta at 11:30pm, was in line at Hertz at 11:55pm.  A nice long
line, even at that hour.  At precisely midnight, ALL THE CLERKS BUT ONE
clocked out.

I got out of line, jumped on the shuttle, and did my business out at the
remote station.  But still.

Drove 80 miles to Byron GA, crashed in acceptable comfort, and then drove the
rest of the way to Jennings, Florida.  This is where I'll be staying for the
next three days while I perform at MagnoliaFest, down the road at the Spirit
of Suwannee Music Park.  My next-door neighbor is Sam Andrew of Big Brother
and the Holding Company.  A very nice man -- I've met him a few times before.
  

    

Monday, October 17, 1999, 1:00 am - Jennings FL

MagnoliaFest escaped Hurricane Irene, but the threat of it affected
attendance. There was a tiny amount of rain coming down just as I entered the
Spirit of Suwannee Music Park on Friday afternoon, and since then there has
been no rain.  Irene was centered over Key West at that time, and it has
moved NNE since then. It was overcast for most of the weekend, but there was
no rain.  In fact, the weather has been splendid -- and "the wind keeps the
mosquitoes away," as more than one person told me. And as dusk approached
each evening, the cloud-swirl overhead glowed with a purplish pink that was
just breathtaking. And by the end of the show Sunday evening, the sky was
crystal clear; we stood out in the middle of the field around midnight and
marveled at the Milky Way.

I played with half a dozen different bands on two stages, and my solo set on
the main stage was solid and well-received.

On Friday I played "Dark Star" with Crazy Fingers on the main stage.

On Saturday I was on the Dance Stage for about three hours solid, and then
back for a song here and there. The day began with TC and me jamming in that
weird, way-out way we have developed together -- with a touchdown into a
nice, earthy "Colours" in the middle, for reasons I can't articulate -- and
that jam mutated into a Crawfish of Love/Glass Camels set with many songs,
Dead and non-Dead.  There was a UJB-> Playing in the Band-> Dear Mr.Fantasy->
Born to Be Wild in there somewhere, and a Season of the Witch->Franklin's
Tower, too. Eventually I'll have a tape of it so I can figure out exactly
what went on.  After all the Crawfish stuff was over, Crazy Fingers took the
stage. I played guitar on "Black Peter" while drummer Peter Lavezzoli sang
and Corey the guitarist played the drums. And then later in that set, we
finished the "Dark Star" from the day before ad then segued into The Other
One.

The Toni Brown band opened with "Mississippi Halfstep," and they asked me to
cover the second guitar because John Beland doesn't know it.  That was extra
cool, because it meant I got to pick with VASSAR CLEMENTS!  Yippee!  That was
fun. I did another song with them later in the set, but I can't remember what
it was!  Toni invited me to play the set-closing jam with them, but I had to
bug out in order to make it to the main stage in time to play "Friend of the
Devil" with Blueground Undergrass. That was fun, too, but it was kinda
confusing -- those guys are so bluegrass-formal polite that every time I
moved up the neck of Johnny Mosier's Les Paul, they'd lay back because they
were expecting me to solo. After it was over I explained that I was just
vamping!  We had a ball anyway.

After that I just stood by and enjoyed sets by Donna the Buffalo and the
String Cheese Incident with Peter Rowan.  I always love Donna -- they have a
very warm, family-band kind of vibe.  They set up really close to each other
onstage, and their songs have a loose kind of groove what works beautifully
for them.  And I thoroughly enjoyed my first String Cheese. They're great!
It was fun to watch Michael Kang, who has the same sort of taciturn presence
that Bob Nakamine had with the Reptiles.  Funny thing. And Rowan was GREAT
with those guys - they're excellent accompanists!

I had a nice long talk with Peter after he got offstage. He gave me some good
advice and some specific contacts in Nashville, and encouraged me to pursue
my songwriting career by going there to play and meet people.

My solo set opened the Sunday show on the main stage. I was gratified by the
number of people who came out to hear me.  So many people partied so late the
night before that I wasn't expecting much of a crowd, but there were at least
a hundred people plunked  down in lawn chairs and even a  few dancers from my
very first note!  I made a set list and I stuck to it (there were a few
places where I gave myself options). I started with "Scarlet Begonias,"
figuring it would be a pleasant reveille for those in the campground -- and I
heard from lots of people that I was loud and clear (and welcome!) way back
in the woods.

I began this tour with a determination to make "Sovereign Soul" a regular
part of my repertoire.  I don't know why it hasn't been - it's got a solid ,
driving beat, which I really need, and the content of the song is mature and
well said.  But I haven't ever had it 100% committed to memory, and for some
reason I haven't been featuring it.  I played it right after "Scarlet
Begonias" to start this set, and it worked.

This was a Deadhead crowd, so I knew I had to play "Wharf Rat," "Terrapin"
and "Rubin and Cherise" -- but I played a lot of originals, too -- "An
American Family," "These Apartments," "The Minstrel," "Hooker River," "The
Nightmare," "Blue Roses," and I closed with "River and Drown."  All very well
received.

While I was playing, Scramble Campbell was painting on a platform adjacent to
the main stage.  He's the resident artist at MagnoliaFest, sort of a Keith
Haring meets Rick Griffin style with cute psychedelic icon cutouts decorating
the stage and the arena. He does these action paintings while the music is
playing.  His painting of me is very nice likeness, actually, with a couple
of extra fingers -- to indicate instrumental prowess, I suppose.  And he gave
me the painting!  I have it in the back of my van. It's painted on a piece o
tie-dyed cloth; Scramble says I can take it off the board and fold it up when
it's time to go home.

I stuck around to enjoy Laura Love's set, and I'm thrilled to report that
when I approached her to say hello and tanks after her set, she gave me a
very enthusiastic compliment on my singing voice.  That was a huge thrill for
me, 'cause I think she's great.

The Bluegrass Reunion with Peter Rowan and Vassar Clements was an excellent
set.  Jeff Mosier of Blueground was their banjo player, and he was very
nervous before the set -- these guys are huge heroes to Jeff, and he was
psyched to be playing with them.

Blueground followed with their own set, which I enjoyed immensely -- and I
was surprised and delighted when they invited me to join them again.  Johnny
handed me his Les Paul and switched to the acoustic. No one knew what song to
play, so I launched into "Big River," which proved to be a popular choice.
The audience loved it, and the musicians all played great stuff (myself
included)!

I was also invited to join the closing set, singing "The Race Is On" with
Donna the Buffalo. We didn't all handle the stops the same way, but a good
time was had by all. I spent quite a bit of time hanging with the Buffalo
folk this weekend, getting to know them better and doing a bit of offstage
picking. Jim Miller, one of the guitarists, is an entomologist -- not just
any entomologist, but until recently the Curator of Entomology at the
American Museum of Natural History. They weren't too happy when he resigned
to pursue his musical path!  I really love it when musicians whose work I
admire turn out to be nice people in real life, too.

I spent some time hanging out with Kirk West, who is the tape archivist and
tour manager for the Allman Brothers Band and who was a good friend of my
departed friend Dick Latvala. (Kirk's wife, Kirsten, manages Blueground
Undergrass.) We had a nice long talk about Dick, how much we miss him and
what a great, weird, kind man he was. This conversation went a long way
toward easing the pain of my being excluded from the memorial. Kirk knows who
I am and was disposed to like me because of the things Dick said about me;
that's more reliable and genuine than the disinformation promulgated by the
Usual Suspects in Deadland. When I told him that dealing with John Cutler is
"like a root canal without anesthesia," Kirk laughed out loud.  He'd heard
all about that from Dick over the years.

One other fun thing from MagnoliaFest: There were copies of the new Relix
being given away backstage, and my name is on the cover!  There's a nice two-
page story about me, based on an interview I did in Brooklyn in the spring,
and a short but very positive review of my Brooklyn gig. And my name is
tagged on the cover!  That's a pretty major piece of publicity. The headline
of the story is "Not Just the Grateful Dead Hour Any More," which is pretty
much the main message I'm trying to get across these days. It's good to be
taken seriously as a performer, even if it is in a magazine that isn't always
taken seriously.
  

    

Thursday, October 21, 1999, 9:00 pm - Valdosta GA

I'm sitting on the stage in the back room of JP's in Valdosta.  The owner of
the club, Robbie Robertson (no, not that one, and yes, he gets that a lot),
let me in.  No one else is here yet.  My itinerary said soundcheck is at
8:00, but I have long since learned not to trust those times.  Everything
starts late in the south.

George Wisenbaker, who promotes the shows here, was a presence backstage at
MagnoliaFest, greeting me warmly and letting me know he's glad to have me at
the club.  He passed out a lot of flyers for the gig down there, too.

George is a legendary character around these parts.  Everybody in the music
scene, it seems, does an imitation of George when he's drunk and feeling
friendly.  I haven't seen the drunken side of him, and when he's sober his
speech is pretty clear and easy to understand.

(Journal writing interrupted by the arrival of Blueground Undergrass.)
  

    

Friday, October 22, 1999, 10:00 am EDT

Report from last night's show in Valdosta:

My solo set was an ordeal due to noise, but the rest of the night was
orgasmically fun.  I played a bunch with Blueground Undergrass, and we're all
talking about working together a lt more.  Maybe even writing/recording
together.  I could very easily see doing a record with this crew -- fiddle,
pedal steel, banjo, a GREAT guitarist (who used my Turner instead of his
acoustic most of the night), and a hot new rhythm section.

Tonight: Atlanta, and then HOME.

I'll write more when I've had some rest.
  

    

Saturday, October 23, 1999, 3:30 pm EDT - Atlanta airport

The rest of the tour was a mixed bag.  The Tallahassee show was ragged but
right; the Valdosta show was an ordeal with a major upside; and the Atlanta
show was just right.

Leaving Jennings on Monday, I drove down Highway 6 to US 90, a two-lane
country road that took me through some pleasant countryside and a few small
towns.  I arrived in Tallahassee at around 1:30 and called Gary Burnett.  He
was tied up at the University and wouldn't be able to meet me until around
5:30, so I took off in search of the Gulf of Mexico.  I found it, just beyond
Panacea, Florida.  I took the Panacea road instead of proceeding to Sop-
choppy.  I found a bay whose name I can't recall without looking at the map
that's in my checked baggage.  I had lunch at the Oaks Motel, right on the
banks of that bay, and then I took my time driving  back into Tallahassee,
where Gary and his daughter Jera were home to welcome me.  We had a quiet
evening at home -- Gary, his wife Cathy, and their 13-year-old daughter, Jera
the chatterbox.  And the delightful Dalmatian Patches.

There were posters up on the FSU campus advertising my show.  The National
League championship game was going on as showtime approached, and there were
some people at the bar following the game on the big-screen TV.  It was
around 11:00 when the ninth inning ended with the game tied; someone turned
off the big-screen TV and I started my set, with the knot of baseball fans
continuing to watch the game on the small screen behind the bar.  They didn't
interfere much -- the occasional outburst when something exciting happened on
screen -- with the dozen or so people who were there to hear me.

The quality of the attention was very high!  Gary, of course, was way into my
performance, and so were Doug and Jim Oade, who drove in from Thomasville
with one of their employees to enjoy (and record) the show.  I was inspired,
and felt free to play whatever came up rather than being compelled to deliver
obligatory Dead content.  There were a lot of wrong notes, imperfectly-formed
chords, etc., but the inspiration level was very, very high.  The PA had a
serious problem, with large and explosive dropouts occurring frequently; that
did not help me with my concentration.  It also made the tape unusable, which
is fine: the real-time experience of performing was exhilarating, and the
connection I made with the audience was very good.  It's probably just as
well that the tape won't be heard, because much of what was good about the
show probably won't shine through the sloppy parts.


On Wednesday I went to FSU and spoke with one of Gary's classes about online
community, and then I went back to the house to relax and catch up on my
email, etc.  That night I took the Burnetts out to dinner to thank them for
their hospitality.  Gary and I had made noises about going over to Yianni's
to see Blueground Undergrass, but given his early hours and the fact we'd
been out very late on Tuesday night, he decided to get some rest instead --
which was fine with me.

On Thursday, I stopped in Thomasville for lunch with Doug and Jim Oade, and
Doug adjusted my portable DAT deck, too.  I drove into Valdosta on another
two-lane road, passing lots of cotton fields along the way.  I checked into
the Jolly Inn in Valdosta just as the Blueground boys were arriving.  I said
hello and then disappeared into my room to take a short nap.

The Valdosta venue is a bar that's all dance floor.  My set was a major or-
deal -- the noise level was ridiculous.  Many people were paying attention
and responding, but many more were just running around and making noise just
the same as if it were an electric band on the stage.

I played well, choosing mostly upbeat stuff and not talking much.  Randy Judy
joined me for a couple of songs, which was kinda fun.  And when he left the
stage, he gave me a very warm intro that got a very warm response from the
audience -- too bad he didn't deliver it at the start of my set!  Still, it
did seem to change the ratio of screamers and listeners in a positive direc-
tion.

The Blueground Undergrass set was terrific, and we wound up doing quite a bit
of work together.  I had given a copy of Home by Morning to Mark Van Allen,
the steel player, at MagnoliaFest, asking him to check out "Crazy Crazy
Crazy."  The band listened to it in the van, and they were willing to give it
a try with me.  We rehearsed it during the soundcheck, along with a few other
numbers.  I was called up to the stage during "Friend of the Devil," which
was a lot of fun, and then we did a kick-ass "Crazy Crazy Crazy," a sweet
"Sing Me Back Home," "Big River," and I forget what else.  Later I joined
them for "Deep Ellum Blues" and some other stuff.

I am so happy with the way I've been performing in these guest-artist situa-
tions.  My guitar playing is powerful and confident, and I get applause from
the audience and praise from the players.  I don't know what was wrong with
me a couple of years ago, but the reticent and un-self-confident guitarist
who failed to rise to the occasion onstage with Phil Lesh is gone, gone,
gone.  I've got the chops, I've got the ideas, and I'm getting the reputation
as a reliably hot contributor.

Before and after the gig, various members of Blueground Undergrass were
making noises about wanting to work together some more.  They all seem inter-
ested in touring together, backing me in my solo sets, and we even talked
about recording.  Rev. Jeff and I talked about maybe getting together to do
some writing.  If I could find someone to pay for it, I think this group
would be great to work with.  I have been mentally preparing the list of
songs that would work with this instrumentation -- "Headin' Home Already,"
"Waltzing Across Texas," "These Apartments," Sovereign Soul," "River and
Drown," "Leave Me," "Jessie," "The Minstrel" -- there is one damn fine CD's
worth of stuff available.  To work with pedal steel, banjo, and fiddle would
be great.

And Johnny Mosier is a fine guitarist, both electric and acoustic.  He ad-
mired my Turner at soundcheck, and so I invited him to play it; he wound up
using it in place of his Taylor for the entire show, and he played a mo-fo of
a solo on it on "Orange Blossom Special" toward the end of the evening.

While I was onstage with Blueground Undergrass, lots of people came up and
signed my mailing list form, which remained at the front of the stage all
evening.

The gig ended at around 3:30 in the morning, I think.  I finally got to sleep
at around 5, and I woke up at 9:30 for some damn reason.  I stumbled over to
the motel office to increase my long-distance deposit and grab a cup of
coffee, and the girl at the desk asked me if I'd like her to cancel the 10:00
wake-up call.  Heh!

Despite the sleep shortage, I was awake and feeling pretty good when I hit
the road.  I stopped in Macon and gave a call to Kirk and Kirsten West.  Kirk
is the Allman Brothers Band's tour manager and tape archivist, and Kirsten is
Blueground's manager.  Kirsten was happy to hear from me and insisted I stop
by.  I took a tour of their lovely old house and the house next door (which
is the home of the Brothers' merchandising operation and their fanzine Hit-
tin' the Note), met the kids who work over there and the Wests' three dogs.

Had a nice long talk with Kirsten about Blueground.  She deals with some
frustrations, of course -- Rev. Jeff is a visionary, but isn't always too
good about follow-through.  Hmmmm, why am I not surprised?  She is delighted
by the prospect of our working together, and she promised to follow through
with Jeff about it.  Maybe we can do some touring together after the first of
the year.  Damn, that would be great fun.  I came away from the conversation
thinking there was a good chance we really would do some stuff together, but
also recognizing that people, the market and inspiration are all mutable and
inconsistent, and I'd be wise not to stake too much on these possibilities.

As I was leaving, Kirk handed me half a dozen copies of Hittin' the Note and
gave me a warm hug.  I can see why he and Dick were such good friends.

On the way into Atlanta I passed by a kudzu dinosaur fixin' to devour a high-
way sign. That's not something you're gonna see in California.  Nor are you
likely to see a church marquee that says, "A man can't stumble when down on
his knees" -- but there it was, on the New Light Church in Wakulla, Florida.
Another fun sighting was the Desmond M. "Dude" Bishop school administration
building for Jefferson County.

In Atlanta, I stayed with Kevin Cranman, a member of the GDH list who lives
very near the Red Light Cafe.  I had written to him asking for inexpensive
motel recommendations, and he responded by inviting me to stay at his home.
He turned out to be a nice Jewish lawyer, age 30, working on intellectual
property licensing for BellSouth.  There was a bit of that ongoing-interview
aspect of our time together, but the questions were thoughtful and not in-
trusive, so I didn't mind answering.  And the collection of art on his walls
was most impressive.

Before the show started, Thomas carefully asked me if I'd consider jamming a
little with Bobby Miller, a mandolinist who plays in a band with the guy who
was opening my show.  I spoke with Bobby for a few minutes and showed him my
repertoire, and I got the feeling i would be okay.  So I asked Matt, the
sound man, to set up another microphone and DI.

The opener, Jimmy Young, had some interesting high-energy guitar stuff going
on, but his vocal style was shrill and inarticulate.  I tried to make myself
pay attention, but I just wasn't compelled.

My performance was a joy.  The audience could have been bigger, of course,
but (as Thomas, the promoter, put it) the people who were there were the
right people.  I felt completely safe and welcome, musically and personally.
The sound system was fine.  Bobby Miller joined me for the last six or so
songs of the first set, and we made some pretty nice sounds together.  We
traded some solos here and there, and we did some pretty fine jamming on
"Uncle John's Band."  Before the show I had asked him if he was willing to go
"way out there," and I was pleased with what we did together.  And the
audience went extra nuts for our duo stuff.

A guy named Al Maxwell, who I had met at MagnoliaFest, was there to record.
Before I started, he told me that his wife, Victoria, had been moved to tears
by my performance of "Brokedown Palace" at MagnoliaFest, and asked me if I'd
do it again.  Of course, I was more than happy to oblige -- and after the
show, after Al thanked me for singing that song, a different woman told me
that was the finest performance of a Grateful Dead song she had ever heard.
She hadn't been to very many Dead shows, to be sure, but I still took it as a
pretty major compliment.

The promoter, Thomas, was disappointed in the turnout but he didn't blame me.
Nor was I terribly bummed about it.  I'm still in startup mode, playing
cities for the first time, getting out there in front of people and building
an audience one person at a time.  There are obstacles to overcome (In a sen-
timental outpouring the night before in Valdosta, Randy Judy mentioned some-
thing about the rumors and badmouthing he had heard abut me -- "ripping off
the Dead" and all that -- and said he was delighted to have made friends with
me and to have me as part of the MagnoliaFest/SpringFest family.  And I do
feel like part of that family, it's true), and getting people to come out and
listen is damn hard to do.  But I'm doing it, and I am very happy with the
reactions I'm getting from most of the audiences I face.  Even the noisy,
rowdy Valdosta crowd was friendly and reasonably responsive -- and when I
wasn't onstage, lots of people were shaking my hand, hugging me, and saying
nice things about my music or the GD Hour or both.  So I know I'm delivering
a quality performance, and reaching people with it.

Thomas made it clear that he would like to have me perform in his Harvest
Festival next year (near Atlanta, the weekend before MagnoliaFest).  He's
also considering a springtime event, and he'd like to have me there, too.

Thomas also told me he's working to unite the Georgia and Florida jamband
scene with the Western North Carolina folk/bluegrass scene.  He's tight with
Acoustic Syndicate, who I met at WNCW, and he told me of jams and gigs at
which various people I know had played together.  This was exciting to me,
'cause that joins together two area in which I am most definitely on the
rise.

So one of the major benefits of this intense two-month performing season has
been the connections I've made with promoters.  Even in places where I didn't
draw that many people, the promoters liked what they heard and made very
positive noises about future work.  My plan is to get into as many festivals
as possible next year: I'm at a great advantage in situations where set
changes and sound checks are rushed or nonexistent, and all I really have to
do is get in front of as many people as I can.

Here is a message I received in email from Alan Thornton this morning. He
also posted it in the WELL and on the GDH list.

 >You are an amazing performer!  I can't believe that you have gained another
 >lap on the rest of the folk singing er...folks since I saw you in FL in the
 >spring.  Your playing and singing are both just beautiful.  I particularly
 >liked your opening ballad jam.  Pretty bold move, that.  The changes in
 >dynamics were really deft, too.  I just can't tell you what a fine time I
 >had.  You conquered the crowd, too.  Subdued those chatty Cathy's like it
 >was nothin'.

 >The fills you use are so fluid and insightful.  I can see how some of the
 >subtleties could go over people's heads on occasion but there was always
 >something there for the groundlings, too.  I'm glad that your audiences
 >tend to have a fair contingent of deadheads who are ready to listen for the
 >magic.  I think that folks will continue to find it in your work.  Poncho
 >and Lefty gave me chills.  The Brokedown for Dick made me misty.  I know
 >you've been touring a lot lately and that it can be really tiring but I'm
 >damn sure you've made a lot of people happy.


It's gratifying to read Alan's comments, because they mean that what I'm put-
ting out is getting across.  I am very much in command of my dynamics, in
control of my vocals for the most part, and becoming instrumentally more bold
and inventive by the day.  I began the set with a couple of opening songs in
mind, but I just improvised for a few minutes -- cleanly and with some good
new melodic notions -- before deciding on "Waltzing Across Texas" and moving
the tone and meter into that zone effortlessly.

Watching the opener, I realized how far I've come.  Jimmy, the opener, hardly
ever looked up at the audience, even when he was singing.  He has bangs that
hang down over his eyes, in fact.  I remember, last summer when I started
touring solo, having to push myself to look up and out; now I'm out in the
house almost all the time, except when I'm concentrating on a jam -- and even
then, I find myself more able to direct my gaze away from my hands and out
into the souls in the room.  It's important, and it's a very good sign of my
progress as a performer.


This morning, Kevin and I went around the corner for coffee and a bagel.  He
introduced me to a neighbor, a very lovely young woman named: Jennifer Gans.
  

    

Wednesday, Nov 24, 1999

I really miss my regular gig at Anna's.  It kinda petered out after I was
absent for most of two months.  I thought Anna was going to give me some
Thursdays in November, but she didn't, and I haven't heard from her about
December, either.  And I'm tired of calling and not getting through.  <sigh>

I'd like to find a place to play semi-regularly in the bay area.  Anyone have
any ideas?

Meanwhile, I am playing at home, trying to get some new song ideas going
without much luck.  I have a tape from <markmcc> that I hope to have time to
study this weekend, and a mutual friend is helping me to connect with the
great Kevin "Blackie" Farrell, who might have a song or two for me.

I stayed up last night going through half-developed song ideas, and something
strange and wonderful happened.  An old song called "The Distance to the
Door," which I wrote with Donnelly many years ago -- a bluegrassy number with
a mildly problematic melodic gesture -- reappeared in my brain while I was
doodling with something else.  I played it really slowly, trying to see what
it had to offer, and then I tried it as a sort of mid-tempo rocker.  That had
some possibilities!  And then the last line of the chorus -- "The only thing
that's left for me is the distance to the door" -- turned itself into a
repeating refrain, and moved the song into a whole new dimension.
  

    

Saturday, December 4, 1999

I am in full-immersion mode, learning these Jim page songs.  Last week I
received a DAT full of his songs, and I've been listening to it over and
over.  Yesterday I sat down and played along with it several times, and
that's going to be my drill for the next week.  Jim Arrives a week from today
and we will rehearse, work out a format for the gigs, and start doing radio
appearances to promote the tour.
  

    

Wednesday, December 15, 1999

The four-day tour with Jim Page started yesterday...

We had a great day yesterday.  Played live on KKUP and then KZSC, and then we
had a pretty healthy house at Henfling's in the Santa Cruz Mountains.  Con-
sidering that I learned 16 songs in two days (I worked on a dozen of 'em from
a tape over the last three weeks, but we've had two days of actual
rehearsal), things went VERY well.  We'll tuck in a few loose threads this
afternoon, and KICK ASS at the Freight tonight!

This is so exciting!
  

    

Thursday, December 16, 1999, 10:00 am

The Freight show was a marvelous experience.  Everything that clattered in
Ben Lomond just hummed last night.  We hit the stage with three really solid
duo performances: "You're Naked Underneath Your Clothes," "Bobby Cortez," and
"Mr. Grouter."  Then Jim played a solo set, and then we played "Butterfly
Wings" together, and then I played a solo set.  And then after the break, we
came back and played a very solid set together.  Jim whipped out a totally
improvised introduction to "Goin' Down to Eugene to See the Grateful Dead,"
which I followed gamely.  The rest was according to the list, and I was very
happy with the way my  parts have settled in on some songs that I';ve played
a total of half a dozen times.  There was one song I blew altogether, and
that's because we hadn't rehearsed it nearly enough.  But other stuff just
rode a juicy groove, and we kept shooting happy looks back and forth as we
beheld the magic that was transpiring.

I'm listening to the tape now, and I can hear all the imperfections loud and
clear -- but the energy was there, the arrangements really showed some power
and depth and subtlety, and I think the audience was happy with what they
heard.

I was just saying to Janey:

 >I am thrilled to be playing with Jim, and I think it would be worth my
 >while to develop some ideas with him.  it wouldn't preclude my pursuing my
 >own opportunities, but there are things we can do together that would
 >really help us both as individuals, too.  AND, I admire his politics quite
 >a lot.

While we were doing this great pre-Eugene thing, it occurred to me that we
could do some serious damage with an electric band.  With Jim's improvisa-
tional verbal genius and a sensitive rhythm section, we could take a song
like "Down to Eugene" and make it into a 30-minute groove excursion -- with a
killer SONG as the payoff at the end.  And there are lots of songs in Jim's
repertoire that would work well in that sort of setting.

And then I realized we both know exactly the rhythm section to try it with:
Matt Butler and Mike Sugar, formerly of Jambay.  We could take the summer
festivals by storm!

Some of my friends and family were kinda disappointed that I didn't do more
solo stuff -- and I suppose I should have done a little more, but the show we
put on was the show we intended to put on.  In fact, I thought my solo set
was the weak part of the night, not in terms of musical quality but because I
didn't have enough time to develop my stage presence after Jim's set.  I am a
different person on that stage with him, and that's going to take some think-
ing on my part.  In a good way!
  

    

Thursday, December 23, 1999, 11:00 am

Listening to the tape of last week's Freight show.  The duo stuff and Jim's
solo set sound great, but for my solo set, the sound man squashed my sound
with a compressor and gallons of reverb -- and then turned it way down to
boot.  Jeez.
  

    

Friday, December 31, 1999, 3:30 pm

I am enjoying a period of no deadlines and no major projects.  I finished
going through the tapes of the tour I did with Jim Page (and I realize I've
been remiss in updating my journal of that trip; stay tuned), and now I'm
mastering the recordings I made at Heron Island last June.  The gigs I played
in that resort bar with Matt Zarb are a lot of fun to listen to, and I'm
hoping we'll get to do it again in 2000.  I would love to get a one- or two-
week booking down there -- snorkel and dive all day, play music at night.
Heaven!

The tour with Jim Page went very well, although it wasn't until the last gig
that I felt we were really ready to play in front of people.  The first night
(at Henfling's in Ben Lomond) was a struggle, and the second night (at the
Freight) was good, as reported above.  The third night, in Grass Valley, was
very good in some ways but Jim wasn't comfortable.  The audience was almost
too polite.  I was keying on him rather than on the audience, so he bore the
brunt of the isolation; I just kept my eye and ear on him.

The last night was very successful artistically, and we connected well with a
small room full of very enthusiastic people, but the sound system was a
travesty and the tape doesn't sound good at all.

We felt good enough about the connection we made that we are planning to do
it again in March, and we've also asked our mutual friends Matt Butler
(drums) and Mike Sugar (bass), formerly of Jambay, to be our rhythm section.
We're going to try to get booked at the major western festivals -- High
Sierra, the Fat Fry, the Hog Farm PigNic -- in an electric configuration.  I
can easily see us being a hit with the audience: Jim's got a great collection
of songs, and a knack for improvising lyrics that would work like hippie
hiphop with a good jamband behind him.

At one of the gigs, Jim improvised an intro to "Goin' Down to Eugene to See
the Grateful Dead," and I can imagine our doing that whole thing as a half-
hour jam with lots of Dead themes woven into the jams.
  

    






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