Eighth Letter to You of 2008
On a slow drive up route 7 in western Vermont, our two-van caravan was surrounded by 1,000 shades of green. Vermont is the Green Mountain State with good reason. After weeks of seemingly ceaseless rain, Friday August 8 was a sunny break. At least in northern Vermont.
For years I traveled from Buffalo only to arrive in cities and towns as they got a cold spell or a heavy snowfall. I would soon be hearing someone say "So, you brought this weather with you." I was happy to be bringing the sunshine to Vermont for a couple of days.
Vagabond Van was a quartet on this particular weekend. Shrimp drove down with his drum kit from Cabot on Thursday to meet Tom Bianchi, me and Sick in Middlebury. On Thursday night, it rained. Mostly lightly, but raining nonetheless. When we woke at the Treleven Sheep Farm on Friday morning, the sun was the victor. Vermont's glorious, abundant green was on full display. No gray.
The destination for Friday night was Montpelier and the road maps and Internet search engines all suggested state roads that snake through from point A to point B. Our host warned of all the flooding and washed out roads and suggested we keep it on 7 north to Burlington where we would pick up I-89 south to Montpelier. This route ultimately adds a few miles to the odometer, but the timing of the drive is about the same. With the uncertainty of washed out roads, it was easy to accept this advice without argument. We decided to explore.
Burlington is the bustling city of Vermont. I don't proclaim to know the whole state intimately, but I have visited Montpelier, Brattleboro and a handful of even smaller towns. Burlington is where Vermonters go to get their metropolitan on.
On this visit, we happened into the Festival of Fools. This event is a curated festival of street theater devoted to community engagement through the celebration of circus arts, music and comedy for family audiences. The festival features the best international street performers from around the globe. Tom crossed paths with a couple of cats he knows from his street performing days in Boston. Chock one up for serendipity.
Tom and I were engaged in conversation with Jim Show Jim, when a fellow began setting up for his act. We were standing at the foot of the stage when this man placed a keyboard on the floor with the name "MENENDEZ" across it. I said to Jim "I've seen a guy on the Tonight Show do a juggling routine playing a keyboard like that." Jim replied nonchalantly pointing in the man's direction, "It was Dan."
If you haven't seen this, take a moment to visit You Tube: Dan Menendez. If you watch it and aren't amazed, I, er, hmmmm... don't know. What's your party trick?
Sick and Lady Bangs - the Finer Things from Austin, TX - had wandered off and caught a show of acrobats. They talked about the dance routines and the amazing abilities of the performers. Sick then commented, "I knew we came to Burlington for a reason. There's always a reason when you get detoured."
Fair enough.
Time did its thing and we had to make way for Montpelier. We would play that night at Charlie O's - a cool dive on Main Street in the Capitol city.
Of the three gigs we played, none of them was better than pretty good as gigs go. The band played well and got pretty tight by Saturday night, but a good gig has as much to do with an audience as it does with the performer.
Thursday night was weird. People were all wound up. A couple girls got into a fight. Lots of people were spinning and dancing, but few were drinking (the barmaid reported slow sales at the end of the night). Many were exiting and returning shortly after a little more wired than when they had left. The energy of that was peculiar. I felt the band played well.
Saturday night started an hour later than scheduled because of a large table that wouldn't clear space to allow the band to set up. When they finally moved, they moved right out of the place and the room then seemed half empty. The first set was slow and quiet. In the second set some friends arrived and people danced, but our time was up shortly after, creating a feeling of ending before it could begin.
Friday was by far the best night of the three. For me, I've come to really enjoy Montpelier, first and foremost. Secondly, dive or not, Charlie O's is a good bar. People are cool there and the staff is stellar. Thirdly, we've played this bar previously and now have friends in town. We had a good crew dancing all night long. Among them, Anais Mitchell.
I could happily go on and on about Anais. I met here at the Kerrville Folk Festival in 2003 and was charmed from the moment she introduced herself. I have had many memorable moments of friendship with her and I have all the esteem in the world for her as an artist. Anais enters a room and everything is right.
In recent years it has become increasingly difficult to have a private moment. Anais and I tend to cross paths at festivals and conferences. In those environments, interuptions abound. Conferences are frantic. Festivals are communal. There is typically little space to have a decent, let alone private, conversation. Not to say that it doesn't happen. It's just challenging.
Anais would leave shortly into set three. Her exit happened minutes after she joined Tom in making a duet out of Madonna's "Like a Virgin." Before departing, my friend had drawn me a map to her house.
We had communicated a week before the show. It was good luck that she wasn't on tour and she was kind and willing to have guests while on a short break home from the road. As it happened, her husband was away this weekend and their renter was as well. There was space enough for Tom, Sick, Lady Bangs and me to sleep.
As it happened, Tom had plans to visit his sons in Morrisville and would be crashing elsewhere. Also, it turned out that Sick is allergic to cats and Anais has one. Sick and Lady Bangs sought out other accommodations. So, as it turned out, I would wake on Saturday morning to find Anais in the kitchen - the beginning of five uninterupted hours of hang time.
I knew I had
some shows in Vermont for a reason.
~ gK ~
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Seventh Letter to You of 2008
After Thursday's fun at the airport and a full day of running errands, helping with moving, bar hopping and visiting with friends on Friday, I had some sleep to catch up on. With the curtains drawn and the daylight successfully shut out, I was able to snooze till sometime around the butt crack of noon.
I woke up on Saturday June 28 at my family's home in Cheektowaga with plenty of anticipation for how the day was going to go. The weather could not have been better. My first look out the window revealed blue skies with happy white clouds. Upon walking outdoors, I would find tolerable humidity levels and a gentle breeze. The fantasy for the evening's performance was well in place and this was a good start.
I had hired a former co-worker of my sister's to do some freelance publicity for me. Being that he lives in Buffalo and I have been spending a good deal of my time in Boston, all of our communication had been over the phone or via email. Tony and I were scheduled to get together earlier in the day leading up to the Buffalo Homecoming concert downtown.
Sometime between my afternoon breakfast and Tony picking me up, the cell phone rang. It was Marti, the producer of the big event. I figured she was checking in to make sure I was clear on where to go and whatnot. I answered. Marti was not sounding very relaxed.
The weather service was predicting an electrical storm for later in the evening. The sound company working the event refused to set up all those thousands of dollars worth of equipment. Marti did not have a rain venue in place and was going to have to cancel the evening's concert. This was not part of my fantasy. Hadn't they read my blogs?
She told me that people were going to be directed to the Buffalo Convention Center. While there would be no concert, no hundreds singing along with "Driver" during my encore, no CD sales and accolade upon accollade for my stunning hometown performance, at least there'd be a gathering of new friends and perhaps alcohol.
Tony came by to pick me up around 5:30pm. I was dressed in what I call stage clothes. Regardless of the news, I wanted to look nice. I informed Tony that the show was off. He hadn't heard anything about it. We grabbed my instruments and other items riding a wave of optimistic "just in case." It couldn't hurt to have this stuff along.
We got downtown, parked on Pearl Street and walked down to the Century Grill. This used to be the Tap Room. My friend JD ran it back then. I had played a show one time up in the balcony. How cool to be here.
After our business meeting, I told Tony we should head over to the convention center. He suggested instead that we go to where the concert was scheduled. I reminded that the concert was cancelled. At this point I just wanted to accept it. Tony insisted on checking in over there. I followed.
We got within a block of the Theatre District and little bits of rain began to fall. It was just after 7:30 now, making this right on time for when the weather had been predicted to turn. Tony pressed on. I followed.
We came upon event volunteers Matt and Kristin dressed in their Buffalo Homecoming T-shirts, handing out notices that the event had moved to the Convention Center. We said our hellos and talked for under a minute when the wind picked up and so did the rain. I suggested we make tracks for the indoors. Matt led the way. I followed.
It was a little ironic when we passed the Centruy Grill on our hustle to the Convention Center a couple of blocks away. I could have casually walked here a short short while ago and avoided this weather altogether. So be it. I hadn't been on this block recently enough to remember the lay of the land. However when the BCC came into view, I put my full, lanky gait to good use. Matt and Kristin followed. Tony had gone to his car.
There was another event scheduled that weekend at the BCC and it was just starting up when we arrived out of the rain just as the electrical storm began. How 'bout that? The weather forecast was correct and right on schedule. It was 8pm. A lightning show and Buffalo's Biggest 80's party were underway.
I am not a fan of 80's pop for the most part. Yeah, I've learned some songs through the years and have a few faves, but I don't care if I hear Soft Cell's cover of "Tainted Love" ever again. I'm certainly not into the culture of dressing up in the fashion of the era and am not moved, typically, to dance to this stuff. In my white, pearl snap shirt, blue jeans and cowboy boots, I felt like I was sticking out a bit in this crowd. How 'bout that? It was just llike it was for me in the 80's. Too bad I wasn't wearing flannel. That would have been perfect.
After spending a few hours hanging with the event organizers and volunteers, eating and drinking my fill in the V.I.P. room and having a good bit of fun in conversation, I motioned that we go to Nietzsche's. Tony and I took off without ado. The evening turned out to be gorgeous. The lightning stopped after about a half an hour.
Nietzsche's had a tribute to the Rolling Stones that night. Well over 10 hometown bands were playing two songs each at the Exile on Allen Street concert. Tony and I were there for about an hour. We had gotten a parking spot right in front of the bar which was great luck. As we exited the bar I heard my name. It was my friend Roy.
Roy and I were standing on the passenger side of the car at the back bumper. Tony was in the driver's seat oblivious of us. Roy and I had visited for all of a minute when Tony turned his key. Rather than mainline the exhaust, Roy and I said good night. He told me he would be working at the Pearl Street on Sunday and that I should try to stop by.
On Sunday there was one more Buffalo Homecoming event: a brunch at the Buffalo Zoo. I was in town and determined to make the most of the weekend. Marti had given me a complimentary ticket. Tony once again gave me a ride. We once again grabbed the guitar, mandolin, cables and CDs. It couldn't hurt to have this stuff along, right?
The brunch was under a tent. Congressman Higgins was on hand. Maryalice Demler of Channel 2 News was the emcee. Quiz master Dennis George was working up a sweat with the Buffalo Trivia Game Show. The food was outrageous!
When Marti learned that I had my instruments in the car, she asked if I wouldn't mind playing a little set. I told her I would love to play. To an audience of around 50 through the quiz master's PA system, I played "Erie Canal," "Father Baker," "Sweet Precious Time" and "Two Degrees in Buffalo." It wasn't the way I had envisioned it, but what the hell, I was playing for the hometown crowd and there were tasty pierogis with my name on them 50 feet away.
As we were leaving the Zoo, I asked Tony if we could stop at the Pearl Street Brewery for a brief visit with my friend. Tony said "um, sure." We headed downtown.
Roy saw us walking through the door and greeted us with a classic, big, welcoming smile. We sat down and he took our orders: a beer for Tony and Knob Creek for me. Roy served me three fingers bourbon. I was halfway finished with it when he refilled Tony's now empty glass. When I finished my drink, he offered to do the same for me. I declined, but asked about the ice coffee machine I was sitting near. Roy gave me a coffee.
A little more conversation and it was time to exit. I asked Roy for our bill. He put the receipt in front of me upside down the way servers do. I turned it over: $4.99.
I love Buffalo.
~ gK ~
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Sixth Letter to You of 2008
A red light or a green light won't kill nor injure you. The little red hand or white, lite brite walking figure won't neither. The speeding delivery truck on the other hand, best watch out for that one. A public service announcement to pedestrians: get your head out of your ass and watch traffic. Especially if you're, say, in the street.
Moving right along...
Somerville-Cambridge, MA had bit of a heat wave. After three days of gray and rain at the tail end of last week, the heat index on Saturday was Texas hot (with many of my friends at the Kerrville Folk Festival, I couldn't help myself on the choice analogy). It went from jeans and a light long-sleeved shirt weather to shorts and the least amount of material you could wear and still call it a shirt weather.
In these high temps, I have been walking everywhere. I nearly dehydrated on Sunday after five hours out in it posting fliers. I had run out of water and must have experienced heat exhaustion. Just dumb. I was able to get my water bottle refilled and felt saved...
But I digress...
Have you ever noticed the similarities in the words "minstrel" and "minister"? I'll bet you a tank of gas they have a common root.
The rising cost of gas is on everybody's minds these days. There's been little question for months now that it will hit $5/gal. by the Fourth of July. You may be asking yourself "how can I pay less for gasoline?" You may be doing things like over-inflating your tires, finally paying attention to your filters or driving slower and using cruise more often. I saw about a gadget being sold that beeps when one drives poorly (like accelerating suddenly, rather than steadily or braking too fast). Are people buying these?
Don't answer that.
Car pooling is an old school way to save money on gasoline. You still spend money at the pump, but you get to divide it by 2, 3 or 4. That's not a bad way to go. Still, as I rode on the subway on Wednesday, I observed, as the train came above ground to cross the Longfellow Bridge, all the traffic driving into Boston was one person per car.
Maybe you are thinking about a hybrid car. Perhaps you already own one. How is that working out for you? I have thought about a hybrid myself and may get one yet, but don't know that I can afford one presently. I also, ultimately, do not see it as the answer. The answer is rather obvious.
Every now and then I receive a forward in my email about how we're gonna stick it to the big oil companies and not buy gasoline on, oh, Friday... or some business as that. This one day when all Americans get over their differences and unite in the singular cause of bringing the man down is Biblical in its mythology. Oil companies are making record profits. Think about all the zeroes in a single billion and ask yourself if an unlikely day of solidarity and moderation would make you break a sweat.
No, this is not the answer.
You can acquire a smaller car, you can drive with your windows up to reduce drag, you can shut off your vehicle at the long lights, you can shift manual or try driving in the slipstream, but this ain't the way. The way is so simple that it eludes you. It mocks you.
Don't drive.
Ride a bike. Walk. Work from home. Buy local produce at the Farmer's Market that doesn't have to be shipped from around the world or across the country... et cetera. It's a consciousness shift. It's the only way. Stop driving when at all possible. Of course, it'll mean exercising. Careful now.
Sounds kinda preachy... what? do I think I'm a minister or something?
When you are walking (any doctor worth his salt will recommend at least 30 minutes daily) and the traffic light is green and the delivery truck is accelerating through the intersection and the driver is talking on the cell phone and not looking out for the unconscious and there's a handsome singer-songwriter behind you yelling "Hey, look out. HEY!!" and you continue into the street and the truck misses you but only by a foot... remember, the traffic light won't kill you. Pay attention to WHAT TRAFFIC IS DOING.
Just sayin'.
Now, I need some sleep. I have to drive a couple hundred miles to Long Island tomorrow for a gig. I've walked anywhere from 3 to 10 miles a day for a couple of weeks now and can't see walking from Boston to Patchogue. Am I a hypocrite? Perhaps, but I say "No."
My justification is simple:
People need live entertainment. People deserve good live entertainment. Good entertainment has an aspect of news to it. Entertainers carry the word with them.
Could be this vagabond troubadour fancies himself a minstrel.
~ gK ~
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Fifth Letter to You of 2008
After a good night's sleep, I woke up in a panic: "What day is it?" I have had pretty good luck with a lot of things. Parking in Somerville and Cambridge has taken all the luck I can muster and a growing ammount of skill. Luck can run out though & skills decline with age.
I have been coming to Boston since the late ninties. Over the past couple of years, my visits have increased considerably. It's almost like I'm living here. Many good friends are making this possible. This is all luck.
Everybody gets ticketed around here. You'll see people driving with that orange envelope under their wipers like a flag of solidarity. It took sometime before I got my first parking ticket in Somerville. I didn't know to leave it on my windshield and probably wouldn't have anyway.
It was August of 2007. I didn't have a gig and Tom & Danielle were going to Long Island to play at the Huntington Folk Festival. I asked if I could tag along. They said yes. So, we put the visitor's permit on my dashboard and took off for New York. Turns out, the visitor's pass is only good for two days a week. We were gone for three.
Friends said you should dispute it. They were all under the impression that the pass was good for three days. I learned by reading the backside of the permit that, no, it's only two. Too bad I hadn't thought to read this before getting the ticket. Still, a $50 fine is worth a little effort. I successfully got the charge dismissed.
In December 2007 I got another ticket. This time for parking in front of a hydrant. It's a long story, but it can be stripped down to this:
Shitty, unprofessionally-run gig in Syracuse, NY ends at 1:30am instead of before midnight (this would be the longest part of the story); I coffee up and decide I'll drive through the night to Boston. Travel is decent for December until very end of the 300-mile drive where the coffee is wearing off, the sunrise is melting my night vision and I now have to go to the bathroom desperately but am stuck in the morning rush hour heading east into Boston.
When I finally got off the Mass Pike and into my friend's neighborhood, all I could concentrate on was needing to use a toilet with the knowledge that I was overtired.
In the day before this, there was a snow emergency in Boston. The plows had pushed all the snow to the sides of the streets as best they could amid the parked vehicles. Here I was needing simply to park and be done with it all and there were no parking spots. When, after circling the blocks a couple times, I found one, I didn't notice for the snow that I was in front of a fire hydrant. I placed the permit on the dash, grabbed my instruments and ran inside. I did what needed doing and fell asleep.
I woke up at 4pm. I grabbed a shower, a quick bite to eat and got dressed for my gig that night at the Lizard Lounge. It was 4:30 when I walked out to my van. The ticket had been issued at 4:05pm. How 'bout them apples?
I doubted I could talk my way out of this $100 ticket. Why not try though? The kind and patient people at the Somerville Parking and Traffic Department listened to my story. That visit ended with me being told this:
Mr. K, you have received two tickets in Somerville and have had both of them dismissed. If you get a third ticket, please just come in and pay it.
I am not eager to get a third ticket! So, you see, this is why I woke up in a panic.
From January first through the end of March, there is no street cleaning. From April 1 through December 31 it happens several times a month. At least four. I haven't been in Boston much at all since April started. I just got back from Buffalo only to immediately go up to Vermont. I kind of forgot about street cleaning... until this morning.
When I left the Burren last night I was really tired. How great it was to have rock star parking right in front of my friend's house. Two spots even! I got out my instruments, grabbed my bag of stuff and walked inside. Did I read the signs?
This morning, I jumped into my jeans, grabbed my keys and ran outside (last thing I wanted to do first thing in the morning was lock myself out). I looked at the sign: No parking on the 2nd and 4th Mondays of the month. It was Monday!
It was the third Monday of April. Pshew!!!!!
~ gK ~
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Fourth Letter to You of 2008
Being that you're reading this letter, you're likely a fan of live music. If you're ever in Decatur, GA, you'll want to visit Eddie's Attic. Eddie's is the undisputed home of live music in Decatur, particularly for fans of singer songwriters. It may very well be the best listening room in the southeast United States.
I've had the privelege of performing at Eddie's a few times. A couple of full sets, once opening for Fred Eaglesmith and his fine band. A handful of times I was there to take part in the weekly open mic.
Eddie's Attic had a unique (now imitated) open mic format. Each week on Monday nights, individuals who had all signed up in advance play two songs each. A judge or pair of judges watch each performer. At the evening's end, three artists are asked to perform one more song. Of these final three, one is declare the winner that week and leaves with a little extra cash.
A few years ago when Not a Complicated Guy was my newest CD release, I had played the open mic, qualified by "winning" that night and made it back to Georgia that December for the semi-annual shoot out. I made it into the semi-finals playing "Another Town" and "One Foot in the Grave." I got knocked out after performing "How's It Goin'." It was quite the learning experience.
These days at the Lizard Lounge in Cambridge, MA, Tom Bianchi hosts the Monday night Open Mic Challenge. Tom has fashioned this weekly community-rich event after the Eddie's format. The Lizard open mic challenge has become a staple of this legendary music scene in just a year's time. The abundance of talented songwriters in the area as well as all the wonderful touring acts who make it a stop on their visits to Boston make it one of the consistantly best nights of music in the city.
March 15 - the Ides of March - was the 2nd ever Lizard Lounge Open Mic Main Event.
24 acts were scheduled. One did not show and someone would be given a free pass to the next round. The rest of us were paired against someone else, often a friend, in a bracketed competition that would see 23 paired down to three before declaring one the winner.
We were all asked to arrive by 6pm for the 8 o'clock show. There was a rundown of the rules and pep talk from Tom. Then, the club provided us a nice buffet. Names were drawn from a Kerrville mug and the order was decided. I would be the sixteenth of the twenty three; meaning that it would be well after 10pm before I played my first, and possibly last, song of the night.
Four hours is a lot of build up to that. It's a lot of time to think about "what song?" It's a lot of listening to other great songs and getting psyched - either up or out. It's certainly enough time to work on a person's nerves.
Although it was shaking me up a bit to have to wait... and wait... and wait to play, my mind was set on one thing. It was based on the scene in Walk the Line where Johnny Cash is playing gospel music to Sam Phillips during his audition.
Sam Phillips tells Cash that he's had enough gospel music. He says something to the effect of, if you were going to play just one song for a dying man, what song would you play?
He called Cash out and laid it on the line: how do you want to be remembered? what is going to be your legacy? Cash plays "Folsom Prison Blues." Magic moment.
I was dead set on what song I was going to play first. If I didn't move on to the next round - if this was going to be the one opportunity I had to make an impression on people - then there was no other song to play. I performed "Two Degrees in Buffalo."
It was not unanimous, but I was chosen by the three judges to move on. In round two - now down to 12 acts - I was facing Dave Coffin. Dave is a friend. We played a show together in January, appropriately enough, at the Lizard. Dave sings beautifully and writes richly crafted pop songs. I did not feel good about being in that round. You see, Dave went to the finals of the inaugural Main Event.
His vocals soared. He sings with passion. I could only watch for so long. I ducked into the band room and vamped on "Driver" with Ryan Fitzsimmons for a couple minutes.
I had an advantage that didn't reflect anyone's individual talent at all: I was getting to go second. It occurred to me that as great as Dave was playing and singing, as good as his song was, he was keeping the vibe mellow. The judges had just had two acts before Dave do the same groove. I figured funny was my best bet to advance.
After explaining that I had had court in Cairo, IL recently and that I wanted to look nice for court as I wanted to look nice for this show, I made it known that I was wearing the same clothes I had worn to court sans a borrowed tie. I further explained that wearing slacks in Boston in March made me cold so I had worn long johns. This cracked everyone up in the 105-capacity sold out basement venue as I stood under stage light while they all sweated from the heat of the room. Then I shared an anecdote from a recent bar gig wear I had been asked to play Johnny Cash, promptly played "Tennessee Flat-Top Box," only to have the same person at the song's completion say "Come on. Play some Johnny Cash."
I strummed a G chord and began my song: "I come from a long line of self abusers..."
By song's end, the whole room was singing along. On the final chorus, I wasn't even on the mic. 105 voices had it covered: We're only here for a short short while, you may as well go around in style...
This time it was unanimous: I was moving on to the semi-finals.
I got worried. It caught up to me: regardless of this being a community event and regardless of all these performers being my friends, there was a $500 prize on the line. In Decatur, I had gotten exactly this close to the $1000 prize only to be knocked out. It's not a devastating blow, but it is disappointing to get that close to a nice prize and not walk away with it. Especially if you feel within that you have what it takes. It comes down to decisions you make, the personal taste of the judges and the quality of the songs more than any of the other possible factors. I got in my head about it and considered what to do next.
Six would be three after this next round. The judges had now heard 35 songs and had been making difficult decisions for over four hours. They had heard me sing an anthem and a hysterical bar song. I needed to show them another side of me.
Again the second of my round, I choose to sit on a stool rather than stand. I placed my glasses on the nearby piano and talked about the last 10 years of my life on the road at first. Then, I told of my friend Lydia Mora. At story's end, I performed "New Clothes." It was the right call. I was chosen to move on to the finals.
By now, you may have an idea of how this story ends. Indulge me if you will.
In the final round of three, I was in the middle. Teresa Storch defied gravity and ousted the formidable Michael Troy - perhaps the best songwriter in the room that night - in their previous round. She would play first. Pat McCann, a 21-year old magician on the keys with a Stevie Wonder influenced voice and more energy than the room could contain would play last. Pat had soared past the competition in each of his rounds, surpassing my good friends Ryan Fitzsimmons and Dana Price along the way. He was the one I was focused on. What do I have on that guy?
Ryan Fitz looked me right in the eye and answered the question for me: you have the better songs. You're the better songwriter!
Before I played my song, Ryan's words hit me deep. I had already won something. It occurred to me then that at this point in my career I have a deep well of good and, in my best moments, great songs to draw on. I had started the night out with what I felt was my best song. Now, I would play the song that has done so much for me in similar situations. The song Ryan and many other good friends refer to as their favorite. A song that I might have played for Sam Phillips before "Two Degrees" came along.
I stepped up, said a few words and played the shit out of "Another Town." Friends tell me that they have never heard me play it so well. Let Caesar beware the Ides of March. It was my favorite day of 2008 so far.
~ gK ~
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Third Letter to You of 2008
I have driven back to Buffalo, NY from every direction on just about every road that leads there in every kind of weather for any number of reasons.
On my latest journey home, I was gig-less. I was returning from Boston to celebrate my niece's first birthday. The party was on a Saturday. I set out on a clear Thursday afternoon. Not preparing well for the trip left me exhausted at journey's end. Good thing I had a day for recovery.
Friday turned out to be a wonderful day with friends.
Rand Bellavia is one half the creative genius that is Ookla the Mok. These guys rock the Filk world. If you need a comparison, they'd fit in fine on a festival stage with the Barenaked Ladies and They Might Be Giants. Stop reading this letter for a moment, go to CD Baby and buy their album titled Oh Okay LA. It's one of my faves...
(narrator bides time)
Welcome back. You won't regret owning that album. Now, where was I? Ah, yes...
Rand is one of my few real friends in Buffalo. We actually get together and do things when I'm in town. We talk when I'm on the road. I'll be playing at his wedding.
After I woke up on Friday and shook off the cobwebs, Rand and I met up for lunch. After a brief hang in the library where he works, we traveled a couple miles over the now snow-covered roads to one of Rand's favorite lunch destinations. I can't remember its name.
We walked in and, how cool and rare was this: Bob Dylan's "To Ramona" was playing on the juke. My day in Buffalo was underway. We were seated and presented with menus. I couldn't help it: I ordered a Beef on Weck.
Conversation was clever and over too soon. Rand had to get back to work. We parted company and I I set out to visit with another good friend.
John Weber is a hero of mine. John seems to have life down pat and, with some fear of jinxing the man, I dare say under control. John plays bass, sings with soul, owns a fine property in Buffalo's Allen Town, travels well and often, throws the best parties in the 716 area code and married one of the prettiest, smartest and hippest women on planet Earth.
He may be your hero, too, and you just don't know it yet.
John asked me how things have been. In answering, I recounted a cool happening in Memphis where I went out to dinner at the Rendevous with Peter Case. That anecdote led to my playing John a couple of songs: "Father Baker" and "Two Degrees in Buffalo."
"They claim that in this nation there are six degrees of separation. I hear the same is true the whole world 'round. But in the City of Good Neighbors, man, it's more like a small town. It's only two degrees in Buffalo and anywhere you go you're bound to see somebody that you know..."
John and I drank tea. His dog, Willie (named after Willie Nelson), entertained us. I informed him about Scott's Law in Illinois. We shared opinions about the system. Things went on in a "you just had to be there" friendship kind of way and then I left for dinner with my folks in the burbs. Before my exit, John informed me that he was playing at Nietzsche's. He invited me to come to the show. I put it out there that I'd love to sit in. I already had planned to be back in the city that night at Sportsmen's Tavern. John suggested I come out a little early.
When you visit Buffalo, you'll want to stop by either Nietzsche's or the Sportsmen's Tavern for live music. Or, do like I did and go to both. From Labor Day on into May, Stone Country live and breathe real country music in Black Rock. My night would end there, but I was clear that I wanted to hear John's band. My dance card was now full.
My brother had caught and fileted some Yellow Pike last May. My mother had frozen them in water. They were perfectly preserved. It was a meal we have enjoyed as a family countless times. As a child, I remember well being taken out fishing.
After dinner, I visited with the parentals some, then, noticing the time, got my act together and headed to Nietzsche's. Walking through the door, I was met with "Greg? Greg Klyma?" I wasn't sure I recognized the person asking.
When he said the name, I was back in that place: this man had gone to high school with my brother a year behind me. We had hung out some in post-High School circumstances at property of mutual friends an hour plus south of Buffalo, oh, 8 years ago. Some people just remember things better than I do.
I threw out my high school year books ages ago. We got to talking and he bought me a drink. He was talking about old friends and acquaintances that I haven't crossed paths with nor thought about in... well, very lilkely a coon's age. How long do those coons live for anyway? Seriously, do you know?
After a drink, he started introducing me to people. After meeting his best friend and his brother, I turned to watch the band a little. John was thumpin' the upright and singin' harmony on a Johnny Cash song. Then Elvis. Then he sang lead on "The Cover of the Rolling Stone." Fun!
My attention was requested again. More introductions. This time, the wife of the man's brother. She was very sweet and made the night:
Greg, this is Mary. Mary, this is Greg - one of the best musicians outta Buffalo. He tours nationally and is just great.
Nice to meet you.
Nice to meet you, too.
Do you know my daughter?
What's her name?
Kelly.
Kelly ____________?
Yes.
Yeah, I know her! We met her here over a decade ago. She's married to my friend.
You know my son-in-law, John.
Holy "It's a small world after all" Batman. This was outrageous! My pal John is the son-in-law of the woman who is married to the older brother of someone my brother went to high school with. How very Buffalo.
John called me up to sing a couple. Two songs turned into five. We did a couple by Willie, one by Waylon and Wille song, Bob Dylan's "It Takes a Lot to Laugh, It Takes a Train to Cry" and we finished up my mini-set with Hank Williams' "Ramblin' Man." Soon after, the set was coming to a close. I said my goodbyes and lit out for the Honkiest Tonkiest Beer Joint in Town.
At Sportmen's, Dwane called me up to sing with Stone Country. I was livin' large. Stone Country is stellar. Sitting in with them, for me, is what singing karaoke must befor the rest of America. We played "Good-Hearted Women." Carl sang Waylon's part and I was Willlie. Jim Whitford plays bass with Stone Country now. I sang his song "Good Luck, Money and Gasoline." Then, I waited for Dwane to come back for his guitar. It's always two songs and done.
Dwane didn't come back. I was getting to play another song with the band. That hadn't happened before that I recall. The night could actually get better. We sang "Pancho and Lefty" and that was that.
I watched the band as they rolled through the rest of their set. I delighted in singing along from my bar stool with Bob Wills' "Take Me Back to Tulsa," Don Williams' "Good Ol' Boys Like Me" and other classics. I left the bar in a state of bliss and realized that I was experiencing all the love of my love/hate releationship with my home town.
~ gK ~
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Second Letter to You of 2008
The phone was
ringing. It was a little after 10am Central Time. I answered with "Hello,
this is Greg." I did not get "Hello Greg, this is...."
back. Instead I heard an annoyed yet powerful male voice say:
"Who is this?"
Curious thing. I had answered by saying "This is Greg." Perhaps he missed that. I politely repeated myself as I knew who was calling me. I had called his office at 8:30am, 8:45am, 9:00am and again at 9:30. It was at 9:30 that someone finally answered the phone.
It was a female. She told me that our friend was not in and asked if I'd like to leave a message. I replied that I would. In quick succession she asked for my name. I replied Greg. Without asking for my last name, she inquired of my number. I gave it. When bossman returned my call, he was not in his happy place:
"Greg who?"
I answered.
"You do not call my office without leaving your last name."
"I didn't..."
"You DON'T call my OFFICE and not leave your last NAME."
"Well, I tr...."
"When you call my office in the future, you will..." You get the gist of this. It more or less went on for two minutes. The kind of two minutes that feels like ten. I apologized and informed that I meant no disrespect.
What I was thinking at this point was twofold: firstly, I have no intent of ever calling the office of the Illinois State's Attorney again, if I can help it. Secondly, if the dippy secretary had not moved quickly from my first name to what my number is, it might have been part of my message to him. I didn't think I had done anything wrong. Besides, I had been told two days earlier that 8:30am on Wednesday was a good time, perhaps the best time, to reach this man. I had waken early after a great gig at the Saxon Pub in Austin to call him and his unavailability had cheated me out of two extra hours of sleep, so fuck him.
I didn't say any of this. I let him vent and let it go, anxious to move on.
When we got around to why I was calling in the first place, which was because a Cairo, IL cop pulled me over for violating Scott's Law and told me I had to make this phone call if I was going to have the charge dismissed, he again stopped me before I could start:
"Look: if you're calling to ask to get the charge dismissed, I can save us both some time. Judges rarely dismiss cases of Scott's Law."
(Well, shit. I was calling to ask about that. Think, damn it, think! Why else would I possibly be calling? Ahhhhhh, of course...)
"Well, sir, what I was calling about is... well, you see: I'm from NY State. My ticket says I am to appear in court on March 17. I will be in Boston at that time. I could be in Cairo (pronounced CARE-oh) on Monday February 25. I was told that only you could okay a change of date for me."
Dick head was beginning to soften up a bit. His power over me had been established at the onset and now I had validated his importance. He told me how to proceed. Then he informed me of the recent weather in Southern Illinois and the fact that many phone lines were down. He offered that I may have some trouble contacting the clerk's office. He also informed me that the penalty was usually around $500.
I said quietly: "Oh."
Here's a little
note about Scott's Law...
Lt. Scott Gillen was a Chicago firefighter who was tragically killed
when a vehicle hit him while he was responding to another incident. In
2001, a bunch of Illinois politicians lead by Lieutenant Governor Corinne
Wood got together to pass "Scott's Law" to punish people who
drive recklessly near emergency workers.
Read more at http://www.windypundit.com/archives/2007/07/about_a_month_ago_i.html
Also: http://www.illinois.gov/PressReleases/ShowPressRelease.cfm?RecNum=1497&SubjectID=55
I question the charge against me. Firstly, the law says that a motorist has to move over to the left lane (if it's free) or reduce speed when there is an emergency vehicle present (I'm paraphrasing this as I understand it... please, do your own research short of being pulled over). That part about reduded speed intrigues me. I was already traveling at 55 in a 65 mph zone. What is the IL state definition of "reduded"?
Secondly, I did move to the left most part of the right hand lane I was traveling in on I-57. I thought this both courteous and safe as I passed an officer who had a different motorist pulled over. That officer made frantic motions to a second cop - the one who would pull me over and, rather than inform me of this law and offer me a warning, issued me the ticket.
"Sir, how much is the ticket for?"
"I don't know."
"I can't make this court date."
"You have to call the State's Attorney." He gave me the number. I drove to Texas. I didn't drive recklessly near any other emergency workers for the next several hundred miles.
Now, I have had my day in court. I arrived at 8:50am. At 9 o'clock the State's Attorney appeared. He is as round as he is loud. He informed the assembled that our tickets all say 9:00am and that it would be "9 until noon." For me, 9 o'clock was 11:20am.
My ticket wasn't in the system because the court date had been changed to accommodate my travel and the clerk's office had flubbed it. I jumped through this hoop and got a cracker, then returned to the court room. Our rotund friend showed me the statute in the law book pointing out that it had a $100 minimum and a $10,000 maximum fine.
I was exhausted and totally dropped the ball in this part of the game. I had spent the previous week at a conference and the night before performing a house concert. Amazingly sleep deprived, I just wanted to not be charged $500 (aka, two months of van payments). It was at this point that I should have addressed the fact that I didn't feel I had driven recklessly nor truly violated a law that I wasn't even aware of previously.
I naively thought this would be handled by the judge based on "Judges rarely dismiss cases of Scott's Law." So, when the State's Attorney offered me a $100 fine and another $100 in court costs before we approached the bench, I simply said okay and followed him.
The judge had a full beard, trimmed mustache and a bit of a pony tail. He also had kind eyes and a gentle smile. He was easy to talk to. The attorney presented our bargain. I asked at that point if there was a chance of me getting this dismissed outright. The judge informed me of how the system worked (another court date in front of another judge) and the attorney said, and I quote: If the charge were to be dismissed, it would be me who dismisses it and I'm not going to do that.
I used up some of the court time I was to pay for, getting some closure by at least telling the judge my story. The attorney walked away refusing to listen. I did the math and understood that it would cost me more than $200 to return in April for a second appearance and that my luck could likely be worse. I smiled and said goodbye. The judge smiled back. What I heard in his smile was "Man, this is a small town with no tax base in one of the state's poorest counties. While you probably are a safe driver and don't seem to've done anything of malice, you are our only source of revenue and for that you are fucked. Sorry."
It wasn't the best result, but it certainly wasn't the worst neither. I have been educated about Scott's Law and, by informing you, my friends, about it, we may save some lives and definitely some money. I was really glad I wore a nice shirt, slacks and a borrowed tie.
I was also glad that I held
my tongue weeks earlier in that initial phone call with the State Attorney.
You see, after he told me about the weather and the $500 fine, he informed
me that the person who had taken my message was his teenage daughter.
Eesh!
~ gK ~
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First Letter to You of 2008
Huh? It took me until February to write the first letter to you here at Klyma.com this year. It's just as well. January was fairly uneventful. With the advent of MySpace and the convenience of blogging there, I've been prone to posting prose elsewhere. Thank you for checking in here at my official website.
There at the end of 2007 my focus began to shift from full-blown touring all the time to spending more of my time in the northeast. With family in Buffalo, a lot of opportunity to perform in Boston and the continuing rise in the price of gasoline, it stands to reason that I would focus on the region.
Now, it's February.
I'm out and about once again.
This month got off to a fine start with a house concert in Pennsylvania.
A friend who had never hosted such an event before turned her basement
into a cabaret. It was impressive to descend the stairs, walking into
a genuine performance space. That evening with friends set the pace for
the week that has followed.
Feeling productive is a feeling I enjoy. The following afternoon found
me at Klotz Audio in Port Matilda, PA, before continuing west to the next
tour destination. Bob Klotz mixed DRIVER and has been working with me
on the follow-up CD since May 2007.
We hadn't been happy with the way "Helen Rose" had been sounding. Taking full advantage of my passing through the region, we set up a single microphone and had me re-track my vocal and guitar part together. That was the magic. Earlier takes seemed to have lacked the emotional impact of the song. We really liked the way the demo had captured the essence of the song. So, we mimicked it. The missing piece was found.
After the session, this driver continued with the driving. Hours later, I pulled up to Paul's Nite Club in Lancaster, OH. Another fine night with friends in the middle of the Buckeye State. Happily, the show was recorded. There were some fun moments. With any luck we'll get that all posted online at the archievers site.
The reason I say
that January was uneventful was
that nothing major happened. I did write a couple of new songs, I did
play a couple of fine shows and I did meet some cool people. It was a
good way to ease into the year.
Though I note the likelihood of spending much time in the northeast, more
touring is bound to follow this February's tour as RUST BELT VAGABOND
- the CD that will be the follow up to DRIVER - will be completed this
year. I'm certain to tour in support of it.
I welcome opportunities
to perform more house concerts. They are a wonderful way to fill in an
"off" night on the road - Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday. I have
often played them on weekends as well. If it's not too late for a New
Year's resolution, I believe I should resolve to play fewer bar shows
and more theater and house concerts.
~ gK ~
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TOUR DATES
08.16
:: Cambridge, MA
08.17 :: N. Kingston, RI
08.19 :: Cambridge, MA
08.21 :: NYC
08.22 :: Philly
08.23 :: Shady Side, MD
08.26 :: Cambridge, MA
08.28 :: Burlington, VT
08.29 :: Manchester, VT
08.31 :: Cambridge, MA
09.02 :: Johnson, VT
09.05 :: Stowe, VT
09.06 :: Middlebury, VT
09.09 :: Johnson, VT
09.13 :: Bay Shore, NY
09.16 :: Johnson, VT
09.19 :: Buffalo, NY
09.20 :: PRIVATE EVENT
09.25 :: Ithaca, NY
09.26 :: Binghamton, NY
09.27 :: Pittsburgh, PA
09.28 :: Lock Haven, PA
10.01 :: Portsmouth, NH
10.02 :: Plattsburgh, NY
10.03 :: Manchester, VT
10.04 :: Johnson, VT
10.09 :: Williamsport, PA
10.10 :: Roanoke, VA
10.12 :: Asheville, NC
10.13 :: Athens, GA
10.17 :: Auburn, AL
10.18 :: Sautee-Nacoochee, GA
10.19 :: Decatur, GA
10.20 :: Decatur, GA
10.21 :: Greensboro, NC
10.22 :: Knoxville, TN
10.23 :: Knoxville, TN
10.24 :: Chattanooga, TN
10.26 :: Murphysboro, IL
10.30 :: Jackson, MO
10.31 :: Lupus, MO
11.01 :: Berryville, AR
11.02 :: Tulsa, OK
11.04 :: Norman, OK
11.06 :: Eureka Springs, AR
11.07 :: Eureka Springs, AR
11.08 :: Eureka Springs, AR
11.13 :: NERFA
11.14 :: NERFA
11.15 :: Philadelphia, PA
11.22 :: Ithaca, NY
11.29 :: Buffalo, NY
12.06 :: Saratoga Springs, NY
12.08 :: Annapolis, MD
12.10 :: Columbia, MD
12.13 :: Wellsville, NY