August 12th, 2018.

Today my dad would’ve been 73 I believe. As always, I think about him a lot as the Perseids light the night time sky and friends have car trouble. A friend was last heard from broken down in New Jersey and her dad was coming to get her to get the old stick shift Saturn back home to Connecticut on a busted clutch. A situation that sounds desperately familiar. For as frustrated as my father would be when I couldn’t deal with my own car issues, I think he’d have appreciated an opportunity to ride to the rescue like that.

My featured artist for August 6th, That Virginia. Glad she made it to Baltimore at least!

This morning I’m sitting in Sterling, VA at my friend Justin’s house, thinking that his is the Life that my Dad probably dreamed for me when I was younger – nice house with central AC, a decently-maintained yard and a decently-paying job from which I was currently on vacation.

But the reality is I’m just visiting. I’ll get home to my rental townhouse with my wife tonight after I get paid from my freelance position as a self-employed musician. It’s been a discouraging week even without the strange reminders of my father this week.

Plenty of frustrations with how we’re simply not adapting fast enough to the modern musical-business paradigms – hitting an area where we really need to step it up to get ahead or maybe even maintain where we’re at – but are simply too exhausted to do it.

I don’t mean to sound defeatist. It’s the post Falcon Ridge slump. Not that I even WENT this year, but Heather’s fresh back from Falcon Ridge and with that comes a higher amount of recognition for the band, people asking about me, et cetera – then to be smacked back into the hard reality of a struggling independent folk act / bar band that generally plays more bars than is good for them.

Wednesday especially was rough – a spectacular CAMPUS with a central stage that’s built for much larger acts than us. It seems bizarre that they book solo singer/songwriters on a regular basis (Heather brought me along because it’s a four hour gig on a big stage and she felt kind of … small… for it! – plus she thought I’d get a kick out of the space). It’s a magnificent thing. It’s also a stage set up into the glare of the afternoon sun (the soundguy tried to keep our spirits up, drenched and dripping in sweat, letting us know that the shadow of the building will shield the stage about two hours into the show) – on a day with a 105 degree heat index. They keep us well watered, encourage us to take lots of breaks, etc. We’re well-fed and once we’re past the first set, it gets progressively easier. Few audience members brave the heat to sit and watch us in the central yard, but we’re apparently piped all throughout the complex.

So – of course that means that the only audience we can gauge off of is the dozen or so people lolling in the late afternoon haze. We can see dozens more off in the glassed-in buildings in the surroundings, we can see filled tables under the shaded and fanned portions off around the corner, but immediately around us is relatively chill. We play what we play. We simply can’t get TOO relaxed and for every “Fire and Rain” Heather throws down with I’ve got an “Allergy” to reply with.

And so it’s a very very unwelcome surprise – a surprise tinged with no small amount of injustice – that the next morning we’ve received an email that says they’re not going to book us again because we’re too sedate.

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