In a drive to anywhere in New England, it’s the last hour of New York (about 3 miles) and the first mile of Connecticut (about 3 miles) that always makes me want to die. Heather’s a little more calm about the whole thing, but she still has a few choice pieces of advice for the local drivers, and (in the words of Bruce Cockburn) if I had a rocket launcher, some son of a bitch would die.
Yesterday it turned out that Jack Starr and the band he represents, Grad Dai, were recording an album at Airshow Studios next door to House of Musical Traditions. It was their saxophone player that I’d heard warming up in the parking lot that morning, and it was Jack’s voice that I’d heard from the other end of the shop hunting for crickets. I dropped in at the end of the day and listened to the end product – post tracking, pre-mixing – you can still get a good idea of what the end-product is going to sound like – and though I imagine they probably mixed the cricket to the front for MY benefit, the whole thing sounds pretty amazing. Funk metal with a gorgeous sax weaving through the whole thing, I was damned proud to be acknowledged as the open mic host where they first got together. Damn proud.
The smells of wildflowers accompany us on the drive, strong enough to waft through the smells of exhaust and diesel as we make our way. A good counter-point for Richard Shindell and Ani Difranco and Usher and Tool.
Early this morning I dreamt I was back in that studio and the engineer (actually a producer of great renown) was telling me that I played music like a person who didn’t listen to music. Beyond that, that my music made him think I didn’t even LIKE music and that I should give it up all together and stop dragging those around me down. I was devastated and Brennan Kuhns of Petal Blight came to me in the hallway outside of the engineering booth and said to ignore it… to keep doing what I Love since there wasn’t really much else to do in this world. I don’t remember what exactly he said but it was something along the lines of “what else is Life for, but Living the dream”. It’s good advice, but I still reached consciousness blearily and put down with a heavy feeling of impending doom. After being up far too late, there’s no excuse for my subconscious to wake me at 8.30 in the morning with negatives.
Traffic has freed up and though that means we can’t catch the swift passage of floral vignettes, it means that the wind is fierce on us again and that always makes it seem like you’re on an adventure, even when you’re off to familiar places to see familiar faces. I won’t say anything out loud though. The universe has a tiny man named Murphy who likes to fuck with the confident.
After our show at Victoria Station Cafe, we were wandering the streets of Putnam, CT and Heather brought the car to a sudden stop! She raced out of the car and sprung into action to grant me a gift!!! (and to save a Life!) Yay toad! Heather snagged him and I carried him to safety! Note to everyone, if I ever catch a toad on the last day of our tour he’s coming home with me!
