(continued): So the show with Chris Cunningham was swell. He harmonized and played harmonica on "Radio Works Fine". Jen harmonized on a couple too. After the show I drove to Basin, MT where I stayed with my aunt (and mom).
Now, gentle reader, we will pass through the wormhole and revisit my last days in the town of Indiana, Pennsylvania and afterwards... The three days there went like a blur and every night was filled with festivity. I made many friends, ate sushi, became reaquainted with my cousins, and even performed a little. One highlight was befriending a Palestinian fellow named Ahmad (pronounced Ahmed). He is a neighbor to my cousins and happened to see my impromptu show at their house. He ended up buying three shirts and a CD or two. The shirts he liked partly because of the word "Sand" buried in the name Sandman. He's been receiving racist jabs from people about being Arabic, like getting called 'sandn*gger', and finally he decided to reclaim the word. He appreciated my lyrics a lot, too. A day or two after that my 17-yr-old cousin, Karel, and I went to his restaurant which he calls "Habashi" and ate some great middle-eastern food. While there we wrote a rap about it and Karel recorded it on his computer. Ahmad loves it and apparently still plays it often in the cafe. The day I left, Ahmad and his wife gave me a 50-pc. box of baklava to take on my road trip. Ummm.
The next town I played was only three or four hours away-- Canton, Ohio, which is home to both the Football and Christian hall of fames. My wondrous friend Rhonda Baughman set up a house concert for me. I stayed there two nights and a lot happened. Rhonda is a prolific poet and novelist, and a horror movie buff. She manages a XXX video store. She has a boyfriend named Joe who manufactures credit cards for various companies. She has a writer-friend, whose pen-name is Martha, who read erotica to us and spoke of a passion for espionage. Rhonda's 85-yr-old Grandma, Mrs. Beaver, has a picture of me in her bedroom from the last time I rolled through two years ago. All in all Canton is a trip and I look forward to returning. Rhonda's mom packed me a humongous lunch of peanut butter, bread, cookies, spaghetti, popcorn, and six hardboiled eggs and these lasted me all the way to Madison, Wisconsin. Before that though I played scandalous Chitown-- home of Sammy Sosa and R. Kelly. I spoke of this a little in an earlier entry, but never got around to describing the shows.
The first Chicago show took place in a punk rock bowling alley called the Fireside Bowl. In the rush to get to the second show that night I neglected to get paid, but did make a lot of new fans and sold several cds and shirts. I can't remember the name of the second place, but I did get paid there and had fun singing more of my mellow countryesque numbers.
The drive to Madison the next morning was uneventful. The show was memorable. I finally met the legendary Ivan Okay who performed with a fake beard and called himself "Ghosty Rhodes". He's a true talent and we'd make a good touring combo if it ever happens. I stalled the show for over an hour so we could all watch the lunar eclipse outside. During the middle of my set I decided to carry out a ceremony with the remaining five hardboiled eggs that Rhonda's mom made for me. I promised someone in the crowd a free shirt and cd if they would eat all five eggs in five minutes; eclipse them so to speak. The guy who submitted asked for an assistant to feed him and I supplied the music and got the crowd chanting: "moon, moon... egg, egg..." By the fourth one he was gagging and during number five he puked all his hard-won glory into an upside down drum. I gave him his rewards anyway. After the show he and his girlfriend and her friend and my friend, Ben, went to a bar and got drunk and passed out in their living room.
The next day I leisurely drove to Prairie du Chien which is on the western border of Wisconsin. I spent at least three hours in some farming town which was having a garage sale weekend. I visited thirty or forty houses and bought dozens of cheap, vintage shirts and other items. I found a Michael Jackson belt-buckle, a tiny, antique, porcelain mermaid, a Don Quixote book, and other chotchkas. The shirts are a real treasure and I need to now silk-screen the whole batch while I have the time.
Once in Prairie du Chien I set up shop and rocked. The venue was a blues joint called the Main Entrance and was literally a stone's throw from the Mississippi River. Magic did ensue that night perhaps due to the cleansing effect of the eclipse the night before and the extremely high-rising tide of the enormous Mississippi. Two or three shows ended up getting cancelled in Iowa and Minnesota and I ended up loitering in Prairie du Chien during that time. I fell in love with a young bartender named Shelly Ann. C'est l'amour, c'est la guerre, c'est la tour, c'est la vie! Shit happens. Good shit. The rest is private for now.
Eventually I ambled to Winona, Minnesota for a coupla shows during a long afternoon outside, and inside, a bar called the Hei n' Low. Jack Norton, who set up my midwest mini-tour, also played along with Brian Ebbinger. My pal Alex Stevens has been priming this community for my arrival for years and it was a real treat to know that half of the drunken audience members were familiar with my songs. I got plenty o' requests and didn't have to work hard to have their rapt attention. The bar still owes me $50 though, but who's keeping track?
The next show was in Minneapolis at the Bryant Lake Bowl theatre. I played between Jack Norton's Wizard Oil Vaudeville and puppet show extravaganza. I sang six songs during my fifteen-minute slot and ended up selling fourteen cds after the show! This show was classy and I was proud to be part of it. Alex and I crashed at his friend's Elle and Kari's house that night. They made us fresh-squeezed, organic orange juice for breakfast and sent us south with smiles.
South of Minneapolis is the town of Le Seur where my friend Lisa and her husband Marty reside. They set Jack and I up with a dandy yard concert. Beforehand people played croquet and bocci ball and drank mint juleps. Tiki torches lit the stage and Jack played a beautiful set before handing it off to me. If y'all haven't heard of Jack Norton before, search him on the internet. He's a phenomenally gifted and well-studied troubadour for his twenty-four years. He's a throwback to the minstrels of yesteryear and a helluva songwriter, too. Most exquisite, though, is his voice and guitar work. He and I plan to tour in October.
I played on the radio in Mankato, MN earlier in the day which I forgot to mention. The next venue was in Winona again at the Green Lantern coffee house with folk legend Larry Penn and Jack. We sang round-robin style and did two shows. Larry's 75-yrs-old and a former hobo and truckdriver. He penned the classic children's song, "I'm a Little Cookie" as well as plenty more humdingers. He's a close friend of Utah Phillips. He invited Jack and I to perform at the annual Memorial Day hobo hootenanny in Bangor, Wisconsin the next day. I don't want to go into it because it is now 2:10 am but these old hobos and tramps loved us and invited us both to play each and every year we can. I met the current king of the hobos, "Redbird Express" and former ones such as "Preacher Steve" and "Songbird". Alex was there and Shelly, too. It was a glorious moment for me as I realized that I, too, have been tramping for a fair amount of my life and could sort of consider myself one of them. All my songs about hitchhiking and being poor and travelling in general resonated keenly with this crew and they let me know it. Larry Penn called me a "rubber tramp" which is the new version of a saddle bum, I suppose: minus the bridle and plus a greasy steering wheel. After me came a roughneck who sang a karaoke version of "Proud to Be an American" which seemed odd but charming, somehow. The food they dished up was cheese-injected hot dogs and beer. Shelly and I soaked up our last hours together and she spent the night with me at Alex's mom's house in Winona.
Shelly left early to give me space to clear out of Alex's and head west to Fargo, but Alex talked me into taking my time and having lunch with he and Jack. By 12:45 or so I was on the road, after auspiciously bumping into an old Olympian buddy Samuel in a health food store. My horse could smell the green pastures of Montana and I drove fourteen hours, ignoring Fargo, to the western border of North Dakota before waking my folks up in Dunn Center and falling asleep in the guest bedroom... Maybe I'd better take a hint from myself and catch some z's now. I'll fill you in on the Spokane show tomorrow, and then I'll be caught up.
Now, gentle reader, we will pass through the wormhole and revisit my last days in the town of Indiana, Pennsylvania and afterwards... The three days there went like a blur and every night was filled with festivity. I made many friends, ate sushi, became reaquainted with my cousins, and even performed a little. One highlight was befriending a Palestinian fellow named Ahmad (pronounced Ahmed). He is a neighbor to my cousins and happened to see my impromptu show at their house. He ended up buying three shirts and a CD or two. The shirts he liked partly because of the word "Sand" buried in the name Sandman. He's been receiving racist jabs from people about being Arabic, like getting called 'sandn*gger', and finally he decided to reclaim the word. He appreciated my lyrics a lot, too. A day or two after that my 17-yr-old cousin, Karel, and I went to his restaurant which he calls "Habashi" and ate some great middle-eastern food. While there we wrote a rap about it and Karel recorded it on his computer. Ahmad loves it and apparently still plays it often in the cafe. The day I left, Ahmad and his wife gave me a 50-pc. box of baklava to take on my road trip. Ummm.
The next town I played was only three or four hours away-- Canton, Ohio, which is home to both the Football and Christian hall of fames. My wondrous friend Rhonda Baughman set up a house concert for me. I stayed there two nights and a lot happened. Rhonda is a prolific poet and novelist, and a horror movie buff. She manages a XXX video store. She has a boyfriend named Joe who manufactures credit cards for various companies. She has a writer-friend, whose pen-name is Martha, who read erotica to us and spoke of a passion for espionage. Rhonda's 85-yr-old Grandma, Mrs. Beaver, has a picture of me in her bedroom from the last time I rolled through two years ago. All in all Canton is a trip and I look forward to returning. Rhonda's mom packed me a humongous lunch of peanut butter, bread, cookies, spaghetti, popcorn, and six hardboiled eggs and these lasted me all the way to Madison, Wisconsin. Before that though I played scandalous Chitown-- home of Sammy Sosa and R. Kelly. I spoke of this a little in an earlier entry, but never got around to describing the shows.
The first Chicago show took place in a punk rock bowling alley called the Fireside Bowl. In the rush to get to the second show that night I neglected to get paid, but did make a lot of new fans and sold several cds and shirts. I can't remember the name of the second place, but I did get paid there and had fun singing more of my mellow countryesque numbers.
The drive to Madison the next morning was uneventful. The show was memorable. I finally met the legendary Ivan Okay who performed with a fake beard and called himself "Ghosty Rhodes". He's a true talent and we'd make a good touring combo if it ever happens. I stalled the show for over an hour so we could all watch the lunar eclipse outside. During the middle of my set I decided to carry out a ceremony with the remaining five hardboiled eggs that Rhonda's mom made for me. I promised someone in the crowd a free shirt and cd if they would eat all five eggs in five minutes; eclipse them so to speak. The guy who submitted asked for an assistant to feed him and I supplied the music and got the crowd chanting: "moon, moon... egg, egg..." By the fourth one he was gagging and during number five he puked all his hard-won glory into an upside down drum. I gave him his rewards anyway. After the show he and his girlfriend and her friend and my friend, Ben, went to a bar and got drunk and passed out in their living room.
The next day I leisurely drove to Prairie du Chien which is on the western border of Wisconsin. I spent at least three hours in some farming town which was having a garage sale weekend. I visited thirty or forty houses and bought dozens of cheap, vintage shirts and other items. I found a Michael Jackson belt-buckle, a tiny, antique, porcelain mermaid, a Don Quixote book, and other chotchkas. The shirts are a real treasure and I need to now silk-screen the whole batch while I have the time.
Once in Prairie du Chien I set up shop and rocked. The venue was a blues joint called the Main Entrance and was literally a stone's throw from the Mississippi River. Magic did ensue that night perhaps due to the cleansing effect of the eclipse the night before and the extremely high-rising tide of the enormous Mississippi. Two or three shows ended up getting cancelled in Iowa and Minnesota and I ended up loitering in Prairie du Chien during that time. I fell in love with a young bartender named Shelly Ann. C'est l'amour, c'est la guerre, c'est la tour, c'est la vie! Shit happens. Good shit. The rest is private for now.
Eventually I ambled to Winona, Minnesota for a coupla shows during a long afternoon outside, and inside, a bar called the Hei n' Low. Jack Norton, who set up my midwest mini-tour, also played along with Brian Ebbinger. My pal Alex Stevens has been priming this community for my arrival for years and it was a real treat to know that half of the drunken audience members were familiar with my songs. I got plenty o' requests and didn't have to work hard to have their rapt attention. The bar still owes me $50 though, but who's keeping track?
The next show was in Minneapolis at the Bryant Lake Bowl theatre. I played between Jack Norton's Wizard Oil Vaudeville and puppet show extravaganza. I sang six songs during my fifteen-minute slot and ended up selling fourteen cds after the show! This show was classy and I was proud to be part of it. Alex and I crashed at his friend's Elle and Kari's house that night. They made us fresh-squeezed, organic orange juice for breakfast and sent us south with smiles.
South of Minneapolis is the town of Le Seur where my friend Lisa and her husband Marty reside. They set Jack and I up with a dandy yard concert. Beforehand people played croquet and bocci ball and drank mint juleps. Tiki torches lit the stage and Jack played a beautiful set before handing it off to me. If y'all haven't heard of Jack Norton before, search him on the internet. He's a phenomenally gifted and well-studied troubadour for his twenty-four years. He's a throwback to the minstrels of yesteryear and a helluva songwriter, too. Most exquisite, though, is his voice and guitar work. He and I plan to tour in October.
I played on the radio in Mankato, MN earlier in the day which I forgot to mention. The next venue was in Winona again at the Green Lantern coffee house with folk legend Larry Penn and Jack. We sang round-robin style and did two shows. Larry's 75-yrs-old and a former hobo and truckdriver. He penned the classic children's song, "I'm a Little Cookie" as well as plenty more humdingers. He's a close friend of Utah Phillips. He invited Jack and I to perform at the annual Memorial Day hobo hootenanny in Bangor, Wisconsin the next day. I don't want to go into it because it is now 2:10 am but these old hobos and tramps loved us and invited us both to play each and every year we can. I met the current king of the hobos, "Redbird Express" and former ones such as "Preacher Steve" and "Songbird". Alex was there and Shelly, too. It was a glorious moment for me as I realized that I, too, have been tramping for a fair amount of my life and could sort of consider myself one of them. All my songs about hitchhiking and being poor and travelling in general resonated keenly with this crew and they let me know it. Larry Penn called me a "rubber tramp" which is the new version of a saddle bum, I suppose: minus the bridle and plus a greasy steering wheel. After me came a roughneck who sang a karaoke version of "Proud to Be an American" which seemed odd but charming, somehow. The food they dished up was cheese-injected hot dogs and beer. Shelly and I soaked up our last hours together and she spent the night with me at Alex's mom's house in Winona.
Shelly left early to give me space to clear out of Alex's and head west to Fargo, but Alex talked me into taking my time and having lunch with he and Jack. By 12:45 or so I was on the road, after auspiciously bumping into an old Olympian buddy Samuel in a health food store. My horse could smell the green pastures of Montana and I drove fourteen hours, ignoring Fargo, to the western border of North Dakota before waking my folks up in Dunn Center and falling asleep in the guest bedroom... Maybe I'd better take a hint from myself and catch some z's now. I'll fill you in on the Spokane show tomorrow, and then I'll be caught up.
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