This Saturday, March 14th I will be playing an acoustic show with Molly Jenson and special guest. I wanted to do something local and free and all-ages. The show will be at Viento Y Agua on 4007 Termino (4th & Termino) in Long Beach. It's an early show, 7:30 - 10... and remember, it's all ages so you can bring the kids or the cousins or the nephews & nieces. See... I play in Molly's band so I thought I'd play and then we could play and sing some together. Molly Jenson's album 'Maybe Tomorrow' was released nationally this week on Bully Pulpit/Nettwerk records. Pick up a fresh copy at a store near you. Visit www.mollyjenson.com for more information. Come hang for some live music and a refreshment.

Tuesday, March 10th also sees the release of the sophomore album 'Mercy' by Rocco Deluca & The Burden. Produced by Daniel Lanois, Deluca takes a decidedly artistic turn and emerges with an album that explores atmosphere and instinct. After touring with Rocco in '07, I was fortunate enough to have an opportunity to play on many tracks on the record, recorded in '08. The first single, 'Open Pages', is a stunning song. Check it out. Listen for some keyboards and you'll hear me in there. Visit www.roccodeluca.com for more information. Rocco is currently embarking on a tour to support the new album.

Welcome to the Year of the Ox (Jan 26 '09- Feb 10 '10). The Ox is the sign of prosperity through fortitude and hard work. The American equivalent would be Capricorn. Technically, I am an Aquarius but because I am on the cusp of Capricorn, I am in the gravitational field of the Ox. The 'ruling hours' are from 1am to 3am. This confirms my place in the realm of the Ox brethren. Regardless of whether you are an Ox or not, fortitude and hard work should get you somewhere. This brings us to 2009.

But let's go back for a moment. I didn't write a Christmas greeting or give a New Year's shoutout. I didn't want to solicit you to buy my album for Christmas... it's not very Christmas-y but it is excellent for drives in the car or as as an antidote to traffic related stress. The holidays were good but felt a bit compressed and I thought I'd wait until the passing of the year had come and gone to poke my head above the surface of '09 and write. 2008 was an up and down affair. Early in the year I was fortunate to work on Rocco Deluca's second album 'Mercy', scheduled for release in March of '09. After we started tracking songs, Rocco played a solo gig at Spaceland in Silverlake and struck a chord with a man who was watching intently in front of the stage. It turned out to be Daniel Lanois (producer: U2, Bob Dylan, Emmylou Harris, Willie Nelson). He came onboard to help finish the record and the result is a decidedly artistic turn for Rocco and his sound. There are some stunning songs on this record. It is not a lollipop affair that will get your radio rocks off in short order... but it is one of those albums that will creep up on you the more you listen to it and realize that some music is made without A & R reps in the room salivating and trying to live their dream vicariously. It will be interesting to see how it is received and where it takes Rocco. Keep you ears tuned in March.

I have quietly been feeding the nascent musical talent of my nephew. He's now closing in on four, and continues to amaze me with his ability to inhale music and teach himself through observation. First he started to build his own version of a drumset in the middle of his room using Lincoln Logs cans, toy buckets, a drum pad I gave him, a tambourine, a cylinder with a cooking pan on top and a plastic pedal that he imagines is his kick drum pedal. I never instructed him on how to do it or what to put where. He just does it, improves it along the way and refuses to let others set up his scene. Now when I show up at my brother's house, he steps to me and says "let's jam". He has been curious since his 2's and I've brought him on stage whenever I can and try and I encourage him and talk to him about music like he belongs. He has zeroed in on the drums and the guitar but seems particularly keen on the drums. He tells people he's in a band and that his band is called The City Lights. He knows the lyrics to 3 - 4 of my songs and hums melodies and makes cymbal crashes with his mouth. Recently, before we started jamming, he said, "When the lights go down, that's when we start" and continued, "and the lights need to go like this..." (while he crossed his drumsticks in the shape of an upside-down X... like stage spots). My brother bought him a mini drumset for Christmas and all day long when we were at my aunt's house on Christmas day, he kept saying "I wanna go home"... to get on the set, of course. He is well versed in the Schooled in Song DVD (from a charity show in '07) and through watching the dvd picked up the idea to have a drumstick in one hand and a shaker in the other. The other day, we started with our usual jam through City Lights and he was content taking his time and hitting the drums and using a shaker when he felt appropriate. He played along with me on drums and when we got to the outro... without prompting he hopped off of the drumkit and onto a toy piano that was behind him in the corner and he started to accompany me on piano (which is what happens on the recording) as I strummed through the outro... plinking small little notes along with me. Again, none of it prompted! Each time we play I seem to notice something else he has picked up on. He also began to hum the guitar melody in Umbrella while on the kit. Blows my mind that he's too young to really consciously think about what it is he is doing but just does it because he hears the elements and enjoys playing. I'm trying to get snippets of video but it's also not an "on-command" scenario. He does it when he's comfortable and when he wants. While other aspects of the year have been up and down... his ability to tap into my soul has been a constant rejuvenator for me. My brother's daughter is awfully creative as well and likes to sing on the mic and do plays. Way better than video games!

Relationships have come and gone. I am grateful for the good times, attempting to come to terms and slowly change my imperfections, and still trying to figure out how to make things work in long form. Hence... ups and downs. Thusly, this paragraph will remain short because I don't have the answers here... just moving fallibly forward.

It is now time to redouble my efforts into new music. I have a number of songs that I have been working on and some pieces of music that will ripen nicely, but finding the appropriate words to lay upon them has been a challenge. Sometimes you have to live some time out in order to find out what it is you have to say. I am now back to sleeping with my yellowpads and making daily offerings to instinct and intuition. I will proudly share them when we're ready.

I have also been playing shows with my talented friend Molly Jenson. Last year she signed a record deal with Bully Pulpit/Nettwerk records (Sarah McLachlan, The Cardigans, Martha Wainright, Dido, Josh Rouse, The Weepies...). Her record 'Maybe Tomorrow' will be re-released nationally in March. Indie darling Greg Laswell co-wrote and produced the record with her, and you can catch Molly as she steps out to promote her album in 2009. Hopefully I can continue to support and sing with her and help the songs shine on stage.

Most of all... thank you for your friendship and support. I am grateful for the friends and family I have. I'm fixing to book some shows and would love to see you come out in the flesh and have a listen. Take care and see you round the bend - Brett

SO LAST TIME WE WENT TO VEGAS... WE FLEW IN AND HOPPED IN AN AD-WRAPPED BUS TO GO TO THE GIBSON TENT OUTSIDE OF THE CES CONVENTION; A GATHERING OF TECH SAVANTS, ELECTRO GEEKS, GADGET WHORES AND FANS OF GAMING AND COMPUTER MISCHIEF, NESTLED IN TIME CONVENIENTLY NEXT TO THE PORN AND BAR-WORKER CONVENTIONS. THE BAND WAS THERE TO PROVIDE ENTERTAINMENT AND GIBSON WAS AMIABLE ENOUGH TO INVITE US TO THE LAND OF ENCHANTMENT TO PLAY MUSIC AND TIP OUR HAT TO GIBSON, WHO’S GUITARS WE USE OFTEN TO MAKE MUSIC.

EACH INITIAL DRIVE DOWN THE STRIP TOWARD YOUR DESTINATION PROVIDES A DEJA-VU MOMENT OF STARING AT THE TOURIST MASSES AS THEY STARE AT CASCADING LIGHTS AND FLASHING SIGNS AND CLASHING CASINO MONUMENTS TO COUNTRIES AND MONEY. THE WORD THAT EXEMPLIFIES LAS VEGAS TO ME IN RECENT MONTHS HAS BEEN ’MASHUP’. THIS IS PARTLY BECAUSE I HAVE BEEN LISTENING TO SOME MASHUPS I FOUND ON THE INTERNET. FOR THOSE NOT KNOWING, MASHUPS ARE WHEN A DJ TAKES PARTS FROM DIFFERENT SONGS AND MASHES THEM TOGETHER IN SOMETIMES AMAZING AND SOMETIMES TRAGIC WAYS, EITHER OF WHICH PROVIDES A NEW EXPERIENCE FOR THE UNSUSPECTING LISTENER. I COULD NOT HELP BUT GET THAT MASHUP FEELING AS WE WENT DOWN THE STRIP… AND IF YOU KNOW MASHUPS, SOME OF THEM ARE SURPRISING AND SOME OF THEM ARE AWFUL.

BUSY DIPPING INTO THE SMALL SUPPLY OF SNACKS AND WATER ON THE BUS ON OUR WAY TO THE LUXOR TO CHECK IN BEFORE SOUNDCHECK, WE WERE ASKED IF WE KNEW WHO WE WERE PLAYING WITH THAT EVENING. NO ONE OFFERED A PROPER ANSWER OR QUESS SO WE BEMUSELY DEFERRED. IT WAS SUGGESTED WE NOT MENTION THAT ’SAID’ PERSON IS OPENING FOR US BECAUSE, ACCORDING TO SOMEONE ELSE’S MISTAKEN LOGIC, IT MIGHT RIPPLE LIKE A THROWN STONE IN HIS NARCISSISTIC POND OF REFLECTION. I’M NOT GOING TO NAME THIS ACTOR MOONLIGHTING AS SINGER AS A GESTURE THAT BEHIND ALL THESE MOMENTS, MY INSTINCTS TELL ME THAT IF I WERE HANGING OUT ON A PORCH WITH THE GUY, HE WOULD PROBABLY BE QUITE NICE AND AN ENGAGEABLE MAN. SO, FOR THE PURPOSES OF THIS NARRATIVE, I WILL REFER TO HIM AS "TREVON SENICK". IT MAY BE SOME KIND OF CLUE…

THE GIBSON TENT WAS A WHITE SATELLITE POD FACING THE ENTRANCE TO THE CES CONVENTION. LOOKING AT THE BLACK AND STEEL FRAMED AD RIDDLED ENTRANCE FELT AS MUCH LIKE A LOOKING AT A VORTEX AS MUCH AS AN ENTRANCE. I’M GLAD I NEVER ENTERED THE VORTEX. THE MARQUEE ON THE GIBSON TENT READ, "ROCCO DELUCA & THE BURDEN – TREVON SENICK – PETER FRAMPTON". MOMENTS LIKE THIS SPARK THE FEELING OF READING SOMETHING YOU NEVER THOUGHT YOU’D READ IN A SENTENCE OR SEEING SOMETHING YOU NEVER ANTICIPATED TO SEE IN SEQUENCE. IT’S NICE TO FEEL A SENSE OF AMUSEMENT WITHOUT PARKS OR LINES.

DURING TREVOR SENNICK SOUNDCHECK, I NOTICED THE PREPONDERANCE OF SMALL DIGITAL CAMERAS STRAFING THE STAGE... IT’S A CONSUMER ELECTRONICS CONVENTION FOR CHRISSAKES… AND THAT COMBINED WITH THE GRATUITOUS AMOUNT OF FLAT SCREEN TV’S PERCHED ON THE WALLS COLOR SPLASHED WITH LOGOS MADE ME WONDER IF I WAS IN ANY SLIGHT ELECTROMAGNETIC DANGER. THE SOUND THAT CAME FROM THE STAGE WAS THE TREVON SENICK EQUIVALENT OF THE CORAL REEFER BAND GONE PICKUP TRUCK ON FRIENDLY SEDATIVES. NOT TOO HOT, NOT TOO COLD. THEY TESTED THE LYRIC MONITORS IN CASE OF A FORGETFUL FRONTMAN SCARE, AND THERE WERE LOTS OF G CHORDS TO GO AROUND. THE STANDING ROOM WAS RIPE WITH LAMINATE LADEN CONVENTIONEERS WHO WERE LOOKING FOR A SING-ALONG AND A STIFF DRINK.

THE BACKSTAGE LOUNGE HAD A COFFEE TABLE SHAPED LIKE A GUITAR AND I RECALL GRAVITATING TOWARD THE CARROTS AND SHRIMP. WE LOITERED UNTIL SOUNDCHECK AND THEN GOT TO PLUG IN AND BRIEFLY MAKE SOME SOUNDS AND SONGS. AS THESE THINGS GO, IT FEELS LIKE THERE IS ALWAYS A CRAPSHOOT ELEMENT SO YOU’VE GOT TO JUST GO WITH IT... BRING YOUR OWN ZEN. THERE WAS A SENSE OF ANTICIPATION IN THE AIR, BUT IT SEEMED LIKE IF YOU STOPPED AND ASKED ANYONE IN THE TENT WHAT WAS ABOUT TO HAPPEN, THEY’D SAY THEY’RE NOT SURE BUT THAT THEY JUST GOT DONE WITH THE CONVENTION DAY AND WERE TOLD THERE WERE SOME FREE DRINKS RIGHT OUTSIDE IF YOU FLASH YOUR ’I HAVE THIS’ SPECIAL BADGE. I WAS WISHING IT WERE THE NEXT NIGHT SO I COULD CHECK OUT PETER FRAMPTON USING HIS TALKBOX DOING THE 70’S MONSTER HIT.

THE THING I REMEMBER MOST ABOUT OUR SET WAS THE FEELING OF LOSING TRACK OF TIME. WHEN YOUR IN A TENT WITH LOTS OF SCREENS AND NOT SO MANY PLANTS AND IT’S PRIMARILY TECHNOLOGICALLY ORIENTED MEN THEN THE SENSE THAT SOMETHING IS BEING DISPLAYED AND HAWED ABOUT IS PERVASIVE. THE BRILLIANT THING ABOUT MUSIC IS THAT IT CAN QUICKLY AND PAINLESSLY TAKE YOU AWAY FROM THAT KIND OF FEELING AND MAKE FORTY-FIVE MINUTES FEEL LIKE SWIMMING IN THE AUDIO TROPICS. A GUY CAME UP AFTER OUR SET AND MENTIONED LED ZEPPELIN, POSITED THAT HE WAS GOING TO FOLLOW US AROUND THE STATES AND THAT IN FIVE YEARS TIME, ALL MUSIC WILL BE PAID FOR BY ADVERTISING. SUBSEQUENTLY, I HAVE BEEN THINKING WHICH COMPANIES I WOULD LIKE TO HAVE TATTOOED ON FOREARMS FOR A HUGE PILE OF CASH AND LUXORY CONDO.

THAT NIGTHT WE WENT BACK TO THE LUXOR AND PROCEEDED TO CAMP OUT AT A BLACKJACK TABLE. IT WAS A PARTICULARLY GOOD SESSION OF STAMINA CARDS - THE DEALERS WERE SLANGIN SUITS, THERE WERE FLUCTUATING STACKS OF COLORED CHIPS AND THE WAITRESS WAS DILIGENT WITH THE REFRESHMENTS. A FEW OF US WALKED WITH SOME COIN AND THE REST OF THE LOT GOT THEIR GAMBLES WORTH IN TABLE ACTION AND RISK ANTICIPATION. I AM NOT SURE WHERE THIS TALE IS HEADED AT THIS POINT BUT IF LUCK IS FLEETING THEN WE SAW IT FLASH US ON HER WAY PAST.

THE NEXT MORNING, DAVE AND I WENT TO GRAB A COFFEE IN THE SECOND FLOOR CASINO FOOD COURT. AFTER COMING DOWN THE ESCALATOR TO MEET UP AND HEAD FOR THE AIRPORT, ROCCO STROLLS OVER. TURNS OUT, STROLLED UP TO A BLACKJACK TABLE TO FEEL OUT A HAND OR TWO… GOT THREE BLACKJACKS IN A ROW, AND WALKED. REGARDLESS OF HOW LONG THE WAIT IS TO GET THIS RECORD OUT AND GET BACK ON THE ROAD, THE KID IS GRACED. AND IF HISTORY IS ANY INDICATION, NEVER UNDERESTIMATE THE KID.

ADDENDUM: WHO’S GOING TO FIGURE IT OUT?

Figuratively speaking... I suppose I am coming out of the duck-dive of the holidays and emerging out the backside of the wave that is marked by the pitch of the holiday, the barrel of new years and the whitewash of early january. I was not, however, underwater. I sang 'The Christmas Song' at a church service in an elementary school, played at a charity benefit in San Diego for mental disorder awareness with Molly Jenson, and finished off '07 with Rocco Deluca & The Burden on New Years Eve at the Orange County Museum of Art. Nice to spend the turnover with mates. I was able to spend some quality time with my family and was fortunate to receive some practical things like underwear and socks and generous gestures in the form of music software. I also played blocks and hide and seek and the coin-in-pocket favourite "heads or tails"... back to the future. My brothers each donated a milk producing goat to african families. I think I'll have to join them next year... I wasn't aware of the brother-goat plan until I was laying on the living room floor and the announcements came. On spare evenings I went to a rollerskating birthday party, a Solstice party and a few christmas parties, filmed some live music by Pat Gallagher in a garage and Thinking Aloud at Alex's, stole off to see 'No Country For Old Men' (*****), 'There Will Be Blood' (****1/2), 'Charlie Wilson's War' (***1/2), and 'AVP Requiem' (*), and watched 'Bodysong' (an image narrative of birth-growth-love-sex-violence-dreams-death scored by Jonny Greenwood) and 'Monster Road' (a documentary about Bruce Bickford, an animator who did some mindbending work for Frank Zappa in the 70's) and 'Flight of the Conchords' (for laughs) and 'Femi Kuti - live @ The Shrine' (for grooves) on dvd. Each morning I had some coffee. On the reading docket are a book of lyrics by Tom Waits, a novel by Leonard Cohen called Beautiful Losers and This Is Your Brain on Music by Daniel Levitin, a rocker-turned neuroscientist. It also became apparent and necessary to take some clothes and and old crt monitor to the Goodwill. Thought... would Keith Moon and the like have thrown flat-screens out the windows of hotels back in the day? Hmmm... Late at night I have been wandering through audio gardens and smelling sounds to harvest when it comes time to play new music for new ears.

We went into Ironworks for another 3 day band session and Rocco has been working on making sense of it all while stirring the long-brew crockpot of mojo. The piano, B3 and Lowrey are in the side tracking room so I was walled off and behind a poupon colored curtain, in the same room with everyone through headphones and some faith rather than eyeshot. Playing piano sometimes feels like dancing with someone who is dressed up... such a proper and stark instrument. My approach is rather simple so once I accept that it's not necessary for me to play like herbie hancock, thus alleviating myself from the phantom expectation I think others may have, then I can assume a diligent mind to play simply and melodically with the folks at hand. After initial pangs of nervousness as the tape rolls, we managed to crack off a number of takes of a number of songs. Two of them went relatively according to plan and a third we completely dismantled the drum part and started from scratch, swapping verse beats for chorus beats and around and back until we ended up in collective agreement about where we had arrived. Generally speaking, the method has been: rehearse, record, refine, then repeat. Initial reaction of people hearing what we're working on seems to be mutually energizing. Watching music draw people toward it like a logfire is affirming. January will most likely see another round of musical capture the flag.

Inbetween times lead to ping-pong. Rocco and Florian and Jude are quite good. I think I beat Florian one game but he and Rocco have been taking matches. Haven't been able to catch Jude in the downtime yet. Competetive disclaimer: they've both had many more hours on the table than I. I'm anticipating that by the time we're done with the record I will be reaching rough parity. Too bad you can't put a ping-pong table on a tour bus. FYI... you can raise your heartrate and generate some slight perspiration through the game of high stakes ping-pong. More of a workup than a workout. Dave is learning but is much better at bass guitar.

Whoa... The Larry King intro just came on, you know, with the blue led light-brite worldmap camera pan... and he just said "Can anyone stop the derialed diva's downward spiral?". Yikes. So I just changed the channel to something about Phillipino knife and stick fighting.

There feels to be something in the air about the possibilities of '08. This year will see a new Rocco Deluca & The Burden album and tour, possibly some overseas travel and many wildcard experiences. I hope to begin more actively shaping songs for a followup to City Lights. New places, new people and new music. The end of the year may bring the end of one of the most destructive administrations in American history and the measured return of american brothers and sisters and sons and daughters and fathers and mothers. That is theoretically exciting. The influences of music and peace and empathy stand in high contrast to the mongering of war and greed and fear. We'll keep working on the music. Thanks for your patience and support. May your '08 endeavors be righteous.

I recommend shopping on the internet. Though you may waste a few hours browsing, because that is a byproduct of web searching and surfing, at least you will be doing it at home, and without using gasoline, looking for parking, and shuffling by schools of gift-dazed consumernauts. The packages will arrive at your door with a postal knock, and you can bring them in and wrap them up. Books and dvd's are rightfully popular. I recommend using large rolls of tin foil - it's super cheap and you can buy it in huge sheets at the supermarket. You can then recognize all of yours for proper under-tree dispersment and it's shiny and reflective. Maybe put a bow or colored twine on it. There you go. A few tips.

It takes about 35 minutes for me to drive to Satellite Rehearsal studios. It's relatively near Dodger stadium, but that is not why we practice there. It's essentially over the Silverlake hill from Ironworks and the folks there are good to us. The rooms are highly functional but not particularly special. I think our current spot has bright yellow and green walls, a few Ikea corner lamps and a drum rug with a triumvirate of three guitars, necks crossed, embroidered on it. We arrive around noon and load in past the owner at the front desk by the beat up couch who is usually on guitar hero playing along to Kansas or Queen or some other rock anthem. I cannot help but think of the recent South Park episode about Guitar Hero... if you haven't seen it, then do yourself a favor and have a laugh.

We've been setting up our equipment in an amorphous circle. If the front door of the room was 6 o'clock. Rocco would be at about 5 o'clock, Tron about 3:30, Dave about 2:30, Ryan about 12 noon, me at 10 o'clock, Leo at 8 on the Mackie board. Leo has been riding his motorcycle. I am highly petro-jealous. A few songs are highly developed at this point though everything is slightly different from how it has sounded in the past. Painfully Pretty and I Trust You To Kill Me are familiar songs for those who caught the band on the road this past summer. Looks like there will be some wurlitzer and piano on the record. I am in the market for a wurlitzer to take on the road (for those with any gear connections or if you spot one and want to share the info). It is illuminating to see songs continue to take shape, change and congeal into and plant that flowers beyond your vision of the seed.

Many of the elements so far are simple but the collective sound of everyone is full and dynamic. I happen to think that many of the words in many of these songs will resonate with people of many different stripes. I spent the other night with Rocco and Florian laying down some harmonium and some organ and we looked at a string part in the chorus of a song named after a city outside of the states. The song scaffolding Rocco has brought to the band is rock solid and we have been essentially bouncing the music off eachother in a room and attempting to listen and capture our instincts within the fluid organism of the song. It may be a bit of a wait to hear what we're up to but it has given me intermittent goosebumps on a number of different occasions on a number of different days. That is where it stands. As much as I could try and put it into words, it's the melodies and sounds that will speak in ways language can't. We have a lot more work to do but things are taking shape and the heart of the record feels good.

[REFRESHER] I play keyboard/guitar with Rocco Deluca & The Burden. Simultaneously, I am Brett Bixby and have released by own album called City Lights. Life is robust. Now that we have caught up, I am in the mood to open up the summer vaults for spontaneous recollection. I've been adrift in fire-laden southern california to navigate these days on coffee and restless yet calmly deep thoughts about music and life. The feelings of normalcy as boring are wearing off a bit as nights alone are spent turning sounds and sights and words into company... the musical of 'In Rainbows' or 'In Our Nature', or the concise non-fiction words of Chuck Palahniuk's 'Stranger Than Fiction', headphones and a keyboard and a guitar and an ipod, a documentary about Hunter S. Thompson - Buy The Ticket/Take the Ride, many of latest in McFilm fare at the theaters (American Gangster and Into The Wild have redeeming film qualities), the offbeat rental a-la the violent but artistically daring and deftly over-the-top allegory 'El Topo' filmed by Alejandro Jodorowsky (a favorite of John Lennon... but not for the faint of eye or heart... very strong religious/violence/sex content)... the always incicive and laugh worthy Daily Show, Animal Planet and Survivor Man, and things that take time away from that incremental aura.

Flashes from the road in restrospect come and go like snapshots. Here are a some of many... I remember...

blowing our per-deim in Vegas after playing at the Hard Rock Casino and ditching town for Arizona with stinging pockets...

the 113 degree weather in Tuscon and playing PSP Tennis against Tron from different hotel rooms at the Valley Ho...

hanging out back of the Independent in San Fransisco with Ryan and the sound crew, having a great soundcheck, walking with the band up to a park on the top of a hill in blustery conditions attempting to spot the house that is in the opening credits of Full House, then playing a solid and fluid set in a working class room for good people...

sitting there catchless for hours on the deafiningly silent Applegate lake fishing with Dave and his father watching Dave catch a fish, throw it back only to have it float to the surface and drift from the boat as an Osprey came down from the tall trees, snatched it with open talons and flew off...

hanging out with Javier and Josh and Chad (of Sara Bareilles fame), loaded in Portland, fresh off Mary's and nightcapping with Dante's and Voodoo Donuts...

the man in a dress dancing with rainbow flags to bad blooze music at Pikes Place market in Seattle, the two-man washboard band whose dog was sleeping next to a sign that read "I love kids"...

listening to the driver taking us up to float down the Rogue River in kayaks explain how Jim Morrison was living on a ranch up in the mountains of the Pacific Northwest and bring out a binder with photos and clippings about facial similarities and stories about observing him after delivering hay...

staring off into the distance from the top of Snow King at the Tetons and from Bellayre mountain out into the catskills of New York...

thinking that Mount Rushmore made me feel both patriotic and propagandized and feeling that Bourbon Street reminded me of Tijuana...

waking up in the Black Hill country of South Dakota and watching the sunrise across the plain scattered landscape, bathed in the calm unfolding of a manless morning...

listening to Bill Withers Live in 1973 at Carnegie Hall in the back of the bus, playing pool at the Alley in Indianapolis while sisters threw down the hammer of their annoyances and eachother until they closed up early, forcing us to the huka bar with Sara B and the guest arguenauts, tasting jasmine and peppermint to the mashup sounds of eastern music and western beats...

staring out the window at rural Alabama as the Carter Sisters sang songs that sounded like they may have been made for this very ride or must have been birthed in a wood floored room somewhere in this part of the country...

sitting in the back lounge with Rocco and Charlie in a parking lot in Ft. Lauderdale, staring out a tinted window at blowing palm leaves and suburban wires under the heavy influence of Sigur Ros...

chucking inside at naive but effervescent college kids talk about going skinny dipping in the complex pool while playing Wii for the first time, almost throwing out my arm...

standing in a rainstorm in Maine that sounded like the lord dropping angel bombs of thunder...

laying in my bunk listening to 'Atlantic' by Keane as a musical mantra...

looking across the Bowery Ballroom in New York up at the stained-glass window above the balcony bar wondering about synchronicity through musical faith...

the homeless man who lives in the parking lot beside Ziggy's who strolled in during our afternoon sound check, danced and spun around and clapped and walked off into the blazing humidity of the carolina afternoon...

talking about the tragic but self-flagellated demise of Rick James with the cab driver in Charlotte while listening to stunning soul music...

the kid in rainboots on a hot afternoon who came to the service entrance with his uncle to get an autograph for his disabled mom who was in the car down the block and couldn't make the show (we were all able to go and say hello)...

filming a classicly pitchy karaoke rendition of 'Africa' on my camera by the stuntedly endearing ladies man who apparently delivers the suave melodies...

an amazing show at the Exit/In in Nashville on one of the hotter tier days of the summer

the statues of polar bears facing each other throwing snowballs in front of the outskirt project housing complex near Fork's Drum Shop...

the fishmarket in downtown Birmingham, AL with live trout and hushpuppies and the shop across the venue called Confederate Motorcycles...

walking down the crack-laden sidewalk and wandering into a decent record store in a desolate part of town to stumble upon 'Just Roll Tape' by Stephen Stills and then successfully stirring up a cup of coffee at Blimpie's in Greenville...

noticing the ubiquitous east coast uniform – flip flops, dockers or cargo pants, polo shirt or land's end button down or or fishing or travel related t-shirt, short hair and maybe a forward or backwards baseball cap...

selling out the Roxy in Atlanta, listening to the crowd sing verses like an open mic volunteer congregation...

the cat freestyle spittin for Rocco in the gravel parking lot...

floating in the salty atlantic sea in Florida while talking about French women, topless water entry and Brasilian flair...

soundcheck rehearsal sparks at Red Rabbit, The Fine Line, The Recher Theater, H.O.B. New Orleans where the sounds of emerging songs shape-shifted into more focused form...

the Colorado Sound session...

basketball at the jewish YMCA in Baltimore with a sprightly teenager and a heavy footed man called Curtis who hadn't seen a court in 8 years...

waking up at 4:30am to catch a plane from Baltimore to Los Angeles and staring out the window and thinking that I was happy to be headed home for a bit and as tired as all those clouds out the window put together...

Enough snippets from the greater american hinterland of recallville and memoryboro. Sometimes small things can be illuminating in an alterior fashion. I like this time of year, minus the onslaught of holiday marketing. The smell of the fall draws out thought and the earlier nights give musicians more time in the nocturne. I know Rocco has designs of high order. I have heard songs that could possibly make people rise or wilt or cry and I am complicit in throwing the marbles of melody across the floor to see where songs slip. Days of late have felt slow but maybe it's just the anticipation that creates the illusion of weight. Music is beginning to take shape. It is always an organized and wayward endeavor trying to bottle inspiration on tape. Rocco is driven and that means boundaries will continue to be explored, observed or broken down. Please occasionally rescue me from downtime keyboard neurotica with honest human contact. The Burden is alive and restlessly well :)

Cut to Baltimore, Maryland the day before unofficial last tour show for Pontiac at the Ram's Head Live outdoor stage. Dave found a YMCA and we flagged a cab to catch a ride to see if we could get a basketball court and sweat something out. The soundtrack on the drive was heavy christian pop and there were plenty of lyrics about salvation, grace, blessed, heaven, and giving onself over to the pop equivalent of a Jesus glazed donut. I think that radio station would drive the lord himself crazy if he listened to that rotation every day. The YMCA was in the middle of a seedier Baltimore hood and the woman behind the counter told us that the gym was rented out an that we might try the other YMCA on 33rd. I asked if it was walking distance. She told me no and that 'ya'll four would be targets round here anyway'. We went the other YMCA and because of my previous work with the YMCA in Long Beach, I managed to get us in and onto a half court for some hoops. It was Rocco, Leo, Dave and me. Rocco and Leo paired up with a high school kid and Dave and I with a man called Curtis who said it was his first time on the court in 8 years. After the first four points, everyone was feeling the burn. Once we got past the temporary sense of imminent fatigue, we played through and managed to have a few decent games. Leo made one shot but ran Dave's ass off and I had my hands full trying to keep Rocco in check. Nice to sweat and get the body renewing slightly through the joyful pain of exercise. We went out to a band dinner at Pazo, or something like that – a nicely renovated building that used to be a machine shop. I had some great steak and some Spanish cabernet and it was nice to sit together and enjoy the end of a busy row of shows and ruminate about a tour that has run its course. The next day held the last show before home.

The performance itself was fun but relatively uneventful. We were playing backline gear on a courtyard stage lined with themed restauraunts… not quite the same as the Fox Theater in Boulder, more like the last show at a proper venue. Perry Farrell was playing at Ram's Head across the yard and we saw him on the phone through the window of the front of the tour bus. I am a fan of Jane's Addiction but couldn't make the show that night after ours because I was going to attempt to get some sleep before flying from Baltimore to Los Angeles early the next morning. In retrospect, I should have stayed up and caught the Satellite Party show. Turns out that I laid in bed most of the night thinking about how tired I was going to be the next day and trying to rehearse for the Schooled in Song charity benefit show in Long Beach that night after a long day of plane rides and picking up gear waiting from the end of the road. It was a 4:30am wake up to catch a van to the airport and I am used to going to bed at 3 or 4 so I didn't exactly manage to find much rest inbetween the two schedules. I did, however, manage to rehearse in my brain… picturing the fretboard and imagining the puzzle pieces in place in leiu of actual rehearsal. Scott grabbed me from the airport and we made it back in the afternoon to rush over to CSULB and get to the venue before the 6pm start time.

Everyone was getting the stage ready for the round-robin charity show. There was a living room set up framing the back of the stage so while some artists were performing, the other participants could lounge in the back on chairs and couches and catch the short sets while the people out front could see a community of artists watching, playing with and supporting one another to raise money for a good cause. The Dibs, myself, Jay Buchanan, AJ Degrasse, The New Fidelity, Mention, SAS, Chris Paul and Sara Overall, Leldon and a host of contemporaries along with a full string section. Each act was introduced by another friend/performer and though I was dead tired, I had a great time and in retrospect was probably too tired to be nervous or overthink anything. Upstairs in the multitude of Carpenter Center dressing rooms are vanity mirrors and grand pianos and we got a chance to rehearse a little before downbeat. I was fortunate to have an amazing collection of musicians to play with me that night – Chris Karn on guitar, Stuart Richardson on piano, Jesse Nason on keyboards, Scott Devours on drums and Ian Flatt on cello. We only played 3 songs but it's astounding how something so short and fleeting can be worth the lack of sleep and long day of flying to make music with friends. Afterward, the whole of the musical lot went over to DiPiazza's where there were some drinks and impromptu sets by those who felt the need to let out some loose music for fun. The Liquor Cobras did a one-off blues ringer and The Dibs got up for a few nostalgia filled uppercuts. Quite a collection of folks, many who haven't all been in the same building on the same night since the colorful days of The Space. I then get to sleep in my own bed and wake up to some of the most consistently good weather in the land. I have arrived back and home is still here.

Here is where balloons blow upward on strings from the umbrellas atop the corner flower stand and it's 75 degrees and the palm trees sway slightly like a drunk man watching a group of girlfriends walk by. Everything is a slower pace in the West and people are much more about their own spaces, whether they're close or wide open. Un-tethered by roots of older infastructure, people look outward instead of upward at buildings. The sky is more blue than building. Many here just simply go about their ways unless they make plans. If social connection happens in the process, so be it… if not, then it's just another outing where the shore breeze is the soundtrack. In New York you're organically forced as a byproduct of density to interact with an amazingly different array of folks on a daily basis. The city is crowded, save Central Park. In the south you're unable to escape the beatdown of summer heat and the invisible fog of humidity. Every city has a 'thing'… and there are always tradeoffs to be weighed. When you combine the differing but teethed gears of these elements with urban upheaval, social anxiety, the hustle and din of survival disguised as work and play, and bursts of collective hope in musical communion, then you bear witness to some interesting moments.

O.k. Now I have grazed the present so I you know I am in Long Beach, working on music and whittling away at all that is coming. I'll be doing some shows spanning the fall both with and without the band and am looking forward to learning more by playing more. I am feeling the urge for creating new music but am trying to let all the seeds of experience I've absorbed grow on their own without my effort to trowel them out of the ground prematurely. I have been meaning to go back and shake my miner's basket in the river of tour to see what I could sift but the compulsion or mood to write is not a lightswitch. I have some new toys to play with and sugarplum dreams of the studio so I've got to begin the evolutionary art of shaping sounds. But that is underway and less explanatory than tales of towns and shows.

Back to picking of where we left off. On our way to Falls Church, VA, we made our way to the XM Satellite Radio headquarters in Washington, DC. Shortly after we arrived our XM host said we had timed it just right coming on the hottest day of the year so far. Good thing the studios themselves are impeccable and climate controlled. We loaded in our 'acoustic set' gear, harmonium and cajon in tow, and prepared for a live acoustic set flanked by interview time. It is always humbling to walk into a studio and see photos of legendary musicians and songwriters on the walls. It feels like they loom over you while they simultaneously lift you along the continuum of making music. If I recall correctly, we played Gift, Dope, Colorful, Swing Low. The staff at the station were exceedingly cool and we got a brief tour of the high tech facility. Having properly focused programs with disc jockeys with leeway and less advertising is certainly an improvement on the blunt sledgehammer of popular radio playlists. Never did get to hear the final broadcast but hopefully they left a shout out to The Gypsy Lounge, a local Orange County club where lots of us have put in many a set, in the interview in the final cut.

The State Theater is a rectangular brick building next to a small church that has been renovated from an old movie theater into a music venue with a mix of tables and chairs and a general dance floor area. Sleepy on the outside but quite spiffy on the inside. Somebody dropped some dime to build a few levels and a bar and buy some railings and hire a staff to also provide food at what is ostensibly a music joint. We loaded in and got things primed for show and again looked to find food that didn't suck. Just across the street a bit there is an excellent Thai place called Palin Thai… rated 'Best of' in the city, always a good sign when you're travelling and in search of decent cuisine. I watched Dave eat lunch there and had a cucumber salad and a Thai iced tea. I came back again with Rocco and everyone, and then had some green tea ice cream, and then ordered out some Phad Kee Mow just before the show. Three times in a day… and I enjoyed each one of them. We ended up hanging out on the bus till call and at the end of the night I felt like the conversational equivalent of a dog chasing its own tail in slow motion. Time to head to the bunk and let the conversation fade like skywriting.

I stepped out of the bus on a sidestreet by the hotel just down the street from Ziggy's. We had the afternoon off and thought that we would walk down the way and take a look at the club. It was early afternoon. We all walked down the middle of the street like some kind of gang that could kick your ass with melody. The trees made lots of sound and we strode by Pig Pickins, the 'best' place to get something to eat round there according to the guy behind the Courtyard front desk. We would later have lunch there. I figured that it was safe to order ribs at a place called Pig Pickins in North Carolina and my choice turned out to be a reasonable one. They handed out paper towels as well as napkins.

We walked up to Ziggy's and I noticed that the swinging white barnlike doors on the side of the club adjacent to the dirt parking lot did not appear to have any door handles or locks on the outside… o.k. We walked through the front patio arch and up to what looked like an entry door… once again, no locks. We pushed the doors open and walked through the creaking sound into an empty club with stacked stools, slow moving fans, and walls that were windowed with chicken-wire rather than glass. I looked over to the doors I had seen on the outside and the only thing holding them shut was a giant slat of wood across the inside. There were tarp-like coverings on the roof where corrugated metal and wood had failed through the years and the underside of the ceiling was line with photos from touring acts that had come through – maybe that was the secret ingredient holding the makeshift roof up all these years. Not a soul in the building. Thousands of dollars worth of P.A. equipment and no one around. We could immediately tell that the show would be some kind of sauna-like roadhouse rite of passage and left without encountering a single person associated with the club or show. This left us wondering as we walked back down the road. There was something about this place. We would have a Ziggy's experience to call our own.

The next day was about adopting a slower southern pace that matches the slowing southern heat and finding a zen balance between huffing roadcases and imagining the barely moving fan blades were made of icicles. The monitor closet on the side of the stage at Ziggy's is more like a toolshed guitar/stage shop that has been built like a soundman's birdnest with bits of equipment from different seasons of passing years. We basically had the joint to ourselves for soundcheck. After getting some levels squared away, we played a few while Leo turned knobs and brought us into focus. Toward the end of the check, Dave broke out the harmonium and I grabbed the twelve-string so we could check levels for Speak To Me. The acoustic guitar sounded particularly nice and everyone felt loose. Just as we were near the end of the song… an older african american man with a towel around his neck walked in through the barnish doors and stood in front of the stage, beginning to groove and hold his towel as if he was waiting for the music to pop over the course of a few minutes like stovetop popcorn. I grabbed my camera, turned it on in video mode and set it on top of my keyboard to capture him as he listened and reacted like a fish that had wandered into our stream. I started an acoutic strum jam after Speak To Me to keep things going along and everyone was moving together and letting it roll and there was a pureness to those few moments that is hard to capture and envigorating to feel. He cupped his ear toward Rocco and Dave to try and hear the fleeting notes. He grooved and clapped and occasionally spun when the music crackled just right. To see it was to witness music as a bridge between people and time, a recognition of the moment as it plays and passes with a collective spirit. When we stopped after a few minutes, he smiled and said, "I'm wit you!"… "Play it again!'… and as it dawned that the song had ended, he wiped his brow and strolled back out into the blazing sunlight. One of the most memorable moments of the entire tour in my book.

Turns out he lives in the woods by the broke-down outdoor stage in the parking lot where he has a few card tables and dresser strewn with liquor bottles set up in the trees next to the van in which he sleeps. He has lived there for two and a half years. I think his name was Clarence. He had an asymmetrical four or five inch parted fro and hung out in a chair by a wood drum where we parked the trailer. The owner of the club had previously owned the van, which had been retrofitted for wheelchair operation. Clarence put a mattress in the back and he has managed to get along there. The proprietor of Ziggy's, Jay, was in an unfortunate accident years ago and decided to take his settlement money and open up the club. He is an excellent guy with an amazing attitude and the club has become a staple for those who come through the south and are not above an old-fashioned roadhouse venue where the hot night air is the a/c. The crowd was with us during the show and my four buzzed college friends yelled things periodically to exhibit their support and help us along. The place is downright one-of-a-kind. If you get a chance to check out Ziggy's – I would highly recommend it. Just take it for what it is and enjoy a down and dirty place to catch a night of music.

(To be continued... :)

Welcome back. I've been on a blog hiatus. Had to hang out a bit more and let the time away from writing create a more extended narrative. It has been nice to step away from writing about various shards of experience and take things as they come in an spontaneous fashion without thinking about which experiences will fall from the cursor. The memorable things will still be there. No need to be neurotic about dissecting the minutia. The bigger picture always wins. People are fluid. Sometimes they are still enough you can skip a rock across their consciousness. Other times the surface just gets choppy and everyone focuses in on the balance of their own vessel. I have come to appreciate anyone with a prophetically pragmatic demeanor, uninterrupted sleep, the simple task of washing clothes, the passing of countryside out the window, regional architecture, venues with showers, building ornaments, the 'inbetween' of music, laughing at the absurdities, thai food and finding reasonable cuisine, emergen-C, red wine, iPods, good showerheads, sigur ros, and the daily regimen of new faces and next places. It will beat you down as it rubs your back.

If you have seen Children of Men then you have seen one of the most impressive single camera shots in recent film toward the end of the film. The landscapes in that film are stark and barracaded and in some ways empty. That's what Clevelend looked and felt like on a sunday afternoon. While we were eating at an Irish pub downtown amidst the oppressive lack of city vitality a woman came by dressed in McDonalds colors – red top, bright yellow thick belt and with large hoop earrings and Ronald colored shorts to match. The room we played was not the main hall room but the sound was good because you could hear everything mixed together in the soup of the smaller room and the band was close together. Often when we are on a stage that makes us set up close the vibe of that proximity becomes an asset. Occasionally on larger stages where everyone is relying more on monitor mixes things can feel separated. It's nice to hear sound from the mains to actually feels the projection to the audience. Can't say much else about Cleveland. I'm sure there are some nice places and sleepy suburbs and the Rock'n'Roll hall of Fame is newly famous but I didn't go to any of those places. I did hear that the Clash exhibit is one that is particularly worth seeing. So it goes.

From the feeling of a hollow downtown Cleveland to waking with the morning crackle of New York City passing like a reel through the bus window in the late morning sun. Instant mash-up of culture, graffiti, glass, cash, trash, rollup storefronts, stair-escapes and storm grates, revolving doors, hipster ghetto chic, schools of taxis, the rich, the poor and the aspiring classes living in expensive studio apartments. We trekked to soho to visit Café Habana. It is a Cuban breakfast/lunch spot on the corner of Prince and Elizabeth…w hich I can remember cause my mom's name is Elizabeth and I like Prince, the man and symbol. If you go there you must try the barbecued corn with butter, parmesan, lime and chili powder. If corn were a candy, this is what it would taste like. The entrees were nicely portioned and relatively cheap and my omelette was excellent. We browsed some blocks in the area and walked through a few shops before getting a refreshment at Pinkberry. I was wearing a long sleeved lime green shirt with blue pinstripes and red pants and a guy at the counter told me that I looked like I might blow something up… like Swordfish (the movie), he said. It seemed appropriate to laugh and tell him he looked like Vernon Reid, the guitar player from Living Colour. We met up with Keifer and Manu and our friends at Heineken at Bhuddakan, a swank sushi & steak restaurant uptown. The cuisine was top notch, the company diverse and gregarious, and the drinks were flowing. After dinner Dave and I met up with our friend Maggie and her friends and had a drink at a no-sign bar in uptown. They had a dj and the floor by the bar lit up in geometric squares like the Beat It video. The drinks in New York are expensive. We caught back up with the band and Keifer and closed down the patio at another bar whos name escapes me… but I do remember that they had porthole type windows and nicely lit hanging light circles on the patio just above the corner.

The following afternoon we loaded into the Bowery Ballroom and though I have heard amazing things about many a show there, I had yet to experience venue. It a nice medium sized venue – around 800 I am guessing, and it feels like it comes with a self-imposed obligation to make the most of the historic room in front of fans of music. The balcony that reaches out to the stage from the bar on the turn of the horseshoe is a great place to see from above. I caught the first few songs of Sara Bareilles's set and I could tell that the vibe of the place was open for embrace. Our good friend Rick from VH1 came out and we were able to extend some gratitude for his support of the band. 'I Trust You To Kill Me'stands out in my mind… not just because it's the culmination of the set but because when the crowd is beyond receptive it takes on another dimension. The sitar guitar I play along to the slow and heavy groove takes me close enough to understand the mantra like nature of an instrument like the real sitar, and the freedom comes in repetition and simple melody variation. After the show we went out for a bite with Keifer and friends and closed down the diner who's name escapes me. After that, Rocco, Keifer, Josh Day (Sara Bareilles drummer and a fine bloke) and I shuffled down the street to a non-descript pitch of stairs into the late night hole called 151 Bar for the last leg. Keifer and Rocco sat on opposing sides of a dim lit lamp near the stone wall and plotted to take over the world while Josh and I talked about touring, friends and 'life and how to live it' (also the name of an old REM song). It was nice to be in a place free of the scenester bustle with good people, solid music and a stool.

Anywhere you visit right after NYC feels slower and less compressed and somewhat of an energy let down. The Theater of Living Arts in Philly is now a 'Fillmore' venue. The enterprising pimps who bought the Fillmore name are now attempting to go in the House of Blues direction and buy up venues and re-name them as Fillmore venues. The original in San Fransisco retains the historical ties to Bill Graham but this new venture feels more like capitalism in the new millenium than an extension of a venue held dear by those who have witnessed moments in musical history. Philly felt a bit more shattered but with plenty of perseverance amidst the sneaker shops. Dave and I went into an antique light store that exuded the scent and shapes of a junkyard of eastern seaboard lamps and heirlooms and pieces that used to be beautiful in their proper homes. He almost bought an indian stage rug but the curmudgeon price genie wouldn't come down. It was so quiet we wondered when the last time anyone had bought a piece as we headed back over for soundcheck. Late night I walked to the hotel and back with Rocco across cobblestone streets and we walked by house after historical house with gold plaques on the corner and dates like 1832 and lampshades that had seen the days of horse and carriage. I watched Rocco's shadow on the sidewalk and took some photos – one that felt prophetic in a common way. He had his canteen from Army Surplus in Minneapolis. The strap had ripped and been knotted back together. The bus left late and our friend Doug hung out and was kind enough to shoot colorful photographs.

I got a green pair of pants that are slightly cargo-esque without the cargo pockets, kind of straight and plain but comfortable as hell. They were too long. We were in Boston and I typed tailor into google and shortly thereafter Dave and I set off to end up at a tailor somewhere huffable. He got a pair of grey skinny plaid slacks and we were in need of a seamstress. Lucky for us we came upon a place that was closer than the establishment we were heading for so we buzzed through the darkwood doors and found a duo of Russian women who looked like they coud do some serious damage with a sewing machine and a thread. The next night we were wearing freshly hemmed pants. The ones I got even have a strip of leather on the back so when it drags a little on the sidewalk or concrete it won't tear up like the back of dragging pantseams. Done son. Ran into a Megan Connelly, a singer from San Diego and she came out to check out the show. The Last Goodnight had a number of folks in the crowd singing along and showing some love. The Midway State debuted as our opener and put out a solid set.

The outside in Boston was hot. The fire station down the street looked like it had been around for centuries. The deep red on the outside was airbrushed by a black hue from the canister of spray time. We found an Indian restaurant called Kashmir and earmarked it for dinner. They had 'Best Of' plaques on the wall and framed articles. Dave and I went to play tennis in our jerseys. We were matching black with cans of fresh balls and looked so good that the first person to come across us asked Dave whether we were giving away free tennis balls. I knew it would be funny. We cabbed over to tennis courts we never actually found and the cab driver dropped us off at an MIT facility type place and split. It turned out to be the MIT men's tennis courts and I began preparing myself to be ashamed if they actually gave us a court. But at least we had black jersey chic on our side as we fronted to see if we could get a court. No dice. We asked the first college kid we ran into about finding courts and he directed us toward another part past the divinity buildings where there were a few courts by the river. After another few blocks along the Charles, we came upon some three cracked up courts between a number of campus buildings surrounded by old trees by the river. We ran around until it got too dark to see and walked across the bridge back to the latest in a string of temporary nighthomes.

The Paradise Rock Club is a good venue with a number of levels, more wide than deep and it felt like a place where a good show was about to happen. Keifer was coming in again and it's always interesting to see how people bounce themselves off of him. It often tells much more about them than him. He's regulary gracious about it but is also discerning enough to know when to politely decline. It is impressive given the incessant nature of people who want to brush themselves across his celebrity. He'll also talk and listen to you if you're intentions are pure and the moment is organic. He spent a good bit of time talking to a man in a wheelchair in front of our bus on the sidewalk. The show was Charlie was in Boston. It's always fun to hang out with Charlie. He is quite an observational mind and if you're around to catch the nuances he shaves out of the afternoon and night then you might catch a glimpse of how a nimble mind catches tracers of true nature. The bunny knows. If you look just right you can see yourself within it.

The following a.m. I woke to what felt like the bus driving on a dirt road guttered by downhill water toughs. We were driving up the bottom of a pitched ski run and master driver Mike Jones was not even phased by the non-paved hillside challenge. Just outside the door was an amazing view of the Catskills. Rolling hills infrequently spotted by small developed pieces of green property.The temperature was Long Beach-esque and proved to be one of the few evenings we would dawn a jacket. We had arrived for a spot date, joining the Hotel Café Tour featuring Rachael Yamagata, Cary Brothers, Rocco Deluca & The Burden, Ingrid Michaelson, Kate Havnevik, Tracy Bonham, Stars of Track and Field, Greg Laswell, Priscilla Ahn, Tom McCrae, Jim Bianco, Meiko, Jay Nash and Buddy. It was nice to catch up with Greg and Jim and I got to talk to Tom McCrae about our mutual friend and generally stellar human being Chris Karn. The event took place underneath a giant white tent at the bottom of the ski lift in front of the Bellayre mountain lodge. The tent was filled with plastic white folding chairs and the stage sported a Hotel Café backdrop. Our laminate passes got us free rides up the face chair and we walked around, snapped some photos and strolled down a dirt access road over to a mountaintop old school lunch chalet and had a soda machine drink while reminiscing about tour absurdities and inside jokes. The view from the chairlift ride was peaceful and it was nice to look out on unspoiled rolling mountains. There was a hospitality tent behind the stage and in anticipation of the Hotel crowd, there were snacks and a healthy selection of various libations. It was an amazing display of singer-songwriter talent though the flipside of that strength is a slightly redundant theme of contemplative singer-songwriters. I've got to hand it to Marko and his crew, the Hotel Café in L.A. and the Hotel Café tours continue to be a touchstone for others to tap into some of the best songwriters in and around Los Angeles. I particularly enjoyed 'What A Day' during Greg Laswell's set. The sun was illuminating the roof of the white tent and it struck me to see people reclined on the ski hill grass leaning back listening to him sing 'bring on the evening, I cry'. And it made sense in relation to the constancy and change involved in playing 46 dates in 2 months. At the end of the show all the singers came up onstage for a rousing rendition of Prince's 'Kiss' let by the charismatic swagger of none other than Jim Bianco. If this tour were larger and the audience of potential listeners more well informed then it would be a truly formidable group of roving writers.

The highlight of the next day was dropping off laundry at the Wash'n'Fold. I was happy to know I could go a few more weeks with some clean drawers. Went down to the port area to catch a fish sandwich on the water , walked over to browse the theater choices and waited outside under the awning listening to the thunder crack open the atlantic sky while the rain came down in sheet. Christian Bale is good but Rescue Dawn doesn't quite measure up to The Thin Red Line or Full Metal Jacket or Apocalypse Now. Downtown Portland, Maine is a pretty place. If you want somewhere progressive but mellow where the pace is easy, the weather is wet and the seafood fresh, then this may be a place to visit if you're up that far in the east. The Station is a downstairs poolhouse in a strip mall outside of downtoan masquerading as a reputable club. I think they're more into the eastern pool tournament circuit and bud light than becoming a grownup music club. The small stage had a straight banister like wall in front of it and we joked about putting some chicken-wire up to the ceiling. Charlie was still along from New York and he thrives on having the up-in-the-air have to attempt to come to terms with the meaning of a giant pink bunny that shows up with the band. This show was, unfortunately, the last show with Sara Bareilles and Javier Dunn and Josh Day (who comprise the trio known as Sara Bareilles). I am continually impressed with the sound and range and character of her voice, the band's natural demeanor on and off-stage and I believe they are headed for great things and the ever so elusive thing called a career in music. After the show we parked the bus behind the Doubletree across the freeway and proceeded to celebrate our friendship into the wee hours of the night. We listened to music, talked about life and enjoyed a few hours of company before parting ways. They are also based in and around L.A. these days so we resolved to meet up again in the southland when we're both off tour and around home. Chad got particularly bent and when he gets to that point, he closes inward like a flower in a rainforest of booze. Good man, that man. Sara & Josh & Javier – we miss your genuine rhetoric and off-stage foolishness.

Towson, Maryland was sweaty balls hot… excuse the vulgarity but when there is no respite the heat wears on you like bad television. Dave and I walked to the mall to get some coffee. I am becoming convinced that the malls are a capitalist oasis because they crank the a/c, offer food and potted plants and climate-wise are much closer to tolerable. It's an evil trick that nonetheless provides temporary relief and food from time to time. Humidity sucks. The venue had a pooltable near the dressing rooms, the highlight of the club. We were able to get some game on and I was able to redress my previous losses by beating Rocco a few games and a row. After soundcheck and bus things, we tried to pick up the pool again and the 8 ball had gone missing. The lot of us scoured the room and still couldn't find it. Consensus was fierce that it is completely lame to steal the eightball from the rack. Although it didn't deter us from playing nineball with the 10 as the 8, as fans of collective downtime playing pool and listening to music, no one fessed up to the disappearance and we were violated.

The South cedes nothing to those unprepared for the cloth of summer. We all pointed our brains toward the long term and acquiesced to the inevitability of thick air and afternoons of quiet perspiration. Even in Maryland and Virginia the cicadas sing to the heat. August was upon us.