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When I was a child I begged my parents to send me to boarding school, allow me to be an exchange student, or go let me live for a few months at a time with different relatives around the country. They never did any of those things. Extra hands on a farm are worth more then the wishes of a child. I had wanderlust and felt that the way to truly experience life was to be nomadic. In the middle of rural North Dakota, I felt homesick for places I had never been.

I still feel this way, I love to travel, meet new people, see new things, and be new places. But what I didn’t realize then and what I am coming to realize, as I grow slightly more mature, is that even the lust to experience things was wrapped in the warm knowledge that I would always have a Home to go back to; somewhere safe from the wolf. The Home where I the stuff that didn’t fit on my back would live and be cared for while I was gone. The Home where my family and my animals would do as they had always done, missing me of course, but soldiering on in the knowledge that I would come back.

When I left Home for college, I still felt secure that the place that always was, would be. Even when my animals died and my parents moved, the farm that was Home remained a large part of the security of place that I had always felt. The farm Home remained in the family even if there was no one there to welcome me back.

Now, however, I have had several homes of my own. None of them have yet been Home, but one almost was. I drove past that one today, longing for parts of it that I can never experience again. Things like picking wild strawberries on the hill outside or waking swaddled in my crisp white sheets (sheets I burned in the yard before I moved – a story for another time to be sure) to the sun sending rainbows across the vaulted ceiling of my bedroom while and the morning doves cooed in the branches of the pine tree outside, or hiking to the lake and watching deer drink from the cold still water.

Moving from that almost home was epic and unsettling and I’m feeling more and more that I need to find a home Home of my own. One where I can count on the fact that the little tea pot I bought in Amsterdam will have a place on that shelf for as long as I wish. One where I can cut a door into the side of the house to have a view of the back yard. One where Home means more then a place to live but means more a place to be alive? I am not naive enough to not realize that life changes constantly and even if you think someplace is Home (as I was beginning to before my last move) that place is simply a place and Home is what you carry with you. Regardless I am still looking for that feeling of home. Will this next place, Collina Casa, be filled with light? Will this next place make happy memories grounded to the earth with the force of its presence? Will Collina Casa be Home?

Block Island - June 10, 2009

“If I am an island I hope I smell like roses like this one does” – Edrie (as the ferry docked)


So many strange and wonderful things happen to us that I often feel like I am in a foggy dream state where one scene is more fantastic than the next. This past Wednesday we journeyed as a trio (clarinet wielding Kevin Corzet makes 3) to Block Island RI to play the 9th Annual Block Island Music Festival. I have never been to Block Island, nor have I even heard of their festival so when we were asked to play and it was on a Wednesday night (and at the time I had wanted Friday or Saturday but that just wasn’t an option) I was dubious.

Dubious is a fantastic word, in such few letters is says more about the person who is feeling that way then the situation and it has all sorts of connotations – check the thesaurus on this word. Humans have a tendency towards dubiousness, especially if the situation seems slightly out of scope for them. But this is what I learned. Attempt to be open and let the universe give you what it will. Good or bad, if you are open, likely you will receive wisdom.

I swallowed my doubts and we went and Block Island opened me like a shy flower (peonies are in season right now, think me with lots of petals, rather shy to open, but when I do, blousy and dripping with scent).

Marc, the director of the music fest was hands down the nicest promoter we have ever worked with. He bent over backwards to make sure the musicians were well cared for and had all of their needs met while still enforcing very tight timing and order. He was a dynamo and one of the most huggable men ever. Out accommodations were lovely, our set time was perfect, the island was beauty beyond measure (and smelled like roses everywhere – several people mentioned this). We met a ton of people new to us and even saw a few old friends.

The Resurrectionists had lunch with us and we watched their set later in the night. Fine men of Americana (http://www.myspace.com/resurrectionists ) There were so many others who were fantastic to meet and wonderful musicians. Our set was fun set to a backdrop of the ocean and a foredrop of wonderful island people. I group of ladies pulled me aside before our set and explained to me that they had planned their week around our set. I could not have been more touched. One of them even baked us cupcakes. I gave them a shout out during our set and they went crazy. A lovely moment.

Later in the night were we adopted by a lovely local named Sam. A more interesting fellow I have never met, especially one who can grow such interesting facial hair. He was kind enough to pity our poor empty stomachs (not much food to be had on an island nearing 11pm) and stuffed us all in his car to momentarily leave the festival behind and fill ourselves with local faire. He told us of island customs and showed us pictures of his fiancé. Magical this man. I was also asked, quite directly and candidly to give a man oral pleasure. The merch table is a fine place for this sort of proposition to take place. After a confused moment of me wondering if indeed he had actually just said what I thought I had heard (after all the music was loud, benefit of the doubt perhaps…) I declined saying I would much rather just have a drink. Which the man promptly provided. It was all rather civil actually. Block Island is no nonsense when it comes to coupling. I was propositioned no less then 8 times (I kept count) in the span of just a few hours. All different - men and ladies alike. It was mind blowing and heart warming at the same time.

And then there were other interactions, really too numerous to mention, but both Walter and I exclaimed “we must remember this!” several times over the evening. As Walter sometimes does from stage, he let people know that gay people have as much right to marriage as any of the rest of us. Later in the evening, a tough looking gentleman came up to us and explained he was in the military and that he had served in Iraq and Somalia for several tours “fucking kids dying and women getting raped, that’s what I saw”. He wanted to tell us our music inspired him and that the freedom we had on stage was something he wanted to keep in his heart but his best line was right after he said that he was glad Obama was in office because we “needed a change from the shit throwing monkey administration that he had voted for”. He looked at Walter and said “Well you know, I think faggots should get married, what the hell.” and shook our hands and thanked us again and walked off with bud light in hand. Yes sir, I think we changed a mind that night even if we didn’t change the language.

We will go back to Block Island, certainly but here is where the universe really intervened. I had REALLY wanted to play on Friday night and make an entire weekend out of this not coming back until Sunday. I am run down, I need some time to just me. In fact – I was thinking only of me and my needs and how I could be by myself as much as possible during that weekend. But the music festival schedule was too hard to change. Not that Marc would not have changed it, because he said he would do what we needed to get us to play, but when I thought about the interruption of all of those people I decided I could stick it out, but I was feeling sorry for myself none the less. And then… we got handed the opportunity of a lifetime, but it required us to be back in Boston this Sunday night. Had my plans with the festival come to fruition, we would not have been open for this gig. In fact I found out about this gig while on the island! I had just done a 2 hour marathon phone session with all sorts of peeps getting all sorts of things done and I was complaining (to myself in my head since the boys were napping) that I never got to nap because there was always something to do and blah blah blah and feeling stressed and anxious about the show etc. etc. and boring etc. and then… from the balcony of the wonderful place we were staying I looked, really looked, out. Below me was a wide stretch of pink roses tumbling against each other all in full bloom. I inhaled their scent and followed their line to the beach, which glistened brilliantly in the scattered rays of sun, which poked through the clouds. The beach led me to the ocean, a bright and fundamental blue with the whitest whites topping the crests of the gently crashing waves. Stop it Edrie – you are here – breath it all in, enjoy. Work is work and it gets done, enjoy this. So I did. For several long moments I contemplated how truly wonderful my life was and how, if I were open and relaxed, all that work would get done. Things would be pleasant and I would have moments like this that fed light and warmth directly to my soul.

My phone rang at that moment; we got this huge gig Sunday. A complete secret but could we do it… Yes, universe. Without hesitation. And thank you

(I’ll blog about the Sunday gig once it’s done but I need to mention here that my heart is 100% full because our band and bunnies are such awesome folks!!! I am going to hug each and every person there, it is a pledge!)

I hit the ground crawling at 11am. Finally I’ve achieved musician time, except the other musicians were still asleep. My friend Naz had to check out in minutes and needed to begin her long drive so we loaded her car and then drove to this magnificent Cuban restaurant on 6th street. The heat was already like an oppressive wall but we step inside and the dim and cool interior felt heavenly. We choose to sit out on their balcony, which is in the back of the restaurant overlooking the garden, river and courtyard. Huge fans circulate cool air, water trickled by in the canal, and the quiet Sunday morning allowed birds to serenade us. It was a real perfect spot in which to renew a friendship that has seen some fifteen years under its belt.

The lunch was spectacular and also spectacularly simple. I had a pressed pork sandwich with hand cut fries and simply THE BEST MOJITO ever. We finished up and explored a little of 6th street on foot. It was early afternoon and not many people were out. I am not sure what I expected of the famous 6th street, but I am quite sure I didn’t expect it to be quite so seedy. I found it mostly shut up, touristy and a bit rough around the edges. Later in the day, people would experience an even seedier version, but in the early Sunday afternoon, it was merely a somewhat depressing little street.

Naz and I motored back to the hotel. I can’t imagine that people can go without a car in Austin and actually get around. The city does not have sidewalks outside of the little downtown and the area we were staying was like a big outdoor mall without any way to get from one store to another without a vehicle. Everyone else had taken off for their own lunch. I loved that one group went to a vegan restaurant and the other group went to a traditional Texas BBQ place. Austin really is that bi-polar, you can feel it in the air.

Naz and I chatted while I packed up costume and gear and then she, sadly, departed. She’s been away from Boston for five years and I miss her very much, I felt glad she could drive all the way to Austin from her part of Texas to come see a show, but sad too that the time was so short.

The usual suspects were rounded up and we hit the road for the short drive to the club. Emo’s is quite a well-known place. Many of the bands I admire have played there. Likely the most notable for me was a little solo artist named Johnny Cash. I snapped copious amounts of pictures. I felt somewhat like a tourist in my own life. The show was super early but an early show means an early night. Jaggery started the night off and again I was in complete and utter awe of them, Mali’s voice portrays emotion so strongly. The day had felt surreal all along and I myself felt a bit off. Mali grounded me for the songs she played and I felt one with the music. We went on next, the sound was spectacular and playing with Mali’s band mates Toni and Daniel has allowed me to grow a great deal in a short time. I felt a synergy with them that moved the music in new directions. The keyboard, however, wasn’t feeling that synergy. It decided to somehow un-tune itself.

We started our song No Room and I could tell something was off, but I thought it was me. I was in the back of the house attempting to play along and interact with the crowd but my accordion sounded as if someone had stepped on it. I realized around 1/2 way through the song that it actually wasn’t me, it was the keyboard. Walter adjusted as well as he could and we finished the song, but it was quite strange. That song somewhat sealed the day for me. I had been feeling strange, moody, tour tired for the entire day. Like all of us were a little bit into our own worlds and swirling around each other without totally interacting. We totally dropped the piano from the rest of our set and played only guitar songs. The super unfortunate thing was that Mali was to come back and play a few songs after us and then we were coming back on. There was no way to rectify the piano situation. Everyone tried their hand and it refused to cooperate. Walter and I hit the stage again, we only played a few more songs and decided to end the night with Sea Song rather then the big blow out number we had been doing. The mood just wasn’t right for that kind of interaction.

The heat was lifting a bit and the night was darkening so I sat at the picnic tables in the courtyard. They played an hour of the move inside and I sat outside letting my body feel the movement of the earth. People hopped in and out of the periphery while I concentrated on feeling the ear through the souls of my feet.

Austin portends to be progressive, and I think, it its own way it is, but it is also a Texan town through and through. We spoke of this later in the night when a small group of us made our way back to the hotel and gathered on the balcony outside our room. Sunday night brought far fewer hookers and miscreants out and allowed us to talk without the interruption of payments through car windows and the constant movement of gentlemen in and out of the rooms of spectacularly dressed ladies.

We had all felt the somewhat strange bi-polar nature of Austin and all of us, at one point or another felt the day had been surreal. But, I think, we all agreed that the adventure had been a learning experience and for me, allowing me to grow as a member of my own band and as a member of a community of artists. I am very thankful to have been able to spend time with the people on this trip and rejoice in the fact that I have new people in my life that fuel the creative charge.

Thank you Texas, for reminding me that life is about individual sacred moments, person-to-person, soul-to-soul.

Faith may have lead me to the after party in the gazebo, but too much wine led me to slumber until after ten when checkout was at eleven. I had left a few clothes in the dryer the night before and when I walked into the kitchen of the Inn, a tiny wizened man, 80 if he was a day, was standing over the table, which was covered with debris of all sorts. In his right hand was a lone shoe and in his left a brick. He looked at me mutely with a searching questioning expression. I simply shrugged and laughed, told him I would clean off the table in a minute, right after I got my laundry out of the dryer. I could guess at the owner of the shoe, but the brick was a mystery.

Although checkout was at 11, it was noon before we all got going. Getting thirteen people ready to go is no small feat, especially when there is lunch to be had. My friend Naz was meeting us in Austin and I was forced to text her several times to give her updates on our eta. Once all of the humans and equipment was sardined into cars, we were off. Exhausted, I napped off an on with my head against a precariously positioned Fender twin amplifier as we rolled through vitally green fields past grazing cows and through a Watermelon Festival, Thump-a-Thon.

After the luxury of the Inn in Victoria, the hotel in Austin was quite a contrast. It is much more like what a touring band would normally stay in, including the choice clientele and vaguely creepy carpet. Naz was there, having only herself to get around, she easily beat us in spite of the fact she was coming from farther away. Because it had taken us so long to get going, we had very little time, once we unloaded our human cargo, to re-pack up and head back over to the venue. We didn’t have far to go so we drove over and did some unloading and minimal setup before we all headed over to dinner.

Mother’s Café is a vegetarian restaurant in south Austin. It’s rather an oasis and the food is quite lovely. I finally got to chat with Naz a little over a gigantic plate of Enchiladas Verde, of which I managed to chow the whole thing. Back at the club we took in the spectacle that is the Carousel Lounge. This place is nearly indescribable, but here is a little bit of a quite from Frommers, the popular guide book:

In spite of (or maybe because of) its out-of-the-way location and bizarre circus theme -- complete with elephant and lion-tamer murals and an actual carousel behind the bar -- the Carousel Lounge is a highly popular local watering hole. You never know what will turn up onstage -- this place has hosted everything from tempting musical acts to belly dancers.

-Frommers

Austin's Carousel Lounge is in itself a timeless, arcane environment, which in filmmaker David Lynch's better days was commonly referred to as "Twin Peaks-ish." Dimly lit, with circus-themed decor that includes a giant pink elephant on the stage...

-Ken Leick

Quite honestly, the lounge was the perfect place to put on a spectacle. It was quite dimly light inside, but the murals throughout the building and papier-mâché pink elephant, which graced the stage, gave an atmosphere like anything could happen. An improvised screen allowed the filmmakers to show a few clips of the movie and an energetic punk band opened the night. It was totally surreal to hole up in the dimly lit bathroom to change while hard driving punk music filled every available space.

Jaggery was amazing as always. The way that band plays together, so emotional and tightly wound, is inspiring. Daniel is the most emotional drummer I have ever watched perform, he plays off Mali’s vocals and mood always driving the songs forward, but never in a way that is over powering. Tony keeps everything steady with a smooth and moving bass line, but improvises in surprising ways. And Mali gives me goose bumps at each and every performance. Sometimes when I hear her sing I forget to breath because her voice fills my own lungs.

Things ran a bit late due to technical difficulties with the projection, but the bar tender threw caution and regulation to the wind announcing he would remain open until we were good and done. Walter and I shortened our set a bit, cutting one song and doing minimal crowd poking. The sound wasn’t all that great (and of course what we had to compare it to was the past few days in a huge, beautiful theatre with a sound staff and immaculate equipment – how quickly and easily one gets spoiled) but Walter powered through each song, making, as he always does, executive decisions about what songs to play and how to play them as his mood strikes.

We were going to remove the piano songs from the set because the piano was so low that it was lower then Walter’s knees, but he didn’t care that much and we did No Room first. Daniel and Toni hadn’t played on No Room before. When we had them play the last show, we did No Room sans drum and bass. I usually start off that song far away from stage, either physically outside or as far back in the crowd as I can get. It serves to let people know there is someone on stage to pay attention to and it melts the stage – audience barrier that so often separates performers from the crowd. When I finally made it up to the stage the spectacle was amazing. Walter was playing hunched over this short piano, Daniel was following Walter’s stance and was hunched over his set so that he was barely visible and Toni had the bass laying on the floor sideways and was kneeling beside it as if it were a wounded soldier that he was attempting to revive. I walked around the stage, song still playing, accordion still moaning, in awe of the scene, knowing that no matter the sound issues, people were getting a balls out show.

My favorite song of the night was Walter’s cover of the Johnny Cash song Sam Hall. I attempt to play both the Melodica (one handed – yikes!) and the tambourine. Staying as in time as possible. I am quite confident that I gave myself a bruise slapping the tambourine against my thigh, as Walter’s version of that song is fast, loud and fun. Each stanza of the song sped up just a little bit. I wasn’t even sure how Daniel was following Walter on this, but he did and it was beautiful. By the last song the crowd was ready to interact. I had them all come to the front and stand and face each other West Side Story style and scream at each other from across the dance floor. It was awesome how people just get up and do. There were so many sweaty hugs afterwards, I lost count.

We packed up as fast as we could since the bar keep had been kind enough to allow us to run well over time (he was screaming with the crowd from the back of the bar during the last song and took me aside after giving me a hug telling me that he wished that kind of show was played there more often). Some of the party faded when we got back to the hotel and some of us stayed awake, talking and sipping wine. Walter and I sacrificed our room for the get-together, but for the most part, people sat immediately outside the room on the steps talking and smoking. I managed to stay awake until 5 before my eyelids simply would not remain open.

I drifted off to sleep, the faint tinkling of laughter from outside following me into a dream where the Texas landscape became a huge carnival and gaily-painted carousel horses dotted the countryside.

I was surprised by the heat. Not sure why, since it’s been hot everyday here, but I think perhaps, I had hope that the heat was a short-lived spell rather then the deep and abiding presence. Mundane washing of clothes was in order, which I did while sipping the tea and eating the croissant catered for us. I sat in the kitchen and replied to interview requests for Austin and attempted to drum up further interest with some emails.

Late morning we all made our way down to the theatre for the final dress rehearsal. It would be the first time the musicians actually interacted with the entire show. The rest of the time the actors and musicians had run queues separately. Things ran nearly an hour behind schedule but we all got a slow and faltering rehearsal in. It was 5 before we were finished and house doors were at 6. Makeup was a well-ordered affair with two very talented women doing wondrous things with the cast. I did my own makeup, not because they weren’t perfectly capable, but mostly to calm my own nerves.

The stage manager was a hilariously funny lady who was so calm and cool yet so firm with people, just the temperament you want as a stage manger, especially for a host of disparate people like all of us. She wrangled everyone into their spots and before I could take a breath, the curtain was up.

The show was a wonder. A feat I am quite sure, I would not have had the balls to attempt on as much faith as Eli, Anthony and Steve had. It had so many moving parts, none of which had actually moved all together until that moment, and with the raise of the curtain – the motion was set. The train moved forward regardless of if we were ready.

But we were, and somehow it all worked. There were moments where images moved across the screen and actors were in front of us doing a scene and either Walter or Mali was singing where I was completely transported. I, who was a part of this spectacle, was also taken in by it. Jaggery has a song called Cave Dwellers, which Mali performed on grand piano (a true, HUGE grand piano). I was quite prominent as far as where the musicians were on stage and the song, being spare and focused on vocals, had nothing for me to add, so I blew a few bubbles at intervals in the song. The bubbles floated like thick fog across the stage, catching the light and reflecting the faces of the crowd. At one point in the song I blew a large number of bubbles and they hung in mid-air catching the light and riding on the swirls of the fog from the fog machine. Mali hit a particularly high note and the bubbles all burst in unison as if we had somehow rigged it to be so. I heard a woman in the audience gasp, I myself got goose bumps. It is an impossibility, and yet, it happened.

Impossibility is, perhaps the theme for this production. People who had never met, writing a movie together, then meeting for the first time during filming, then adding to that movie music from various artists who, on faith, allowed their music to be used by a first time screen writer and first time directors without going through an approval process for the scenes or even the subject matter. Then, impossibly, we all came together in a tiny town in Texas with a great theatre, to perform an interactive version with scenes from this movie, live music, live acting, and art show in the front of house, Now my theme seems moot; it’s not an impossibility. If you believe you can do it, if you try – then it happens. The theme is faith. Faith in people, faith in place,

Faith led us all to the after-after party in the gazebo at the back of the Inn. It led a man to read from some writing he had done six years earlier. Free writing in response to a traumatic event in his life. The back yard fell silent, drunken chatter abated, while this man poured his soul out to us in silver cups asking us to drink his words like water. The film moved him. He had been in houses like that, he had heard those songs in his head and he had been terrified that he would be forever trapped in that world. But he made it out, on faith and on faith he told us this journey. Even the frogs were silent as he read and when he was done, we all raised our glasses, to him in his courage, to us in our faith and we drank deeply of the wonder that sometimes life is.

The storms were over, at least for today. People are slower to rise, tech rehearsal promises to answer some questions and bring the interactive part of the show together. Our call was to be at 11 but as it neared 1 and the actors were still blocking out their spots and the projectionist still fiddling with the angle and ratios…

Walter and I napped as much as possible while waited for the text message that would bring us to the theatre to run our parts intermingled with the whole, The cool dark of the room a comfort from the vapid humidity and strong Texas sun.

Around 2 we rose, me for the 3rd time and Walter for the first. I am sure Walter could have slept more – his hours are far different from mine. But I was restless and board and in need of food. We wondered down to the theatre. They were clearly still not ready for us. We walked Main street bemoaning the heat (or at least I was, Walter is rather stoic in that regard)

Main Street, Victoria Texas at 2:30pm on a hot day is completely deserted. Vehicles line both sides of the over-bright street, but no human stirs on the sidewalks except Miguel the homeless man who sits in the shade on a bench near the children’s museum. Walter and I walk to Rosebud Diner – the place where we would do a little, free community show before the big theatre show. The show was set up to allow those who could not afford to come to the theatre a chance to hear some of the music played live. Secretly, it was also set up to allow us musicians to play together in a live setting to allow us to feel each other out and to shake out some of the material.

The diner is adorable and the woman who runs it just the kind of straightforward, somewhat rough lady one would expect to find at a local diner. Our lunch was fantastic and during we got a text that there would be no tech call for the musicians and that we should just go ahead and set up our equipment at the diner. That done I went to read while the others adventured in the city of Victoria, exploring the outer limits of the town and finding all sorts of interesting phenomenon like a gorilla selling vacuum cleaners.

The show that happened at Rosebuds later was one of those rare moments where while you are in the act of doing something you are also somewhat looking at it from the outside. There were, perhaps, two-dozen people there total, but the energy was fantastic and everyone was super excited. Mali had the idea to split the set 5 and 5 so that Jaggery played 5 songs and then we played five songs, twice over – to give us some amount of back and forth. Of course Toni and Daniel played the entire set both with us and Mali. I had a moment on stage where we were doing “Somewhere Out There” and this three year-old toe headed boy was dancing with his equally blond older sister. A slow mock two-step round and round in front of the table their parents were eating at. It was a sweet moment. It could have been any time in history just then, people enjoying food and music and each other in the rapidly darkening evening, candlelight illuminating their smiles.

After our show many of the people who were there made it a point to thank us for coming to town and providing this kind entertainment. Live music options are few and far between and Austin is a two-hour drive that most don’t make regularly.

Most of the crew migrated to the gazebo behind the B&B, though the dedicated directors migrated to the editing booth to render a few fixed bits of footage while we opened wine, beer, champagne and toasted our good fortune to the heart warming strains of the toads and the frogs who were our live entertainment well into the wee hours of the morning.

Thunder and lightening like I hadn’t seen since I was a kid, crackled the sky, an early Texas morning greeted us with torrential rain and thunder that moved through you like an explosion. Energy sizzled around me as I sat in the middle of the garden protected in the metal gazebo, which was covered by a thick coat of vines. Right, a metal gazebo, you’re damn right I got out of there! I retreated to the front porch where deep cover and rocking chair forded me an excellent view of the advancing storm, and mostly protected me from the torrential rain.

We had a 10am call at the theatre and I finished up my writing and book and headed over, many of the caste and crew already there setting up. The theatre is gorgeous. Unexpectedly so in such an out-of-the way small(ish) town. An art-deco wheat and sheaf motif covered the squat outside and inside a richly decorated burgundy and green leads you into a beautiful front of house where the sheaves of wheat serve to hold the intricate sconces. Back of house is a wonder as well. Everything, plus more that would could ever need; HUGE practice space, many dressing rooms. Something the size of the nutcracker with its one hundred dancing mice and swans, could easily fit back here

I let the morning soak through me, a bit of chaos setting up, as there always is. Well into the afternoon we practiced in the practice room. Since we are all on stage during the interactive spectacle we are also playing each other’s songs. Jaggery songs are beautiful, intricate, spatial. Walter fell easily into them able to follow Mali through her vistas. I mostly listened, getting a feel for the progressions. Listening to learn to play them and listening for enjoyment are quite different – luckily, my parts, if any, on their songs would be fill, percussive and not central. Our songs are varied in sound, but Toni, Daniel and Mali took to them as if they were their own. We moved from the practice space onto the stage getting in an interview with a local reporting along the way.

Setting up and sound-checking always take a bit longer then one would think and always involved patients and good humor. Luckily everyone traveling is abundant in both and we cavorted and cajoled while the heavy work was done by the theatre staff and broke for dinner to leave them in peace. Local restaurants are donating food to feed us while we are here. Super nice of them especially since we can order anything off the menu we want. The waiter at the place last night is one of the artists in the art show, which will be set up in the lobby for people to look at before the show. In fact the doors open nearly 1.5 hours before the actual show to let people mingle, look at great art and hear a local musician serenade the crowd up front.

To read more abut the show – go here: http://www.victoriaadvocate.com/news/2009/may/27/ab_m3_the_why_052909_52232/?entertainment#

The reporter who interviewed us earlier in the day already made her deadline by that evening’s edition.
The rest of the night was spent in practice. The stage fully set up and sound checked, the movie queued and the props put to rights, the bands got to work running through each song of the show. A few changes were made, a few additions, who is playing what when etc. got sorted and we spent the next three hours playing music and enjoying each other’s company. Once the songs were thoroughly gone over, the group expanded into other songs we will be playing for other shows and then some covers and then improve.

I faded by the time we were back at the Inn. But as I sunk into a hot hot bubble bath, I could hear the rest of the group sitting in the gazebo laughing and talking and sharing the deep resonant quiet under the Texas stars, so bright and piercing, that they defy the moniker of Lone Star State.

The landscape of Texas was drawn under the wing of the airplane like an Americana quilt; greens overlapping brown dotted with shades of blue. We were flying over the heartland to reach the heart of God’s country.


I was practicing my tolerance, like one would practice yoga, knowing that even liberal Austin was closer to my native state in thinking then what I had become not only used to but to expect in my adopted home of Boston. (For instance there was some joy in TX over the CA Prop 8 decision noted by a few of the men who sat at the bar at the Carousel Lounge)



The night before we left I was in a whirl. I had a ton of projects to finish, people to hang out with and a general lack of time. Normally I am quite organized, but I was finding myself flailing a bit. We had to leave quite early for the plane. Not a big deal, but it promised to be a long travel day with two flights (connecting in Atlanta) and a long car ride once we got into Austin. 9 or 10 hours on the move.

The trip was made better by traveling with Mali from the start and meeting Tony in the warrens of Atlanta, our crossover point into the Deep South. We were greeted at the airport, in a true miracle of timing, by every single person of our party arriving within minutes from each other even though we were traveling from many parts of the country via many different airlines and connections.

Anthony, the co-director of the film – and the reason we were in TX - shepherded the group right into the buzz of Austin. We gathered up concessions and equipment and then started the 2-hour sojourn to Victoria, where a couple of the shows will be taking place.

The landscape of Texas reminded me strongly of the flatter parts of my home state, but where North Dakota lacks trees, Texas has an abundance. Looking at the vital green of the pastures and newly planted fields made my soul ache for home. I watched cows graze and horses frolic from the huge truck, the comfort and air-conditioning within belying the scorching heat and humidity in which the animals were living. I fought sleep as I didn’t want to miss a moment of the deeply resonate vistas.

Victoria Texas is two hours from anywhere. Smack in the middle of the quadrangle of Houston, Austin, Corpus Christi and San Antonio, it’s a city of 85K, which has a mix of the kinds of people you would imagine to be 2 hours form anywhere. We hear stories of Pepper and his antics as well as of the Princess and a few other notable town characters. I can only hope to meet them as I explore this city. We didn’t tour the town much, but it reminded me of most mid-western cities in that it was laid out mostly in a grid with some neighborhoods flanking the center of town. I am quite sure it has a Wal-Mart somewhere…


The place we are staying (to use an over used term) is an oasis. I am not sure what I expected from a B&B in the middle of nowhere, but certainly not this. It’s located in the center of town, close to the theatre where we will be spending a good deal of time in the next few days. It’s the Americana house to match the quilt. Its yellow and white charm and wrap around porch with rocking chairs and a back yard gazebo, plant a perfect garden in which long nurturing chats allow friendships to grow. A night filled with the warm breeze, fast talk and copious amounts of wine turns (for some of us) into a morning sitting under the gazebo, watching an epic thunderstorm roll in. Perhaps sitting under a metal gazebo watching lightening cut the sky to shards and rain torrent is not the smartest thing one can do, but here, in the heart of Texas, it somehow all makes sense.

THANK YOU!!!!! To all of you who voted our song “No Room” Best Smoking Song on Mike Cann’s 4/20 Best Smoking Song poll (www.mikecann.net)

“No Room” can be found on our new EP Casualty Menagerie which was produced by Lainey Schulbaum and is available on CDBaby, iTunes, Amazon.com etc.