MATT LOVE - "Starting Out" EP Review

A while back I sat out on my deck feeling utterly depressed, listening to the ocean, wondering why people do the things they do.

The mail arrived, and with it, Chris Marshall’s new EP, Starting Out, his follow-up to one of my favorite records in recent years, 2008’s Oh My Soul.

I didn’t feel like listening to music, but I put the disc on anyway, and it took only a few seconds of hearing the first song, “Atlanta,” that I felt instantly better. And this despite the presence of a pedal steel guitar, which typically renders a song totally depressing. But not with Marshall.

On “Atlanta” and other standout tracks, the pedal steel, in intimate concert with piano, simple guitar chords and once even a violin, helps produce some wonderfully inspirational country-tinged music that avoids country music clichés.

Starting Out is a small gem of a record, unique, Oregon to the core, and I look forward to whatever Marshall comes up with next.

Matt Love

Author/editor of the Beaver State Trilogy

Publisher of Nestucca Spit Press

Friends,

Just returned from a journey to Austin, TX. Loved the town. Perfect way to kick off this eventful summer...

"In Closing…"

The final night at Stage Right Cellars provided just the right amount of closure. There I found a quaint, generous crowd who remained attentive until the end, and Rory, the bar manager, who served as a gracious, informative host. Sandpoint, in the end, proved to be my favorite town (though the competition for that spot was fierce). From Whidbey Island to the Flathead Valley, everywhere I went was beyond beautiful and proof that the Northwest takes the cake for scenic landscape in this country, but Sandpoint is a city set apart. It is first and foremost a community, and a lucky and talented one at that. I will be back.

The drive home was of course long and tedious, with every kind of delay possible, including a freight train crossing right in front of the entrance to our housing development. So with no more than a hundred yards to go before I reunited with my beautiful wife (who magically became even more beautiful while I was away), I sat and waited as the train moved slowly past. And I reflected. Here are a few lessons I absorbed during this trip:

1. I am, more than anything, a gospel singer. Everywhere I went, regardless of the demographics, the response to the old and new gospel songs was palpable. I can't help but to let this inform my work from here on out.

2. A Toyota 4Runner is a fine automobile. I logged close to 2,000 miles on this trip, in all kinds of weather and terrain, and my beloved 1998 4Runner with close to 160,000 miles on it made the trip without the slightest hiccup. It proved itself to be a trusty vessel and a great truck.

3. Pistachios, jerky, and pretzels can easily, on their own, suffice as an entire meal.

4. There is nothing in this life quite like the connection that can be made between two strangers when the uniting force is music.

In all, my deepest doubts heading into this trip were dashed, and my highest expectations were exceeded. I was content to break even at the outset, but was able to turn a profit while at the same time having the time of my life. I will await the next journey with increasing anticipation.

Thank you for reading…

"Alive in the Mountains, Live on the Airwaves"

I came through Couer D'Alene Monday evening and picked up my friend Daniel on my way to Montana. When he was 11 years old I used to watch him and his brother during the summertime months, and we recently reconnected and struck up a friendship. He's now a twenty-year old free-spirited traveler with experience and wit beyond his age. He would become my traveling companion, chauffer, and harmonica-playing sideman for a few days of my journey.

We headed straight for Glacier National Park on Tuesday. I had never been to Montana, but have always romanticized its beauty and landscape, and as we drove over the state line I was nearly breathless for a straight hour, seemingly floating through its brilliant mountainous glory. The air smelled sweet like candy, and the sky was a sweeping, unending blue. We arrived at the park at around 6pm, with enough time to grill some salmon and take a swim in the most serenely beautiful lake I have ever laid eyes upon.

We awoke the next morning to a swift change in the weather, with clouds rolling in a mile a minute and dumping a steady shower of precipitation. Driving over the glaciers on the Going to the Sun Road, the weather could do nothing to take away from the unearthly brilliance of the place. We set up camp in Many Glacier, and did our best to stay dry, warm, and fed. Our neighbors for the night we're a young honeymooning couple who sat with us by the fire and enjoyed an impromptu concert with myself on guitar and Daniel on harmonica. I don't know if I've sounded any better on this trip.

The following morning we made our way toward Kalispell for the show in the evening at Red's Wine and Blues. The set was a bit of awash, and in the end we were contending with a bachelorette party that quickly stole the show. But we made some fast friends; among them was Glenda, a sweet woman in her mid-60's who invited us to crash for the night in a motor home on her property outside the city. We couldn't turn down the offer, and awoke the following morning directly on the banks of the Flathead River in all of its uncondensed glory. Glenda and her husband, Robert, made us a home-cooked breakfast of ham and eggs, and I tried goat milk for the first time. And we're talking straight from the goat here, the source of which lived a few houses down. I hit some golf balls with Robert straight into the river, and Daniel found some time to fish along the banks. We left in better shape than when we arrived, by far.

I left Daniel at his new home for the next two weeks on the banks of Ashley Lake. He'll keep floating around the country, and I'll miss him greatly. I played last night in Coeur D'Alene and managed to make it interesting. This morning I made my radio debut on 95.3 KPND in Sandpoint, a station that reaches to Spokane. I played a song and made it through an interview, and I really hope it helps the turnout for tonight, even though I said the wrong start time. Christine the DJ let out a whooping hoot and holler after "Oh My Soul," something she professed to never having done on-air, which I received as high praise from a savvy broadcasting veteran. It was an awful lot of fun.

I'm writing this log on the porch of my cabin refuge on Kelso Lake. One last performance tonight at Stage Right Cellars in Sandpoint, and then I am homeward bound…

While I stood aloof on the corner of 2nd and Seneca in downtown Seattle, considering how one man alone can kill six hours in this fair city, a man crossing the street in my direction caught my wandering eye. This because he looked exactly like Robin Williams in a yellow rugby jersey, wrap-around sunglasses and cargo shorts. My first thought was, "Man, I bet this guy hates life for how often he gets compared to Robin Williams." As he came closer, I was pretty sure there was a fighting chance this guy may indeed be thee Robin Williams, so under my breath as he passed I said, "Robin Williams?" Without missing a beat or turning around he let out a yelp in the affirmative. It was all I could do to walk him down and make a uniquely American-attempt at creating conversation with a celebrity. He obliged, introduced himself and took my name, wished me the best and with a smiling handshake sent me soaring. Alone he continued down the block, dodging back into his hotel after having his cover blown by a bumbling troubadour with too much time to kill.

Since that moment this trip has not for a minute ceased to surprise me. I showed up at El Diablo Coffee on time and ready to go Saturday night, only to find a lone woman on a laptop and two baristas who didn't know me from Adam. Assessing the situation, the thought crossed my mind more than once to simply split and get an early jump on the drive to Whidbey Island. But after striking up a conversation with the woman on the laptop (her name being Cheryl, like my wife, who I miss terribly, is the icing evidence that she was in fact an angel), and seeing a couple more friendly faces, I decided to prove to myself that I could indeed sing my heart out for anyone, anytime, anywhere. What followed was nothing short of quite possibly the most uniquely wonderful musical experiences of my life. Sue, an accountant at my wife's company, brought along her husband, and this man could blow some serious blues harmonica. He kindly joined me for some tunes, and before long we were sharing stories and a bundle of laughs, and the crowd swelled to a healthy ten or so. The more we played, the more we laughed and enjoyed the night, and I ended my performance having clocked two and half straight hours on the stool in the corner of the café. When I sat in my car afterward preparing to hit the midnight road, I counted the tips that came from my enormously generous new friends and found a gift from Cheryl (the angel on the laptop) that caused me to weep.

I arrived in Whidbey Island just shy of two o'clock in the morning. My friend Andy, the assisting pastor at Living Word Foursquare who would be hosting me the following day, waited up for me and showed me to my bed. We awoke at 6:45 am and started what would not only be an equally wonderful musical experience, but perhaps one of the most profoundly delightful days in recent memory for me. During the two morning services, I shared a gospel song I've recently written called "Compelled by the Cross," and was coaxed into performing "Angel Eyes" to promote the evening's concert, which was really just an excuse to hold a church chili and pie bake/cook-off. Pastor Jerry Cook was the morning's guest speaker, and he had me hooked deep for both services. We shared a fulfilling lunch together with Andy and his family after the service. Turns out Pastor Jerry sang in a traveling gospel quartet as a youth in the 50's called the Harmonaires. We found much in common.

The concert in the evening followed two hours of practice with a band that Pastor Andy had masterfully put together for the show. The unit was burning like a bonfire, hotter than a pistol, and the show was for that reason an enormous success. The outpouring of support from the Living Word congregation was nearly more than my frame could handle, with the turnout somewhere near a hundred kind folks. We danced, laughed, played and praised. And the crowd, full completely on homemade chili and pie, blessed me with one of the most memorable nights of my life.

I recognize I've stretched the length of this post pretty far, and I don't mean to test any friendships by expecting you to read through it all. But please know that my heart is full, and that this richly ordained journey continues on, with your prayers and support. I hope.

Two nights in the other-worldly Glacier National Park, and then off to Kalispell…

Sleepless in a Seattle Travelodge

I wasn't exactly shot out of a cannon to start this trip. I sputtered to the starting line; doing what most folks do, I suppose, when they prepare for a long trip on the road. I over-packed. I created 5 or 6 errands to run before leaving town. I stalled at home (just to make sure I didn't forget anything). Remembered the mustard. Forgot my toothbrush.

Made it to the interstate around noon, only to be stalled by no less than three major traffic crises: An accident in the Sunset Tunnel, on the I-5 Bridge, and a mammoth brushfire that burned enormously on both sides of the highway about a mile north of La Center. The latter turned the highway into a parking lot, in both directions, for close to two hours. I chose to remain on the bright side (which is of course far easier at the beginning of a trip, as opposed to the cranky end), and discovered an unlikely opportunity for my first interaction with another human being. The gentleman parked next to me in an A/C-less Ford Ranger and I made easy conversation. What did we talk about? The weather, what else? Nice guy.

I booked a room last minute at the University Travelodge. Big mistake. They upgraded me to a "suite," after a series of bush-league deliberations regarding my bungled reservation. "Suite" in this case means a dank, musty room with a dilapidated kitchen unit, a bathroom with a shower that requires a rocket scientist's sense for mechanics to operate, and a living room complete with a 24" Zenith television, circa 1980-something. In all, more charm than hassle. A place to rest my head.

The show at Trabant Coffee & Chai in the UW-District was more fun than I could have hoped for, and a delightful start to the performance-aspect of this journey. There were some extremely kind folks in attendance, chief of which were two fellows from Sweden and their traveling buddy from New York City. You couldn't clone a better bunch of guys. And the Iced Chai at Trabant is indeed exquisite, the five glasses I drank accounting for the sleeplessness alluded to in the title of this post.

Another show in Seattle tonight at El Diablo Coffee Company, and then I'll be on to Whidbey Island….

All for now.

I leave tomorrow morning for a nine-day sojourn into the belly of the northwest. I expect it should be a mighty journey, and a solo one at that. For that reason I am going to make what will certainly be a feeble attempt at keeping a blog/journal right here on MeSpace. Simply to keep my thoughts sorted out, and to in some way invite you all to enjoy a snapshot of my perspective. If that interests you, stay tuned, and maybe even subscribe to the blog and keep posted. I will miss my friends, family, and most indeed, my wifey. Send me prayers and blessings, and I will forever be grateful....


ps. The title is temporary. I'm working on it, promise...