The show in Atlanta had been quite a different kettle of flesh. The theater was old and cramped, more like a gymnasium with theater seats. The crowd was pressed right up against the front of the stage (until now, everyone had been in assigned seats), and it made for an entirely different energy. Both Buddy and Ani's band fed off that… I'd say this was our best show. The symbiotic relationship of artist and performer is truly breathing in this kind of environment. After playing in bars for years, this felt more familiar and less stuffy to me. I had people close enough to me that they could have grabbed my feet while I accompanied Buddy, and they were asking all kinds of questions about my (admittedly) weird gear. We were gonna get to sweat on each other.

For me, this tour was an essay in how to go on the road with absolutely no budget for cartage (i.e., equipment shipping). This took some careful balancing. For the record, I went out with four "bags": an old Samsonite suitcase (read: gorilla proof) that the wife bought in a thrift store, a box I got at a local music shop (to ship a keyboard, my pedalboard, and a lap steel in), a laptop bag, and a small suitcase with some clothes in it. Airlines have strict limits on what you can and cannot bring (that is, size and weight requirements). Otherwise they hit you with all kinds of expensive fees just to check your shit (money I didn't have). So I pushed it…everything was just barely under the weight limits, and it was funny to see these people grunting as they lifted my stuff. Sorry guys, but I'm gonna work ya.

All my gear had to fit in that old Samsonite suitcase. So how do you ship a fragile old tube amp thousands of miles with no road case? Easy: you make one that fits your suitcase. My friend Pam had given me one of those old portable record players from the 50's, the ones with the flip top. The turntable didn't work, but there was a real tube amp inside with a little 5 inch speaker, and it still worked. So I just ran the whole thing through the bandsaw and cut off the turntable part. This left a little combo amp that looked cool and sounded great. It even had a script logo on the grille cloth…"Webster Chicago Three Sixty Two". And the whole thing fit nicely inside that beat up old Samsonite case, along with all my other weird pedals, cables, and an Indian squeezebox. Just to be safe, I packed the tubes separately from the amp…in my socks and underwear. A groovy old tube amp isn't very helpful if it arrives with broken (and impossible to replace) tubes.

Yeah, I'm a geek about gear, but I'm also rather proud of pulling off my little ghetto budget tour. You would be too.

I drove on up to Durham, North Carolina, and met the bus at the venue: the Carolina Theater. I was looking forward to this show. The Carolina was built in the early Twenties, a gorgeous old three tiered hall, complete with six little "Shakespeare" boxes on the sides near the stage. I asked if one of the stagehands could take me up into those boxes just to get the view, and they did. No wonder John Wilkes Booth broke his ankle jumping from one of these things. Meanwhile the stagehand is telling me all these crazy stories of how the place is haunted, and strange things sometimes happen. Cool.

"Cool" also describes the audience reception. You could feel a very subdued vibe immediately. Its strange how a large group of people starts to behave like a single organism. This is not something that you really notice when you're in the crowd, but onstage you sense it immediately. Its like this blob of individuals takes on a collective personality. After the incredible energy of the Atlanta show, this was very different indeed. I later found out from some locals that this vibe was not uncommon for Durham audiences. I was assured that the crowd really was with us, and was truly enjoying the show. They just don't let it all hang out.

Buddy is such an energetic artist, and he really feeds off of a crowd. The rather restrained reaction he got threw him a bit initially, but he recovered well, and eventually he worked himself up into his usual lather. He drew them along with him. The man is a true performance artist. He's also not afraid to tell it like it is, and let the chips fall where they may.

"How are the homophobes doing? You comfortable? Uptight motherfuckers," He asked.

Right on Buddy.

Ani's set list changes every night. And like the pro she is, that night she read the mood of the audience like a book. Most of the material I hadn't heard before on the tour. It was quieter and more subtle. And this allowed the band to really breathe…their musical interplay this night was truly sublime. It helped that the sound onstage was the best we'd had so far…the room just sounded great naturally. I was floored at how great these four people played together. It was fantastic, and I told them so (as if they needed my compliments). Like they say back home, "that and fifty cents will get you a cup of coffee".

The night was also a bit melancholy for me…this was my last show. As I ran around saying goodbye, the crew actually seemed disappointed that I was leaving. That was nice. Strange how bonds develop with people that you know you may never see again…its unspoken. Its also a very high compliment. Thanks guys.

In the spirit of the ghetto tour, I crashed on a friends couch in North Carolina. I actually had become rather good at getting a decent nights sleep on a stranger's couch. When I awoke the next morning, it was raining. Mary remarked, "In the middle of a drought, who woulda guessed?"

Yeah, who woulda guessed. Thanks for the hospitality, Mary.

It dumped in me all the way into Virginia, under a sky so black it almost seemed like nighttime at noon. The radio said we were gonna get over half an inch of rain, and it still wouldn't make any difference in the drought situation. I dropped off the rental car at the airport, and settled in for the wait in the departure lounge. I spent my last $2 in change on a stale croissant cause I was starving. The flight back was delayed an hour, and I didn't make it home til after 2am, beat up tired.

It was over.

Its been strange touring while the world was slowly going to hell. Don't let anybody tell you that everything is okay. I avoided getting a speeding ticket in the South probably just because I was white, while other people routinely get locked up or killed for the color of their skin, or what they believe in. Oil is $100 a barrel, and I'm sucking up gas at $3.00 a gallon for over 1500 miles (I had it easy…the wife was paying over $3.60 on the opposite coast). American kids are dying cause we need a source for this oil. And the people we have put in office are more like the "Id" of America than leaders…greedy, selfish and stupid. Meanwhile, the planet is only beginning to go into convulsions: every illness starts with a fever, then sweats, then…well, you know. Grandma is no different. Its gonna get a lot worse before it gets any better.

And here we were going out and entertaining the masses. True, Ani always had a speaker in between the acts (one was Dennis Kucinich) to exhort the crowd to sign petitions, contact their representatives, and get involved. This seemed like a good thing, even if it was preaching to the choir. But somehow I still felt uneasy. Maybe its too late. Maybe the "Id" has done too much damage to recover this time. I don't know, I'm just a musician. I don't play golf with the "Id", I just have to live in the world it creates. But maybe the music we create inspires people and gives them hope. Its all I can offer. Besides, I don't think the "Id" listens to us anyway.

The American road is its own world. When you see someone drive by, they are in an entirely different headspace than you are, standing there with your feet on the ground. There is America at rest, and there is America on the move, and the two only intersect in your driveway. Some people never come off that road, even when they're at home. They leave a chunk of themselves out there somewhere, like smoke trailing behind them. The road can really fuck you up if you're not careful. I did my best to keep it "all together in the all together" while I was out there. Home is too important to me.

That being said, I can't wait to go out again.


Thanks for listening. Hau Mitakuye Oyasin.

Chris