.. ..
Today I crossed over the bay into
San Francisco in a Ford Econoline.
We were in good spirits after a somewhat grueling but cute gig. Played just through the almond trees tucked back in the sleepy California college town
of Chico.
.. ..
Tim Carroll held is left hand pointer
index finger slightly up off the steering wheel gently pointing towards heaven. It’s purple and knarled from nasty run in with an “all saw“
or something like that. Played
through it last nite though…90 minutes straight and didn’t even wince. If he missed a note he was wanting to hit,
I didn’t hear it.
.. ..
Marco Giovino was stellar on
drums and percussion, as is par for him.
And Bones Hillman grinned, grooved, and tuned the rented Kay upright bass
we’d picked up just that morning.
Funny scene. A grumpy
Russian named Alex met us in his garage in southern San Fran out by the
airport. Coffee in hand walked through the home space unfolding in rows of beautifully shaped wooden basses, work benches with lacquer and
wrenches and an ashtray overflowing with the stubby remains of intent and perseverance. Hollow bodies of sensuously shaped wood
lay around in various states of reincarnation. A messy but oragnized work room.
.. ..
He pulled out the bass we agreed
to rent from him for this trip over the phone some weeks ago. For the $100 price he quoted we weren’t
sure what the hell to expect. He presented
an unassuming but solid instrument at first glance. Bones asked him what year the Kay was…he said “Who
Cares?...it’s a Kay.”. We all
shared an inaudible laugh with cuts of the eyes at his crusty retort. And in short order, Marlboro pursed in
lips, he helped us load the big baby into the van.
.. ..
The “who cares” bass in tow,
cockeyed sticking up over the back few rows of seats, we cruised slowly over the water lapping violently beneath us
on this warm Friday afternoon San Fran traffic.
The double decker bridge sparked the earthquake stories during which I had
to ask Bones to please refrain using the word “pancake” while were on the
structure. People eeking along
with windows down, some tattooed and blasting metal, some windows up tight and
clean, eating something out of Tupperware, smug and efficient. The waters looked
deep cold and powerful…I don’t know if this is what they mean by high seas, or if they're referring to my redneck ex bro in laws smoking pot in a boston center console boat, but the
white caps lapping around Alcatraz looked pretty tenuous to me.
.. ..
I’m definitely feeling in high
seas but my bouts of doubt and borderline panic are constantly interrupted by
the seemingly futile tasks at hand…annoying details required to just pull off the experiences right
in front of me. Maintaining the
relationships of the people I love and need, and who need me and the amazing opportunities before me…constantly
reassessing the priorities. ..stopping, reshuffle, try again....and hopefully soak up a little hippi attitude. Think I could use it. Ya know let go and let ghanja, or whoever...
.. ..
After playing Hardly Strictly on
Sunday afternoon on the “Porch Stage” (…feel like I should bring some potato
salad…), I’ll fly to L.A., read for a part I’d give all my shoes away and get a
Mariah Carey tattoo to get, and then be with Don Was in the evening, the
producer of my 5th studio album, to be recorded in just a few
days.
It is new waters for a
Florida girl, and the stakes are so high, but I wanna enjoy the ride….. and one
day….I wanna just look back smilin over a big stack of pancakes with my floppy catfish hat on and say ah
yeah...what a wonderul time that was...what year was that?....who
cares?