I woke up at Marymoor Park in Redmond. Last night I had thought I would go to bed early, but Barry, Jerry, and Kevin (Willie’s bassist) were discussing music, and specifically great bassists, and using a pick, and using fingers, so I sat and listened for a while. Alex was there for a bit, Michael too.
We broke it up and headed to the buses, where I talked with Michael for a few minutes. I headed to my bunk and slept. Woke up around 4am with an odd dream about ferrets running about, read Chesterton for awhile, and slept till 9am.
The first thing I did was ask Sean about laundry. He said to bring it, so I loaded it in my canvas bag and brought it. Fluff and fold, ready by 7pm. I figured I’d leave it all clean on the bus for the next trip in two weeks.
I drank my chocolate and headed over to catering. The dressing rooms and catering here are a pleasant and peaceful walk through huge, thick trees to Clise Mansion, built in the early 1900s by a Seattle banker to use as a country estate and a farm for his Morgan horses and Scottish Ayrshire cattle.
Fresh omelets were on the menu. I ate my poultry-fruit comestibles, took the laptop and Tele banjo to one of the dressing rooms, not yet labeled because it was early in the day, and went out for a walk.
The morning here was cool, in the shade at least, and clear, and smelled like pines, and dirt, and clean, dry air. Outdoor smells often trigger memories for me. I suddenly remembered being in my late teens and early twenties at the Grass Valley festival in northern California, though the pines are much thicker there. My mom took me once, when I was visiting her in Reno at about sixteen. We drove down Friday, I jammed till the wee hours, and then we slept in her Datsun B210. We stayed Saturday, listened to the bands, slept in her car again, and left late Sunday. She walked around with me to jams for hours and listened. I think that was maybe 1980 or 1981. I remember us especially loving the Whites with Ricky Skaggs and Jerry Douglas. That was my mother. She had an adventurous, wandering spirit that never got quite enough of traveling.
Popping out of my reverie to the actual world in front of me, I headed back in to my commandeered dressing room for a bit until it was required by the designated occupant, and hopped upstairs to the Union Station room. Fortunately there were two small rooms adjacent to the big room, so I set up in there.
Guitar first. I reviewed the Haggard solos again, then started in on learning more of the Texas Troubadours tune for about an hour. Jerry came in and we sat and talked for a short while.
Sound check came. I kicked off Gonna Settle Down by Flatt & Scruggs and the rest of them followed suit. Quick and easy, plus it wasn’t nearly as hot today.
I headed back down the dampened chipped wood path to the mansion, hopped upstairs to my dressing room, and got out the Telecaster banjo. I’m thinking of recording a more country-ish ballad or two on the bluegrass instrumental record, so I played through some songs that might work. Then I rolled quite a bit to warm up for the show.
Showtime came. It felt good to play. Lately my right hand has been feeling great; I’m going for slightly more extension in my picking fingers, which helps keep the hand relaxed, and it is making a big difference in both volume and tone.
We drove out of Marymoor as Willie was playing; some of us have early flights out in the morning, so we’re near the airport at a hotel. Looks like I’ve got more Eugene Peterson and Chesterton coming up in the next hour.
I woke early and read Chesterton for awhile. He has such a high regard for maintaining a childlike sense of wonder about the world. It’s infectious.
I hit catering intent upon not overdoing it today and had a scramble with salsa and got out of there.
This venue, Edgefield, had a seventy-year history as a poor farm. It kept a wide variety of people – everyone from musicians to loggers, teachers to sea captains, people of nearly every ethnic group and religion. It closed as a poor farm in 1982. Two brothers turned it into a winery, added a brewery, a pub, theater, and spa, among other things.
I found a dressing room empty and commandeered it, waiting all day for a notification of eviction from the lawful possessor. But it never happened. Guitar time was taken up with starting a new song and then working on a Texas Troubadour’s tune, and refreshing again on the Merle Haggard tune I’d worked on a few days ago. I switched to banjo and played it briefly, and then had to switch to finding a different day for recording in early July with Dan Tyminski, Sierra Hull, and Mark Fain. When the dust settled again on that I went out to the bus, instead of hitting catering for lunch, and made a green smoothie. Almond milk, protein powder, raspberries, frozen mango, baby kale. I would say people sometimes consider me “eccentric” (insert favorite term for “weird freak”) but I feel better when I stick closer to eating food like that.
When I came back to the dressing room, Jerry was setting up to do an interview in the next room, so I quieted down. I talked to my manager Josh for a bit about details I need to be preparing for the cd insert and cover, content on the website, and upcoming events.
It was nearly sound check anyway. I popped out onto the heat of the stage. The crew wasn’t quite ready, still setting out the rug and mics and pedalboards. Dan and I stood there and played some tunes on mandolin and guitar and watched them set up. Finished with that, I got out my banjo and warmed up.
The sun was directly the front half of the stage, and heat was radiating from the stage, the mic stands, the pedalboards – everything. It was Dan T’s Inferno. I hoped the trajectory of the sun would bring it behind the trees somewhat before show time.
We didn’t play much, just some of the first song and a little bit of Down the Road, and then I went up to the main building, the spa, to shower.
It was an early show, with not much time after dinner at catering (which was excellent). I made Tazo green iced tea and dressed and went to the stage, tuned the main banjo and guitar and realized I’d left my ’38 D28 on the bus (I use it for the encore songs – it doesn’t have a pickup installed, and won’t).
We played the set – it went well; the band felt tight and on top of things in spite of the heat. Willie sounded great, and we went out for the medley songs again.
I’m winding down now and I’ll think I’ll take an early bedtime. Nighttime reading: I’ll set Chesterton aside for now and read Eugene Peterson’s A Long Obedience in the Same Direction.
I woke up too early. You know how your mind clicks to “On” sometimes and won’t shut its yammer. I usually focus it on reading until I get sleepy and thinking in one direction instead of ten. I’ve been reading Chesterton’s Tremendous Trifles, short essays he wrote for the newspapers back in the early 1900s. His is a mind that sees so many connections between things, so many patterns and symbols in what we think ordinary and mundane. His sense of humor had me laughing in the bunk.
I read until I was sleepy again and slept too late, around 9:30am. I was supposed to kayak at this venue here in Bend with Maldwyn because it is right on the Deschutes River, but it was so late, and today was an early sound check (2pm instead of 3:30 or 4) and early show (6:30pm instead of an hour later).
Hot chocolate, then lunch at catering. Sound check was pushed back to 3pm. Maldwyn and I decided to go kayaking after; the venue had an inflatable two-seater sitting right there. Playing Tele banjo seemed a sensible option, so I took the bait and opened Logic to play along with a couple tracks I had made.
Before sound check I was talking to the runner, a young man named Alex, about taking us upriver afterwards. I asked him where he was from, and he said “Georgia.” His father had taken him on many fly fishing trips as a child and in his teens, just the two of them, and one of those trips was to this area around Bend when Alex was twelve years old. He thought then, “I could live here.” So, it turns out, in his mid-twenties (I think) he moved here. It made me think about the power we have as fathers over our children, the power to name them with various names, not merely by saying words to them but by our actions, by spending time with them, by teaching them, by listening to their dreams, hopes, and fears. We fathers brand them with their identities.
Anyway, Alex seemed to have a good level of confidence, not that false, over-manly veneer of confidence that hides insecurity, but the real thing that comes from being well-loved by a father and mother. He inspired me today to begin planning some trips with the family and the fishing kayaks (I have four and a trailer) in late summer and early fall. I am thinking primarily of Tennessee lakes and rivers: Fall Creek Falls, Dale Hollow Lake, maybe a ride down the Harpeth River, and whitewater rafting on one of the rivers near Chattanooga.
After sound check I went on the tandem kayak with Maldwyn and we spent about an hour on the water. There were a lot of folks out there today on every sort of flotation device: kayaks, boards, tubes, and I even saw a pair of inflatable Orcas.
I made iced Tazo green tea right before we played our set. The sun was out, but more at our backs, and it wasn’t too hot, at least for me. The audience was a good one, listening, appreciative.
Willie’s set came, and I wrote most of this journal listening, then popped out for the medley. Singing on that is always a good time. Went back to the dressing room and got back into my everyday clothes, gathered up my stuff and the daily strawberries, blueberries, kale, and a pint of half and half from the fridge backstage. Then I talked to Mike (monitor engineer) about the sound in my ear monitors – what instruments were loud, too soft, etcetera.
I’m back on the bus finishing this journal while the crew is loading all the gear into the trucks. Our bus call time is 2am but I hope to be living large in dreamland long before then. Tomorrow I want to play a lot more guitar during the day. The last two days I’ve spent much more time on the Telecaster banjo.
There are two days left on this leg of the tour, then a flight home after Redmond, Washington. Stuart Duncan comes to the studio to play on eight or so songs on the bluegrass instrumental record, so I am thrilled about that.
Bedtime reading: G.K. Chesterton’s Tremendous Trifles and Eugene Peterson’s A Long Obedience in the Same Direction.
We pulled up to the Britt Pavilion around 12:30pm. We’ve played here many times before, usually in the summer like this, and today was hot and sleepy. I grabbed some lunch, ate with Van, our driver, and then sat with Jerry and Michael Bethancourt (instrument tech). We talked a bit about current issues, and Michael showed me the opening clip of The Newsroom with Jeff Bridges, which I’d never seen and enjoyed immensely.
Jerry and I, with Mickey Raphael (Willie’s harmonica player), headed to the shops a few streets below, a quaint little section of town. We went to a kitchen store where I wanted to buy eight of every ten things I saw, so I bought one thing and came back to the venue, still sleepy, so I got some green tea and iced it. The Tazo Zen green tea is great iced, by the way, even better with a little shot of lemonade.
Sound check was just a line check – plug in guitars, make sure they are on and sound good. Play banjo for a second. The sun was pouring himself onto the stage, so it felt like being on Venus.
I fell asleep and woke up to Jerry taking a picture of me. He has that special effects app where he can make the gigantic rock fall on you or the rocket explode you to bits.
Maldwyn, from the crew, is a whiz at Logic Pro, Apple’s recording/loop/midi software. Watching him create songs has been making me want to get it, so today I downloaded it backstage. Within minutes I had set up a groove in C and was playing the Telecaster banjo along with it. I had to ask Maldwyn for help once – I need him to give me a lesson in it. I can see several things I’ll love about this software, whether on the road or at home:
1.It’s a good practice tool for exploring tonalities and at the same time grooving with the good timing. 2.Songwriting. Put down a shaker and play along on guitar to experiment. Or mess around with loops and midi to create a song structure. 3.Recording myself with a click as a practice tool. 4.Making good song demos.
The show went well – the sun was behind the trees, and there was a little cloud cover. I was still a bit sleepy, just not myself, so I made another Tazo iced green tea for the show. That perked me up. We’ve had to shorten the show a bit, take a few things out, because we need to stick to 75 minutes.
I missed some of Willie’s set because I was writing this and then messing around with Logic Pro. I joined his medley just in time with Barry and Jerry and finished it out.
I’m really feeling the need to read more of Eugene Peterson’s book tonight. I’ll try to lay off the new software. I’m also lacking a solid sense of Chesterton, so I’ll read a chapter from Tremendous Trifles.
Today was a rare occurrence, a rafting trip on the day off and a perfect day for it. Willie’s manager John put the whole thing together, and most of our band and crew went on the trip along with some of Willie’s bunch. Two vans drove us to the starting site on the Rogue River about an hour from Medford, Oregon. There were at least fifteen of us using three rafts, a double kayak, and a single kayak.
This part of the river country had rugged cliffs and crags, steep mountainsides, smooth flat rocks for skipping, deep blue skies, and slightly cold water.
Nearly all my growing up years were around water of some kind. Pools, early on. At seven years old, Deer Creek, the Feather River, the Yuba River, and Englebright Lake near Smartville, California. At eleven or so it was Bear Creek in Auburn, California and the lake at my aunt and uncle’s house in nearby Meadow Vista. After thirteen it was waterskiing at Lake Shasta, Lake Elsinore, and other California lakes, and Lake Havasu in Arizona. I also lived by the ocean from thirteen to twenty-one. I’ve always loved water.
On this ride today none of the rapids were serious, but they got us wet enough to stay cool. One of the guys flipped over a kayak, but other than that everything was fairly peaceful.
We went about maybe halfway and stopped for lunch. Travis, Jeff, and Jeff, the guides, whipped out folding tables and coolers from the rafts and set up a sandwich bar.
After starting again we came to some high rocks where other rafters were jumping. Maldwyn, one of our more adventurous souls, made two spectacular leaps from the cliffs into the water. It was about like jumping off a three-story building, maybe 25-30 feet. Some of our other crew guys made the leap as well.
Later, as we were winding through steep hills on either side, Maldwyn said it reminded him of the Fellowship in Lord of the Rings going down the River Anduin. I concurred.
About four hours later we pulled off the river onto a ramp, thanked our most excellent guides, and got back into the vans to the hotel, wet, sunned, and (for my part) sleepy.
It’s rare on the road but always beautiful to do something together that has nothing to do with work.
We covered about seven miles, all told. There wasn’t much music happening today, just a couple of Deliverance references out on the river. I’m back at the room on the Telecaster banjo.
Sleep ended too early for me this morning at the Cupertino hotel, so I read and eventually slept again. Got up a bit later than I’d intended, so dry I drank a bottle of water and a watermelon juice I’d bought the day before. At around 11am I was still ravenously thirsty and walked to Whole Wallet Foods again. Ordered a green juice and bought two more, and a couple other items. When I got back at 11:40am the bus was parked out front and I stuck the bag on it and hurried inside – I’d still not showered, though I’d packed nearly everything. Got back to the bus right at noon, still exceptionally thirsty, drank a green juice, and we started for the venue.
The ride to Mountain Winery in Saratoga was on a winding, narrow road, rough and bumpy, with quite a drop on the left side. We met a truck coming down and he hesitated as if he expected us to back up. That was never going to happen, so he pulled off as far as he could on the right side. As he did so a van came breezing down past him and saw us, stopped, and pulled off.
The bus parking for the venue was a good way from the stage, up in their top parking lot. I could see the surrounding countryside and houses for miles. Golf carts shuttled us down to the stage area. I brought my guitar, Tele banjo, and laptop bag down there, but soon realized there was nowhere for me to set up and play without being annoying. Suddenly the realization hit me that there was an empty first-class dressing room on wheels up in the parking lot that I had just left behind, so they carted me and all my stuff back to the bus. My first move was to make hot chocolate. Almond milk, chocolate powder, stevia, coconut sugar in the milk foamer/heater. Turn it on. When warm, add coconut butter. Turn it on again. Two beeps, pour into Rabbit Room mug. Enjoy.
I set the laptop on the front lounge’s dinette table, popped open my gray Calton with the ’38 Martin D28 and started working on the steel and guitar solos for Haggard’s Swinging Doors. It is always mind-expanding to imitate other instruments and learn their solos on acoustic guitar or banjo. There are bends and slides a steel can do that are tough to replicate on an acoustic guitar with medium strings. But in attempting to do so, I learn things about the guitar, about my hands, about tension and relaxation, and about musicality – things I might never have noticed. I’ve done this with everything from Ray Charles piano solos to Benny Goodman clarinet or Bill Monroe mandolin solos. I may eventually forget the exact solo but the pathways this kind of learning opens up in my brain are highly beneficial.
After my left hand fingers began to get sore from all the bending and sliding I was doing, I worked on my singing for awhile. It was good having a place completely away from people because I could make all the noise I wanted. My voice has felt tight lately, not pliable, so doing some exercises worked things out some. I felt better by the end and set about making Chai tea.
Dan came on the bus, so I quieted down. It was about time for my cousin Larry and his wife to arrive. They showed up via golf cart and we headed down to visit at the venue for awhile before sound check.
Sound check was uneventful. I did a banjo restring talking to Larry about the Fishman Aura, and he told me Fishman makes a midi guitar pickup - I’d love to try that out. I used to have a Roland midi pickup on my green 1983 Stratocaster Elite. I’d love to have another, if it tracked well - most of the ones I’ve tried have slightly slow response times. I did write I Give You To His Heart from the Prince of Egypt Nashville album on that green Strat using a Fender Rhodes sound.
Did a quick guitar restring before dinner on the Santa Cruz. Dinner was good. Spicy noodles, salad, and a lot of grilled oriental vegetables, and the great company of my cousin Larry, Christy, and my cousin Sudha.
I left them to get dressed and tune. Michael rolled my instruments out of that back room to just offstage, outside, in the cooler temperature, and I’m glad he did. The instruments all went sharp right before I tuned them instead of having it happen during the show. The smaller venue made it easier to hear the sound coming out of the speakers in front. The night was cool and clear and perfect, and the audience was appreciative.
I sat with my cousins, their spouses Christy and Chris, and Sudha’s son Nico and his friend to watch some of Willie’s set. Willie’s playing is so quirky. He just flies by the seat of his pants and makes it work. And his set is made up of so many well-known songs that he wrote, everything from Crazy to Angel Flying Too Close to the Ground. We went up and did our thing with Willie on his gospel medley, finished, I changed clothes and sat with my cousins in the catering room and we talked about everything from parenting to music to marriage.
We went downstairs and a golf cart driver took us back up the hill. We said goodbye to Sudha and Chris and Nico (his friend was already nearly asleep in the car). Larry and Christy and I talked some more, first about the stars (great app: Star Walk) and then about guitar playing (Larry is a guitarist as well). We traveled through melody, Lindsay Buckingham of Fleetwood Mac, James Burton, Roy Nichols, and how to play a memorable solo. We said goodbye there with the starry night sky overhead and the lights in valley below, and I came on the bus to write this journal and avoid eating very much pizza at all.
Last night I watched a bit of one of the Wolverine movies with Jerry, then went to my bunk. Wolverine is the modern sci-fi version of Clint Eastwood, and I always liked Clint Eastwood. I think it was about 1am before sleep hit. I woke up too early, around 6:30am, tried to go back to sleep but stayed awake, so I read a couple of Chesterton essays in Tremendous Trifles on my iPhone Kindle app. I’ve never read an author who is at the same time a humorist, a poet, a philosopher, a theologian, and so unreservedly human, through and through. C.S. Lewis is most of these at differing times, but Chesterton combines them continually. He is a poet writing prose. He makes me think thoughts that have never entered my head.
I popped out of bed to write some background for the upcoming banjo record, talking about influences, my musical history, instruments, and whatnot. It’s always thought-provoking to dig back into the past and see the roads that led us to this present moment. My road involves many people who saw potential in me, spoke into me, and gave me good information and musical influences.
The bus was still rolling at nearly 11am. We rolled through Reno, through Donner Pass, and down I-80 past my old stomping grounds – Auburn, Meadow Vista, and Highway 49 to Grass Valley. I lived in this area and lived a Huck Finn sort of life, fishing, hiking, swimming (but I did go to school) from around 1972-1977.
People began moving about the bus, making food and coffee. I had already made my patented hot chocolate (I didn’t need it, just wanted it. I can quit anytime). Before that I drank water in which I put a green superfood powder. It tastes okay going down but the aftertaste is something less than enthralling. But as I’ve told my kids, “Not everything you eat has to be the best tasting thing you’ve ever had. Sometimes we need to eat things just for the nutrition. Otherwise it’s like never changing the oil in the car because ‘I don’t feel like it.’”
We rolled through Sacramento and stopped for fuel. Van is a relentless driver, stopping only when necessary. As we came closer to San Jose, and Cupertino, our day’s destination, the topography changed to rolling, brownish-green hills, scattered palm trees, oaks, and scattered houses. California, my home state, has many beautiful areas.
Today is Father’s Day. My family had our celebration last Sunday because I was going on the road. I wouldn’t trade being a father to my kids for anything in this world. They’ve been huge sources of blessing, love, joy, and growth in my life. Some say marriage will knock a lot of the selfishness out of you, but fathering has a way of stomping out the embers and the various forms of spontaneous combustion that happen. The love and desire for their well-being grows bigger than love of one’s own self. I think that is why we are given a love for our children that is so fierce and passionate, unless something inside us has been so broken by our own upbringing that we cannot see beyond our own pain. Happy Father’s Day to all the fathers out there, first and foremost my own Dad.
The bus rolled on through San Jose and into Cupertino. I remember being here a couple of years at the Whole Foods and Fabio was there promoting a health product or a book. He looked Fabio.
We got to the hotel. The bus had to park ¾ of a mile away, so that meant gather up everything I might need and bring all in at once, which I did.
I went to Whole Foods, ostensibly to buy a juice but mainly to have a destination for my walking. Chocolate powder was one of the purchases. Target was on the way, and I had heard of this glue/rubber stuff they sell now called Sugru, from the U.K., and wanted to get some to try. Allegedly it is moldable for 30 minutes and then it begins to harden, and you can fix and modify all kinds of things with it. Look it up.
I spent some of the afternoon booking plane flights. After the tour ends in Berkeley on July 23rd, I’m flying with my son down to Ontario, California to mix Hogan’s House of Music, the new banjo record, with Eric Uglum at New Wine Studios. My wife and daughter fly in and we will visit my Dad and the rest of my family for a few days, and we’ll all fly home.
The guitar was out for a good hour or hour and a half, and I worked on learning on some solos from Merle Haggard records. It is always better to work on something one can’t do than to replay things one can already play.
After that I had a sort of notion to go downstairs to see if any of the guys were in the restaurant, and I was correct. Chris and Mike were down there, and we solved one-third of the problems of the universe in an hour and a half.
So here I am now, back at the room, with the day winding down. I may break out the Tele banjo for a bit, possibly catch up on some writing I’m supposed to do, and if there is time I can catch a movie. Bus call downstairs at 12pm to go to the venue – The Mountain Winery, in Saratoga. My cousins are coming tomorrow, haven’t seen them in too long.
This is one of those days, infrequent on the Willie tour due to the amount of people, where I have my own dressing room. Now, to be clear, my job requires dedication to an instrument, namely the banjo, that can be inherently quite obnoxious. This is the primary reason I began bringing the Telecaster banjo out on the road. On a regular AKUS tour, Sean usually finds me a dressing room as I’ve asked, “As far away from people as it can be.” But even then, a banjo blasting Sunny Side of the Mountain three times in a row, solo to all ears, with Jimmy Martin in my headphones - this can become odious to bandmates. It could end in muttered threats, dark looks, or even a potential hanging, especially after 24 years in the band.
So – I had my own room today, complete with water, strawberries, an orange, a banana, blueberries, tea, and even some kale. The question then became, “What do I do with this room?”
First, I set up. I brought in my guitar, my Tele banjo, and laptop bag. Laptop out - I use Garage Band, EZ Drummer, Amazing Slow Downer, and other tools on the laptop. Also on hand was The Art of Improvisation by T. Carl Whitmer, interesting book that I have neglected while making the new banjo record. I neglected it today again. Also Patterns for Improvisation by Oliver Nelson, which I did use. Both good warmup books to get my hands going on guitar and banjo. My leather planner is out, as is my little book in which I write down musical quotes and insights.
Now, optimally, the first thing I would do would be to make a schedule. But I didn’t do that today. Why, you ask? I have no idea, completely forgot to do it.
First thing – I started writing another tune for the last session of the banjo record. Did that for about an hour or so. Got up, got water, walked around a bit, came back. Played guitar patterns for a while to get my hands pliable. Took a brief walk (it’s hot here in Salt Lake City). Drank the second half of yesterday’s smoothie. Ate a plate of salad. Then I was back at the room with a half hour before sound check. Some speed drills for the banjo, and then fingerpicking guitar with a drum machine.
Sound check was quick. “One Tear” was the bluegrass check, and we did a two-guitar song as well. We managed to finish before the sun hit us. The Bourgeois OM model guitar I use on Paper Airplane was having some problems tonally so we spent a little time checking and adjusting the Fishman Aura. My banjo was buzzy and somewhat nasal due to the low humidity and higher altitude; I adjusted the truss rod and loosened the head a bit.
The show was interesting. We took a left turn and did Cluck Old Hen, Down the Road, Freeborn Man, and quite a few more Dan songs. I had a blast playing that much banjo – I played banjo for nearly the entire set, with the exception of Let Me Touch You For Awhile and Restless.
After our set I had a great time visiting with Eric Sopanen, who used to work for my Dad’s store, Hogan’s House of Music, in the late seventies and early eighties. We made sure he got out to see enough of Willie’s set. Willie’s guitar playing is really a beautiful touchstone to that earlier style of country guitar. Throw in some Django and Willie’s quirky take on all of it and you’ve got amazing guitar playing.
The Willie encore was fun tonight with Jerry playing some kind of newfangled electric dobro thing.
I’ve got my dressing room scattered with my stuff so I’d better pack it up. We’ve got a long drive tonight to California.
Last night in the room, after I played guitar and the Tele banjo, I watched Jupiter Ascending, a film by the Wachowski brothers (makers of The Matrix, etcetera). I liked it well enough, but found myself taking a break a couple of times.
Sleep was deep in the dark hotel room (thanks for curtains that close out all the light). I woke up, packed my stuff, and walked again a mile each way to Whole Foods for a juice and a couple other items.
The morning was sunny and warm already, and I pushed the pace due to our 12pm checkout and departure time for the venue. I saw Kirk again, the timeworn, bearded, older man, sitting near the same spot, but with a different, well-used cardboard sign: “Homeless.” As I approached him the story of the good Samaritan came into my mind, where a priest and a Levite both cross to the other side of the road to avoid dealing with an man who had been robbed and beaten. I said, “Hi, Kirk,” engaged briefly, and walked the next few blocks to Whole Foods thinking about how a homeless person ends up in that state, and how they continue in it.
As I’ve gotten older I realize the answers aren’t always cut-and-dried; sometimes the polarizing answers of the hard-hearted “Stop Being a Loser and Get a Job” mindset or the bleeding-hearted “Let’s Perpetually Fund Irresponsibility and Laziness” don’t work. Sometimes people have real problems in their heart and thinking; circumstances which they maybe created, partially made, or didn’t create at all have led them to that spot, on the curb of the grocery store driveway in the heat, with a stained cardboard sign. Every human being knows how hard it can be to change our thinking, attitudes, and habits, especially if we are unaware change is possible.
I headed back to the hotel and ran up to the room just in time to clean up and get on the bus at 11:56am. It was seventeen miles to the venue in Nampa. Once again I found myself making hot chocolate on the bus. I don’t have a problem. I can quit anytime.
Lunch catering: Good Mexican food.
Sound check was uneventful except for the fun of playing “I Ain’t Broke But I’m Badly Bent” with Dan, Barry, and Jerry. Afterwards I restrung my main banjo with D’Addarios and talked to Alex from the crew. Instrument tech Michael Bethancourt bought a Yamaha version of a Leslie amp on Craigslist in one of the last towns, and Jerry was trying it out, so after I finished restringing I plugged my banjo into it and played a bit. It was fun but I don’t imagine using it with AKUS anytime soon.
Later I sat in the dressing room with Dan and Jerry for a bit while I restrung my ’38 Martin with Elixir Nanoweb mediums. There is always a very satisfying change in the responsiveness of the guitar and the clarity of the tone when I change the strings, especially if they’ve been on there for quite a few days.
Dinner catering: Italian.
I read a bit more of Bruce Lee’s book and found this quote meaningful in light of tonight’s show: “The great mistake is to anticipate the outcome of the engagement; you ought not to be thinking of whether it ends in victory or defeat. Let nature take its course, and your tools will strike at the right moment.” There is a freedom in letting go of the future and living in the present moment, where there is only the feel of fingers on strings, the sound of the band, the faces in the audience right in the moment.
The sun was burning hot as we went onstage to tune up, but I’ve seen worse. We all wore sunglasses. The banjo was ringing loud and clear out front. The sun went behind the trees for the last third of the show, and the temperature was perfect. During the encore I saw a woman singing along with Your Long Journey, wiping tears from her eyes as she sang.
We had a break while Willie went on, and went out for the encore. It amazes me to see how many people sing along with his songs.
After the show I went into the Union Station dressing room. Barry and Mickey Raphael (harmonica for Willie’s band) sat down and we had quite a good conversation about recording.
It’s time to wind down. I’m feeling an early bedtime coming on, with maybe some reading. I’ve been working through a Eugene Peterson book, as well as Chesterton’s Tremendous Trifles.
Today is a day off. I woke at 6am with an unsettling dream but eventually went back to sleep. Generally at home I get up between 6am and 7:30am, but on the road I often fall into a later schedule. After rolling out of the bunk and dressing, I made my usual high-quality home made hot chocolate. It wasn’t long before Sean, the tour manager, came in with hotel keys, so I gathered my laptop, books, and guitar and went inside.
Boise is sunny and warm today. I had noticed a Whole Foods on the day sheet Sean posted just inside the front lounge - a day sheet has essential information about the show, hotel, and other aspects of the day. Whole Foods was a mile each way. On the way there I had an interesting encounter with an older, time-worn man standing on the sidewalk named Kirk. He was holding a sign that said, “Visions of a burger.”
I eventually made it to the store. Coconut butter, almond milk, green juice, and quite a few other items, including tonight’s dinner. I checked out and loaded it all into my empty backpack. There was a Trader Joe’s on the way back but my backpack was full and heavy, and it was getting hotter out. I hoofed it back to the hotel, breaking only a very mild sweat.
Made it back to the bus, put my groceries away, popped up to the room, played guitar for a bit, did a little songwriting, and did some guitar arpeggios. I’ve been reading some of a Bruce Lee book called The Tao of Jeet Kune Do, interesting stuff. I have a small journal I titled “Musical Quotes and Insights” and have found a lot in the Bruce Lee book to write down. For instance, "Art reaches its greatest peak when devoid of self-consciousness. Freedom discovers man the moment he loses concern over what impression he is making or about to make.”
It is always fascinating to me how the disciplines and insights from one area, say martial arts or sports or painting, can so easily translate into the world of the musician – but truth is truth, in no matter what form it comes, and truth is always applicable to life.
It’s really been a bit of an unfocused day for me – I’m a little restless and ready to play some shows. Starting tomorrow we’ve at least got two in a row. I’ve not seen much of anyone today, talked to Alison a bit in the morning, saw Dan for a few minutes, and I saw Barry’s back as he was exiting the hotel and I was entering the elevator. It’s already 9:30pm – the day blew right by me. I’ll play a bit more guitar (quietly) and go get my Telecaster banjo from the bus in an hour. Maybe I’ll watch a movie later – I brought some BBC stuff with me, and also “An Intimate Lesson with Tony Rice” which is always a good bet.