THIS NEKO CASE TOUR + GIANT SAND TOO

well sir, and or madam, we hit the road in traditional sense. flew to omaha, me and thøger. it was ok. but you know i like to get to the airport late enough to feel ok and avoid that terminal feeling.

this time we had a piano all boxed up. cheaper then shipping it. i hate this piano. its digital, which is against all nature.
the end.

i am in line to check in at the ticket counter and i have not hugged my son before my ride left curbside. i call em on the cell. “man you gotta come back around”. they do. i head outside and me and my boy lock in a hug like it’s the last time. that is the way it should always be.
the end.

on the plane. its ok. we have been upgraded, which means we get the warm nuts and i will probably not vow to never fly again.

as we are landing in dallas the moon is of mythical proportions. the light of its fullness awes and sheds a glow on the planet below like even the ugly city built there is ok to sprawl in such divine glimmer.

i am inspired with flying for that moment and am so amazed at what this planet really is in these moments of arc and refraction.

when we land in omaha next, we wonder if the other 2 coming in from denmark have made it through the connections without complications from hurricane ike.

ike has wreaked havoc on the texas coast line and has preceded our flight pattern by just a few hours.
it has destroyed galveston.

but there they are, peter and anders, right there as we arrive in baggage.

so we get our rental and its not too bad. an equinox.
then we get to the hotel and its not too bad. a hilton.
then the other 2 fall into deep jet lag drench and me and thøger head out for a walk.

we noticed that the place we are supposed to play the next night is just across the street, so we amble over.

its empty and we relish that. it’s called the slowdown and is the house that saddle creek built, which is the label that bright eyes built, which is the band that conor built. a fine lad and good for the local economy.

roger is tending bar and we order up some local stuff.
then val comes by and recognizes us as playing there the following night. she shows us around. it’s a perfectly designed venue, very similar to the kind we find in europe. then some girls come in and they are slightly full of drink. me and thøger attempt to finish our beers, but the dude the girls are with commits to conversation. turns out he’s a painter from flagstaff and so we chat. one of the girls then comes over and attempts a surprising kiss hello, but completely misses my lips in her stumble. it’s a moment she will not remember.

and so it seems a friendly place. then another one of them says, “you’re howe gelb” and it seems funny to be recognized in omaha at the age of 51. i have never been to omaha before, except in the 70s when we would drive across country all the time between pennsylvania and arizona.

in fact, just the other day i ran into one of my old cross country cohorts, jon tucker, and he was chuckling with the memory waking up in the back of the van during my driving shift and me having somehow gotten back there to grab a cassette tape to listen back up front, where i should have not strayed from.

yeah well.

but we have never toured through here ever for some reason. i think europe might have been what got in the way. now they have a club to play that looks like it.

soon enough the bar is closing and the manager offers up a shot for everyone. then the girls have us coming with them to keith’s house. and ben stops by too. and andrew says see ya later. and then julie, erin and kate head over the river to make a B double E double R U N in iowa. i tag along for good luck and to get my fill of as much mid west as the hour will allow, which tends to make a half-centurion feel younger than that.

the most notable thing besides how wonderful these folks are and how chilled the sweet autumnal air is, is that several of the folks there in party mode are picking up brush and paper and just get to painting. i think i might have partaken too. fine art in a fine moment.
then we leave.
the end.

you know i know you know how i do not want to bore you with a tour journal. why should you want to amuse yourself with trite and drab ?

so here we go.

we will begin on this day for the sheer lack of any other

let’s just see if we can finish off the year with this mundane banter for the lone sake of a self challenge

ok

- – - – - – - – - – - – - – -

September 1st 2008

its September here in tucson. its hot and humid by the afternoon and we continue to do things like dismantle a neighbor’s chicken coop to move it 20 feet to our side of the fence. it fills the skin with a sweaty gleam like a rag soaked in gin

i am called upon to play at the congress hotel festive labor day weekend thing they throw every year since the celebrated 20 year anniversary a few years ago

i always say no and then always just go do it

when i get down there that night the last of the monsoon rains have had their way with the outside stage and everything gets moved indoors

i only want to play one song anyway so i invite some others to fill up my slot. when i get to that one song, its only going to be me and rudy ptacek, rainer’s son, on drums. i lean into the lyrics and heavily on the guitar’s magic blue pedal.

it’s “a better man then me” and i turn the amp way up.

after that my friends from ‘power solo’ (from denmark) take over. before my set was the reunion of ‘gentlemen afterdark’, which will always be ‘the pills’ to me.

and then after all that, the ‘meat puppets’ will finish off the night.

it occurs to me the next day, that if you count the moment when my brother rick came on stage in the middle of my set hand me a drink, that all 4 bands had 2 brothers on stage that night.

the end.

the next day the jeppersen brothers (power solo) stopped by to say a fond fare well and sped away without coffee.

shortly after that, the kirkwood brothers (meat puppets) stopped by for coffee linger and was a sweet gather. we all puzzled where the last 10 years went ?

giant meat puppet sandwich
- – - – - – - – -

the day of the show i cleaned up from chicken coop duties and took a bath. in the tub i began reading the book john parish had given me in england a few days ago. we had just recorded that “better man then me song “ and 3 others. i had just written the lyrics to “better man” in his guest room the morning we were to head out to the festival we were booked at because john was able to get an hour at the studio to sneak a bit of recording time in while bassist thøger was still with me.

the night before i left for england i was recording a sound track for an animated film called “mars” in nick luca’s little upstairs studio here in tucson. but we agreed to stop for a little while so sheryl crow could come in to sing for a radio promotion, complete with a crowd of 30 contest winners. we just stood there, me and the director geoff marslett, and took it all in and then went back to work when it all emptied out. sheryl and i have a mutual friend, trina shoemaker, who worked on both of our records a million years ago, but i just didn’t go over to say hi, preferring not to bother her and the radio ordeal

the next morning we had to cram a lot in before the plane was leaving for england. i always manage to cram last minute things in before my plane is leaving. i have an inner vex that somedays doctors will give a shiney new name to and explain why its not the fault of the fellow who constantly tries to miss his plane with upping the anti of errands prior to said departure.

but i managed to get in front of a green screen for some video footage incase the director found the time to do one up for out upcoming record release.

then i left late and got to the airport too early again. its always that same terminal feeling.

i first flew to raliegh, north carolina, where my new record label is, yep roc.

i haven’t met them yet, so figured i should shove it in on the way because. north carolina is beautiful and it felt great not having a record label in any of the big cities. glenn dicker, one of the owners, fetched me and so i stayed until the next evening when the flight commenced to london.

i noticed they had a lot of singer songwriters over 50 and figured i was in the right company. among them was ian hunter from an old favorite band called mott the hoople. mott the hoople was the first concert i went to when i was a kid. i remember an unannounced band called “queen” opened up for them. i think it was 1973.

it was a sweet moment there in haw river, N.C. and a good attempt at remembering the 30 or 50 folks that work there.

glen got me to the airport late and right on time.
the flight was ok and had a great film about woody gutherie on it. i am more and more drawn to the bizarre era of the dust bowl and the biblical proportioned storm that stirred it all up.

when i landed i needed to get to thøger who was due to arrive almost 2 hours later. but they have set up a glass partition at london heathrow airport and it now divides those going on the plane from those getting off. i headed out with everybody else but then splintered off with the connecting flight people that loops you back into the terminal without going down to passport control or baggage collection, since i had none anyway.

although welcomed as an overseas ‘platinum’ tier flyer, i went into the admiral’s club undetected and hung out there till it was time to fetch thøger. the lady at the desk then told me the gate but thought security would not let me get there. i went anyway to find out. when i got to the gate i was separated by that funny glass wall, so i just squatted down on a small ledge with my guitar and waited. after a some time i saw a bunch of people coming out of the gate headed my way on the other side of the glass. i thought i saw thøger first in line ahead of everyone, but it was hard to see with the surreal bends of clarity from the glass wall at that angle. so i kept staring at the fellow who approached and he kept looking at me and kinda kept leaning in to see me better too. at the moment when he walked directly in front of me i could see it was jack white. i gave him a subtle little wave and he chuckled one back. i don’t know him at all.

a few minutes later security found me and puzzled over how i got there. told em. they still got annoyingly more puzzled and explained tersely how much i had to vacate the premises. they took me down the hall to where the security desk was, but they were puzzled too. finally they decided to unlock a magic glass door that would place me on the other side, which is where i needed to be anyway. they were now in a great mood for some reason, seemingly at the folly our collective endeavor, and just as i got to the other side, thøger walked up and was happily surprised. the end.

so we went up to bristol and stayed with the parish family. the next day was the festival day. and then after the festival i would head back and hang with john before leaving for home again. as i was leaving he offered me a book i found sitting there written by ian hunter in 1972 called “diary of a rock and roll star” which was exactly that.

so now back in tucson i was in the tub reading and got to the part early in the book where ian has just flown to LA, is jet lagged and went out to see some bands at the whisky a go go. while checking out the bands, on second was one that had whom he called one of his favorite bass players, harvey brooks.

i got out of the tub then, dried off and got dressed, and headed over to the 17th street market a few blocks away and went to have a word with this harvey brooks

when i got there he was having his usual saturday afternoon jam with tom walbank there at the market. we had a good talk, finally, and wondered why i haven’t gotten over here for it before.

then i turned to tom and asked him to add some fish raining down around the cartoon of me playing guitar he put together the day before.

and so he did provide.

the end