my legs were treading slowly in the water attempting to keep afloat, sneakers and truckers cap still on. the 5 layers of cotton on me now saturated and starting to get heavy. the big brass belt buckle alone must have weighed a pound. although found in the desert, the big letters on it spelling the word “SAIL” seemed appropriately ironic now drowning here in the puget sound. there visiting friends at a place called ‘gig harbor’ and our canoe capsized. the water temp was just cool enough for slo-mo hyperthermia. an outgoing tidal surge made reaching the shoreline an annoying dream where you don’t get anywhere no matter how hard you try. there had seemed like so many options just moments ago, now my brain was barking out only one:
sleep.
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2 weeks later:
headed out to the plane and late again.
on the 2nd plane i find myself sitting next to a fellow with a zildian logo on his work shirt.
“you a drummer ?” i blurted.
“no, a tech” he retorted.
“who for ?” i imposed.
“robert plant” he detonated.
robert was the arch angel who involved himself mightily during the troubling times of rainer’s passing. he generously arranged things to make sure it felt as ok as one can feel about leaving his family behind in this life with no house payments.
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life affirming shower at the london airport club for people who fly too much, then head to plane # 3.
in copenhagen waiting for plane # 4, nick cave’s magazine cover shot lurks from the stands and those eyes follow me.
finally the hotel. a perfect one and am all done in.
wake up just before my wake up call and wonder how the body alarm continues to do that at various times zones.
showered the particles of time travel away.
headed out and was thrilled by the autumnal chill.
back home in tucson our house is still a convection oven.
opening gala presentation for the aarhus festival i was invited to help curate. but not tonight. everyone outside was waiting on the queen. slipped in and randomly headed up to the balcony to find a seat. my name was called. it was allan’s ex-wife, and a seat open there. allan olsen was about to take the stage.
the mayor spoke a bit long. the queen spoke a bit short. allan came out and performed with a combined jazz band and orchestral string section. it worked surprisingly well and was soon in his element, bantering like no else can.
after the set, when the queen is allowed to head out first, we ambled back stage. fine reunion. allan in good form, warm and soulful, always funny.
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next day, marie frank’s birthday in their new country home, all fixed up now and perched upon the little lake in long river. the epitome of warmth and family splendor.
train back into town to dine with rickie lee jones. her show the following night was a sparkler and her guitar playing chunky good. her voice transformed herself and us all there. she played no encore as per our discussion at dinner. just a bow and a “thanks”, like allan did for the queen. tis the best way to end things now me thinks: un-overdone.
next day practiced with mark lanegan. i do very little. coffee burn on my hand slowly rips a hole in it over the next days.
the show will go well with him. the band is stunning and we end on a ‘wayfaring stranger’ duet. mark is all music.
welcome john doe and scout niblett into town. more of my favorite people in a town i love. late that night in a 7 11, nick cave is staring at me again from the racks. he insists i take him along for the ride home.
leaving denmark is always a small heartache.
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4 more planes to get most of the way to the next gig. a solo show at a fest way up in northern quebec.
on the flight home i finally scan through the uncut magazine with nick’s face. it becomes a kind of talisman.
all the full page photographs in there were my friends, except for the last page, which was an excerpt from 1976 on loudon wainright.
there’s warren ellis of course, in a variety of shots next to that nick. the isobel campbell and mark lanegan lead off album review. a full page ad for sarah blasko, an exceptional singer from australia whom we took on tour last year. steve wynn in the unsung hero section. and a huge review picture of ‘the arcade fire’ with jeremy gara (original ‘sno angel drummer).
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midnight upon arrival. taxi to the hotel seemed to take too long. the air in montreal was putrid and rank from a blistering heat wave. the hotel seemed dank and the room was a suicide room. bed had the floating foam blanket. the lurk of shadow from so many others’ spoiled dreams stained the perimeter. impulse to cancel the trip and just go home in the morning. i am done.
after 5 hours sleep, am ready to continue on.
the flight up to rouyn-norander seemed long in the little prop plane, like time had still not organized itself after so much primitive time travel. stared out the window at the lucky lakes below and remembered the instant skype message randomly got before i fell to sleep last night from old friend nick hill. have not heard from him in years.
he was responsible for the giant sand ‘backyard bbq’ record.
turns out the montreal singer before my set just flew in from copenhagen, her husband being from greenland.
but i didn’t know this yet, and she overheard me counting in danish at sound check. our initial discussion went like this:
she: “circles … its all a circle. but its not just round.”
me: “ yeah … like a spring.”
she: “ a circle … what goes around comes around.”
me: “huh ?”
she: “ a circle … but it moves forward.”
(she gets up and walks away in a huff) :
me: “ yeah … LIKE A SPRING !”
the singer on after me just flew in from finland, and she is louden wainright’s daughter.
it occurs to me i met this martha for about 10 minutes, some10 years ago, at nick hill’s house.
her set was punk rock strapped insidea flaming acoustic guitar. she stood there a stunning woman in black dress, high heels and lactating. brilliant set.
then i am spent.
head back to the motel and travel the bed to the morning.
next day back on the plane to montreal with martha. we sit across the isle and talk the trip shorter. i rip out the last page in uncut and hand her her father’s article from 1976.
invite her to the aarhus festival next year, and go our separate ways in montreal. spending the night here tonight not working, allowing myself some needed time to chill from a disastrous amount of flying. my companions will be the band that backed vic chesnutt on his last tour, mt. zion. i met them all at his tribute show in athens back in feb.
checked in to that same hotel, but the lottery of rooms has allotted me one on the 21st floor so high over the city and is stunning. the wind is whipping and shoving a brand new autumn chill everywhere.
the clouds are fracturing when we walk by the scaffolding of a church, nadia moss introduces me to the harmonics from the wind howling through the pipes. we all stand around that for a while and then track all the places where vic was the last several years here; their studios and the crazed genius sculpture guy who befriended him, glenn.
when we go to see glenn he shows us the thing he is building to go over niagra falls in. he is dead serious with a broad engaging smile. it appears he can pull it off, but none of us want to find out. don’t do it, glenn. yes, of course he will.
gathering for dinner is a fine harbor of humans. howard, the engineer/drummer who jeremy replaced in arcade fire is there too. it is a fine evening and i briefly fall asleep on the couch sitting up to fuel the dream of the eve. in the living room and laughing hard over me trying to read out loud the back of a box of ‘dark’ strings that efram handed me. tears form.
on the way back to my hotel thing, got a call that my little daughter has been bit in the face by a dog. it spins me out of there and changes the day. had just been showing off pictures of her. missed the eye and she will be ok. but still.
head back to the 21st floor. the wind will not stay calm, and streaming as it slips inside the room. a spider directly above me on the ceiling over the bed. capture him alive and plop him it on the balcony with his friend the wind. then head to sleep and take the bed to the morning.
another night of 5 hours sleep and head home. only 2 planes to go. in time to arrive for the bbq commemorating rainer. a tribute in the middle of a a 25 year celebration of tucson music at the hotel there that housed it. will just need to play one song. will be very hot still. 100. our autumn. as the plane flings south, niagra falls looms below.
but before i left montreal we all had a serious talk about how no one has heard from vic chesnutt’s niece. she was with them all on the last tour. she was the one who called me just before christmas with the impossible news of vic’s demise. her name is liz durett. vic championed her music to me about 12 years ago. when i saw her again at the athens tibrute, i barely recognized her, her so young the last time we met.
mossy said she doesn’t return her emails. keep emailing her anyway. tried inviting her to denmark to play a set of music at the festival, her own and some vic’s songs, but said she would be ok and was gonna be on the road with some band i didn’t catch the name of. we were all worried about her. just needed a sign that she was ok or ok enough.
landed in tucson just in time to get to my part of the rainer set. just one song: the farm. but i opted to sneak in the back way to that outside stage, not ready to run into people and bands from the scene 25 years ago. a freaky sonic high school reunion like that has its vertigo.
slipped in unnoticed and approached the back of the stage to drop my gear. a girl standing there staring like she was waiting for me there. when i started to say hello to her i realized it was liz .
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don’t know how long we were out in the water.
dead silent except for the slap of waves spatting our faces.
i looked over at captain dan still hanging on to the overturned canoe.
he suggested i try and swim in with us trying to lug the canoe too.
a couple strokes away it occurred to me i wouldn’t make it. when you get too far between things, half way there is the same distance as turning back once you realize you can’t make it.
my treading legs were treading less now. just wanted to sleep for a few minutes. it really seemed like a good idea. looked on shore again and there was my son and gary watching. too far away to see their faces. i was so sleepy.
got back to the overturned canoe and puling my weight out of the water, granted some more energy to breathe better. began just kicking then. capt. dan took the rope at the bow and headed ahead of the canoe yanking it in as he swam and i kept kicking the waters like a crumpled frog.
when i started to get sleepy again i saw gary and luka struggling to get the kayak off the hill and get it in the water to come rescue. it was so comical seeing them struggle with it. it had me smiling. now i just wanted to stay awake to see how the movie ended. you know that feeling, no matter how you keep dozing while watching a movie, you struggle to stay awake until it ends. it was just like that. my oldest daughter was there too now hip deep in the shore water. to everyone else back up the hill at the house, we didn’t seem to be in trouble, but patsy felt it and ran back down. those energies helped keep me awake.
by the time they pulled up along side, i was certain we didn’t need their help. just the action of them coming out was enough to stir the brain to keep moving. and then noticed i’d never let the canoe paddle out of my right fist since i first took the bow seat to paddle in. i think it was frozen in my hand like it might be handy after the plunge.
stripped most of the 50 pounds of wet clothes on the shore and half way up the steep stairs we rested. it felt good to still be alive and enjoy the weird thick foggy mist surrounding us. strangely large paisley particles of fog were zig zagging all around us, until i realized no one else was seeing it. hot shower restored feeling to my fingers. for dinner we ate the caught crabs of the day whose buddies were waiting for me to be their dinner instead, there below the waters of the sound at gig harbor, with the looming epitaph;
“drowned in sound at gig”
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