the most notorious of all earthly triangles is the legendary bermuda triangle where ships and planes of all kinds go mysteriously missing.

the desert has its mysteries too. calamity zones. i used to refer to a stretch of highway as the tonopah triangle. cars mysteriously went wrong within it and engines just stopped. it used to begin up at tonopah and come down to gila bend and then over to tucson. we all got stuck out there many times over the years, but when it happens during the wrong season with no water on board, some brains got broiled along the way or worse. cell phones helped once they were invented, but many of them don’t triangulate out there in the middle of the triangle. now ever since the earth’s axis shifted, it seems like it slid a bit over to new mexico with tucson still serving as the hypotenuse. here to lordsburg and up to globe via state highway 666 and back to tucson again. i think they might’ve actually changed the number of that old highway triple 6. but it don’t matter. the triangle is still in effect.

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the 1^st angle  :

i had heard steve wynn and his other other other band were coming this way: “the baseball project”, which features him and linda along with peter buck and scott macaughey of REM. also heard robyn hitchcock was headed this way too. apparently there was an outside festival about to happen right here in my neighborhood called “festival de el barrio viejo” hosted by calexico. right here in the barrio i introduced them to back in the early 90s, and all these guys are on the bill.

lately, there’d been a few times where steve and i have had the pleasure of being in the same spot and same time. him and i had started out making these musics about the same time. 1980 ish. we both remain on tour and harbor uncharted distinction in such svelte sonic maintenance. somehow.

last september i had flown in from europe to make it on stage in time for a set with him, robyn, victoria williams, along with steve’s wife, linda pitmon on drums and thøger on bass. it was the best time i had playing guitar in 20 years. played like a kid. we rocked. robyn led the charge. steve and i chugged along like richards and young.

our bands happened together again in hamburg last november and steve amazed me by how much energy his set still radiates.

for many of the old guard from the late 60s, the 80s were rough. the production trends of that era made it very difficult for them to remain who they were and still be accepted. producers were called in to help, but now when you listen to those albums made then, the ear cringes from the vocal reverb soak and giant snare drum.

in the 90s, production trends reverted back to the early 70s and all was forgiven. the choke hold from the 80s had released its grip and the old guard became more relevant then ever and well celebrated. by contrast, the medium-old guard who arrived in the 80s to puncture those annoying trends of the day, has had a rough go from the late 90s to now. steve is one of those people that have remained consistently steady and sounding absolutely better then ever. robyn is caught somewhere between the old old guard and the medium old guard. but these people still stun on any given night with no obvious end in sight. their worth is still under appreciated for the time being and so this is the nature of the sonic clock spring. steve explains that when we get a bit closer to 60, and there is no old old guard left, the same will happen for our ilk, whomever is still left standing. maybe.

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the 2^nd angle  :

john convertino and i were having lunch when i got the word by cell that the baseball project’s van was broken down. broken down in the triangle. so i offered to fetch. they were just on the other side of the new mexico border. not a bad ride. only 2 hours away.

john and i finished our chile rellenos and talked about the upcoming ‘melted wires’ benefit he may or may not be able to make. as per usual, joey’s name came up, but discussion never offers any clue as to what his problem is and why he won’t make himself available to discuss it. before he joined john and i in giant sand, he said he was involved in a love triangle that left him hurt and probably damaged enough to be unconcerned with instigating our triangular disruption in giant sand back in the late 90s. it’s nothing having children can’t fix. the task of attempting offspring, on the sonic indie rocker, is a challenge that offers continuous reconfiguration and a healthy deployment of priority that only allows a magnificent settling of the dust. the antidote to any triangular interruption.

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the  hypotenuse

i rented a 15 passenger ford van.

me and my daughter lu lu headed out with the sunset painting our path. behind the wheel had that old familiar tour tinge to it and it felt fine. lu and i sang, talked and enjoyed that singular father/daughter time. when it got dark, she was amazed by how many more stars lit up the sky out on the open road.

2 hours later we pulled into the lordsburg days inn. the marooned band there all had those sweet staining miles of momentary tour gamble gone awry, but still held that laughing twinkle in their road worn eyes.

so good to see everyone again. hugs all around. john hill  (“apples in stereo”) was tour managing. they loaded up and  we headed back.

the ride was full with the feeling of band cluster in carefree sentiment no matter the hour nor the income, and this was a relief to witness and soak in. lu lu fell asleep nicely nestled. they dropped us off in tucson at midnight and continued on another 2 hours north to phoenix. they had to be up and ready to play at 10:00 the next morning at a baseball stadium. all their songs are about baseball. they will be playing everyday at the same hour at various baseball stadiums around the phoenix area. it sounds more like performance art then the standardized band tour, and it all leant a smile.

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the 3^rd angle  :

when saturday rolled around, we were up at 7:00 for the son’s soccer practice. then headed off to his school carnival to dump a load of stuff for their rummage sale. got snagged to work the baked goods table for a while. then finally headed back home for the festival. me and thøger meandered over there with his young son in stroller. security stopped us and i said forget about it, we’re playing or something, and kept walking. back stage security hit us up again until coordinator curtis came rushing out with proper stickers to stick on. it was a beautiful sunny day. people were happy. the sound was great and the local basketball team attempted to maintain their march madness status on a big screen. an endless parade of folks stopped and said hello every few steps. got to the 2^nd stage which was tucked nicely down an adobe lined street to check out the “baseball project”. they had finally made it to town. a great band to hear. we all hung stageside afterwards and robyn made a game plan to get us all up during his set.

when he began the sun slipped slowly down the westerly mountains. that light hued brilliantly in soft passing shades from glow to shadow. robyn enchanted the crowd that was just now lamenting over their beloved team losing the big game by a single basket. his banter between songs was beyond comic. it was jazz. it had beat and pause combined with swift improvisation. it just happened to be hilarious. his set was the best i’d ever heard him do. one by one he collected the baseball project people on stage and me too in there. a wonderful set. that feeling of sheer fun again with guitar clutched.

afterwards we made plans to meet back at my house  for some food and wine before the baseball band had to drive back up to phoenix. then calexico started playing on the other stage around the corner. daughter lu wanted to hang out with her friends, stay out late, so i was stuck for the moment to endure. it was a fine time to access what is happening within that band.  i was surprised how loud it was. the energy seemed good and the attention to locality was endearing, john sounded better then ever, and joe had a fine heady steam. then a headache began to seed. was unsure why they sounded so mainstream with those disarming commands for delegated crowd response. the crowd responded happily and thankful for the cues. everyone there was tickled, but i couldn’t think of a likable band that did that crowd control thing. steve shrugged, “we went a different way.” guess so. and then i did.

walked home in the dark night with the sounds of my former band ricocheting in the ancient neighborhood i turned them on to 20 years ago. it had a singular peculiarity to it. the desert gets ironically cold when the sun drops and it all felt surreal in the shadows. home was just 4 blocks away. inside the vibe was thick adobe quiet with a warm welcome. the missus had food waiting and her carved ostrich eggshell lamp gave off that lovely glow. rooms all so still and pleasant. thøger’s wife came over with their son for some sweet chatter. the festival must’ve still been going on so close by, but here it was so calm and lulling, i was ready to head to bed.

then . . .

a knock at the door.

peter buck and the rest of the posse stood there. the after-set party erupted. a very fine gather. peter and chloe, scott and mary, steve and linda, robyn and michelle, curtis and doug, the people who put on the festival, everyone was there in a laughing cluster. except my old band of brothers…  mysteriously missing in the tucson triangle.