Shipe @ John’s Alley in Moscow, ID (8/3)

My old band, The Renegade Saints, continues to make new fans in Moscow, ID without even coming around to play shows. That’s because John’s Alley keeps Fear of the Sky in the jukebox.

The Saints first came here back in the 90′s when it was just a tiny hole-in-the-wall with 8-foot ceilings. We kept coming. We told all other touring bands we knew. They came… and they kept coming. The Alley turned into a choice college-town tour stop between the Rockies and Seattle, and eventually expanded into a premier small-mid-sized room with a sizeable stage. (Plus an excellent house sound guy in Vertical Dave.)

I like to think that we’re partly responsible. So I’ve continued to play shows here ever since I went solo in 1998. They always treat me well. And, like I said, I meet new fans every time, as they request Saints tunes all night. Before every Northern Idaho tour, I make sure I’ve rehearsed all the Saints tunes — including Dave Coey’s, Alan Toribio’s, adn Mike Walker’s. “Delivered,” “Letter Home,” “Know by Now,” “Deep End,” “Window.” (An older fan got tears in his eyes when I played Dave’s “Tara.”)

I’m usually solo acoustic, but if I have a band with me, we’ll play rockers like “Thin Layer.” And on occasion, the audience will get quiet enough for a quiet ballad like “1968.”

Thankfully, my John’s Alley gigs aren’t all reliving past rocker glory days. Alley-goers are kind to solo acoustic Shipe on that big stage. I get good response to my new material, and interest in new releases. Towards the end of the night, some of them dance. I elicited a two-step with “Villain,” and a swing dance with “The Beast is Back Again.”

Also cool is the intelligent appreciation I get from young listeners, for my “cooler” stuff. What I mean is: As I try to push the musicianship forward — as a guitar player, exhibiting finger-work and going off instrumentally — they hear it, and let me know when it’s good. That is golden, coming from a venue familiar with the likes of Tony Furtado and Derek Trucks (both of whom I’ve opened for, so I am well aware of the musical company I strive to measure up to in these parts.

Shipe @ Park Bar & Grill (7/23)

Thanks to my friend Lisa C. Pollock, I was pasted onto the Saturday night Park bill in Burbank.

It felt good showing off some new songs in L.A. that I’ve been carrying around the Northwest. I was in comfortable form due to recent steady gigging. But the real highlight was performing 2 Country duets with lovely & talented Tracy Dixon (aka Amy Wray, my Hollywood wife.)

I wish I could post the video. But there’s a bunch of editing left to do. So here’s the next best thing: a couple of slide shows featuring the same two songs as performed on our fake radio show, Laurel Canyon Back Porch Variety Hour.

“Call Me Darling,” by John Grimshaw

“This is the Day,” by John Shipe & Amy Wray

Also, it was a treat to finally meet B.B. Chung King in person. B.B. is Lisa’s producer, a great guitar and vocal talent, and a man who believes in the importance of lyrics.

Superlative APBF concert for Shipe (7/16)

Before I delve into this extensive blog full of delight and gratitude about last weekend’s Pit Bull gala, let me just get one thing out of the way:

Lucky Five. Remember that band name. Lucky Five could become the best rock-n-roll band in the country. I won’t waste time describing them, only to say that if The Allman Brothers had a secret love child with Gnarles Barkley, Lucky Five would blow it off the stage at battle-of-the-bands. For the time being, Lucky Five belongs solely to Charlotte as their darling local band. But if and when they tour, watch out!

Okay, in the wake of the posting of my recent video Pit Bull Rescue Woman, I am aptly impressed by the Sara Enos, the director of American Pit Bull Foundation. This was a large, multi-dimensional event — a 6-act music festival/fundraiser that included vendors and booths outside the venue. (Amos’ Southend.) Although Sara has a bright cadre of volunteers, it’s clear that the buck stops with her on nearly everything. She handles it flawlessly, and pleasantly with no drama.

While driving me to the airport, Sara mentioned to me how “gracious” all the artists and celebrity guests were. I had to let her know that she was the reason we were on our best behavior.

“We artists are like children,” I said. “We need structure.” When we know what is expected, and when the situation is organized & professional, we don’t want to be the cause of it all devolving into chaos.

(Somewhere in there, I think, love of Pit Bulls may also have something to do with it.

I refer to “celebrity guests.” Indeed, I was a little starstruck. Pinups for Pitbulls was there. I found myself circling their table incognito several times before working up the nerve to approach them. I’m normally not so shy, and we already know each other from our online association. But I thought I should change into my stage attire before I met them personally. Plus, I wanted pictures, and I feel awkward asking for such things. It was sort of funny the way I went into my head just then. (It must have been that Southern humidity.)

The Pinups are so sweet you wouldn’t believe it. Lovely, bright, and committed to the dogs. They have wild & crazy tattoos on the outside, down-to-earth wholesomeness on the inside. The three ladies who were representing each have husbands serving in the military — one whose husband was coming home for R&R from Afghanistan the very next day.

Also there was Shorty Rossi, to MC the event. Just in from Nicaragua, en route to Vegas, with his dog Hercules (and assistant Juan), Shorty the Pit Boss was in splendid form for such hard travel. A professional, with a sense of humor.

I mention Ken Foster (author) in a previous blog. He’s from New Orleans, with tales to tell about canines and hurricanes. I had the pleasure of dining with him the night before, so I got a taste of the human voice behind his writing.

And, oh yes, the bands. Top notch, every single one of them, leaving me with the impression that Charlotte has a brilliant music scene.

I’m listening to The Situationals right now. A fine work — excellent songs. But like so many bands, they have more power on the live stage. Loud, with a fine female vocalist and a pair of aggressive Americana guitarists. (I thank Mike for his tuner, ’cause I had no room for mine in my carry-on luggage. Sorry I kept it up there on stage, Mike. I hadn’t expected Shorty to introduce me while I was tuning up.)

Jared Allan & Company. If I had known what they sounded like, I would have asked to sit in. Jared is a singing voice to be reckoned with. (Not many can get away with covering Ray LaMontagne.) With mandolin accompaniment, and being from the South, Jared’s brand of acoustic Americana makes me envious. It makes me wish my family had kept me near the Ozarks where I was born. (I can strain that loose association all I want, but damn me, I’m a Yankee!)

Charlotte has a Reggae band called Jah Fishermen. While they jammed, Situational Mike and I sat outside ruminating over how difficult Reggae Music is to play. It’s simple sounding, but it’s hard to play. Most musicians can’t. They think they can, but they can’t. Jah Fishermen get it right. And a good reggae band is always a peak spot on any multi-band bill.

Porcelain Mary is temporarily deserted by their Germany-bound lead singer, so they were unable to play their originals. Nevertheless, in true “the-show-must-go-on” ethic, they plowed through a set of classic rock covers–as a power trio–including Big Head Todd’s “Bittersweet.” Two things: 1)This guitar is good enough to pull it off. 2)I’ve thought that some of Big Head Todd’s music would be better with a less-busy rhythm section, as this one is.

Lucky Five!

My own set? I frickin’ love playing solo on big stages — especially to an audience who is waiting for particular songs to sing along. (That would be “Pit Bull Blues” and “Pit Bull Rescue Woman”) The question is always, “But will they like my other songs.” I think this audience did. Having been invited to come so far, I really wanted to please. So I didn’t hold anything back. It was honestly the best I could do.

One last thing: Thank you to Sara’s family for the bed in which I got my best night’s sleep in months.

And I haven’t even yet begun to talk about the things I learned at the booths outside the concert. Stay tuned.

Shipe @ Oregon Country Fair (7/8)

Yesterday, I had my strongest Oregon Country Fair show ever. The crowd was generous at Shady Grove Stage. And I felt good. They didn’t even seem to mind as I had trouble tuning my guitar under the hot sun. (Read further for my theory as to why this year’s set is better than the past.)

I’ve been performing at Fair for two decades now. Almost every year, I’ve appeared on one of the many side-stages — semi-acoustic or entirely acoustic.

A few blissful times, with my old band The Renegade Saints, I’ve rocked the main stage.

This evening, Matt Butler’s Everyone Orchestra headlined. And I am fondly reminded of year I was exceedingly blessed to join them. I say “exceedingly,” because E.O., as an entertainment act, is what Country Fair is all about. They are not a “band” so much as a “gathering of musicians” by invitation — a different lineup every time — horns, guitars, percussion, strings, turntables, old-timey stuff, banjos and mandolins, exotic things like sitars and ouds. Whatever and whomever Matt finds intriguing. They are absolutely unrehearsed. Matt directs them with hand signals and a grease board through a series of improvised pieces.

My bands — The Saints, The Blue Rebekahs, The Scapegoats — and my solo act, for the most part, have leaned towards the serious side of song. Not exactly what you’re in the mood for when surrounded by painted bodies, stilt-walkers, centaurs, clowns, fairies, carnival barkers, and other swirling odditorium entities.

The Fair is a vaudevillian/circus sideshow melded with rootsy hippiedom and craft-booth creative capitalism. It’s where you go to see entertainment that you can’t get at your average local venue. Yeah, there is some fairly conventional reggae, hip-hop, jamband, and socio-political folk. But the real appeal is the unusual stuff: juggling troupes, burlesque, circus music, exotic vaudeville, and some acts that I can’t even describe.

There are a lot of homemade instruments, played by the makers who have mastered them. My own set on the Shady Grove stage was preceded by Shovelman, who built a guitar out of shovel, and plays virtuosic weird blues. After me, came the legendary Baby Gramps with his eccentric old-timey dobro.

This year, I was promoted as “Thurberian character-filled Americana.” Ha! If there is one thing that Oregon Country Fair is all about… Well, The Fair is about a lot of things. (Strange and bizarre things.) But one thing here, that we celebrate mightily, is the ancient art of story telling. And if there is one way to make “Americana” sound like it’ll fit the Country Fair vibe, it’s to call it “Thurberian.”

All that dovetails nicely with the developments in my own craft and career over the past 3 years. Between songs, I must have talked to the crowd nearly as long as the songs themselves. And my songs nowadays are full of a lot more stories and characters than they used to be.

By the way, if you’re interested, James Thurber was a mid-20th century satirist who wrote my favorite fairy-tale: The 13 Clocks.

Shipe @ Art & The Vineyard (7/2)

It’s rare to play a full-length featured solo set on a big stage at a festival. 90 minutes is a long time to carry a show by yourself, but I love it. In the past, I would take on some accompaniment for a gig like that. (Jerry-Groove on upright acoustic bass or Ebbage on lead guitar. Or both.) But from here on out, 90 solo minutes on big stages is exactly what I want, as often as possible.

The hour-and-a-half went by in a snap, and I could have easily gone another half-hour. It might have been nature of the event. You know, wine & art in the park. And it might have been the home-town welcome. But the moment was surprisingly intimate — suitable for a singer/songwriter sitting on a chair, wearing a tie and a fedora, with a guitar, a ukulele, and a few stories to tell. It was just me hanging out with an audience sitting on blankets in the sun on a grassy field. Not much different from a wine-bar or coffee house gig.

My eyes were opened to the potential power of the solo set about 6 years ago, when I was booked as an opener for Jerry Joseph at John Henry’s in Eugene. Jerry was on a solo acoustic tour, without the Jackmormons. But I didn’t have a solo set worked up at the time, so I brought my band The Blue Rebekahs.

Conventional wisdom says that full bands play after acoustic acts. But conventional wisdom also says that John Shipe plays before Jerry Joseph. So I asked him: “Hey Jerry, is it all right that I brought my band?”

Jerry answered, “I ain’t afraid of no f–kin’ band.”

(Now, before you interpret this brusque response as rude, I should tell you that Jerry later invited me to sit in on his set. After I jammed on two songs, he said, “It sounds so good, why don’t you just stay up here and play the rest of the show.” Graciousness with fellow musicians can be one of Jerry’s golden features.)

In that moment, I vowed to also never be afraid of playing solo, in any environment, on any stage, on any bill. The trick is to make sure that your acoustic versions are not merely quieter versions. They are different; not less. You gotta lean into that difference. Sing along with the solo acoustic instrument that you’re playing in the moment, not the absent band in your head. Furthermore, as you embrace the intimacy, you’ll find it surprising just how aggressive, rockin’ and big you can get all by yourself. But it must make sense in sonic context. (I have discovered this in my acoustic version of Al Toribio’s “Letter Home.” In The Renegade Saints, this song is powerful, grandiose Southern rocker. By my lone acoustic self, I enter the song softly, relaxed. 3 minutes later, I find myself belting out the vocals and banging out the chords, but in an entirely “acoustic” way, earned through a gradual intimate trajectory.)

About that ukulele. I’m still working on it. I can’t keep it tune, my rhythms are plain, and I haven’t yet tapped into those wonderful uke-swinging 4-note chords that make it so special. But damn! It never fails to be a showstopper. One woman came up to me later: “When I heard that ukulele, I came running over to the stage to see what was going on.” So, no doubt I will be delving deeper into uke territory.

Shipe & Walker @ Rock Creek Tavern (6/30)

Last night, old friend and fellow Renegade Saint Mike Walker—back from Africa—sat in on piano at Rock Creek Tavern in Hillsboro, OR. Delighted, I’m hoping it’s a prelude to more such gigs. (Add Alan Toribio to mix… and/or Dave Coey, and we get closer to real Renegade Saints shows. But I like these acoustic sectionals, sometimes wondering if I actually prefer their subtlety and warmth to the spectacle of unbridled Saintly gargantuanism. We used to advertise such meetings as “Petty Saints” gigs. The rule was, any combination of 2 or 3 of us was Petty Saints. If we had the entire front four—even without Ned the drummer—we called it a Renegade Saints show. With Ned the drummer, we have a very special kind of beast, after which I’m usually prescribed bed-rest for several days.)

Mike is a “listening” player. He pays close attention, responsive to the singer/songwriter’s dynamics. You easily witness his concentration. He doesn’t just learn the chord progression and plow through it. This visceral manifestation of musical respect, in the moment, brings out ever more pronounced dynamics in the lead’s performance, resulting in emotion. There is more space-between-the-notes. Starker melodic trajectories. Quieter, more intense low spots. More aggressive highs.

It’s a paradox: With the right musical hands, you can discover new levels of feeling, mood and nuance in under-rehearsed material.

Mike was a session cat on my last album, so he’s somewhat familiar with newer Shipe stuff. But I didn’t want his whole night to feel like “hanging-on,” so I gave him a lot of my older tunes. Wow! I hadn’t realized how much I’ve changed since those rockin’ days of yore. I was darker then, driving at something, like trying to scratch an itch that I couldn’t reach. (Which is why you play with a band sometimes, ’cause you gotta hand someone else the scratcher for those certain hard-to-reach places.) A few of these songs are on the Saints live album. Mercy Saints Alive!

Mike plays with a lot folks in Portland. But right now, his main act is with those other four Saints I’m talking about in Mexican Gunfight.

Shipe at BMI Koffeehouse loves R & B

A month ago, Tavi from BMI gave me some professional advice: “Go to the BMI open mics!”

So I did. Last night I got a slot at BMI Koffeehouse in Harvelle’s in Santa Monica (thanks to Mouse, the mistress of the venue.)

I was a little nervous, I admit. I would be sharing the stage with L.A. BMI songwriters. But I acquitted myself pretty well in this positive, welcoming environment For damn sure, the songsters were top notch. But they were all different, and comparing them isn’t very instructive.

As my turn approached, I hadn’t decided on what I was gonna play. I planned to connect with the vibe in the room, while playing a different style from the songwriter before me.

The result was “Some Hidden Things” and “Hours Go By.” which was a risk, because they both have the same groove. But I had good reason. “Some Hidden Things,” while maybe not my best song, has compositional trajectory. That is to say, in songwriter lingo, “it goes somewhere.” It’s in the relaxed part of my vocal range, and the chord progression builds tension and releases. A good way to introduce myself as a songwriter who, at the very least, makes musical sense.

I played “Hours” ’cause it has vivid story-oriented lyrics and a catchy melody. But I completely changed it for this spot. Slower, and finger-picked. This served two purposes: 1) It varied from the “Hidden Things” groove, and 2) I needed to sing my frickin’ ass off! ‘Cause before me, a woman named Heidi Rojas raised the bar like a vocal Olympic high-jumper, with two sexy, velvet-funky, original R & B tunes.

I felt that a slow version “Hours” would give me room to do some emotional Americana style crooning of my own.

It felt good. And by the end of the night, I was invited to participate in another event of Mouse’s hosting.

Read more »

Shipe in Laguna Beach

The callouses and the mojo are back, and I’m hitting my stride.

Beth Fitchet Wood hosts songwriter night every Tuesday @ The Marine Room Tavern, where I had my best set yet since I relocated to SoCal. I must have felt good, ’cause I even busted out the ukulele. (“The Beast is Back Again.”)

I knew it would be a good night when my friend Sir Doug Worley showed up (from McCabe’s Showcase in Oceanside circa 2008-09) to bear witness. Now, for the record, I love my original songs; sometimes I amuse myself into giggling fits. And I like my singing voice. And I justify myself well as a total package. But often I am honored to be billed with guitar specialists who can really put on a clinic. In this business, no matter how good you get, there is always someone displaying skills that make you hungry for practice time. Read more »

Importance of Being Well-Rehearsed

Viento y Agua tonight. I played just 45 minutes, and my fingers are killing me. (My callouses aren’t back yet.) This artsy coffee house is an intimate venue, good for connecting with a close-in audience. I thrive on these places. However, being a little rusty, I was concentrating hard to make sure the material came across solidly, authoritatively executed, with feeling. Not to mention remembering the lyrics, singing them in the pocket created by in-the-groove strumming and fingerpicking.

Being solo is deceptive. On the one hand, you think it gives you a lot of freedom. Freedom to speed up and slow down, go louder and softer as the feeling strikes you. And you can just ad-lib around the mistakes. Hit a wrong chord and you sort of slide out of it, or chunk it off and sing a line acapella. Or just make shit up on the spot until you get back on track. A solo artist is free to hack, right?

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Shipe @ Back Alley in Fullerton

I was a bit worried when I booked the gig. On MySpace, Back Alley looks like an utterly raucous venue, specializing in theme nights, 80′s & Disco, DJ’s, rowdy stuff like metal/punk/swing, or tribute bands like Allison Chains. Why would they book a singer-songwriter into the 11:00 pm – 1:00 am slot? And they booked me instantly on the first inquiry! The thought crossed my mind that they were desperate. You know the old Groucho adage: “I never join a club that would accept me as a member.”
Or worse: maybe they were setting me up for some twisted anti-theme, “Make-Fun-of-the-Serious-Songwriter-Night. (What?! You don’t believe I really think thoughts like that?)
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