Back when Dyson joined up with Shipe Band in 2000, he came from a hot Eugene local progressive funk band (with Olem Alves, Asher Fulero & Zak Johnson). Shipe music didn’t exactly scratch that prog-funk itch, so it’s good to see him returning to it. I hasten to add that he has the super-evolved chops to meet the prog agenda. And he’s singing, to boot.

Over the years, I gather this song has seen a good bit of action. I know of a church band that plays it at their services. (Which, by the way, I think is wonderful, in spite of the fact that its origin lay in a more secular variety of epiphany… sort of Edgar Alan Poe on peyote.)

S.A.F. did a fine job on this. It makes me want to get my ass back in the studio and write another song.

Two things stand out which please me: First, he cites the pop/rock song “Promises” as one of the better songs on the CD. Other reviews either ignored it, or mentioned it in passing as “stylistic meandering” that veers away from the tidy semi-acoustic stuff on the rest of CD.

Second, he describes the writing as “naive and innocent.” This sounds like a slight, but I think he meant it in a good way. Plus, I think of such naivete as kind of a writer’s victory. I had been honing the writer’s skill of making a distinction between author and the character who is speaking. Previously, some Shipe tunes would be saturated with too much awareness. I wanted the Yellow House characters to speak from specific points-of-view, limited to the experiences portrayed in each song, while broader and deeper meanings would go un-said. In other words: more story-telling, and less poetic, emotional philosophizing (Not to mention all the dark cynical impulses that accompany all that agonized deep-thinking.)

The paradox is just how much work it takes to become so “naive and innocent.” (In the same way that Picasso spent 60 years learning how to paint like a child.)

3rd Coast Music’s Freeform American Roots Chart

Entering at #16, tied with Chuck Prophet.

I couldn’t be more pleased. DJ’s and programmers in this part of the Biz treat independent music with honest respect. Even those who reject Yellow House send me e-mails indicating that they gave it a seriously listen. If it doesn’t fit their repertoire, they usually pass it along to someone else who might run with it, laying the contact info on me as well.

Now that I’m wrapping up the international promo run, I finally have a partial-but-substantial list of North American outlets spinning the album.

WDBX Carbondale, IL http://www.wdbx.org/

WMBR Cambridge, MA

KBCS Bellevue, WA

WVIA & WVYA Scranton &Williamsport, PA

WRPI Middleburg, NY (On Sonny Och’s program; she is the sister of Phil Ochs the great folk poet.)

KVMR Placer County, CA

Freight Train Boogie http://freighttrainboogie.com/

Radio Wayne http://www.radiowayne.com/

CJTR Regina, SK

WADN Shirley, MA

KWSU Pullman, WA

KZMU Moab, UT

CFBX Kamloops, BC

WSDP Canton, MI

CET Vancouver

WVUD Newark, DE

CITR Vancouver

CHES Erin Radio, Ontario http://www.erinradio.ca/

KPFZ Lakeport, CA

WCOM http://www.taprootradio.com/

WRIU Rhode Island

WNCW Spindale, NC

WHEE Martinsville, VA

WHUS Connecticut

KLCC Eugene, OR

KBOO Portland, OR

KLRR Bend, OR

At Hogan’s, you’re tucked in a nook, behind giant speakers, on a stage deeper than it is wide. If you’re not loud and rowdy, the music can’t make it all the way to where everybody’s sitting.

We’ve never rehearsed. Scott, my dear Lewiston friend, practices on his own, and greets us with newly crafted mando parts. We just jam it out like street musicians. All bravado and energy. Plus, he calls out songs I don’t play often, from my older rock albums–”Jasmine,” “Crawlspace,” etc. Also, he’s a Renegade Saints fan, so we bust out Al Toribio’s “Letter Home,” Mike Walker’s “Delivered,” and Dave Coey’s “Tara.” He’s got all the hooks down.

A pleasant surprise was how gorgeously Ebbage’s country side shined with the mandolin in there. Perhaps it wasn’t the best stage for his lullabies, but two-steppers like “Hurtin’ Me” and “The Way She Does It” sounded best of the entire tour. (I felt good on twangy lap steel, to boot.)

With the quasi-rhythm section, and Scott’s mad energy egging us on, why not have Ebbage play electric most of the night? His tone was so awesome, we just let him go off on long indulgent solos. (Did I mention that Scott’s right arm is a rhythmic machine? Sticking the groove while Ebbage shredded, especially on “Road Story.”

Speaking of “Road Story”, there were some devoted Jerry Joseph fans who called me out on my influences: “So, Shipe,” says this one dude, “Did you write ‘Road Story’ before or after Jerry Joseph’s ‘Drive?’”

“Okay, fine, you caught me,” I said. “Just for that, we’re gonna cover an actual J.J. song. Sit back down in your chair and soak up ‘World Will Turn.’” (Ebbage has gotten very good at thickening up our version with the electric… even without a rhythm section. I dare say we acquitted ourselves properly with that homage.)

But we pressed our luck. We should have stuck to the Miles Davis rule: Always leave them wanting more. Whether it be a musical passage, or a whole song, or a set, or an entire show, stop just short of topping out the tension by extending the climax. Restraint is key. For this Hogan’s show, the climax unmistakable; we were obviously done. But we were having too good a time to quit. As fatigue and one-Jager-shot-too-many kicked in, we ran the train of the rails. “These Days” took 15 minutes to get through three verses. I don’t think Ebbage knew what song we were playing, but he added some nice spacy notes, and the thing sort of went searching through the stratosphere–not the concise Jackson Brown song we’re familiar with. Last, and certainly least, “Crawlspace” turned into three and a half minutes of breakneck random chords.

Ah, well. That’s rock-n-roll for ya. I love it. That’s what makes it fun. You’re on stage, you’re in it together, and it ought to be a little risky. Like driving a car too fast around a curve.

The P.A. system we carry around has no monitors. But the Moon Time has a flat wall behind the bar, pretty close to us in front of the stage. So we crank that system up, hacking away at our rocker tunes, like “Road Story,” “I’m not Sorry,” and Jerry Joseph’s “World Will Turn.” Andthe sound bounces back at us, guitars and voices blended in a beautiful swirly wash. (Oh, those poor bar tenders!)

Funny, the Moon Time is a small intimate place, with all the makings of quiet acoustic venue. (While John’s Alley is a big ole wood & concrete tavern suitable for kicking ass.) But Moon Time is a talkative audience on Thursday–Dollar Microbrew Pint Night. This puts us acoustic folkie-singer-songwriter-troubadors in a potentially awkward postition, especially with Ebbage’s high ballad-to-rocker ratio. (All those sweet love songs.) But you have to trust that the crowd is listening and appreciating in their dollar-pint-night way. They don’t play the role of “audience” exactly, but you must play your set with assurance and authority nonetheless. They know when they’re hearing something of quality, even though they don’t sit with eyes glued to the stage, hanging on your every word of song-introduction. In this kind of atmosphere, you don’t waste time between songs. Keep it moving, and take advantage of those moments in the night when they do seem to want a bit of stage talk.

They never fail to show their appreciation. Always chatting us up between sets and after the show, buying CD’s and getting on the mailing list.

And thank god I finally bot my lap steel act together, making myself more welcome on those lovely Ebbage tunes.

I would have liked to play better, I was a bit uneven on lap steel, making a bloody mess of Ebbage’s sweet songs. I’ve got four gigs to fix that, and I’m better rested for tonight’s gig at Moontime in Coeur D’Alene.

Alley folks were kind to us as usual. Buying CD’s and chatting us up and down about our solid music–even though we were a little off this time. (It wasn’t quite the zone we were in when we played Ashland last time… when I ended up hospitalized for a supposed kidney stone… which I still have… even though it’s not a kidney stone…It’s a herniated disc, which I still have…. which makes it scary to drive 8 hours and then sing & play for 4 hours… songs like “Crawlspace” and “Imitation Man” especially… But I’m okay, I think.) We must have come along way since 1997, because even though we felt “off,” we still managed to sell some CD’s.

Towards the end of the night, when we were really starting to fade, a fellow came up to us, named Matt and said: “Hey guys, it’s getting late, and no one’s really listening, you want some sax?” (Hmm, it sounds rude when I write it here, but it wasn’t rude the way he said it.) Although I was just about tapped out and ready to call it a night, I wanted to hear what he would sound like with us. (He’s part of a band with Bennet the accordion player from Ala Zingara, so he had some automatic credibility there.) He warmed up on recorder as I played Green Day’s “Good Riddance.” Next, I challenged him with Bossa Nova “Just in Time.” Sounded great, so we finished off with “Don’t Pass Montgomery By.” Nice.

Pit Bull Blues (by John Shipe)

People see me walking down the street, they all run and hide.
I used to take it personally, now I take it in stride.
I got nothing against no one, I wouldn’t hurt a fly.
But people seem to think I’m mean, and here’s why:

Chorus

I’m a Pit Bull
A big brown, red-nosed pit bull.
A tooth-bearing, muscle-bound Pit Bull.
I look like I could tear the steel off a locomotive freight train.

People park three spaces when I’m waitin’ in the car.
All the kids in the neighborhood, they never walk through my yard.
There’s a rumor floating ‘round the county that I ate three cats.
But I swear from the bottom of my canine heart that I didn’t do that, no I didn’t do that.

But I’m a Pit Bull,
A tooth-bearing, muscle-bound Pit Bull.
A big brown red-nosed Pit Bull.
I looks like I could dig a hole through a concrete wall.

Bridge

I got these Pit Bull Blues,
All I wanna do is sniff your shoes,
I ain’t no killer hound.
No, I’m the friendliest dog in town.

The sheer sound of my barking could break through arctic ice.
But deep down, I’m a pussy cat; I’m just trying to be nice.
In case you didn’t notice, I’m wagging my tail at the speed of light.
But no matter what I do, I’m accused of looking for a fight.

‘Cause I’m a Pit Bull,
A tooth-bearing, muscle-bound Pit Bull.
A big brown red-nosed Pit Bull.
I look like I could crush a cannonball in my jaws.

But I couldn’t do any of those things.

THE CHORDS:

Note: On the record, I didn’t play the C on the second measure in the verses, but I do now, and it sounds better that way.

Verse: G-C-G-G (4x)
Chorus: C-D-C-D-C-D-Em-C——
Bridge: C-G-C-G-Am-D-Em-C——-