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.
I promise, we have no intention of pulling the wool over anyone’s eyes. We’re just having fun, keeping the juices flowing. It’s a chance for me to put out some whimsical material, for Amy to do some whimsical singing, and for our production-mate John Grimshaw to practice voice over & editing. (Plus, he wrote the show’s best song: “Call Me Darlin’”)
Well, wouldn’t you know it? The LCBPVH ended up with a listing on the Old Time Radio web site. And the whole “cast” gets mentioned. Ozark Otis, TC Ragstix, Tracy Dixon, Bill Heathrow, Sammy Levine…
Yes, I was honored and humbled to be a part of this event, hosted by Bill Heathrow & Sammy Levine. Nostalgic western sounds, corny country humor, Hokie Okie presentation. A real hootenanny! (Whether it’s a put-on or the real deal, I’ll never know, but I don’t think it matters.)
I shared the stage with TC Ragstix, Amy Wray, Tracy Dixon, and those crazy bastards from Ozark Otis & the Oxnard Eight.
We played a few of my new songs, and one by the great Duke Wray. We’re keeping our creative hands busy between projects, and having fun.
Check it out!(Click the play button at the bottom left of the photo.)
At long last, Ehren Ebbage and I have finished with the tracking for the new album.
Ebbage is off to L.A. to do the mixing. Release is scheduled for the Winter. But soon, I’ll be trickling out a handful of samples as they become presentable, offering a free download or two.
As the 12-week surge of adrenaline recedes slowly from my veins, I get back to the more even pace of rehearsal, booking, promotion, and gigging. Not to mention the CD artwork and publicity. (I’m excited to begin working with Green Light Go, a company of robust stature.)
At the outset of this recording, I confess I was in no condition to make an album. On the heels of a dry spell, re-entering civilization from Yellowstone life, and fighting off a medical issue, I had trouble slipping into my imagination and flowing with ideas. But Ebbage, producer extraordinaire with a great bedside manner, convinced me that there were a dozen gems amongst my latest 31-song batch, then he hauled my ass up to Crossroads Productions
From there, we kept moving forward until the damn fine thing was done. And I feel certain that it’s going to be the best so far the Shipester.
Ebbage and the musicians below, I thank deeply; for they are truly responsible, not just for this album, but for getting me through tough personal times:
This morning, I’m in Seattle, with my bestest music buddy Ehren Ebbage, about to go into the studio for our 3rd of 4 stretches of work on the new Shipe album.
It remains untitled, but finally comes into creative focus as I understand where this material comes from, and who the character (or set of characters) is that makes this album. One of the songs is called “Love Belongs to Everyone,” which could to be a title cut. But I’m afraid it won’t do, because it’s one of those “means-the-opposite-of-what-it-says” lines, which nobody will get until they listen to the song a few times.
And besides, as Amy says, an album of that title, judged by its cover, will be easy to dismiss at first glance as a lazy collection of hippy, one-world, one-love musical platitudes. To that, I say, “What’s so funny about peace, love and understanding?”
“Ha,” she retorts. “If only that was what you had to say.” (The song itself is as dark as any I’ve written, featuring a highly disturbed character. But at least the chorus is uplifting… uh… in a kind of mournful way… You’ll have to hear it, I guess, and you’ll see what I mean.)
No, I’m not. But, yes, this album comes from a restless, worried place. It’s not the domestic placidity of Yellow House. After all, I was ungrounded, moving from Eugene to San Diego to Yellowstone and back to Eugene, enjoying life, but struggling to get leverage in my endeavors. I should have indulged in sunny California mellow melodies, and wide open Yellowstone Big Sky . But this guy went further inward than outward.
That said, I insist that he’s not so existential as SMJ. He’s more like the Blue Rebekah storyteller who lodges at Yellow House.
If that has you wondering how this album is going to sound, all I can say is, “me too.” I’m in the capable hands of Ebbage, and I trust him all the way. Together, we’ll make sure the whole thing makes a good damn bit of sense.
We got a new baby pit bull around here at West of Eden. His name is Otis. He loves the sound of the piano, settling himself down to help me work on new tunes for the new Shipe album (currently in pre-production with Ehren Ebbage).
We picked him up from Luv-a-Bull, a shelter & sanctuary here in Eugene, OR. Liesl Wilhardt, the hero who runs the place–compassionately and expertly–takes in orphaned Pit Bulls from all around North America. Likewise, people from all around the continent adopt from Luv-a-Bull.
In some ways, Cozmic Pizza is not Eugene’s hippest, most desirable venue. It’s a big, vaulted echo chamber, so you don’t want to bring your rhythm section, unless you’re certain to fill the place with bodies to absorb the excess sonic boominess. However, it’s a right nice place for a Holly Brook / Shipe pair of intimate solo performances. Other venues in town have more built-in attendance, but it’s good to play for an audience that came to listen.
It was a decent crowd, between Holly’s considerable Facebook following, and my local cronies.
As for my set, it was a solid short one, with two highlights. First, I tried a new song: “No Use Crying Over a Spilt Life.” It’s a sad piece about dreams slipping away, musically influenced by the Irish musicians I chummed around with in North San Diego County.
For my second trick, I forced my wife Amy Wray to join me on the debut our country duet, “Hard to Believe.” This brought the house down. Video for this is forthcoming, and you’ll see why.
About Holly:she is a special artist. Looks good, sounds good. A consummate professional–on piano mostly, but adds guitar and lap dulcimer. Her voice is impeccable, haunting. With a theatre background, so she knows how to make the stage her home.
I met Holly’s mother, Candy, back in November while doing a two-night stand at Bandon Bill’s in Bandon, Oregon. She too is a professional musician–an acoustic diva in the style of Joni Mitchell. (She joined her daughter on stage for an amazing version of “Both Sides, Now.” It was one of those cover-tune moments when you say to yourself, “Wow, I forgot how good this song really was.”) Candy warned me about Holly, that she would be coming through the Northwest, and would probably impress the hell out of me. Parents are predictably proud, but in this case, they come off like colleagues just as much as family.
At one point, Holly introduced a song as being inspired by the “Twilight” series. That movie has the potential to make me vomit in my mouth a bit, but her song was outstanding–the best of her set, with Radiohead-like cadences in a soprano voice. Chills. (She is forgiven for the lapse in pop culture taste.)
Before the show, Holly was not very talkative, sitting quietly with her mother. Everybody is different in the way they deal with pre-show tension. I tend to be excitable and gregarious–if in a distracted way. (Let’s go ahead and call it manic.)
What impresses me is when artists take seriously their presentation, taking care of their performance to the utmost, even in the humblest of venues. Coffee Houses, taverns, restaurants… It always matters, especially when people pay to see and hear you.
After the show, she was more chatty, as if released and relieved. I was glad to hear more of her story.
Holly Brook was a signed Warner artist, frustrated in that major record labels typical frustrate their artists. Now she is on her own, managing her own career, which she seems ready to relish–particular the ability to release her own music any time she wants. She records on her own, at her home studio, which intrigues me, because, guess what, so do I.
The start of 2009 found me in North San Diego County. In the middle of my Yellow House run, it seemed a mistake to up-and-leave headquarters just to get out of Northwest rain. Sure, we lived on the beach, and the sunny weather was awesome, but they don’t have much of an original singer/songwriter scene in that surfer strip between L. A. & S. D.
What they do have, however, is a great Irish scene. Irish bands and Irish pubs. (Gentlemen from Flogging Molly reside there.) I was lucky to fall in with these folks. Ned Giblin, of Brehon Law, invited me to play Wednesdays at his pubs, J.J. Landers and R. O’Sullivan’s. So, I had regular gigs and a close look at a timeless style of music. (The influence of Ned and his cohort David Lally is bound to show on my next album.)
In Oceanside, I befriended Doug Whorly and several of his showcases at McCabe’s, where I met the lovely and talented road warrioress Jacqui Foreman. She honored me by covering my “Faith in the Man.”
It was at a Whorly showcase where my wife, Amy Wray, filmed the video of me covering The Pretender’s “Brass in Pocket.”
I didn’t bother working the L.A. scene. Too big, and like different country. But at the urging of my publicist Leona, I played a couple times at The Gypsy Den in Orange County. (Once with Trevor Davis.)
We lived down the beach from football star Junior Seau, who has a beautiful blue Pit Bull named Rocky. I mention the dog, because it was about this time that my connection to the international Pit Bull community really deepened. I was getting daily e-mails from dog lovers about my song “Pit Bull Blues,” which I gave out freely to anyone engaged in canine care and rescue. Soon, videographer Jeff Fleiss contacted me with the idea of making a video. By spring, he had hauled me up to L.A., filming me in front of the Coliseum amidst 25 Pit Bulls and their trainer, Dogman. He put it together with some excellent footage taken by Amy, and boom… there was a sweet video… still getting legs on the web.
According to Amy, it was the best that Ehren & I had ever sounded together in our lives. It sure felt that way. And we’ve been playing together since the 90′s.
But we paid the price, didn’t we?
Amy and I went early. We love Ashland, you see. As we were touring around the Plaza, Ebbage called us from Roseburg. His clutch had given out, good two hours North on I-5. He had to find a mechanic, leave his car and take a bus to meet us. But there’s no station in Ashland, so he could only make it as far as Medford. While I set up for the show, Amy had to drive a half-hour to pick him up.
He made it in time. From 8:30 to midnight-thirty, with hardly a break, we played damn near every song in our repertoire, with as much emotion and execution as we ever play. Very satisfying. (Our good San Diego friend–and “Yellow House” vid director–John Grimshaw was there, too.)
But I couldn’t help noticing the hot flames of pain shooting up and my back through the whole thing.
Back at the hotel. I ate my leftover Shrimp & Chicken Pasta and laughed at the Girls Gone Wild infomercial with Amy & Ehren.
Gig Re-caps | shipe | 
July 25, 2011 8:00 am | 
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