I have been a part time member of The Last Drags. Pat loves jamming with friends and he knows how to make them comfortable sitting in.

Here’s a tasty morsel from Portland where he has none other than the great Al Toribio joining at The White Eagle, playing on my song “Waiting on You.” It’s appropos, as Al played the original lead guitar on the album from which this came–Sudden & Merciless Joy (1999)

They do emphasize the funky-friendly side of the tune. (This surely comes from Pat’s love of Steely Dan.)

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.

That was one of two Shipe production videos that got made in ’09. SoCal is the land of movies, so it seemed right to film while I was there.

A most serendipitous fortune was meeting fellow Oregonian, former Eugenian and Renegade Saints fan, John Grimshaw, a filmmaker who had just produced 20 Wheels to Memphis (Adminium Films) At John G.’s direction, we made an arty video of “Yellow House.” This was one of the most enjoyable creative collaborations I’ve been a part of. He became a great friend; I hope to work with him again and again.

I didn’t have enough time to work the San Diego scene. Disappointing, because they have one of the best tiny acoustic venues on the West Coast in Lestat’s. There, I went to see my friend from Portland, Stephanie Schneiderman, another great road warrioress. (Being on the road is tough; it means a lot to have familiar faces from home show up in the audience.)

Since I was on a sabbatical, I wasn’t all business. Pleasure: Besides daily milk shakes on the pier, and Irish bands, it was zoos and deserts. Anybody who knows me knows I love the zoo and the desert. San Diego has the best zoos. And Joshua Tree National Park has the best deserts. I went to the Zoo and Wildlife Park 4 times. Joshua Tree twice. We stayed at the same place U2 stayed when they were making their groundbreaking album. (Another Irish band, you know. So I worked up “Red Hill Mining Town” and brought it back to the Irish Pubs.)

Oh, another pleasure: Dyson, my old drummer came down, and watched the Padres play the S.F. Giants.

May rolled around and we had to leave. But where to go? Yellowstone National Park, to live among bison, wolves, bears, moose, geysers and tourists. Professionally, this too seemed like a mistake. Dial-up internet, no cell phone service? But this was a childhood dream come true. Yes, work was difficult. But I was able to write a lot. And I could tour circles around Montana and Idaho, where they deeply appreciate live acoustic music. I could approach my usual Northern Idaho stomping ground from the backside, doubling the size of my familiar circuit. The drives were long, but gorgeous. I found myself gigging as much as I always do: Vino Rosso in Idaho Falls, Sandbagger’s in Pocatello, Riley’s in Helena, The Cellar in Missoula… In Boise, I got to hang with my other former drummer Scott Headrick.

In June, I came home for my most important gig of the year: Officiating at Ehren Ebbage’s wedding (to Anna), as a Universal Life Minister.

Living in Yellowstone, I didn’t feel like I was missing much. Played softball, worked out in the gym, played piano, met new people who never talked about politics or religion. And, Amy and I started filming a Yellowstone documentary.

In July, the nightmare occurred: we lost our hard drive. Every new song I had recorded from the start of the year, and the music for Amy’s film… gone! I had been pushing in new musical directions, and much of it wasn’t sticking into memory. So, losing it all really took the wind out of my sails. (The less said about that the better.)

In August, I returned home again for Tim McLaughlin’s Music Edge Camp, to teach with Ebbage & Zack. There is nothing like teaching kids for getting yourself back on track.

In October, we came home. Back to work. I had trouble with the transition–trying to re-connect with my regional circuit, re-establishing my place on NW roster, re-building my student clientele. But an invitation to speak to a mass-media class at the U of O stirred my confidence and enthusiasm. Motivated, I moved aggressively on several Shipe fronts. First, I signed on as lead guitarist for The Last Drags with Pat Kavaney and Jerry-Groove. (This de-isolates me as a musician, and scratches my rocker itch left by The Renegade Saints.) Next, I kicked off international promo run for Yellow House, with Emerging Artist Resources. (This is already paying dividends beyond expectation.) And finally, I moved an upright piano into my house (with the help of River my protogee and his bandmates in The Tunnel Kings.)

There was peripheral sadness as the year was closed. My agent Linda decided to retire. (Not so sad for her, really.) Also, longtime Eugene arts patron Wally Slocum passed away. (The Renegade Saints reunited for the memorial at the WOW Hall.) And saddest of all, a close friend of mine lost a brother.

The holidays began cheering me up, threatening to put me back on the sunnyside, when suddenly, I was hospitalized with a kidney-stone, or gallstone, or herniated disc, or something. That really sucked, for sure, but when I woke up from sweet Morphine and ever-friendly Vicodin, I checked into my business to find that I already have a new agent. Plus, I found out that I’m on folk charts in Europe and Australia.

So now, as I start the new year back at Headquarters at West of Eden, rediscovering workaholism, I think to myself: The next time I want to release three or four videos, double my tour circuit, and get radio play on two other continents, I’ll take a sabbatical.

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.

In the morning, the pain in my back was like getting harpooned in the waist. I’ll spare you the description of pain so severe it makes you wretch non-stop. Not to mention the absurdity of my trying to deal with it: “It’s just the usual lumbar strain… blaarrrrrrrg…. I’ve…. blarrrrrrrrg… had it before… I just slept on it wrong… blaaaarrrrg… need to ice it… blaaarrrrrg!”

Ebbage, and my wife the nurse/actress, are great in a crisis. Clearing and checking out of hotel room in 3 minutes is an impressive feat. (Must be all of those shotgun load-outs after lousy gigs you want to put behind you as quickly as possible.)

And the Medford Hospital is awesome. I had my first experience with Morphine, which was wonderful. (But I was very angry at the admittance staff when they wouldn’t let me lie on the floor in the lobby as I was being checked in. No, I had to sit up in a wheel chair and answer questions in between dry heaves. That was pretty funny.) They were fantastic. I tried to remember all of the nurses names through my haze of pain and morphine. It helped divert my attention from the illness.

Now, the gig which went so well, made each of us $100 in pay, plus another $50 or so in tips. And we sold 13 CD’s. Plus a free meal and a hotel room. Expense out the $800 clutch job, and the $5000 dollar hospital visit, and we only had to pay $5500 to play together.

And it was totally worth it to play a night with Ebbage… and to dream the sweet “awake dreams” of morphine.

One more thing. I missed the Last Drags CD release in Eugene. But I got so many calls from my friends at the show, I felt like I was there. I’m a pretty lucky guy.