Yesterday’s Pit Bull fundraiser (at the Franciscan Renewal Center — a real-life monastery) went smoothly, although I was sleepwalking through much of the day. (I shared it with an original band called Arbor Circle, the kind of act that would fare nicely sharing a bill with The Renegade Saints. The singer reminded me of Jerry Joseph, but with a happier vibe.)

Afterwards, I was fixin’ to catch a Greyhound back to Blythe. But a couple of Mayday volunteers had a different idea; they would drive me. (This means 5 hours out of their weekend, after working their assess off for free all day.)

Ducati Motorbike-mechanic-John & Baja-cycling Curt escorted me back to AZ-CAL border, bought me dinner Denny’s while I waited for Blythe Ace mechanics to finish Saturday races at the local speedway and bring my car to Motel room at 10:30 pm. On the way, John & Curt schooled me on motor sports, both of them experts — John working for GO AZ motorcylces. (Did you know that you get sent to Italy to learn how to work on Ducati’s? And by the way, the owner of GO AZ is also the owner of GoDaddy.com.)

That’s what I love about this life. Every where I go, I meet all different kinds of folks and learn about all different kinds of stuff. John & Curt tell me that I should write a book. But all I ever learn is just how ignorant I am about what goes on around this huge country.

Doug Cash & I shook our heads in disbelief and exasperation as we traded sets at the Fox-n-Goose. (I like to stagger four 35-minute sets — two each — at double solo bills. That way, both acts get to play in front of both the early sober audience and late intoxicated audiences… There are advantages and disadvantages to each.)

Now, I am a rabid baseball fan. And a boy from Missouri (although I bleed Royal Blue more than Cardinal Red). So I was fully engaged in the ballgame from the stage. I shared the moment openly with my would-be audience. Why fight the World Series for attention? Can you imagine playing a solo set in a corner set at Hooters during the Superbowl? (Well, it wasn’t quite like that.)

This has happened to me a few times before, in certain bars or pubs that wax sports bar-ish on select evenings. I once watched the Oregon Ducks lose to Boise State from a stage in Central Idaho, when our fullback punched a BSU Bronco in the face.

Regardless of the night’s divided activity and interest, we performed enthusiastically. We are professionals after all. I get the impression that Doug Cash never phones in a performance. He has an amazing, professional singing voice, like he could have worked at Motown. He sang mostly original, semi-jazz pop tunes with unique lyrics, from his CD Tough Nut to Crack. Among his cover tunes, however, his Paul McCartney is impeccable. I found myself tossing out my own “Michelle” just for kicks, feeling a bit sheepish about it.

Good to see John again, who had to leave Hollywood behind — temporarily — just as I have, until further project infrastructure is robustified. We commiserated, planned, theorized, and encouraged one another, and assured ourselves that we would soon release the second episode of Laurel Canyon Back Porch Variety Hour.

First gig of tour is tonight in Sacramento, with Doug Cash, at Fox-n-Goose Pub. I will be well rested, having taking a few hours off the long drive from Eugene.

The The Mayday Pit Bull Rescue benefit couldn’t have gone better. It was held at a first-rate venue:The Compound Grill (which is home of the McDowell Mountain Music Festival)

President Jennifer Mazzocchi desired the event to be more of an entertaining, music-centered concert than a quasi-political presentation. I took that to heart, dug down deep to have fun on the stage, and played one of my livelier sets. It meant a lot, because they were so welcoming and gave such great hospitality. They refused to let me pay for anything, from meals, to hotel, to a visit to the Musical Instrument Museum. With that in mind, it was a big relief that turnout was fantastic and generous in terms of revenue. (The last thing I want to do is cost them.)

Ironically, I made more money playing “for free” than I ever make gigging here in Hollywood. How? I sold a ton of CD’s. (Almost all were The Song Clearance ’cause it contains Pit Bull Blues.) When I play a benefit, I like to donate part of the profit, but Jennifer insisted that support was abundant on this particular evening.

Speaking of Pit Bull Blues, my set was planned with a short interlude of before & after videos of rescued dogs (which was both heart-breaking and uplifting.) I would play the song to introduce the video–and again as my closer. This breaks one of my 3 rules: Never play a song twice in a show. But I obliged with delight by busting out a ukulele version. I even raised the key so that women could sing along.

I was flanked by two fine acts: Vince Mazzocchi (an excellent San Diego songwriter) & his friend Chad as The B-Sides. And Mikel & Meredith of The Sugar Thieves.Mikel is a left-handed dobro virtuoso with a Dr. John voice. Meredith (who has some history with Eugene, OR) has grand belting pipes.

I have to give a shout out to John, Richard, Kyleigh, and Lisa, who are Jennifer’s helpers. They tag-teamed my hospitality, and they introduced me to 2 dozen dogs, whom they take care of amazingly with patience and affection. Difficult dogs turned good, sick and lame dogs turned healthy. It really is impressive, and a metaphor of great value.

The event itself went as those events usually go. Meticulously planned, nearly derailed by unforeseen difficulties, yet pulled off miraculously through sheer energy and improvisation. Imagine a pack of devoted dog lovers parading a bunch of pit bulls around a sports bar beer-garden, intermingling with an overlapping engagement party that was double-booked by the venue.

Yes, the folks at Green Iguana kind of messed up with that double-booking. However, it was a blessing in disguise. Without the wedding party, there would have been no sound system. They told us they had one, but all they really had were two XLR outlets on the wall behind the stage, somewhere within proximity of the stereo system. The conversation may have gone something like this:

“Do you have a P.A.?”
“A P.A.?”
“Something our entertainment can plug into.”
“Oh, yes. We do.”

And technically speaking, they told the truth. There was something there that I could plug into. But, no actual system. Fortunately, the musician for the wedding party, a generous and awesome cat named “Johnnie B.,” stuck around and let us use his sysetm. This was a true expression of professional comaraderie. (I chatted with this man for some time afterwards. Great dude, with a fine Marc Cohn-like singing voice. Here’s a fellow who plays nearly 300 gigs a year without traveling more than about an hour to each one. Sheeee-it! I’m moving to Florida… after L.A.)

Now, about Krisztina Kallai who runs the Pit Bull shelter (Buster’s & Foster’s): she and Brian were unfazed by the fiasco-like circumstances unfolding. Steady, the exhibited my favorite calm problem-solving traits. (Think “No-drama Obama.” And speaking of whom… I’ll get to that later.)

Previously, on the phone, I couldn’t place Krisztina’s subtle accent. Was she always eating when I called? Had she been drinking? (No she doesn’t drink.) Was she in character of some sort? I finally found out why? She’s Hungarian! And anybody who knows anything about Hungarians, knows that their language is unique to itself, so the accent is unfamiliar. But hers isn’t even a full Hungarian accent. It’s dilated through Iowa and the South.

Not only is she Hungarian, she and her family escaped Hungarian communism in the late 80′s. I met her parents, and they are simply amazing people who kept me up until 3:00 a.m. with stories and life-enriching conversation. These folks bolted from their native land, found freedom in Iowa, and worked their way up to creating their own oak wine barrel business: Zemplen Barrels. (I am not a drinking man, but I had to try a certain Chardonnay as they explained to me how oak effects flavor.) They also filled me in on some Hungarian 60′s music, an band called Illes, whom I dig–like the early Beatles based on Hungarian folk.

I would have stayed up all night if Waffle House wasn’t calling.

This is bound to be a long-ass blog, so I’m throwing in the “read more” option.

Towards the end of the night, Krisztina’s mom made a small comment I couldn’t help noticing. She was speaking of political power and said, “In Hungary, it was the communists, and now here it’s the corporations.” This from a woman who escaped America’s greatest ideological enemy, and who runs a business. Wouldn’t she be to the right of the kind of folks who complain about corporations (me), concerned about America descending into Obama Socialism? But I guess it goes like this: “I know socialists. I lived under socialism. And Obama, sir, is no Socialist.”

.

Speaking of such things, and the Waffle House, as I tore myself away from that hotel room to eat breakfast, I realized what I like about dogs, music, and waffles: they bring very different people together. Krisztina and I were joined by her husband Joe, a Pasco County deputy, and her friend Eric, who calls himself a Constitutionalist and who has started up his own Pit Bull shelter. There I am, crunchy liberal from the Great Northwest hanging with a Southern tea-partier, a law-enforcement agent, and a Hungarian defector. Cool, huh?

Now, in these situations, when I’m feeling good about human beings in general, of a mind to celebrate our similarities and our differences, I rarely bring up politics. (Unless I’m poking fun at my own brand of liberalism.) But, the fellow who listens to Glenn Beck has no problem bringing it up, In some situations, this could have been unpleasant. But Eric seemed to have fun with the idea that he was dropping bombshells on the conversation like; “A citizen has the right to any kind of weapon that the government has.”

I suppose that was tongue-in-cheek. Because, across the table from his was a law enforcement agent who probably doesn’t appreciate going on domestic violence calls where the husband has Stinger Rocket Launcher. We had fun riffing on that for a while. And Eric had a few things to say about Obama’s threat to our constitution. I tried reassured him that if it really looks like Obama is headed towards totalitarianism, I’ll join him in the fight. But for now, he’ll just have to settle on his right to vote against him.

At that point, Joe chimed in non-chalantly: “I think Obama’s doing okay.”

Wow, I thought. A southern law enforcement agent praising Obama. This just goes to show what I know about people. I hear stuff on the radio, and I just assume that every Floridian who isn’t a New York/Jersey transplant is ready to ride Obama out on rails–tarred and feathered. Especially any Floridian who owns a gun.

The rest of my time there is really blurry, because, frankly, I slept only about 12 hours out of the 72 hours I spent away from home. But I can say this. I made some good friends. And I’m serious about moving there in the Winter of 2011-2012 if times are right.

Silver Moon Brewing is a terrific scaled down venue, filling a Central Oregon venue gap since the demise of The Grove some years ago. (Frankly, for acoustic music, it’s a better room, with a more intimate feng shui.)

A few words about Emma Hill & Her Gentlemen Callers: Two thumbs up. She brought only one of her gentlemen callers to this gig. (Brian, her pedal steel player/backing vocalist.) I prefer it that way. Emma has a gorgeous full voice–a charming, emotional performer, which might come through when backed by a full electric band. But in sparse format, you get the full dimension of her art. That’s a paradox for singer/songwriters. Less is more. You really hear and feel her wisdom, wit and honest emotion. Amongst many of the Northwest folk artists I’ve played with, she stands out in sheer intelligence of songcraft.

I particularly liked a song probably called “Keeper,” a brilliant, slightly jolly take on having the lower hand in a relationship. She sings, smiling: “I’m not your ‘keeper,’ but a little bit of you loves me.” She exhibits vulnerability without the dire, angst that threatens an audience’s comfort zone.

Even though I played first, I must have benefited retroactively from the vibe she created. I loved playing for her audience. Generous and responsive, used to paying attention. They indulged me in my debut on ukele–my latest original “The Beast is Back Again.” (I’m loving this new song of mine, influenced by Leon Redbone, about falling off the wagon after 10 long years of boring clean soberiety.)

There’s nothing like a gig where they face the stage, listen to your stage banter (even your pretentious navel-gazing), listen to the music & lyrics, laugh at the funny parts, and erupt into applause after every song. Lovely.

The reason a fellow goes solo-acoustic is to explore subtleties–particularly in the downward dynamic. But you only get that when the audience is willing to go quiet right along with you.

Another word about Emma, native Alaskan daughter of a bush pilot: The highest compliment I can pay to a fellow artist is when I pull out my notepad and start jotting down lyric ideas during her set, which I did. It means she has put me in “the zone.”

I found myself thinking about a certain detail of performance; when a performer says “Thank you” to the audience at the end of a song. Some say it the moment after the song finishes, before the audience applauds. That was Emma’s style. My style is to wait until the audience actually applauds. I do this consciously, thus communicating that I hear the applause and I appreciate the appreciation, acknowledging that it fuels me as I continue with my set. Emma’s quick-draw-thankyou style, and that of many others, communicates gratitude for the audience listening in the first place, regardless of applause. (i.e., “Thank you for the 4 minutes of your time you’ve just given to me.”) Nothing wrong with that. But I’ve witnessed some frontfolks uttering mechanically, “Thank you!” like an automatic tag after every song. For me, that becomes meaningless, and does nothing to enhance my connection. Not to mention, what if the audience isn’t listening at all? (And sometimes they don’t, no matter how good you are.) That version of “thankyou” is mere affect, part of a pose.

I wax over-analytical, but any method to keep the connection genuine is best for me.

I’m soliciting guidance from friends and fans in the area. The internet has made the world pretty small, and they can help me simply by passing the good word to anyone they know in the Biz. I’m looking for:
Clubs
Openers at performance halls
Coffee Houses
Openers at amphitheaters
Bars & Taverns
Wineries
Bands to open for
House Concerts
Galleries

Any and all help is greatly appreciated.

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.)

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.)

She goes on to ask, “Are you making another Sudden & Merciless Joy?”

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.

Last night was one of my better Moon Time gigs. The place was packed. (Iron Man Triathalon is in town.) Even though they were typically noisy on Dollar-Pint Night, they were listening. applauding after every song, tipping, making requests, and buying CD’s. I tested their attentiveness by directly soliciting tips–announcing that my local hotel of choice had raised its rates by 40 percent. They responded. I would not have done this had I not been sure that I was playing well, already making a warm connection by virtue of the performance. One does not resort to playing on the audience’s sympathies for the poor starving traveling troubadour. One only asks for voluntary compensation after providing solid entertainment. (Speaking of compensation, I thank Moon Time for paying their solo artists well. It’s always a reassuring way to start a tour. And the comped meal is spectacular.)

I mentioned that folks were making requests…

This is touchy area for some singer/songwriters, but not for me. I’ve heard some artists mutter, “I ain’t a fuckin’ jukebox.” Me, I welcome requests. It usually means that they like what they’re hearing from me. They enjoy what I do, and wonder if I might enhance the evening with a certain song they like. I’m not offended. It’s not that they’re bothered or bored by my set, and would I please just play something else?! It shows that they like music, and have confidence that I can play anything. Hell, if someone thinks that I can pull off a James Taylor or John Mayer song, I take that as a bit of flattery.

However, I almost never know how to play the song they ask for. And as for James Taylor, I’m not really a fan. And I’m particularly not a fan of James Taylor cover-doers either. I usually take requests as useful information about what mood a group of folks are in. I’ve got 100 of my own songs to choose from, plus about 30 idiosyncratic covers. I can take care of their listening needs in my own way.

What matters is engagement between audience and performer. In the venues I play–wine bars, taverns, coffeehouses, restaurants–any kind of engagement is golden.

What I really like is when people request actual Shipe tunes. Good thing Lex was there. He’s an old friend from early Moscow John’s Alley and KUOI Radio days of the 90′s. He reminds me that he’s been coming to see me play for 17 years! How can I refuse his request for “Delivered” and “Know By Now.” (These are two songs that came real close to hit singles back in the Renegade Saints days. They remain catchy, but I have been gradually morphing them into more modern cadences via slightly eccentric performance. I would like to run into to more Saints fans and test out these treatments.)