Back in the UK again, it's been three years. Last time I was
over here was a follow up to my supporting Ian Hunter's Acoustic Tour, where I
came back over with James Mastro and did a handful of dates on my own. That was
May 2009. It's now July 2012. I've been wanting to come back since 2009, but
had to wait on a new record, had to wait till my label found a fiscally sound
reason to release it over here. If it were up to me I'd have just come over,
album in hand, and sold off the stage. But this being a whole different
country, I took others' advice and waited till I was told the timing was right.
The timing, this time, being an invitation to support Alejandro Escovedo's UK
Release tour for "Big Station", his wonderful new album. Part
of this tour was a leap of faith. As 'support', you really don't make much
money. You hope for good CD sales from the stage to offset the cost of
traveling, and since I'm coming over during Wimbledon and right before the
Olympics, my travel costs were sky high this time. As well as some stupid
glitches I made (um, customs tax on shipping CDs because nobody advised me how
to do this...). But Alejandro's gang have made it easy on me, by inviting
me to travel with them in the band van. Which helps me to not have to rent a
car, and it's been great, because the guys in the band are all really kind,
very interesting guys with war scars and open hearts and they welcomed me in
from the start without any hazing or attitude. Mike Allen, the tour manager,
is a big Glaswegian with a heart of gold. And Alejandro is one of the
classiest and humblest people I've met in any walk of life. A huge huge talent
who is revered in many circles and is one of those artists that many people
feel should be way more famous (to me, he's pretty famous) and who, once in his
presence, the fame thing falls away -- YOUR response to him, not his response
to you. He seems to treat everyone with dignity and respect and meets people at
their levels. He is such a decent guy that I feel like I'm remembering why I
started doing this in the first place. And the kind of artist I aspire to be.
Sometimes when I travel, I'm tempted to blog about the things I
see, what I eat, all the unusual happenings, but not this time. I've seen
rolling fields of green dotted with sheep with sheets of rain from the window
of the Sprinter. I've seen red brick buildings stained grey from old soot. I've
seen castles from the highway, distant. Our days are running together.
Wake at about 8am. Make tea from the room (good thing I gave up coffee
this year for tea). Take a 1/2 hour run if we're in a safe area. Or do a bit of
yoga in the room. I've taken to doing an excruciating (for me) sit up routine,
as I'm frustrated by my body seeming to take some age on in the middle. Eat
fruit and yogurt that I've snagged from the dressing room the night before.
Meet at the van at noon. Drive 3 or so hours. Read in the van. Get to the next
hotel. Check in. Nap for a minute. Load in at 5. Check emails while the band
sound checks. I soundcheck for 10 minutes. We all eat dinner somewhere. I play
my 45 minutes. They play for 2 1/2 hours. I join them on a few songs. We pack
up, take all the food and waters from the rider for the van. Get to the hotel,
check a few emails. Sleep.
It's not glamourous. This is where it is a job. No real time to
sightsee. We get a taste. Then we're off to the next place. But for 45 minutes
I get to play some songs and do what I love the most and it's all worth it. I
don't make much money. Never have. I wonder if I ever will. I know that I need
to. Leading a creative life since I was in my 20's, I never really had the
luxury of making more than I needed and setting myself up any kind of cushion.
It's always been a month to month existence. I've chosen this. I know it and I
don't complain but it is unsettling. And I wonder if there will come a
time where I'll need to surrender to the realities of the economics of this
ever-shrinking/ever-growing music business -- a lot of people out there making
it, and not a lot of people buying it. I've heard way too many times
"there's too many girls with acoustic guitars out there" --
especially here in the UK. Bullshit. I hate that phrase. Are there too many
boys with electric guitars? Are there too many banjos? Yes. There are a lot of
girls playing folk/americana/roots music. A lot. But each is different. Just
because Mary Gauthier and Diana Jones and Carrie Rodriguez and Anais Mitchell
and Tift Merrit are out here touring (I see their posters and their names on the
bills of the places I'm playing) does it mean there's not room for another? Can
you really compare any of those women I just named and say that they are the same
thing? Don't they offer something different? Something unique and maybe
even essential? Don't they touch hearts in different ways?
Maybe I'm just the eternal optimist. I struggle every day with
the monkey-mind of comparison. The voice in my head that tells me I'm
not good enough and someone else is... better, prettier, thinner, younger, older,
whateverer. That voice is exhausting and I wish it weren't there, but it
is, always there. In all of us, right? I remember the first producer who wanted
to sign me to a ridiculous 7 term deal, just to make demo's for me. 7 terms and
ownership of all of my music just to make a few demo's. It was the most
ridiculous contract and I thanked him and declined. He said, "you'll never
get anywhere in this business". It was a line out of a 1950's movie.
And he said it with venom. That was 1998.
Hanging around with Alejandro and Bobby and Chris and Billy and
hearing their stories, I feel like, again, I'm in a club -- a club of people
who have heard these things and slapped them away. Told those voices to piss
off. While we followed instinct, sometimes down dark paths that led us to our
knees, and sometimes to these small moments where one really great show, one
amazing sound person, one kind club owner, one small club full of 100 fans who
love every song we're doing makes a magical night and we all realize that THIS
is what we're after, despite the voices, the doubts, the struggles, the
poverty, the lack of sleep, the loneliness, all of it.
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