Friday, June 12 2009
Cloud 9, Corvallis, OR

On my tours I depend mightily on the kindness of strangers, or more often, the kindness of folks I only know through the briefest of online connections. I'd blocked out a day to play somewhere in the Eugene, OR area, but was having no luck with the regular venues. I put out a call on the listgroup I'm most active on, and not long after got an email offering to help book me in a cool restaurant in Corvallis. What's more, he asked for press materials to help me promote, and last but not least, offered to put me up for the night after the show. Positively overwhelming!

I hadn't been to Corvallis before, but found it to be a model Oregon town: green, green, green, with bike paths and winding streams among all the tall trees. Cloud 9 is located in a string of businesses next to a beautiful river, a reclaimed warehouse area, apparently. As I soon found to be typical of venues in Oregon, the floorspace was extremely generous, and there was plenty of room for me to set up my gear even among the diners. My host/booker/promoter then came by with his lovely wife, and we sat down for some dinner. When I'm on the road, I often don't have the time or local savvy to eat well, so it was a treat to have a killer vegetarian meal, especially at the venue where I'm playing. My highest recommendation.

I'd decided to do both an instrumental set and a looping set, something I've never done before. With one thing being structured acoustic compositions, and the other being improvised soundscapes full of odd noises, it's a tall order to expect one audience to enjoy both. But tonight I figured I'd start with the acoustic stuff to hopefully please the last dinner guests, then I'd move on to freeform music as the evening got later (and people started drinking...).

About halfway through the acoustic set, while doing a quick tune-up I heard an inebriated voice from the far side of the bar: "Play the blues". This was so hilarious to me - my material not being even remotely bluesy - I had to stop and just laugh. Then it came again: "Blues. SMOKESTACK LIGHTNIN'. Play the BLUES!". I shot a bemused stare in the general direction of the voice, and launched into my next tune. Once more I heard it: "Blues. E minor! Play the blues!". This was starting to get annoying - and I still couldn't see who it was - but it's so rare that I get an actual living, breathing heckler that I couldn't think of any witty repartee, so I shrugged and started up another song.

This kept up through the end of my set, and I was somewhat glad when it was over, knowing that if nothing else, the material I was about to launch into would probably bore him out of his wits. As I was plugging in the little solidbody nylon-string I normally loop with, a skinny bleach-blonde guy dressed all in black kinda staggered over to me. I thought he was going to pay me a compliment, so as he grabbed my shoulder for support, I leaned my head over to hear what he was going to say. To my shock, I heard the same beery voice: "BLUES. E minor. I can play it if you can't..'Smokestack Lightnin'. Blues!". It was the heckler! Somehow I'd expected a retiree in a Bud Light cap, not this arty-looking twink. I just laughed at him and continued with my setup, as he lurched for the door.

A number of people came up to say some nice words about the first set, which felt great, and many sat back down, expectantly. I gave an in-depth explanation verging on apology for what I was about to do, which was going to bear no resemblance to the music which had just ended. Surprisingly, after the first abstract piece, a number of the same people were still there. Whoa!

I continued on, and as it got later folks began to drift out, but a lot of people stuck with me until the end, even as explored some noisier stuff. It was very gratifying to feel again, like the night before with Ted Killian in Ashland, like I had managed to get across to an audience largely unfamiliar with this kind of music.

Thursday, June 11 2009
Southern Oregon Guitar Concert, Christian Church of Ashland, Ashland, OR

Ted Killian is a hell of a guitar player and sound maker. When he offered to set up a show together (and put me up at his home), I jumped at the chance.

He'd booked us a night at a church - an environment I love to play in, usually with great acoustics, and an environment dedicated to listening. I had an extremely enjoyable drive - it felt great to leave California after three weeks there and head into Oregon, where I haven't spent much time - though beautiful country. I arrived to find Ted's sophisticated rig already in place on the generous stage, and I set up while we caught up. Ted is a designer by trade, and he made up some amazing posters for the night - then presented me with a t-shirt of the design. Yeah!

After a nice time relaxing at his home, we headed back to the church and fired up our gear. It was a modest crowd, but a very appreciative one, of open-minded individuals but not the typical improvised music listeners, fascinated by the fact that we were making it up as we went along. Ted and I bounced back and forth, each doing a solo piece, then one together, which is something I like doing. I feel like it really pushes the music along, and since he has about a million sounds at his disposal and employs them all skillfully, I felt very challenged to contribute something interesting of my own. Some great music was made in my opinion.

Back to his place, to enjoy a late-night dinner set up on shrink-wrapped plates by his charming wife. Could hardly ask for more from an evening.

Wednesday, June 10 2009
21 Grand, Oakland, CA

Though it hasn't been located at 21 Grand Avenue for some time now, the venue 21 Grand in Oakland is perhaps the most established of the Bay Area's new/experimental/improvised music venues. I was happy to finally have the opportunity to play there, especially as they are currently dealing with the venue police (especially nasty in Oakland) who demand the same considerations for a small coffeeshop with live music as an 800-seater venue, and frequently visit anywhere with live music to be sure all regulations are met and the expensive permits have been purchased. 21 Grand is in the process of finding money to upgrade some needed items, and hence are having fewer shows in hopes that music doesn't have to stop altogether in the meantime.

My partner this night, my last show before leaving California, was Matt Davignon, who I'd played a duo set with last tour. I love his work and, though our equipment is very different, I find a real similarity in our approaches. He uses an 80's drum machine as a sound source - never actually programming beats - and processes the tones through various common processing pedals. What comes out is completely unexpected given the materials, and I never grow tired of hearing where he goes. We also seem to play off of each other very well, so I was very excited to play with him again.

We arrived early and set up our gear on our matching rollup mountaineering tables (I'd learned about this great tour item from him last year). Eight o'clock rolled around and, though I was eager to get going, Matt said there was no rush and suggested we wait until a few more people showed up. I always hate to start late, but he knows the venue better than I, so I agreed. By 8:30, there was indeed about double the people that had been there at 8:00, so we began. Matt started with a solo piece, I followed with a solo, then we did a few more together. Two of my hallmarks of a good improv set is when the time passes quickly, and when I can remember almost nothing about what I played afterward, both of which were very true here, except I knew I felt very GREAT about the music that had actually happened. There was a very nice round of applause and a lot of nice words afterward, so it seemed to have worked well in the audience's estimation as well.

After us was a new quartet entitled Cylinder, made up of Bay Area fixtures Lisa Mezzacappa, Aram Shelton, Darren Johnston and Kjell Nordeson. Living in Mexico, it's very uncommon for me to experience a talented ensemble playing exploratory music (on tour I rarely get paired together with a group, much more often a soloist or duo), so my pleasure of it may have been doubled by the rarity. For whatever reason, I absolutely loved what they were doing and found the interplay to be incredible, especially given that it was one of their first (if not the first?) of their shows together.

Saturday, June 6 2009 (evening)
Bluesix Acoustic Room, San Francisco, CA

I'd been aware of Bluesix for some time, and had always thought of it as a jazz/new music performance space. When I first approached them about a show, I suggested doing something with a tape loop set for myself and a few other players along those lines. They seemed willing enough, and I put together a complete bill with three acts including myself.

Oddly, when I presented the bill, I met with a flat refusal. They told me they have difficulty bringing in an audience for this kind of music, and even specifically pointed out the inclusion of "Mills guys" (from Mills College, the renowned new music-oriented college in the East Bay) as a negative feature of my lineup. I sadly cancelled on the one performer who was actually a current Mills student, and instead planned on an acoustic set for myself, along with pals/singer/songwriters Julie Zielinski and Goh Nakamura. But I insisted on keeping Travis Johns, another friend who, albeit a graduate of Mills, has a wide range of interests and agreed to do something amenable to the now more song-oriented spirit of the evening.

On the night of the Godwaffle show, ears still buzzing, I picked up Julie Z. and headed down 24th Street, the heart of the Mission. We were running very late and I didn't have time to doublecheck the location, but I was pretty sure I knew the address, and figured it would be obvious enough. We parked near the block where this address was located and hopped out, dragging our acoustic guitars and accouterments. Arriving at the street number, there was a church. I looked up and down the deserted block, hoping for some kind of sign to our venue, but didn't see anything at all. As I started calling random friends to see who could look up the address for me (times like this I really do need an iPhone), people started spilling out of the church. I asked a small crowd of them, but no one had ever heard of the place. By this point it was several minutes past the planned start of the show and I started to panic: was it actually 24th Avenue, out in the Sunset??

Just then we saw a few of our friends walking down the street...then crossing over to the other side. I did indeed have the address wrong, so we were down a block and on the far side. The venue itself, a cute storefront, wasn't marked at all so we could hardly be blamed for not finding it, but I relaxed as I saw the friendly interior with a number of chairs already filled.

I hastily set up my small PA and had Travis kick things off. He had also undergone changes from how he'd originally envisioned his set; he'd written a pack of tunes to be performed with a singer and a viola player, but then the violist took sick on the day before the show and the vocalist felt like they couldn't do it as a do. But he reassured me he'd come up with something suitable, though impromptu.

I wasn't sure what to expect, but was sure it'd be interesting. He went to the front of the room, hooked up a couple of pedals, then sat in a chair with an electric upright bass (or cello?) across his lap. He then used a rubber band to lash an electric drink stirrer to the headstock and clicked it on, causing the strings to resonate with a steady hum. The crowd quieted down, and with a bit of ceremony he began to attach alligator clips and other objects to the strings, pausing after each to let the minute change in timbres sink in. It was a hypnotic, glacially evolving set, and when he faded things gently out after 20 minutes or so, I found myself having lost all track of time. A great opening.

Bluesix advertises itself as an "acoustic room", and while it does permit some sound reinforcement (which was necessary in the case of Travis' electric instrument), they try to have acoustic instruments be the focus. I never miss the opportunity to play without amplification when possible, so I didn't bother plugging in and just walked close to the front row of chairs to start my set. I suddenly realized that every seat in the place was taken, with additional people standing in the back. A packed house! This was by far the best-attended show so far on tour. It gave me a real charge, and along with trying to fill the room with guitar alone, I found myself playing things really fast and rather aggressively. It got a little sloppy, actually, and I was glad when getting to a few slower numbers which forced me to take my time. The crowd seemed to enjoy the acoustic nature of things, staying very quiet, and I liked being able to adjust "volume" by moving closer or farther from the front row.

After my set, I stuck around to play with Julie on her material, which I know quite well by now. She left her guitar unplugged too, with just a very quiet mic for her vocals, though when I sang backups I just yelled 'em out. I love her voice and enjoyed hearing it - and singing with it - in a nice listening environment.

Last up was Goh. He plays with some looping pedals, so he plugged in though he also kept things pretty quiet. He's a great player, singer and songwriter, with a very charming presence. Toward the end of his set he asked for requests, and I shouted for "Wouldn't it Be Nice", the Beach Boys classic which I've heard him play before. He walked to the piano at the back of the room, whipped out a few gorgeous verses, then somehow got the crowd to sing along (always a feat) - THEN managed to convince everyone to keep singing while he took a quick bathroom break, before returning to finish the tune. Glorious.

Saturday, June 6 2009 (morning)
Godwaffle Noise Pancakes, San Francisco, CA

The genre of noise music is an interesting one. It can encompass jazz, drone, electronic, lo-fi, minimalist, and rock styles, with the common thread only being that the music is exploratory, generally improvised, and with little or no key reference or regular rhythm. It can sound like crickets chirping in the forest, hiss on a car radio, or a rototiller gone amok in a sheet metal factory.

From the few shows I've done in the genre, I've come to expect but a few constants: short sets, harsh tones, and a recognition of the visual and performance elements along with the music. This was no exception at Godwaffle Noise Pancakes, a monthly San Francisco celebration of noise that combines a generous handful of succinct performances with the serving of "gourmet" (er, borderline edible) pancakes. The first performer I saw was Cerebral Roil, crammed into the living room of the flat filled with found objects, shock art and black-clad (mostly) dudes. He set up his instrument which was noisy just to look at - a turntable fitted with a radial saw blade and a meat fork as a stylus -and though he couldn't get the terrifying thing working, merely the sight of it made a performance statement.

Next up was Dwarf Pluto, a trio from LA who filled the room with an impressive/expensive collection of Moog synths, laptops and a theremin, which began generating a series of low hums and throbs. Though they sat calmly of front of their controllers, the sound gradually exploded into total cacophony, climaxing with almost unbearable electronic screeches. Packing up their gear took longer than their 15-minute set, after which the imposing duo of Liver Cancer set up. They're a pair of huge guys from Huntingdon Beach (now based in Roseville of all places) with shaved heads, nasty tattoos, and booming voices that as often as not resounding with jolly laughter. I was having fun talking with the largest one before the set just to hear him speak - it was an act all its own.

Each of the Liver Cancer fellows had a table covered with pedals, plugged into a huge guitar amp. There was no pretension of subtlety - from the get-go it was all brutal electronic noise, occasionally punctuated by bellowing screams from a cheap mic jammed directly into one of their mouths. At one point, the sound was cut in half as one of them yanked the cord out of his amp during his thrashing about, then couldn't figure out the issue. I was going to point out the problem, but it was intimidating (to say the least) to think of walking directly into their path, and he discovered the cord soon enough, with a big goofy grin to us before resuming the assault. It was completely exhilarating.

They were followed by a spectacle completely of a different sort. A painfully skinny guy flopped himself on the floor, arranged a few bare circuit boards and an old self-contained record player around him, then pulled a blanket up over himself and all of the gear, leaving only his frizzy head visible. He stared vacantly upwards, then with a few rustles under the blanket, some muffled buzzes were heard. Those assembled drew closer and stopped all conversation, straining to hear what he was doing. The buzzes stopped abruptly, then started again, with a few high-pitched whirrs joining in. There were some crackling noises, then silence again, then more subtle tones. It was an interesting lesson on drawing a crowd in; no one seemed quite able to breathe, not wanting to disturb the delicate scene.

The tones continued, staying constant now and growing slightly in volume, when I slowly became aware of the unmistakably acrid smell of burning wire. It was subtle at first, then seemed to increase as the volume increased, until just when the sound reached a comfortable listening level, it stopped completely. Our entertainer threw the blanket off, and apologized - his tone generating circuits had simply burned up on the boards. I thought it provided a perfect arc to his performance, and there was much applause.

I went on next with my standard setup of travel guitar, four-track and Dictaphone. It was liberating to know that anything I did would be accepted, and in fact, the more unexpected the better. I started out with some machine feedback, then added a lot of tape noises, recording the sound of rewinding and fast-forwarding, and didn't actually play much guitar at all, winding up at 12 minutes or so with both tape machines playing as slow as possible, mainly reproducing tape hiss. While brief, the set felt like just the right length, and I felt fully sated.

Friday, June 5 2009
Fox and Goose, Sacramento, CA

A very cool night. Ross Hammond, a guitarist whose work I absolutely love, set up this date for me, with a solo set and the promise of some collaboration. I arrived at the Fox & Goose to find an enormous space, like a divided barn, with rustic decor to match. There was no PA in sight, to my surprise, as the venue has a regular schedule of music. But Ross arrived shortly, lugging an amp for me to plug into, and I tucked it away to the side as the opening trio started up. They played a fresh variety of jazz, with some out explorations but often groove-based, and I enjoyed them thoroughly, as a decent crowd started to arrive.

When it was time for my set, most tables were filled and things were lively, which was promising. With no PA to bark into, though, it was hard to get anyone's attention to introduce myself, and as I started my first number I realized that the music wasn't cutting very much into the level of conversation, either. There was a nice round of applause after the tune, but soon enough the talk began again, especially from the table nearest to me. As my set progressed I tossed out any quiet numbers, pounding out my loudest tunes and occasionally sneaking a glare at that one table, which blissfully carried on its bubbly regalement in spite of my best efforts. Even switching things up for a quiet version of Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah" didn't cause them to pipe down in response, though when Ross joined me for a far-reaching take on "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" I imagined things got a bit calmer. It may have been that I was so focused on him, though. It's been a long time since I played on a standard with another guitarist, especially one as fine as Ross, and I really needed to stay on my toes. Easily my favorite tune of the set.

We'd talked about my sitting in a bit with the final band, one of Ross's groups, but he asked me to just stay and play along on the whole set, which would be completely improvised. I was more than game for this. We were joined by acoustic bass, drums, sax and trumpet, and started out in a languid, hushed mood, Ross bringing in some loops and thick droning chords. It was such a blast to play with a band - I haven't played with a drummer in any context except a one-off rock gig in about five years, and here was a really great ensemble, eager to try anything and capable of wonderful accompaniment. It was a humbling experience to try to keep up with Ross, so I definitely hung back a bit, playing more of a rhythmic role, though occasionally I'd add in a short solo. My own set was less than ideal, but the experience with this combo made for a fantastic night.

Thursday, June 4 2009
Sperryfest at Luggage Store Gallery, San Francisco, CA

This was a really amazing night. Every year in San Francisco, there is a musical celebration/memorial of Matt Sperry, a bassist very active in the jazz/new music scenes as well as appearances with Tom Waits and the Bay Area production of Hedwig & the Angry Inch, who was killed while biking to work five years ago. This is the first year I've taken part, and I was extremely happy that the dates worked out in my favor.

The Orchesperry is a conducted improvisational orchestra, which this time was made up of about a dozen players including myself. I was the only guitar player (I played acoustic nylon-string, plus had my Dictaphone) represented among a very wide mix of instruments including John Shiurba on banjo, pipa, Suki O'Kane on marimba, Jonathan Segel on violin, Philip Greenlief on shakuhachi, laptop, John Hanes on percussion, and several others. Setting up, I was quietly amazed by the people showing up to play, I was familiar with nearly all of them by name and reputation as leaders in the local new music scene. Conducting was Gino Robair, a true leading light in creative music. Before we started, he gathered us all in a back room to explain the cues that he'd be using. Holding up both his pinky fingers meant one short note, holding out thumbs and forefingers like an "L" meant a long note, putting his fist in front of his heart meant Beefheart (i.e., playing a short repeating phrase with no particular relation to what anyone else is playing), etc. Beyond that, we had no idea what we'd be playing.

Gino started by pointing to Jonathan on violin, who sawed out some soft, dissonant phrases. He then pointed to others to join him, then motioned to the rest of us to do a short hit. Things progressed from there, with a real humor to it, and it was exhilarating to be part of something so spontaneous and interactive. At one point he had me do a solo overtop several others doing Beefheartian riffs, then had Suki join me on her marimba. I started bringing in the Dictaphone, stuttering out bits of pieces of what I'd been playing earlier, and she and I got louder and more and more frantic, until she started bodily tossing her whole box of sticks and mallets at her marimba, sending them bouncing to the floor. It was a hilarious and inspired bit of theater. At another point, I was pointed at to duet with the pipa player, which was a treat as I love that instrument. Gino conducted us through three separate pieces, then we cleared the stage for an improvisational rock orchestra, which improvised parts to fit with chords tossed out on cards, as three singers created melodies for words that were scribbled on an overhead projector. A really fascinating night of music.

Wednesday, June 3 2009
Teazer's World Market, Fresno, CA

Euphemism - "charming outdoor patio" = dirty public sidewalk. It was NOT the very cute little outdoor area in front of the building, which would have been an inviting and lovely spot to play; instead I was stuck at the forgotten side of the building, with 90% of the patrons unaware I was even there. The posters I'd paid extra to arrive early were nowhere in sight, the booker and owner who had seemed extremely friendly and supportive was not around, and nobody was expecting me or knew quite what to do with me. I finally managed to set up, then my little PA was crapping out so I had to turn way down, reducing my visibility further. Some friends came out to listen, which was much appreciated, but I may have been better off playing in their backyard. Such a nice little tea shop too - oh well.

Tuesday, June 2 2009
Border's Books, Bakersfield, CA

My acoustic was in a shop for week (I had a Baggs installed), and I've been relying on my travel guitar. That's what I usually use for looping gigs anyway, but for the Borders show in San Diego I used it for straightahead stuff. It served ok, but my right hand was definitely feeling cramped from the lack of a body to rest it on, and there was a number of tunes I simply couldn't play as I needed a hollow space to bang on.

After a rather frustrating repair experience, I got my full-size acoustic back last night, but didn't really get to play it until this afternoon, running through some tunes. It felt so great to be playing it again - I don't think I'll ever be able to give it up in favor of a travel guitar, as convenient as that might be. This just feels like the instrument for me.

After several emails over a month ago, that seemed promising but noncommittal, I didn't hear anything back from the manager of this Borders. I'd already given up on other venues in Bakersfield - the one coffee shop with live music canceled a gig on me last year about eight hours before showtime - and this seemed like the only option left. Though I'd pretty much resigned myself to having an off night, I decided to call them yesterday. To my surprise, the manager already had me on the schedule to play today, and was mildly surprised that I'd called. Er...great!

I arrived tonight to find a soundperson (complete w/ ID on lanyard, a nice roadie look) setting up the PA for me. I then found out that they would be selling my CD's for me at the register (cool enough) and taking 40% of the profit (cripes!). I handed them a boxful of the new disc and plugged in my guitar. The new pickup was a little hard to dial in, and as I messed with the blend and eq controls, a few friends started showing up, taking a place right in front. There were other curious gawkers hanging out, as well, and in fact there were plenty of people in the store, somewhat surprising on a Tuesday night. Seems that Borders' successful commercialization of cafe/bookstore culture is still managing to attract folks, even with the economy being what it is.

The set went well, and it felt so nice to play my acoustic again. I kinda look forward to these casual nights, where there are no other acts and no cover, and I really can play whatever I feel like, for as long as I want.

Sunday, May 31 2009
Pharoah's Den, Riverside, CA

Not quite what I'd hoped for, this evening, though not a total loss. I'd played at Pharaoh's Den once before with Chinapainting, and had an amazing experience, one of our best gigs over, both musically and in terms of connection with the crowd.

This time, though, I had some trepidation from the start because I just couldn't get info on the show. They had no details, even the day before the show I had no idea who I was playing with, or when, or anything. I finally got the start time, at least, and showed up an hour before. One of the dreadlocked dudes helping to run the place (which really is a wonderful community space) said I'd be going first, setting up on the floor on the other side of the room from the stage, and would be playing for just 30 minutes. I was a bit crestfallen at all of this, especially playing such a perfunctory set. After the rousing reception given Chinapainting last time, I'd hoped for a wee bit of extra love, but this felt like I was being squeezed in.

As I set up my gear, a rather large crowd streamed in. That was nice to see, although they were an extremely young crowd. I soon gathered that I was basically to be background music for the art on the walls - it was an opening for the exhibition - and then the band playing after me was the featured music for the night.

I started up with no announcement or fanfare, and unlike my usual method of doing individual pieces, pausing after each, I just blew through a solid chunk for music for the proscribed half an hour. There were some good moments, including one little looping riff that I let repeat with just minimal playing for at least five minutes, and using a little plastic fan on the guitar for a bit, but I didn't feel like I was really getting through to many people, and was feeling pretty resentful to boot. I finished up, talked to a person or two, loaded the car, and bolted immediately afterward, not bothering to stick around for the other bands. Oh well.

Saturday, May 30 2009
Orange County Center for Contemporary Art, Santa Ana, CA

Finally, a really great gig. The Orange County Center for Contemporary Art is an absolutely gorgeous building, right in downtown Santa Ana, with huge, inviting glass windows all around. The curators have been enthusiastic about the show, and in person were as nice as pie too. They had me set up in the front corner, completely visible to the outside, which is something I just love. They had a nice PA on hand, and had brought in a knowledgable sound person to run it, too. In fact, it was all set up so unbelievably well that I started to get cold feet about actually playing - I felt like I had a big task to live up to the beautiful venue and great people.

I started out a little bit cautiously, very ambient and gentle, and some crowd started to drift in. They sat quietly and were very attentive - adding to the list of things almost too good to be true - and I soon got comfortable up there. More than any other of the looping shows so far, I felt like the listeners were with me, no matter where I went. Afterward, there were so many nice words said and interest expressed. Every once in a while, I really need a show like this.

Wednesday, May 27 2009
Borders, National City (San Diego)

This is my first gig in a Borders. at one time, they used to pay, and I saw them on tour itineraries all the time for small time peeps. That time has passed, but being a venue with a guaranteed crowd of some sort, at least for me it's a viable option.

I hadn't followed up to advance the gig in the last month, and as I should have known, I arrived at the gargantuan establishment and nobody knew I was supposed to play. There was much frustration (not directed at me, but at the manager who apparently didn't alert everyone), until they found a calendar and saw that I, indeed, was scheduled to appear. Everything turned to smiles, and I had a duo from the cafe helping me set up their PA, find a table for my merch (which they let me sell...I was surprised at that), and set up some easy chairs for people to sit in.

People did sit, though absorbed in their For Dummies and Cosmopolitans and even a game of hearts right in front of me. I mainly stuck to covers, trying to elicit some reaction - Cohen's "Hallelujah" did pretty well. By and large, though, the time pretty much just came and went and people didn't care very much that I was making music.

I packed up after 90 minutes of playing for my own enjoyment, and headed off to meet up with a friend at an open mic. I wasn't really planning to play, but since I arrived early and nobody had signed up yet, I decided to put myself on the list to play a few tunes. After a few performers representing the breadth of open mic talent (one singer doing lovely tunes with a delicious voice, another taking his shirt off upon reaching the stage then torturing us all with interminable political epics), I went up and did my thing. It went over very well with those assembled, and the night felt at least partly redeemed.

Tuesday, May 26 2009
San Diego Center for the Arts plus Soda Bar, San Diego, CA

San Diego has always been a very hard town for me to book anything, especially for the improv stuff. I sent out a few inquiries as usual, and when I got a tentative offer from a cool-sounding place, I jumped on it and said I was in. Then, not an hour later, I got another offer from a different place that sounded even better, but for the same night. I couldn't bear to say no to either, and since one was early and one was late, I accepted both gigs (informing everyone of the situation, of course).

The early show should have been a great one. My contact and booker was enthusiastic, the venue (a living room in a multi-use house) was pleasant with nice sound, and the situation was set up for real listening. Moreover, there were people there.

I set up my modest pile of gear and took a seat to wait until 8:00. The small, carpeted room was uncomfortably quiet, couldn't have been more different from the coffeeshops (or goodness knows, the bars) in that regard. After what seemed like a long wait, there was a nice introduction, and I started into my set.

I did a short piece to start, and when I finished, there was no applause of any kind. This isn't entirely unusual - with this kind of music, people often play entire unbroken sets, so there's not always the expectation that I've finished a piece - but it was a bit of an omen. My second piece felt good, and at the end there was applause, but it seemed a little, well, weak. I continued on, after a brief explanation of my tape setup, but started to get the distinct feeling that I wasn't getting through. There was more confusion than actual interest in people's faces when I looked up. Afterward, there were but a few scattered words of appreciation; it actually felt quite uncomfortable to be packing up (and, then, having a bit of the organizer's birthday cake) among people who had just seen me play, yet nothing was said to me. The organizer was very sweet, so I wished him luck on his own set which was after mine, and bolted out of there.

The other venue was literally down the street, maybe five blocks. The old neon sign hanging askew, peeling paint, and shady characters hanging around out front of the Soda Bar looked so welcoming to me - the complete contrast to the place I'd just left. I ducked inside, and was welcomed by a few dudes dressed all in black tending their messy piles of cables and pedals on the stage. My kind of scene.!

After conferring with the other two acts - Basshaters from San Francisco compromised of Jacob Felix Heule & Tony Dryer, and Peninsula Project from Oslo, Norway - it was decided that I'd go first since I'd probably be the least noisy of us all. I knew I had free rein to do whatever I wanted, so I cranked everything up and let loose with some oscillating wails, purging my frustration from the first gig. Though usually I do individual pieces of typical "song" length, tonight I just did continuous sound for 30 minutes or so. I got really noisy, got really quiet, very atonal, very pretty, a range of things. It was a total blast, really just the kind of situation and kind of music I needed to make right then.

People were appreciative, and then Peninsula Project were up. They're a trio of tuba, acoustic bass, and electric guitar, plus a lot of effects and noisemakers - and incredibly, on tour on the dime of the Norwegian government (!). I loved their set, very dynamic, with lots of silence and shared pauses, and a real willingness to give each other space. Then Basshaters finished up with a fantastically hair-raising set involving a six-string upright electric bass, a laptop, pile of pedals, and a few dangerously sheared-off cymbals, often directly smashed with a microphone. An exhilarating mass of sound.

Discs, emails and best wishes on our various tours were exchanged among us, and I left feeling quite pleased with the night after all.

Sunday, May 24 2009
Viento y Agua, Long Beach CA

As much as I enjoy daytime shows, I pretty much know by now that people on a Sunday afternoon in a coffeeshop are going to be much more interested in the Times than in any kind of live music. That was largely the case today; there were a few hints of attention, but largely I was relegated to background status.

It was actually nice to have this kind of low-pressure show at the beginning of the tour like this. I probably played 30 tunes on the surprisingly well-setup Viento y Agua stage, most of them for the first time live, and it was nice to try a lot of things out. I leaned heavily on covers, and only towards the end did I bring out my more rocking original tunes. Even those didn't win a whole lot more attention, but at least I did manage to stop a few conversations which felt like a minor victory.

I received the funniest back-handed compliment afterward - a woman who told me she was trying to work, but was enjoying my music so much that...she had to move to the other side of the room so she could get anything done. Ha.

The nicest thing, actually, was meeting Geoff Hickman, a very interesting fellow who's going to be interviewing me next week for a feature on green touring. Like me, he's not what one would call an environmental extremist, rather somebody who's conscious of the impact of the things we do in our lives and interested in ways to reduce that impact. He's the first person I've met through Twitter that has translated into a real-life meeting, very cool.

Tomorrow is a day off - even though it's a Monday, still feels kinda lame to not have a gig. With but three shows down, I feel eager to get to the real meat of the tour where I'm playing most nights, and busy driving to the next show during the day.

Saturday, May 23 2009
The Spot, Culver City CA

I'd been looking forward to this gig since I planned the tour. Toddy Ivy and Pi Jacobs are two of my very favorite singers, and counting them both among my friends is a real privilege. Unfortunately, we had lots of trouble finding a venue. As Pi told me afterward, a lot of places seem to be closing in LA (the esteemed Derby and Tangier among them) and competition is getting even worse than it was before.

So we ended up in the Spot, a very low-key coffeshop with a surprisingly nice music room. It's completely separated from the main coffee area by a heavy velvet curtain which blocks out the latte-making noises, and there's even a actual small stage. It's the first place I played with Toddy, a few years ago, which made it extra comfortable to return to.

The PA had some bizarre wiring going on, so myself and Pi spent a good half hour untangling cables and finally managed to get both mains and monitor operating, to much satisfaction (they owe us). At that point it was only four of us in the room, but I was itching to start, so I led off with a heavily modal version of "Somewhere Over the Rainbow"...which nobody recognized. oops!

Not many others showed up, but it felt good to play for people I really respect, and I had a fun set. Three pretty major clams on my part, but these are things I'm hoping will improve over tour. The main thing is that I start every tune too fast, and that gets me into trouble. One of the most fun tunes to pull out tonight was Imogen Heap's 'Hide and Seek', probably the biggest "hit" I've ever played live. But it's a wonderful tune and seems like such a natural for an instrumental cover, the melody is so interesting.

Toddy was next, and played the best set I've ever seen her do. She has a very idiosyncratic style in her singing and her words - one tune involved the word "gazillion" - and though I sometimes get the sense that she's about to perish with fright onstage, tonight she came out with confidence and just rocked. She made very nice use of some vocal loops, a nice surprise to bring in after establishing the basic acoustic guitar/voice sound, and ended with an acapella/loops tune that was amazing.

Pi followed up with some sheer delight. She has such an incredibly natural sense in playing and singing which I really envy, it seems to come so easy even when curling her way through some nicely challenging melodies. It's music that makes you smile, even the downbeat tunes are sunny. And her voice has this incredible roundness to it, so incredibly smooth. I played with her on a couple of tunes, but made the mistake of trying to tune quickly to the not-exactly-maintained piano and ended up fairly out of whack. I sensed that pretty soon so I hung back and probably underplayed, for taking up space on the stage.

Why these two aren't huge is beyond me. I felt flattered to share the evening. And some nice words afterwards made me forget that there weren't many people in attendance. Sometimes it's NOT about butts in the seats.

One hard thing about tour is that even though I see these good people, it's often just not enough time. We all had our various things to do and needed to get home (for me, a noon gig (in 12 hours) that's a long drive away) and I had to regretfully beg off an invitation from another friend to hang out afterward. I really need some sleep and to get things organized while I'm in one spot for a little bit, though it was sad not to be able to catch up more with folks.

Thursday, May 21 2009
Mai's Cafe, Ventura CA

I'm here at Mai's Cafe early, getting some Vietnamese before setting up. First gig of the tour always seems to arrive a bit too fast. I never feel like I've practiced enough, the set list feels like a stiff new pair of shoes, the chattering crowd in the restaurant seems suddenly hostile as Mongols.

But I do feel ready. It's a relief and a challenge both to be doing this tour, for the first time, without singing at all. People are generally used to instrumental guitar as background music, or so I think, so I'm hoping I can keep the attention without warbling.

The drive here was certainly lovely. Took a bunch of photos out the car window (sorry for the blurs..). Lots of fields, hills, white fences, crops.

Afterward...underwhelmed, and feeling underwhelming. Didn't feel like my crowd, and as much as I hope to be able to get through to any group of individuals, it's too optimistic to think that there will always be sympathetic souls. I played *OK* - not great, not terrible, with most things too rushed as is typical for the first gig - and it seemed like at moments I was really getting through, though overall it felt like playing to a wall. Afterwards, just a big void out there, nobody bothered to approach for a word, no interest in new CD's, etc. A friend who came out was tremendously sweet, but even so, it's natural to want to reach someone new, and that did not happen.

Following my set was an individual possessed of a strong voice and nice style on the guitar, but with such a lackadaisical attitude that it actually pissed me off. None of it seemed to matter to him, I couldn't detect one whit of sincerity (even when dedicating the set to his girlfriend). I talked with him after his set, and got the same impression. At a time when I'm putting so much effort into what I'm doing, I found it downright offensive. Bleah.

Then Susan D was up. She has star power; songs, presence, voice, everything. I could listen to her sing all night. I hope she gets recognized, and soon.

The long drive back to Pasadena was comforted by Mermen's bleeding, aching "Glorious Lethal Euphoria", and the booker rushing out to press some gas money in my hand with a compliment. It wasn't the money, but just a bit of thoughtfulness that helped.

The first gig of tour is always a little hard, always a little bit of a mindrush to suddenly hear one's guitar at amplified volume, and the breathing humanity of a crowd suddenly present. Wasn't a failure tonight, just a bit of a letdown (ne reality check). Looking forward to my rematch with the stage on Saturday.