November 19, 2012
Seriously, who would have thought thirty years ago, that one concert could change so may lives in so many ways?
I can pinpoint in time and space when the universe took a turn, and I began a journey that hasn't ended yet, and I think of all the lives that one decision has touched; the people with whom I have traveled, laughed and cried with, and those that i have yet to meet. The people I have left behind, and those that have gone on, leaving me behind. The tens of thousands of people, who at first were sitting in the concert halls in front of me, now seated behind me. The fabulous and frivolous, the sad and bad places I have been to, and that none of this would be, if I hadn't left the house one night in July 1984. Oh, I have enough humility to realize that the concerts would have happened, many, if not most of the people would have found their ways there, but not in the combinations and configurations that occurred.
There are those that may publically and privately wish I had never shown up, but I doubt anyone on the stage feels that way. In fact, Ive been told differently. There are times I wonder if the concert would have been as fabulous if I hadn't been there hopping up and down, and there are times I wonder how a concert can be good without me.
There are those who brag about the amount of concerts that they have gone to, and are lying. I haven't been to the most of any fan, not close, but given the known, I doubt anyone can pass me in attendance at this time. I want to hope that there are that may shows ahead of us, but at the current rate of performances per year, doubtful, given all our ages. But never say never, in a perfect world, someone going to more than 300 concerts starting today would be fabulous, because I would be there too.
So why do I go? I have no idea. If I did, perhaps I'd get my fill and go home. Its been close a few times, but something always happens to relight that spark. I get all jumbly tumbly tummy before each show, as if I were the performer. Each song being played is my favorite, or at least has a twiddly bit that I find satisfying, and the sadness I feel as it ends is quickly replaced by the elation felt as the next song begins. Yes, I have heard a few songs too many times, and I will never publically admit to which ones, and for the most part, they arent performed anymore. And no, it never gets old, not entirely. yes, they sing the same songs every night, with the occasional shakeup, and no it isnt the same night after night. Im in a different venue, a different seat, Ive traveled, eaten, slept, changed clothes, and lived more in that past 24 hours than most people might live in a lifetime. At the start of a Tour, I have an idea of where I'll be going. At the end of the Tour, looking back, it is never as planned, and beyond expectations. I've often found myself at the last show of the Tour, weeks after the beginning, made with last minute plans, no ticket, no reservations, no money, having a great time.
I have found my happy place. Many people search for this, few find it. Some bury their searches in a bottle, or bags of powder and pills. Some hide at home, blaming poor health, poor finances, bad marriages for all their misery. Some even hide behind the anonymity of the Internet and hurl insults, and dissect and try to decipher motives, using their fantasies and suspect reasons for why they would do this, and why I really go, and disagree with me when I tell the truth. I keep going because it makes me happy. Plain and Simple. Can one describe that all over tingle, that butterfly belly, the dry mouth? That "night before Christmas" feeling only a young child feels? The night before your wedding feeling? Ive never had that, but I suspect it is similar. Dont you want to feel that again? I do, and this does it for me. Like enjoying chocolate, or wine, can you describe it adequately for anyone to understand? Do you let negative remarks keep you away? I doubt it. So, let me enjoy this, this fleeting feeling, and let me be.
To be at a concert. To hear that special combination of notes that will never be played this way again, to have the sound waves wash over me, pass through me, go beyond me, getting smaller and smaller then dissappearing into infinity. I am part of this, the now. I see the people on the stage, people who once were the bright young things in a studio, long ago and far away, writing, recording these songs, The disembodied voices I used to command to play, exactly the same every time, by spinning a vinyl disc and placing a diamond in the grooves. Then by having a laser read an invisible code, how cool was that? Now I get to hear them do these same old songs in a new way, the way they want to present it today, and sometimes not quite coming off as planned. The best concerts are the perfect ones, and the ones with the most mistakes. And the ones in between. To hear someone sing a song for their 3000th time, and my hearing it live for the 300th time, and to have it end with a feeling that I witnessed something special is phenomenal, and that is maybe why I keep going, to not miss that one great moment that rises above all the others.
And why I dont want to go. There comes a time, each Tour, that moment of complete clarity, when I realize what I am doing.
I am spending money that could be put to better personal use. I am traveling to mundane, boring places with no plan to do anything there other than get to the venue, and leave 3 hours later. I go to the most glamorous places in the world, and miss all the tourist spots. I am wearing innapropriate clothing, spending a lot of time in cars, busses, trains, planes, and hotel rooms. I am listening to 20, 30, 40 year old songs, written by idealistic young men, sung by grand dads. I am no longer the young nubile attractive suductive female that one associates with a rock band.
And yet, once the lights dim, we all transform back to what whe want to be, rock stars, young girls, young men, All happy to be there, and it comes back to why I am there. And why they are here, it makes us Happy. And we all look around, to the familiar faces, the ones we are glad to see, and the ones we are not always glad to see, and we think, "where would I be if I wasnt here?", and the thought moves away faster than a cymbal crash, and off we go, Happy. Singing off tune, hitting sour notes, dancing with arthritic joints? Not during the show, no one notices, at least not enough to spoil it.
Monday, November 19, 2012
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
Saturday Sept 17
I am in New Brunswick. The sun has not yet arisen, and we are out the door, cramming the back of the vehicle and heading out, going further north on the north American continent than we have ever been before. Cool. It is not a warm day. We Say good bye to the last of Moncton and drive away. And we Drive and Drive and drive and drive and drive and drive. We eventually make it back towards the USA border crossing, and I ask to be let out so that I can go home, but I am forced to continue. Something is driving me onwards, I can not explain. Trees and trees and trees. A whole lot of nothing but nature out the windows. Following the river, and up and down the hills and around the Mountains we are given glimpses of what the original inhabitants and the first settlers might have seen. Lovely vistas, blue sky, and green with hints of the color changes, not approaching peak season yet, and we have the road to ourselves.
After and eternity and a time change back one hour we arrive in Quebec City, civilization on the river, clinging to the sides of the hills. I could be anywhere, this city is so familiar yet foreign, it is not like a North American city at all, glimpses of Europe every where. They clean the streets every day, they let people cross the streets, and the buildings huddle together, leaning this way and that, a cobbled collection of stone and wood and tile.
We check into our digs, a comfy roomy room, and trash it leaving little walking space. Hand laundry is done and hanging up, cosmetics strewn around the lavatory, and a reorientation to room elevator and lobby. Funny the faces you see when traveling. Especially your own.
Another committee meeting and security issues are clarified, and we are requested to cause trouble, at least we dream. Found a lovely pub and sated ourselves, and walked around getting the last of the travel cramps out of our legs, and enjoy the night sky. I Saw Jupiter. Amazing watching the sturdy draft horses and the coaches all try to get around the same narrow passage, and no one honked, or used loud profanity. Wow.
A great night sleep, everyone should try this, sleeping. So this is what others do while on holiday, I am usually out in search of itinerant musicians to torture, and it is unusual to have a night off, I feel lost, but fatique wins out.
I am in New Brunswick. The sun has not yet arisen, and we are out the door, cramming the back of the vehicle and heading out, going further north on the north American continent than we have ever been before. Cool. It is not a warm day. We Say good bye to the last of Moncton and drive away. And we Drive and Drive and drive and drive and drive and drive. We eventually make it back towards the USA border crossing, and I ask to be let out so that I can go home, but I am forced to continue. Something is driving me onwards, I can not explain. Trees and trees and trees. A whole lot of nothing but nature out the windows. Following the river, and up and down the hills and around the Mountains we are given glimpses of what the original inhabitants and the first settlers might have seen. Lovely vistas, blue sky, and green with hints of the color changes, not approaching peak season yet, and we have the road to ourselves.
After and eternity and a time change back one hour we arrive in Quebec City, civilization on the river, clinging to the sides of the hills. I could be anywhere, this city is so familiar yet foreign, it is not like a North American city at all, glimpses of Europe every where. They clean the streets every day, they let people cross the streets, and the buildings huddle together, leaning this way and that, a cobbled collection of stone and wood and tile.
We check into our digs, a comfy roomy room, and trash it leaving little walking space. Hand laundry is done and hanging up, cosmetics strewn around the lavatory, and a reorientation to room elevator and lobby. Funny the faces you see when traveling. Especially your own.
Another committee meeting and security issues are clarified, and we are requested to cause trouble, at least we dream. Found a lovely pub and sated ourselves, and walked around getting the last of the travel cramps out of our legs, and enjoy the night sky. I Saw Jupiter. Amazing watching the sturdy draft horses and the coaches all try to get around the same narrow passage, and no one honked, or used loud profanity. Wow.
A great night sleep, everyone should try this, sleeping. So this is what others do while on holiday, I am usually out in search of itinerant musicians to torture, and it is unusual to have a night off, I feel lost, but fatique wins out.
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Friday Sept 16
Woke up in Nova Scotia for the last time. Finally found a man in a kilt willing to spend time with me, at least for a picture. After a committee meeting, an update to the Boss, we do our duty and then take off for New Brunswick. We Stop and pay our respects to the Dead of the Titanic. A Simple and fitting memorial to those who made it only to Halifax as their final destination; brought tears to my eyes.
Bridges, highways, trucks, funny looking cars, Signs for Moose crossing, but never any moose. Lots of trees.
We pull into Moncton, a nice place, not as picturesque as Halifax, but we stumble upon a nice pub and I had a pasty and mash. YUM, and non caloric. Soap and water to wash off the road, as I had become insanely jealous of the car window each time I cleaned it. I did have to yell at some of the bugs as they hit hard.
Did find out along the way that I needed to brush up on pachyderm identification. We passed by what was clearly and elephant, but I was corrected and told it was a mastodon, a statue on mastodon hill, mind you. Looked like and elephant to me. Must stay inside one day and study.
But not today.
Ablutions done. We drive thru town to the colliseum. The Marquee was dark, and it looked like the parking lot was empty. Oh no, were we in the right place? I was assured that we were not led astray and that the appropriate people would arrive at the appropriate time, and sing the appropriate songs. Phewww, started to doubt myself. We meet up with the other person there, and went to our seats. All in a little cluster of familiarity, a small cluster, what is smaller than a cluster? A blister? S pimple ? Well, we were there and that was important, and shocking to some.
Appreciations all around, we appreciated them, they appreciated us. Winks and waves to those who were known, and to the unknown.
A big thanks to those unknown who purchase the tickest and put bums in seats allowing those of us to travel from place to placeto have a destination. But why do I get the Big Giant Head in front of me each time? We had talkers around us, and I learn a lot.
In Moncton tonight I learned that the Keyboard player is John Lennons son, cool.
In Halifax I heard a lady describe naughty things she was reaching on her own while listening to YWD. Ewwww
In Manchester I learned that G is 79 and that JH is 74, oh no
I also had found out that they had been on the road since June, and that this is the last North American appearance. Good to know.
Sound was great for a hockey rink and hollow stage, no reverb or extra vibrations
Vocals were spot on, a few cracks that were so minor I hesitate to mention them, as no one noticed.
Bass could have been louder keyboards could have been louder, as I am losing my hearing, and need all things done to my specifications.
Stand out songs
Driftwood, never better and someone was quite pleased with himself, I saw enthusiasm.
IJAS bouncy
NIWS meaningful, but I did not need a cigarette afterwards
H&H extra twiddly guitar bits.
Woke up in Nova Scotia for the last time. Finally found a man in a kilt willing to spend time with me, at least for a picture. After a committee meeting, an update to the Boss, we do our duty and then take off for New Brunswick. We Stop and pay our respects to the Dead of the Titanic. A Simple and fitting memorial to those who made it only to Halifax as their final destination; brought tears to my eyes.
Bridges, highways, trucks, funny looking cars, Signs for Moose crossing, but never any moose. Lots of trees.
We pull into Moncton, a nice place, not as picturesque as Halifax, but we stumble upon a nice pub and I had a pasty and mash. YUM, and non caloric. Soap and water to wash off the road, as I had become insanely jealous of the car window each time I cleaned it. I did have to yell at some of the bugs as they hit hard.
Did find out along the way that I needed to brush up on pachyderm identification. We passed by what was clearly and elephant, but I was corrected and told it was a mastodon, a statue on mastodon hill, mind you. Looked like and elephant to me. Must stay inside one day and study.
But not today.
Ablutions done. We drive thru town to the colliseum. The Marquee was dark, and it looked like the parking lot was empty. Oh no, were we in the right place? I was assured that we were not led astray and that the appropriate people would arrive at the appropriate time, and sing the appropriate songs. Phewww, started to doubt myself. We meet up with the other person there, and went to our seats. All in a little cluster of familiarity, a small cluster, what is smaller than a cluster? A blister? S pimple ? Well, we were there and that was important, and shocking to some.
Appreciations all around, we appreciated them, they appreciated us. Winks and waves to those who were known, and to the unknown.
A big thanks to those unknown who purchase the tickest and put bums in seats allowing those of us to travel from place to placeto have a destination. But why do I get the Big Giant Head in front of me each time? We had talkers around us, and I learn a lot.
In Moncton tonight I learned that the Keyboard player is John Lennons son, cool.
In Halifax I heard a lady describe naughty things she was reaching on her own while listening to YWD. Ewwww
In Manchester I learned that G is 79 and that JH is 74, oh no
I also had found out that they had been on the road since June, and that this is the last North American appearance. Good to know.
Sound was great for a hockey rink and hollow stage, no reverb or extra vibrations
Vocals were spot on, a few cracks that were so minor I hesitate to mention them, as no one noticed.
Bass could have been louder keyboards could have been louder, as I am losing my hearing, and need all things done to my specifications.
Stand out songs
Driftwood, never better and someone was quite pleased with himself, I saw enthusiasm.
IJAS bouncy
NIWS meaningful, but I did not need a cigarette afterwards
H&H extra twiddly guitar bits.
Friday, September 16, 2011
Thursday September 15
Somewhere in Halifax. The fog is thick, it looks a cold and murky day out there, and after a brief interlude of internet necessities, we pick ourselves up and off we go. And off comes the rain coat, then the scarf, then the sweater. Any more comes off and we get arrested, or frighten Rock stars, and believe me, I am good at that.
We go to see a broken window in St. Pauls Church. It was broken during the explosion, and each subsequent replacement has broken into the same profile of one of the early rectors. I had read about it in a novel, and needed to see this. We then climb the matterhorn. We take a short cut to avoid the stairs, and end up climbing the hill twice, and during said climb, with ragged breathing and high pitches wheezes of “I am fine” I get shot with a cannon, and jump down the hill. Twelve noon every day there is a ceremonial firing of the Citidel’s cannon. I was there at noon. Good thing I like artillery and loud noises. After that, a fife and drum unit, and bag pipes serenaded us to the summit. Found out we could have taken a taxi. We fight three tour buses filled with tourists to see the guard in his kilt. I am dragged away and pulled down hill, still clawing at the grass to see my kilted dream boat, but as I am old, foreign and dressed like a pirate, it was a good decision by people wiser than me to take me to a converted morgue for lunch. LOVE a morgue. The Five Fishermen is said to be the morgue for the Titanic victims, and the Explosion victims a few years later. Didn’t see any ghosts during lunch, disappointedly, but had a lovely local cider with my meal. We Then hit the mall, and I finally get the hair brush of my dreams.
Sweaty people everywhere the fog and humidity is so oppressive.
Sponging off the dirt of the day and toweling on the face of the night; we leave the car and walk back up the Alps. To the Venue. We have to go up stairs then down stairs to get to our seats, we are also stamped again. What is it this Tour that the venues insist on marking us? I think they are using special ink and are tracing our every move.
The Concert was politely well received. A youngish Baby boomer crowd, forties to sixties in age, with two lovely couples in the front romantically dancing to ILS and NIWS. Much better than the female duos dancing to TOSOL the past two nights. I had been beginning to think that there was another side to life in New England. There still may be, but no one was investigating it in Halifax.
Stand out songs
TDWMA Scorching achingly beautiful guitar solo
ILS bit of a mistake at the start that no one noticed
NIWS All the notes were sung proper and the high ones were hit on the first try.
Driftwood, one good crack.
Somewhere in Halifax. The fog is thick, it looks a cold and murky day out there, and after a brief interlude of internet necessities, we pick ourselves up and off we go. And off comes the rain coat, then the scarf, then the sweater. Any more comes off and we get arrested, or frighten Rock stars, and believe me, I am good at that.
We go to see a broken window in St. Pauls Church. It was broken during the explosion, and each subsequent replacement has broken into the same profile of one of the early rectors. I had read about it in a novel, and needed to see this. We then climb the matterhorn. We take a short cut to avoid the stairs, and end up climbing the hill twice, and during said climb, with ragged breathing and high pitches wheezes of “I am fine” I get shot with a cannon, and jump down the hill. Twelve noon every day there is a ceremonial firing of the Citidel’s cannon. I was there at noon. Good thing I like artillery and loud noises. After that, a fife and drum unit, and bag pipes serenaded us to the summit. Found out we could have taken a taxi. We fight three tour buses filled with tourists to see the guard in his kilt. I am dragged away and pulled down hill, still clawing at the grass to see my kilted dream boat, but as I am old, foreign and dressed like a pirate, it was a good decision by people wiser than me to take me to a converted morgue for lunch. LOVE a morgue. The Five Fishermen is said to be the morgue for the Titanic victims, and the Explosion victims a few years later. Didn’t see any ghosts during lunch, disappointedly, but had a lovely local cider with my meal. We Then hit the mall, and I finally get the hair brush of my dreams.
Sweaty people everywhere the fog and humidity is so oppressive.
Sponging off the dirt of the day and toweling on the face of the night; we leave the car and walk back up the Alps. To the Venue. We have to go up stairs then down stairs to get to our seats, we are also stamped again. What is it this Tour that the venues insist on marking us? I think they are using special ink and are tracing our every move.
The Concert was politely well received. A youngish Baby boomer crowd, forties to sixties in age, with two lovely couples in the front romantically dancing to ILS and NIWS. Much better than the female duos dancing to TOSOL the past two nights. I had been beginning to think that there was another side to life in New England. There still may be, but no one was investigating it in Halifax.
Stand out songs
TDWMA Scorching achingly beautiful guitar solo
ILS bit of a mistake at the start that no one noticed
NIWS All the notes were sung proper and the high ones were hit on the first try.
Driftwood, one good crack.
Thursday, September 15, 2011
Wednesday September 14
The Lost day.
I wake up a few miles away from my vacationing cats, still unhappy with my two tour Brushes, and decide to never comb or brush my hair again, than to be disappointed. Crazy cat ladies are not to be crossed with. Even if we cross ourselves.
Woke up the hotel staff in order to not let them pack and load the car, and off we go in search of the first ray of sun to touch the united States each morning. We miss the first one, but caught the fifteenth thru twenty second rays of morning sun, and continued further North and East than anyone in their right minds should go.
If you drive long enough in Maine you start to figure out why they call it the Pine Tree State. We saw a couple of trees. Eventually we needed to stop and feed the dogs, they were tired of pulling the dog sled without any snow. We stopped in Bangor, (I hardly knew her) Maine and I had the best Hash ever. It was no Texas Cream corn but it was close. Opted out of the hair cuts offered during breakfast, but I did notice some people’s hair looked better that they had a few days ago, hmmmm. The rest stop is near the airport, does one fly to Bangor for hash and a haircut? I might someday, that was great hash. And we drove and drove and drove, and saw another pine tree, and a hemlock, and a spruce and a maple and an oak tree. And we went thru towns that had no name. Finally we reached the border, and the most remote location for a Walmart ever, right near the border crossing.
Love the questions we were asked. Thank goodness I left the weaponry at home with the missing hair brush and safety pins, or else who knows what would have happened.
We quickly pick up the lingo, and start reading the road signs in Canadian, and wonder where all the people have gone. They must have gone south to Walmart.
So many signs for Moncton, I just might end up there some day, but today we go to Nova Scotia. New England was named in English, Why is Nova Scotia latin? Are they better than us? The answer is yes. Lovely rolling hills, green corn fields, happy cows and boats. All I need is a man in a kilt and my life is complete.
My wish was granted, there are plaid people everywhere. Turns out they are tour guides, but doubt they can tell me what I want to know.
I find a pub, with real fish and chips, and guiness, I drank so much I forgot to unhitch the dogs from the dog sled, but that is what I have my minions for.
My money is no good here, so I have to go get some that is, and the face on the bills is familiar, I think she was at a recent televised wedding.
There are a lot of people visiting here, with luggage. Mine still smells like clean laundry, I suppose it will start to smell different soon.
And so far, no igloos or ice bergs.
The Lost day.
I wake up a few miles away from my vacationing cats, still unhappy with my two tour Brushes, and decide to never comb or brush my hair again, than to be disappointed. Crazy cat ladies are not to be crossed with. Even if we cross ourselves.
Woke up the hotel staff in order to not let them pack and load the car, and off we go in search of the first ray of sun to touch the united States each morning. We miss the first one, but caught the fifteenth thru twenty second rays of morning sun, and continued further North and East than anyone in their right minds should go.
If you drive long enough in Maine you start to figure out why they call it the Pine Tree State. We saw a couple of trees. Eventually we needed to stop and feed the dogs, they were tired of pulling the dog sled without any snow. We stopped in Bangor, (I hardly knew her) Maine and I had the best Hash ever. It was no Texas Cream corn but it was close. Opted out of the hair cuts offered during breakfast, but I did notice some people’s hair looked better that they had a few days ago, hmmmm. The rest stop is near the airport, does one fly to Bangor for hash and a haircut? I might someday, that was great hash. And we drove and drove and drove, and saw another pine tree, and a hemlock, and a spruce and a maple and an oak tree. And we went thru towns that had no name. Finally we reached the border, and the most remote location for a Walmart ever, right near the border crossing.
Love the questions we were asked. Thank goodness I left the weaponry at home with the missing hair brush and safety pins, or else who knows what would have happened.
We quickly pick up the lingo, and start reading the road signs in Canadian, and wonder where all the people have gone. They must have gone south to Walmart.
So many signs for Moncton, I just might end up there some day, but today we go to Nova Scotia. New England was named in English, Why is Nova Scotia latin? Are they better than us? The answer is yes. Lovely rolling hills, green corn fields, happy cows and boats. All I need is a man in a kilt and my life is complete.
My wish was granted, there are plaid people everywhere. Turns out they are tour guides, but doubt they can tell me what I want to know.
I find a pub, with real fish and chips, and guiness, I drank so much I forgot to unhitch the dogs from the dog sled, but that is what I have my minions for.
My money is no good here, so I have to go get some that is, and the face on the bills is familiar, I think she was at a recent televised wedding.
There are a lot of people visiting here, with luggage. Mine still smells like clean laundry, I suppose it will start to smell different soon.
And so far, no igloos or ice bergs.
Tuesday September 13
Woke up in New Hampshire. As a New Englander, I had to fix that situation soon. Had a hankering for local cuisine, and was chauffeured across the state to the Maine Diner for some blueberry pancakes with real maple syrup. How any restaurant in New England can serve artificial maple flavored table syrup is beyond me, but I was told that there are people who find the natural product overpowering. As an overpowering force myself, I understood. I disagree though. Never can be too overwhelming.
We drive past where my cats have chosen to take their holiday, an onwards to the cobbled and uneven streets of Old Port Portland ME. A fabulous and under rated water front traditional new England town. There was a cruise ship in town, and other exciting events planned for the evening, or so I heard. After an unsatisfying brush to the hair with the unsatisfying brush of the Tour, I set out for an adventure, bringing along my Team for support, three medics and an accountant, as one might get ill or need tabulating. We settle for fresh local produce simmered, sautéed and steamed to perfection, and once again caloric content was negated by the walk. Local mussels in white wine with pine nuts, fresh basils and tomatoes.
Off to have fairy tales told to me by professional vocalists. Complete with facial expressions and hand gestures. Who knew there was so much talent around, like people I hadn’t seen for a few months, vaguely resembling someone I had run into the night before. Then I got close up and personal with inanimate objects. No official receiving line this night for me, all that attention the night before wore me out, I am humble, and shy.
Again, I signal for the house lights to come down, and I conduct the show, secretly and silently making requests for a certain beloved or obscure classic to be played, and getting my wish, song after song, unwaveringly accurate. How do those nice gentlemen and ladies know what I want to hear? Like I might have been caught humming the tunes in public? Or they know my tastes? Spooky.
I actually knew this stage full of folks tonight, and they seemed to know each other, and got along fairly well. Looks improved quite a lot, too. Someone else must have found a better hair brush, I must try to run into them later and ask their secret. Also what rejuvenization methods they use, as they looked less worried by time tonight. Or it was the lights.
Merrill auditorium in Portland City Hall is a lovely older theatre intimate seating and nice sound. A few less of the usual and customary faces in their usual and customary seats, and doing the usual and customary rituals including illuminated synchronized hand dancing, with the added bonus of a flautist reproducing eighties synth solos. Much nicer than the original recording which I never took too, much. To be honest.
No yodeling, a few extra guitar chords but done correctly during the correct songs, and only a few missed words in the lyrics, but no one noticed.
Stand out Songs
Gypsy because it is played only for me
Peak Hour for the same reason
IKOTS because some stared intently at my daughter for enough few brief seconds to “creep her out”
And RMSS because someone else checked her out.
And question because I was smiled at in a warm and personal way.
After My show, we stumbled around the uneven brick sidewalks whick I find charming when in flats, and ended up looking for some place we could not find?
Tried Three Dollar Dewey’s but they were closed.
(one dollar looky, two dolar touchy)
Needed sleep, had to load up the dog sled to find Canada in the Morning.
Woke up in New Hampshire. As a New Englander, I had to fix that situation soon. Had a hankering for local cuisine, and was chauffeured across the state to the Maine Diner for some blueberry pancakes with real maple syrup. How any restaurant in New England can serve artificial maple flavored table syrup is beyond me, but I was told that there are people who find the natural product overpowering. As an overpowering force myself, I understood. I disagree though. Never can be too overwhelming.
We drive past where my cats have chosen to take their holiday, an onwards to the cobbled and uneven streets of Old Port Portland ME. A fabulous and under rated water front traditional new England town. There was a cruise ship in town, and other exciting events planned for the evening, or so I heard. After an unsatisfying brush to the hair with the unsatisfying brush of the Tour, I set out for an adventure, bringing along my Team for support, three medics and an accountant, as one might get ill or need tabulating. We settle for fresh local produce simmered, sautéed and steamed to perfection, and once again caloric content was negated by the walk. Local mussels in white wine with pine nuts, fresh basils and tomatoes.
Off to have fairy tales told to me by professional vocalists. Complete with facial expressions and hand gestures. Who knew there was so much talent around, like people I hadn’t seen for a few months, vaguely resembling someone I had run into the night before. Then I got close up and personal with inanimate objects. No official receiving line this night for me, all that attention the night before wore me out, I am humble, and shy.
Again, I signal for the house lights to come down, and I conduct the show, secretly and silently making requests for a certain beloved or obscure classic to be played, and getting my wish, song after song, unwaveringly accurate. How do those nice gentlemen and ladies know what I want to hear? Like I might have been caught humming the tunes in public? Or they know my tastes? Spooky.
I actually knew this stage full of folks tonight, and they seemed to know each other, and got along fairly well. Looks improved quite a lot, too. Someone else must have found a better hair brush, I must try to run into them later and ask their secret. Also what rejuvenization methods they use, as they looked less worried by time tonight. Or it was the lights.
Merrill auditorium in Portland City Hall is a lovely older theatre intimate seating and nice sound. A few less of the usual and customary faces in their usual and customary seats, and doing the usual and customary rituals including illuminated synchronized hand dancing, with the added bonus of a flautist reproducing eighties synth solos. Much nicer than the original recording which I never took too, much. To be honest.
No yodeling, a few extra guitar chords but done correctly during the correct songs, and only a few missed words in the lyrics, but no one noticed.
Stand out Songs
Gypsy because it is played only for me
Peak Hour for the same reason
IKOTS because some stared intently at my daughter for enough few brief seconds to “creep her out”
And RMSS because someone else checked her out.
And question because I was smiled at in a warm and personal way.
After My show, we stumbled around the uneven brick sidewalks whick I find charming when in flats, and ended up looking for some place we could not find?
Tried Three Dollar Dewey’s but they were closed.
(one dollar looky, two dolar touchy)
Needed sleep, had to load up the dog sled to find Canada in the Morning.
Monday Sept 12, 2011
I wake up much too early for having a day off work. Things to do, places to go. Last minute packing, sorting and decision making, must be able to live with the choices I make now for the next two weeks, no going back for forgotten items, and no money to purchase new.
I pack everything except safety pins and a hair brush. Not a deliberate choice. I drove my car to the place it will rest this Tour. I started to think about the unknown future, wondering what exciting events and experiences I will be fondly remembering on the drive home, or will I be exclaiming “ I can not believe I did that”?
We start off by driving the local roads. It has been a long time since I was the local one hosting the Invasion. Every plane I saw go overhead, I wondered if I knew anyone in it, would everyone arrive safely? Who will get lost on our roads? How will people try to pronounce the local places? What exotic food items will they try?
I sampled the exotic foods and had fried Lobster. Dipped in butter. Completely calorie and cholesterol free.
Checking into the hotel, I realize I once again forgot my hairbrush, as I always seem to do. A brief walk around towm and I have once again not been able to find one I like; unhappy hair for the next two weeks.
Dressed, coiffed, and painted, I strut to the venue, only to be left standing in the sun for two hours before they finally realized who I was, and I was let into the green room, and then had two gentlemen brought to me so that they could meet me. Other people may remember the event differently, but we all have our illusions, and delusions, and in the end, that is what keeps us going.
A hockey rink in New Hampshire at the end of Summer. No ice yet, very hot and humid inside, especially for those of us under the bright lights. I received the greetings and well wishes of all my friends, fans and frenemies. Thank you for your kind words, too many to thank personally, and then I signaled for the show to begin. Because I DO control the universe. Don’t let the others fool you, it is all about me.
Iised my special psychic abilities to communicate what song I wanted to hear next, but the signals crossed somehow, and a few times, there were sour notes sung and harsh chords played, as the Talented Ones tried to pull themselves together. Glue should have been used, not very cohesive, but I love watching them adjust back to the well known and familiar comforting soothing strains of beloved classics. When some of them played at all. Extra notes at times, not enough at others. I counted.
Stand out songs
Lean on Me Never enjoyed it more and probably never will again
Gypsy Everyone showed up for that one
NIWS with the occasional spoken words
Left the show, hot and greasy, as if I had been dipped in mineral oil, and tried to sleep a wee bit before the next adventure.
I wake up much too early for having a day off work. Things to do, places to go. Last minute packing, sorting and decision making, must be able to live with the choices I make now for the next two weeks, no going back for forgotten items, and no money to purchase new.
I pack everything except safety pins and a hair brush. Not a deliberate choice. I drove my car to the place it will rest this Tour. I started to think about the unknown future, wondering what exciting events and experiences I will be fondly remembering on the drive home, or will I be exclaiming “ I can not believe I did that”?
We start off by driving the local roads. It has been a long time since I was the local one hosting the Invasion. Every plane I saw go overhead, I wondered if I knew anyone in it, would everyone arrive safely? Who will get lost on our roads? How will people try to pronounce the local places? What exotic food items will they try?
I sampled the exotic foods and had fried Lobster. Dipped in butter. Completely calorie and cholesterol free.
Checking into the hotel, I realize I once again forgot my hairbrush, as I always seem to do. A brief walk around towm and I have once again not been able to find one I like; unhappy hair for the next two weeks.
Dressed, coiffed, and painted, I strut to the venue, only to be left standing in the sun for two hours before they finally realized who I was, and I was let into the green room, and then had two gentlemen brought to me so that they could meet me. Other people may remember the event differently, but we all have our illusions, and delusions, and in the end, that is what keeps us going.
A hockey rink in New Hampshire at the end of Summer. No ice yet, very hot and humid inside, especially for those of us under the bright lights. I received the greetings and well wishes of all my friends, fans and frenemies. Thank you for your kind words, too many to thank personally, and then I signaled for the show to begin. Because I DO control the universe. Don’t let the others fool you, it is all about me.
Iised my special psychic abilities to communicate what song I wanted to hear next, but the signals crossed somehow, and a few times, there were sour notes sung and harsh chords played, as the Talented Ones tried to pull themselves together. Glue should have been used, not very cohesive, but I love watching them adjust back to the well known and familiar comforting soothing strains of beloved classics. When some of them played at all. Extra notes at times, not enough at others. I counted.
Stand out songs
Lean on Me Never enjoyed it more and probably never will again
Gypsy Everyone showed up for that one
NIWS with the occasional spoken words
Left the show, hot and greasy, as if I had been dipped in mineral oil, and tried to sleep a wee bit before the next adventure.
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