Rebecca Sanborn Blog

2007-12-06T17:29:00.000-08:00

October 14, 2007. Red Room at Grill, Tucson, Az.

We found out that according to it's interesting title, "Red Room at Grill" is indeed a Red Room attached to an awesome all-night diner called "Grill." Our evening began with the sight of a real piano. Yes, a real piano! This strikes two feelings within me. One, I get excited about playing on my instrument for reals, and Two, the piano technician in me gets scared about the condition of said beast. It was a Mehlin grand, one of my favorite companies, probably circa 1910, given the body. It was in dire need of regulation, tuning, and all of the bridges had cracks in them, but it was decent enough to play. So after tinkering around a while, I decided to leave the Kurzweil in the car. Yay!!

Carlo, the waiter, showed us to a booth and handed us hilarious menus. Paragraph upon paragraph of rules and sass were printed for the benefit of patrons and employees alike. The food was Amazing... I don't know of too many all-night diners that serve up portobello mushroom sandwiches with a homemade basil aioli. Carlo had his hands full, running around taking orders and dishing out a seamless blend of courtesy and mild contempt. It was a perfect fit for the place.

When we crossed over to the other side into the bar to begin playing the first set, our eyes fell again on the giant painting of Bob Dylan's head on the wall by the Mehlin. "Make you nervous?" Ji inquired. "No, it makes me feel comforted," I replied. He was surprised at my answer, given that one of the greatest songwriters of all time (next to Joni Mitchell:) would be looming over my busy hands and even busier vocal chords. But ever since I saw the documentary on Bob Dylan, where his band was booed incessantly while they rallied through their songs on a stage in London, I found my role model for persistence in the face of outright naysayers. No matter how rude they were, he would not yell back, he would not cuss, nor would he stop playing. Dylan simply and calmly said in between songs, "C'mon. I don't do that to you," and called out another tune. It was so brave and so gentle and so gallant, it made me cry. The footage also made me realize that if he could go on in the wake of all of that, I certainly could move through any negative comment here or there, and also the barrage of snide post-it-notes from the itty-bitty-shitty-committee inside my head. Take that you bawlers and brawlers! In the words of Coach Bob, from John Irving's great novel The Hotel New Hampshire,"You've got to get obsessed and stayobsessed."

During our break, I met a fantastic woman named Loyee. I am sure that I've spelled that wrong... forgive me, wherever you are!! She was this gorgeous Asian woman with a shock of long, blonde hair. Her intelligent eyes had a way of gathering up all she observed in a detached, listening way. She told me she'd seen that I was coming, and since she always goes out after work to hear piano players, being a player herself, she ended up at Red Room with a glass of wine, and a copy of Dwell, ready to absorb the evening. Apparently the Red Room was the hang-out of choice for people of the "industry," i.e. those just getting off of work after tending other bars and serving up food at other restaurants. Here is where they would come to wind down after a long day, bitch, gossip, relax, and talk of their real dreams... coming, coming, just down the way...

While she told me of her travels throughout the world, Ji was meeting this fascinating man named Matt. He hailed from Los Angeles and was in the business of writing original music for circuses! He also transcribed Native American songs and put them down on paper. Doing this at the behest of chiefs, the act nonetheless stirred up the communities, as people did not want their ancient chants reduced to the same John Phillip Souza marching instruments that sounded the death knell for so many of their tribe. He was stuck in a quandry, but the chief insisted that the songs be written down, whatever way he could manage.

The second set was loose and improvisational. Without the knowledge of the customers, or Ji, for that matter, I followed an instinct and wrote a song and lyrics as I went. Ji jumped right in with me and out came a dandy! I paused afterwards to jot down the skeleton of the idea, asking Ji to sit in on the grand while I scribbled. He coursed his way through "Naima," as is his usual want. Lovely.

Our closing tunes were cut-off early, though it was pretty late. Next door, the club opened up and a Hispanic death metal group began playing in earnest. I thought at first it was a car outside blaring the speakers loud enough to rattle the windows, but it was in fact, our lively neighbors. It was an ironic and weirdly cool accompaniment to the delicate overtures of "Unita." By the way, I wrote that song for Unity for her birthday in 1997. And tonight is her birthday again. Buon Compleanno Unita!!!! And Buona Sera to you all.

2007-11-06T22:55:00.000-08:00

October 12, 2007. The Lion and Rose, San Antonio, TX.

This gig totally destroyed my idea of myself and my music.

For years I have shied away from playing music in bars that are loud or have sports on t.v. How horrible, to be gently crooning away in the corner to the general indifference of everybody in the place. Well, Friday night found us, for all intents and purposes, in a frat bar.

Instead of getting intimidated or discouraged by the scene, we took it in stride. We upped the tempo of all of the tunes, and I think I had my best night of the tour, vocally speaking. I just sort of decided to rock 'em a bit. And it worked! Dudes on their way to the can actually stopped to listen to a song or two, giving a thumbs up before traveling back to their buddies and beer. Other clusters of people chose the booths in front of us, eschewing the demands of the t.v. screens for the welcome sight of live music.

So... gone is the idea that I can only play a certain kind of venue for a certain kind of crowd. And gone are the conclusions that if I don't have a guitar, I can't rock the place. Sometimes it takes a change of scenery to create the change in the artist. I wonder if I could open for a grindcore band?

2007-10-24T13:54:00.000-07:00

October 11, 2007. Candlelight, San Antonio, Texas.

People talk a lot about Austin. People love Austin. But I'm here to say that San Antonio is really, really cool. Living in the shadow of Austin's hip mystique with bumper stickers that say "Keep Austin Weird", the city has spawned car statements of a different sort: "Keep San Antonio Lame."

We love San Antonio. Especially the Candlelight. The patio this time was devoid of the legions of mosquitoes that hung out there in May, but that didn't mean I escaped without bites. Probably the mosquitoes that found my legs flew in from Dallas. I have an unlucky magnetism regarding those buggers.

When we arrived and began to set up, it really felt like a kind of homecoming. Everyone there is so utterly familiar, it seemed like we were there last week. The dishwasher stepped out of the back door and fed the nameless cat crying loudly before the show. "We're trying to come up with a name for him," he explained. Another thing: San Antonio has a lot of cats.

We ordered our complimentary drinks and began playing for old friends and new people alike. One of the new listeners really stood out. Father Eddie. Tall, with thick, dark hair and an extremely loquacious manner, he seemed to know everybody on the patio. The man of the cloth was celebrating a birthday with his cousin Juliet, and he wasn't a bit shy about the wine. Most of our friends on the patio knew him from their childhood, and were familiar with his way of making wisecracks that were very un-priest-like. "I'd marry her if she weren't too old for me," he announced. Juliet was clearly younger than he, although he absolutely did not seem 59 in the least. Then he added, "Oh, and she'd my cousin."

Father Eddie launched into stories of his wild youth, crazy concert experiences, and running days with Steve Prefontaine. He was nearly an Olympic competitor and ran against Prefontaine in Eugene back in the day. Shocked that we even knew who the famous runner was, we jawed on about running during the break, comparing marathon stories and training schedules. Soon, in our enthusiasm, he was asking me to pound on his thigh and test his strength. This of course led me and my competitive streak to reciprocate. "Feel this!" I demanded, flexing my quads. It wasn't until I was watching the priest punch Ji's brawny legs, shouting, "You could run the 1000 meter, man!", that I realized how weird the scene was. Keep Austin Weird indeed.

Father Eddie liked our music because he said it was "thought provoking," much like the music of the 60's. I felt that was a very fine compliment indeed, one of the best we have ever received. He said he clearly heard the heavy influence that Joni Mitchell has had on my ears.

The show went along it's lovely course, with no more punching, but plenty of stories and songs. Unity and Cristela were there with their wide clan of fabulous people that we now are honored to call our friends. Pin-pricked as the night was by little lights, reflections of the pond thrown up on the dense foliage surrounding us, and the eyes of constellations watching the scene below, we were all infused by that certain blend of silliness and magic.

Ji and I keep plugging away at this, and the adventures keep unraveling. I would be lying if I didn't admit that I wonder if the world has room for what we want to do. But nights like these and my belief that there is enough room for every one's music keeps me truckin'.

Fortitude. Flexibility. Patience. Riotous Joy.

And Gratitude.

2007-10-22T10:30:00.000-07:00

October 7, 2007. Songwriting Workshop, The College of Santa Fe, Santa Fe, New Mexico.

Of all of the shows on our tour, this event had me the most freaked. In part it was due to the fact that I had never given a songwriting workshop before in my life. But the main contributing factor to my nervousness was my imagination. I had these visions of scowling students, laughing openly at my awkward attempts to describe my process, derisive comments jettisoning from their mouths. This horror show was thrown into stark relief by the conviction that the workshops given in the past by my predecessors were wildly popular. There they would be, the students having turned out in droves, waving eager hands and looking up toward another much more qualified teacher with beatific adoration.

As with all new ventures, the predictions fell flat, and a wonderful thing took place: the unexpected. Of all of the events on the tour thus far, this was most certainly my favorite.

Quickly realizing that I had nothing to teach, and that I don't believe in any sort of defined method of songwriting, I knew this would be a great opportunity to learn from the best source possible - working artists. And so, beginning with introductions and Ji's great ice-breaker question, "What was one of your more profound musical epiphanies?" we launched into the workshop.

We were honored by the presence of several students that had attended the concert the previous evening, and others that had not. Also the chair of the contemporary music program, Steve Paxton, attended and participated, as well as our man, Paul Brown. Everyone had a chance to share their own personal process, and also describe the things that helped them out in dry spells. We all found it fascinating and powerful that The Beatles kept coming up for just about everybody. In terms of inspiration and a plain and simple love for the music, we all found a common bond with the legendary band.

Next came my favorite part. The songs.

I was utterly amazed at the musical ideas and level of performing that we witnessed by these students. Ji runs an open mic called The Sonic Forum back in Portland, and as he told our group, he sees a multitude of singer-songwriters, as well as bands. Their material was by far more intriguing and original than what he hears on a weekly basis. This cluster of creative kids really impressed us. But I wasn't surprised.

The measure of success we agreed upon was the universal truth of teaching: we certainly learned far more than we "taught". But mostly, I am just glad that the workshop, which naturally ran much longer than our allotted time, seemed to be enjoyable for everyone involved in a relaxed, trusting, and illuminating way. I was also relieved that my insane visions had not a chance of coming true. Here is the most unexpected thing of all - I can't wait to do another workshop again!

Thanks to all who attended, and thanks again to the marvelous CMP and the astounding people who make it happen.

2007-10-21T12:22:00.001-07:00

October 6, 2007. The College of Santa Fe, Santa Fe, New Mexico.

In keeping with the weird magic of coincidence that seems to infuse the air of this town, Ji retrieves a startling message from my phone as our trusty Luna heads into the Santa Fe city limits. "Michael Borrelli... says he's in Portland... got cast in New York for a play..." Ji relays to me in bits and pieces the call. My old friend I hadn't seen in 9 years rings from our home turf just as I drive into the town where we last met. It doesn't surprise us in the least. We're back, and glad of it too.

First thing's first. We check out the new contemporary music building for the second time this year, wanting to pop in and find out the haps for the evening's concert. If you'll forgive the lengthy ramble following this, I'd like to give a bit of history. But I certainly wouldn't hold it against you if you skipped ahead.

The Contemporary Music Program is a far cry from when I first entered college as a sprig of a human - 17 years old and from a 70's suburb where no one behind you in the supermarket commented "Look at you lining up your groceries on the belt, you little Virgo you!" I had no idea how that woman knew I was a Virgo, but I knew I wasn't in Tualatin anymore. My first encounter with the CMP was through the wild and steady gaze of Kevin Zoernig, beckoning me into his office to talk about the particulars of taking piano lessons if music wasn't my major. Kevin's office turned out to be the broom closet off of the foyer of the Greer Garson Theatre. In that dim, cramped space, with it's dust and filtered light, I took a piece of chocolate from a man who would end up being one of my finest mentors, and left bearing the optimistic load of "double major." Such was Kevin's charm. I just had to agree, if I want lessons, why not major? And yes, he was right, Sharon Shaheen turned out to be the perfect teacher for me. Years later, with a degree in theatre, I find myself steeped in music, on the road once more with my drummer/poet husband and living a life that stems from creative roots nurtured in a shabby closet by a weird and wonderful sage. Thank you again.

The CMP grew from that closet and it's neighboring practice rooms, to the refurbished military barracks, and now finds housing in the beautiful and well-kept renovation of Benildus Hall. As Ji and I pass through the quiet carpeted hallway, with it's gateways leading to fantastical recording studios, piano labs, the Gamelan Orchestra room and other such wonders, we come upon the atrium that we must necessarily pass through before entering O'Shaughnessy Hall. "Necessarily" is an awful word to describe our passage. In reality it is an anticipated treat. From the low-ceilinged hallway, we break into the double-story open space in which natural light plays first rambunctiously, now softly, now in a manner like syrup as the clouds outside dictate. Our footsteps ring on the tile and some other sound, barely noticeable at first, seizes our attention.

Former CMP head, Steven Miller, has done an amazing thing here. He has set the Atrium Sound Space. This is a place for sound installations created by various artists to weave a sonic environment in a public space. It is never intrusive, and the effect is one of living in your own movie, where the composer has done such a stellar job making the aural tapestry that the listener/viewer does not see it as separate from the whole. The current installation creeps up on us gently, eerily, and with a surprising tenderness somewhere in the sounds and the spaces between sounds. This is all I can say to describe "The Language of Ghosts" (2007) by sonic artist Kim Cascone, other than that I am inspired to write a piece based on the emotion I felt standing still and "hearing" about me.

Pulling open the doors of O'Shaugnessy Hall, we find our man: Paul Brown. Paul is a treasure, a talent, and we burst into grins as hugs pass around accompanied by pats on the back and the sort of shoot-the-shit type comments that happen when you haven't seen someone in a while. "You drove in from Denver... today?" he asks wide eyed. "Just got out of the car." I reply, adding, " Forgive us if we're a bit rummy from the road." And so on. We leave our equipment with the good-natured fellow, (happily a light load because I actually get to play a real, shiny, sleek grand piano tonight - yes!), meet a student who positively shines with youth (was I really that young?!), and head out again.

Second things second... and for all intents and purposes, this should have been first, but for our time constraints... Horseman's Haven!!! After shoving perfect heaping forkfuls of burrito and green chile into our eager and burning mouths, we motor out to Madrid. Staying with Carol in this artist's community is always an adventure, but this time no dogs attack our car. We get about a ten minute reset-button nap and then change to go back to Santa Fe and perform.

Oh to play a real piano. Ji and I exchanged looks of mutual elation through the opened lid of the grand, and tried out a couple of tunes on the intimate and attentive crowd. No one threw anything, so it can be said to have gone reasonably well at that point. The highlight was probably when I used my extraordinarily suave stage tactics and announce to the listeners that I had a terrible runny nose I couldn't possibly disguise any longer and would they please excuse me while I lept from the piano bench and fled to the restroom? Before my tidy exit however, I explained that Ji would tell a joke while I was away to help pass the time. Good thing I zoomed out before catching his amazement and subsequent murderous look.

"Why are there no jokes about Jonestown?"

Silence.

"Because the punchline's too long!"

From inside the hollow-sounding bathroom I discerned a riotous drum-fidgit. "Drum-fidgit" is the term Ji and I have given to the nervous, unconscious action of a drummer when he or she has no idea what to do and feels either uncomfortable, bored, or simply "looked-at." All of a sudden it seems like a surprise and a relief to have something to whack at handily nearby. The drummer then helplessly bangs out a pattern on the nearest playing surface.

Far from unconscious, Ji exercised in a forthright manner his lucky circumstance of being his own drummer for his own awful joke, and smashed an ending in the place of would-be laughter. Since every member of the audience secretly wished at some point that they had their own drum-set after a floundering joke, they immediately burst into the best kind of recognition laughter.

After the "fidget", I walked into a room of the giggles and chuckles that followed Ji's incredulousness that he even told such a sinker.

"What happened?" I asked everybody.

"Nothing," Ji firmly replied.

In editing this, he pipes up from his deep immersion in a National Geographic article on memory and insists the this joke still has all of the elements of greatness. Namely, supreme irony and coarse shock value. I think so too, but don't tell him I said so. Also, he remembers that he warned them"I don't know why this just popped into my head, but it did, so it's 'the one,' and it's probably totally inappropriate right now." he explained, and launched into the joke. When a drummer is as undeniably brilliant and unpredictable as Ji, the audience can be very forgiving.

The show eased up considerably from that point on, gliding through anecdotes, melodies, laughter, and of course, growls. We even answered the call for an encore, so the overall performance couldn't have been as bad as I had dreamt it would be the night before in my anxiety. I've never learned the trick of losing that anxiety; even if I play nights and nights in a row, for one person or a hundred people. But I do know that if I just talk, or ask a question, or simply own up to what's really going on and jet from the room in search of a kleenex, things come out glowing in the end.

And it's true, Ji and I glowed from face to familiar face. Greeting old friends and teachers, standing in amazement at their individual paths of artistry, Ji and I glowed even more with the flush of enthusiasm and inspiration. Striking up acquaintances with new folks and students, we glowed still more. And it can be said that these little musicians glowed free, free, free all the way home.

2007-10-20T15:50:00.000-07:00

October 5, 2007. Capuvino, Denver, Colorado.

At Capuvino we literally tasted our first homegrown generosity on the road. In between songs, we asked the audience if they knew where we could go buy some lettuce. People commiserated with our desire for fresh greens while travelling and we were told several places to go. While several hands were hovering in the air, pointing us in various different directions, a voice halted everybody's advice.

"Do you like Swiss Chard?" a woman asked, cutting off the competing compass points. We nodded emphatically that we did, and the speaker, Holly, informed us that she would just go pick us some of the garden greens that very moment. She had finished her wine and her hubby was slurping up the last of his delectable milkshake, and off they went.

By and by, when Ji had done with tapping on light fixtures and using the blinds as percussive elements to my spontaneously mutating songs, our last set came to a close. As we stood chatting over wine with the two lovely hostesses of the evening, Kristen and Sara, the door opened. True to her word, in walked Holly with a bag chock full of greens. Not only was there a great quantity of chard, but fresh cabbage, yellow tomatoes and lettuce. "Wash these really well," she warned, "they were just picked and they're organic." This, as you can guess, sent us over the edge with gratitude. We were so excited and honored by this nurturing gift! Thank you Holly!

To hear Kristen and Sara tell it, this was not an unusual occurrence for those parts of Denver. We had won these two over earlier with "Cynthia", a song dedicated to all waitresses, bussers, and baristas alike. The lyric "I wish more waitresses were like Cynthia, she won't put up with your shit, she's a horse out of the stable. And she won't clean it up if you manage to puke on the table, table 23," held particular humor and significance to these two sassy girls.

We were now in the throws of their own personal tales of college escapades and travels to other countries. Sara ribbed Kristen like a sibling, and Kristen shot back with her own retorts like an old hand at the game. The pair seemed like they'd known each other forever, so easy was the flip between moments of mock outrage and symbiotic laughter. So it came as a shock to learn that it was their first time working together, ever.

Closing time came on, and the verbal boxing, boasting, best friend-duet that was our bad-gal barista-ship for the night cried out loudly that the crepe batter would just be thrown away, and didn't we want something to eat? Being as the time between meals was not going on ten hours or better, and with wine sloshing about in our empty bellies, we quickly seized upon the menu in Sara's outstretched hand.

Dude. Two lovely, warm, perfect portobello mushroom savory crepes with roasted red peppers and brie. Yes, yes, yes. Thanks to Kristen's circular smearing of the crepe batter and her deft handling of the ingredients, we came home that night to a feast! Also, Sara demanded that we sample four of the miniature gourmet cupcakes that she had helped her friend make, each complete with it's own individual liquor frosting. Chocolate with Creme de Menthe, angel food cake with Amaretto, cirtus cake with Grand Marnier, and the last one must have been so good, that it was wiped clean from my memory. Either that or the liquor to sugar ratio was higher than we suspected and had taken full effect. In any case, we slept soundly that night!

2007-10-17T16:53:00.000-07:00

October 4, 2007. Coffeemuggers, Grand Junction, Colorado.

After settling in to our hotel, we retraced our path to downtown Grand Junction. The wind coursed around late 19th century buildings, rattling leaves that noisily and resolutely clung to the trees, and shoved us in through door of the empty cafe. We found ourselves face to face with a short, handsome youth with tidy dreadlocks. "Those remind me of my old dredlocks," Ji whispered to me later, adding "they look clean."

Our host, Torin, was gracious and most accomplished. As we sipped the fine, hot beverages offered, we learned that he works in about 5 of the restaurants downtown, and gets demands for more hours all of the time. "I'm pretty organized," he admitted without a trace of ego or it's subtle counterpart, self-deprecation. Apart from the work-a-day-and-night business, he plays music and has been apprenticing with a glass blower for quite some time, and intends to open a shop in the near future. We applauded his resolve and enjoyed the company.

Noticing the lack of patrons, he apologized for the wind that drives people away from downtown. But every town has its peculiar dour assault upon business... rain, snow, football games, even the blooming sun - "It's too nice a day," and so on. So we understood. However, Torin refused to give up, and went to calling his considerable network of friends. From there he started stopping the few passersby, who promised to come by after dinner. He explained that they've only had a few concerts at Coffeemuggers since they changed locations, and it's been hit-or-miss, and weirdly unpredictable. All in all, if you are going to blame anyone for a lack of an audience, I find it is best to blame Ji.

It's true. It really was Ji's fault. He cursed us during our orientation-walk earlier that afternoon.

"Well, we can be glad that we've never four-walled it," he commented as we peered into the windows of little galleries and knick-knack shops.

"What does that mean, 'Four-wallin' it'?" I innocently inquired. Well, that's a lie. I secretly knew and dreaded what he was going to say.

"It's when you're only playing for yourselves and the four walls around you," he explained and began chuckling in his peculiar, silent way. I decided to cut those chuckles short.

"Shut it!" I cried, "You're going to jinx us!"

He admitted that the jinx might possibly happen, and we quickly turned to rapid verbal visualizations of tons of people showing up to a coffee house on a wednesday evening in a quiet town, as if these hopes could band-aid the unsettling picture of four empty walls.

But the walls were not so empty as all that. They were adorned with brilliant artwork, reverberated with sound, and housed a fantastic rehearsal of some old and underdeveloped material we longed to bring to our road repetoire. And later, after taking Torin's advice and soliciting other clubs, where the owners readily accepted our press materials, ( I swear that kid knows every soul in town - to their uniform delight and admiration), Ji and I admitted to each other that strangely enough, we'd both felt positively rich and successful while performing. Basking in the glow of this odd and wonderful truth, we settled down to watch "A Rebel Without A Cause" while eating grapes, resting up for the drive through the Rockies the following morning. Thank you, Grand Junction.

2007-10-17T16:16:00.000-07:00

October 3, 2007. Mondo Cafe, Moab, Utah.

Once the fiery glare of the brilliant red dirt cools across the corneas, Moab can be taken in, but only slightly. The beauty of this place is hard to photograph, let alone fully appreciate.

Swooping in from Motel 6, we assemble our music equipment , black and insectile, in the corner of the sleepy cafe and its bookstore counterpart. At first we nearly call it an early night, but are led on to keep playing by the arrival of many newcomers intent on strong coffee and gelato as an after dinner delight.

A highlight of the evening revolved around four young girls, two perched on the laps of parents, and two peeping around bookshelves and legs of other parents, who raised the bar to a new level for audience participation during my song "Growl, You Muddy Nymph!" Those little ones could make a grown Sasquatch shudder!

And did I possibly say "sleepy" cafe? Baby Noah refused to fall asleep, even during the lullaby serenity of "Unita", but stayed quietly alert and attentive, preferring dancing to a stroll into Slumberland.

We also appreciated the attention of the adult-type people, among whose ranks a man gave us a Lilliputian rendition of a good running trail in town, scrawled in black ink and adorned with perfect landmarks. I don't know how much running we managed between ogling the gorgeous landscape, but we sure got these purty pictures!

And the best, I save for last. Willie, resident of Moab and artist extraordinaire, showed up to Mondo Cafe, plunked down on the couch next to his friend Dave, and promptly offered chocolate. "Here, give some to him, too," he urged, passing broken bits of a delectable bar, and indicating that Ji not be left out of the treat. Next came a painting of his own creation. "This is for you," he said in an off-hand way, and I took the proffered canvas with astonished thanks. I asked if he had a cd player. He did indeed. "Do you have our cd?" No, he did not. "Here then! We can trade!" I exclaimed, joyful at the idea that I had at least something to offer in return. His reply? Something that brought a smile to my mouth and reminded me again about the ture nature of gifts:
"Oh. Thanks. But the painting is still free."

2007-10-17T15:46:00.000-07:00

October 2, 2007. Java! Twin falls, Idaho

I was deputized in Twin Falls. Yes, I received that star of honor, the Sheriff's Badge, straight from the hands of Emperor Nathan himself. What a way to start a month-long road trip! There's no way the law can mess with me now...

If you ever go to Twin Falls, you could seek out His Royal Highness for your own deputyship, or you could limit your search for the best coffee in town. I'd like to add that the reward of such a search would not be limiting in the least. Java always seems to be the hub of creative spirits and lovers of caffeine alike, and as the two are often the same, there is never any shortage of kind and interesting people within its cozy walls. The welcome we received there exceeded last Spring's reception, and that's saying a lot.

Dylan, an accomplished songwriter and barista at Java, opened the evening with a fine set of tunes. His voice, reminiscent of Scott Weiland from the STP days, matched rhythm with his guitar and had people tapping their feet in concert with the perils of their current chess match.

Happily, our friend and official deputise, Emperor Nathan, filled in the slot between Dylan's music and our set. H.R.H. has been hammering away in the Wordsmith department by all accounts. He has also come forth bearing his crown regally in that tricky realm of "confidence while performing" while many pairs of eyes stare unabashedly at you from as close as 3 feet away over steaming mugs of chai. Keep it up Emperor, we expect to hear from you again, and remain ever your faithful servants.

In addition to reconnecting with the youth and vigor of T.Falls, namely Mandi, Andrew, Ben, Korrie, Erika, Luke, and others, we met an old sage called Zazoo. This fellow bestowed upon us the gift of Bear Medicine. Zazoo explained the properties of Transformation that such medicine carries. The Bear, hibernating every winter, is Master of this feat, and we would do well to learn from the powers of rest and rebirth. Snapshots of hand-carved totems grace our lovely vehicle Luna as she bears us onward.

Sadly, we always forget to take photos here. But before signing off, I'll try to explain. Twin Falls is like crossing a bridge over Eden. There it lies, a stone's lengthy plummet beneath the hum of wheels, in all of it's perfection. Green and amber, ash, mahogany and sandy hues cut through by the Snake River. Too bad the frame for such a work of mind-boggling artistry is the homogeneous row of strip malls we see everywhere. But when I come to think about it, what more appropriate hem for the skirts of Eden than these familiar corporations? They throw it all into such a dense relief, as we speed away towards the desert.

2007-05-17T00:37:00.000-07:00

May 16th, 2007.

At the Rainbow Planet Coffee House in Tucson, we saw a little bit of Portland. Here is a very cozy, homey place with organic food and kick-ass mochas (as gleefully sampled by Ji). Other hints of Portland infused the evening. The barista, Ash, (yet one more excellent sandwich-maker we've encountered on our travels) used to live in N.E. Portland, very close to our neighborhood, too. And sitting by the door, these two shining and outgoing women, Mary and Jamie, are thinking about moving to Portland. Mary happened to save me from a desperate situation by getting me a tampon from her Jeep. I can't believe I forgot mine back at the hotel room, but in a way, I'm glad I had to walk up to these two girls before the show and beg their assistance and acquaintance. It turns our that Jamie has been drumming for 13 years. She really seemed to enjoy Ji's creativity on such a limited kit, and also offered to supply him with any drums he might need should we come back through Tucson. This is definitely the kind of town where you say hello to people you walk by in the street. I didn't realize how much I missed that aspect of Portland until we arrived here. Thanks Tucson.

As we left Tucson and drove the spectacular road to San Diego we encountered lightning storms, sand dunes and dust devils! Here are some pics that Ji took of our sunset...keep in mind he just pointed and clicked--this is how the pictures came out of their own accord...

2007-05-17T00:03:00.000-07:00

May 13th, 2007.

Mother's Day and we are at our farthest point away from family. But phone calls can be made, and words exchanged, and laughter and teasing can cross several time zones, with or without the aid of a slap on the butt or a kiss on the cheek. Moms, we love you!!! Thanks for supporting your crazy children!

There is this thing among musicians. Well, at least among Ji and I. That thing is that you always play a different show than the audience feels. You could feel like you played like crap and people will say, "Wow man, that was the best version of that tune ever." Or, you could play what you feel to be within the realm of a fourth dimension - everything seems so uncanny and so gifted, it is as if you really aren't playing, some other joyous creature has control of the reigns. This is usually this scenario where people didn't hear because the sound was bad, the margarita machine kept going, or there were only two people in the bar.
Last night, the latter was true. We played our best show of the entire trip thus far, for four people. And damn, if it wasn't good! I really don't mind saying so. Ji and I were simply beaming. We stood back , got out of the way of the music, and had us some real fun. And then we took a break, and went out to meet David the architect and another man, named Mark, I believe. We spent more time with David, because it turns out that he knows friends of Unity and Cristela's, and we almost met him at this crazy Luau the night before.
Okay. Sidetrip. The Luau.
Here is where the rock star lifestyle blazes a glorious, if brief, trail in our trip. Maybe it was the influence of Texas. Or maybe it was the leis we were all wearing. Or maybe it was the deliciously deceptive, gigantic and never-ending washtub of Everclear Hawaiin punch. But somehow Ji and I both tried our hand several times at hula hooping, much to my dismay the next morning. Did you know that vigorous hula-hooping produces sensations akin to having your ribs broken? And somehow I agreed to compete in a limbo contest with a bunch of rubber gumby women, miraculously making my way to the last rung before the winner took all. In my hatha yoga way, I kept holding the back bend. It was weird, I just would slowly go under the pole, then it was like I would get stuck there, an invisible string attached from my sternum to the green wooden rod. Then I would walk under, and onto a lower setting. That is eventually how I lost. I was suspended under the rod, caught in a quiet moment of no movement, then as a tried to make an exit, my chest raised and I bumped the pole.
Unable to catch a free drum, Ji stood on a platform and dutifully clapped his woman onto a would-be victory. Only this wasn't like the twister contest honey, I was bound to lose. Because get this: the winner, a noticeably tall and stunning beauty, Melissa, actually took off a pair of four-inch heels to compete in the final rung. Shit, man. None of us even saw it coming. I guess it was dark, and there were drums. We were all in bare feet, and there she goes, taking off her damn heels! Dude! No sir, I can't compete with that, not even if I had shucked "Car Body" completely. You gotta give it up to a girl like that.
Okay, back to Ruta Maya. Here is a pic taken just after setting up...what a beautiful space! Kudos to the fine barista, Natalia. We were just playing for tips, and I hadn't realized that no food or drink besides coffee come with the gig. So when I ordered a glass of wine and realized I had to pay, I chose to give Luna a drink over taking one for myself. But during the break, Natalia enjoyed the music so much, she just bought the drink for me. If I were the owner of that establishment, I would give her an Employee of the Month award or something. She really made us feel like champs on a quiet Sunday night with no crowd. Our next two listeners actually called to check if we were still playing and caught the last three songs. Man, it was so fun, it didn't matter if there were two or two hundred people that night.

Before Ji and I left to go on this tour, we wrote out a list of our intentions and posted them on our fridge. Among those intentions, we wanted to make connections with new people in such a way that they would want to hear us play music again. And that is just what happened. These are the very real successes. And this night, I was proud to sit next to Tanzer and just do what we do best. Thank you for listening.

2007-05-16T23:40:00.000-07:00

May 12th, 2007.

Last night's Sangria House Concert was shifted to a different location. We ended up playing another outdoor show at this absolutely gorgeous cafe called The Candlelight. Although a bit blurry, you can get a sense of the beauty in this pic...The food was amazing and the night, although riddled with mosquitos, was sublime. And hey, every table came equipped with a candle and a can of Off. This show was both sweet and sad. Our lovely friends and hostesses Unity and Cristela, of the famed house concert in October of 2006, were once again key to securing this show for us and then inviting a wonderful audience of new friends and old friends, to come watch. These two women are so fabulous, beauty and magic surround them always. Twinkle lights glittered as people moved about, and wine glasses clinked among the conversation. Although farther away than we usually play, we eventually got some sense of the crowd and felt a good, if different connection.
The hard part came with a phone call to Unity as she was helping me set up my t-shirts and cds. Her uncle passed away that afternoon of a heart attack. The tone of her voice immediately caught my heart up in a tight little ball, higher in my chest than it usually sits. When she came back we had already begun to play "January Light," and she had to leave to go pick up her mom and be with her family. Watching her go into the humid night, it struck me again that I originally wrote the song I was singing as a eulogy. "Birth and death, birth and death... mirth and breath."
Joy to the living, peace to the passing, and miracle to those on their way.

Unity, our love and our hearts are with you and your family.

2007-05-16T23:20:00.000-07:00

May 11th, 2007.

Once again, Mozart's Coffee Roasters was riddled with students and their laptops, and visiting families. This time however, it carried the energy of release rather than the crush of mid-terms. The performance here was pretty much as it was in the fall, but instead of spiders and leaves landing on drums and pianos, Ji and I both swallowed bugs.
Our favorite dancer ever, can be seen here.
May 11th, 2007. The fabulous and artful Gida Luna. She even shares a name with our trooper of mileage and dreams, Luna the Jeep. Gida's parents, Giovana and John were kind enough to offer to take some photos for us. At one point Ji thought he lost these and was crushed for a day, until they reappeared within the mysterious inner-workings of the camera. How could we deal with losing the captured images of the best dancer ever?
Our immense gratitude for this part of the journey goes out to my cousin Kelly for letting us crash at her new digs in Killeen. It was good to catch up on laundry and to cook some real food. There is a lesson here though. If you laugh at stories of your cousin dropping a can of soup on her toe and breaking it in a grocery store, chances are that instant karma will get you right in the face. Chances are that in the middle of unloading the dishwasher you will suddenly lose control of a very heavy, glass Pyrex frying pan lid, and it will fall squarely on your toe. Yes. It is true, Sanborn has sustained an injury on this tour. Kelly, feel free to laugh all you want right now. The crazy part was that Ji was taking a nap, and I didn't want to alarm him or wake him up by screaming, but I couldn't supress the noise. So what ended up transpiring was Ji waking up to this sort of inhuman, closed-mouthed whooping noise, and me hobbling around in circles in the kitchen still gripping the offending Pyrex lid while tears streamed down my face. The subsequent spreading of the bruise and swelling has officially ended my running career for this leg of the journey. Oh well. "Car body" is best enjoyed when accepted as a fact. Then maybe some relaxation can set in. Okay, I think that's enough for now. By the way, Ji is really good at running to my rescue in a hurry in just a pair of boxers.

2007-05-16T23:13:00.000-07:00

May 7th, 2007.

This entry doesn't have much to do with music. But I totally forgot to mention that we woke up to more snow falling on Saturday morning!! The snow even continued when we trekked out to El Dorado with Liza and Acazia for brunch at Josh and Julie's house. We were honored to be invited to eat amazing food, meet new people, and catch up with good, old friends whilst being bedazzled by new babies and flurries of wild May snow. It was so good to meet Josh and Julie's two-month-old daughter, Deva. With Ji there, all we had to have was somebody in the group named Guru and we'd have been across the universe:)
And another note: what in the name of all that is Holy would a trip to Santa Fe be without a visit to that mecca, that destination, that refuge - The Horseman's Haven? Folks, you gotta go.

2007-05-16T22:39:00.000-07:00

May 6th, 2007.

Last night's show was at the legendary Mine Shaft Tavern. The first story we heard about this place wasn't exactly what you would call settling. More like entertaining, or even terrifying. When Ji was on tour with Ruby Dee and the Snakehandlers back in March, the lead guitarist, Jorge Herada regaled him with a memory of the Tavern.
Apparently, when Jorge played there with Dragstrip 77, the barkeep gave the band a stern pre-show warning. "Listen. If people start shooting their guns outside, you have to stop playing." This of course implied that at some point in the recent past, someone had started blazing away with rowdy gunfire, and the band had actually kept on playing. But hey, this was way back in the mid '90's, so what could possibly happen now?
As it was, just an great evening of music. We were lucky enough to play with the talented brothers Rothschild that comprise the core of Round Mountain. They were joined by John Gagen on bass, plucking away in his usual stellar fashion. As you may recall from past entries, or just by scrolling further down, we have some very similar photos of the tremendous musicianship of my dear friends. They started off the evening and played a fantastic set of their original world-folk.
When it came time for us to play, honestly I was nervous. And it didn't really get any better throughout the evening. It wasn't until we spilled into the bar after the first set and I got real feedback from some of the audience members, that I began to feel better. I don't know, it was so hard to gauge the way the listeners were taking it. Ji and I are definately used to more intimate settings. But that is what this trip is about: growth and learning. And when it came time to count out our cash onto the bar, the booker and bartender extraordinaire, Andrew, gave me some of the best verbal support of the trip. On our approach to the bar, when all was packed up, he hailed us with, "Hey, that was cool." Feebly, I began something like, "Really? I didn't know if my music would go over..." but he firmly cut me off with, "What? You think people were going to start stabbing each other?" When I smiled, half in amusement, half in acknowledgment, Andrew continued.
"Listen, I was a customer here before I was a bartender, and a bartender before I was a booker. And let me tell you, it was no great shakes having the same old, tired bar blues every night. I wanted to try to change things, to make this place different. So that's why I started booking different kinds of music. And let me tell you something else. People in Madrid have ears. They know, and they will always surprise you. No, tonight was good."
And with that, like with the best of parents, Andrew let me know that there just wasn't any room for self-doubt or assumptions. You do what you do, you give it out, and you just keep on giving. Where that gift lands or what people do with it isn't really any of your business. Your only business is to do what you love with a wide, wide open heart. Thanks for the lesson in trust, Andrew. You rock.

2007-05-16T19:24:00.000-07:00

May 4th, 2007.

The clunks and rattles of the early-to-rise hikers helped us peel out of bed at 6 am. Without the benefit of a brisk and breathtaking hike to look forward to, we steeled ourselves for another day of "car body." "Car body," as you can probably guess from personal experience, is that peculiar state of the body that always includes one raised hip, hunched shoulders, tennis balls hiding within the confines of shoulder blades, bent knees and the conviction that the back is a hinged joint somewhere about the middle of the spine. Oh yes, and I forgot to mention the flat ass, somewhat numb from not very much circulation and too many chips. We jealously regarded the fit, adventurous climbers anticipating the overwhelming beauty of the landscape as we all mutually emptied our wallets into our gas tanks at the filling station. I did some calf stretches against the curb of the gas-tank island for good measure.

We may not have had a hike to go on, but we did benefit from a fantastic complimentary breakfast at 6:45 am from our gracious hosts at Mondo Cafe, Bob and Sarah. That actually goes miles within our budget and is greatly appreciated. Thanks again you guys. No snow to report however... that happens later on. And besides a lesson on how to say "Shiprock" in Navajo from this amazing woman who gave us free popcorn at the filling station in New Mexico, nothing much happened. To my shame, I can't remember the word, but I can tell you it sounds much prettier than "shiprock," and it's meaning implies the wing of a bird. The wing image makes much more sense when you look at the land feature anyway. Damn, the things you forget.

We arrived at Casa Liza y Acazia with enough time to take the most refreshing nap of my life on their futon. It was amazing. In just 30 minutes I felt like I slept 8 hours, no joke. The show itself was at Backroad Pizza. It was wonderful to actually match a face to the name of "Piper," my booking correspondent and the co-owner of the restaurant. The food was awesome, and if you go, I highly recommend the spinach salad. Yes. My car body rejoiced at the taste of something green.

Liza helped us out with these photos. As you can probably tell, she figured out how to use this camera better in 10 minutes than we have been able to figure out in a year. Oh well, that's a professional photographer for you. Among the fine faces we were pleased to see were Julie and Gabe Gomez, Joseph Fitzpatrick (that's "Dean Fitz" to you) and Carol Carpenter, and many more... thanks for the support you guys. After the show, we bailed on the plan to join the karaoke fest at the gay old people's home. I began to regret this, but my tiredness would not comply with any little nag of adventure-seeking curiosity. Just as well, for the fun-fest has disbanded by the time the late posse arrived. But next time, I swear, Bon Jovi will Blaze Glory again in Santa Fe.

This conclusion to my lengthy entry has to do with gratitude for something I give very little honor to and would do well to respect more deeply with my time: Sleep. We are truly blessed to be able to sleep until we wake up, to be sleeping in such a comfortable bed, and to be sleeping in the house of two such beautiful and generous souls. Actually, three such souls, including the regal green-eyed, gray furred, 15 lbs cat, "Little Bear." Little Bear, we love you. Please send a volley of purrs and whiskery nudges to our own dearly missed queen, Dayna. What dreams may come...

2007-05-03T21:43:00.000-07:00

May, 3rd 2007

This is ji chiming in for this post...rebecca is sitting across from me folding sheaves of paper for her handmade journals. For those of you who don't know, we've created a special edition to the journals this go-round - including a CD of us playing meditative music and beautiful watercolor paintings from our friend and local Portland painter Scott Johnson. If I may be so bold...they are quite spectacular...

This morning we awoke and fought off the hellacious winds of Jerome Idaho, outside of Twin Falls. For someone as "hair conscious" as me it is certainly like hell on earth. Too bad the people are so nice.

I'll give it to you straight. After the exciting early morning buzz wore off I slept for 2 hours while Rebecca drove and listened to the Glorious music of Andrew Bird and the falling rain of Northern Utah. Come to think of it, today was a day of crazy weather.

Once I took over driving duties at exactly the half-point of our journey to Moab, Rebecca fell asleep to my favorite "this is ji's quiet time while driving" selection: The Pogues' - Rum Sodomy & the Lash. She woke up literally 15 minutes after she fell asleep to Shane Macgowan bawling on and white out conditions. And of course she had to wake up right as I was passing a Semi going 20 mph who's spray made the world unseeable...I wish I had a picture of her face. Wonder and Fright is a stunning combination.

Speaking of getting stunned...I got pulled over by the Police somewhere south of the town of Price. I think the officer was going to give me a ticket for speeding, but after seeing that I truly was as handsome as People magazine said I was...he let me off with a warning. The pic is of my new "I just got caught doing something naughty" face i'm working on for their April spread. Note: in case you were wondering, I did work on my hair after the winds of Jerome. And yes, I will Autograph any copies of People magazine that you send me.

After safely making our way out of the snow laden mountains we drifted down into the canyon country of cental Utah, and finally to sere and sunny Moab.

The show tonight was curious for me. The staff of Mondo Cafe was very nice and genuinely interested in this journey we are taking. The owners Bob and Sarah seemed kind. They are transplants from Seattle who opened up the cafe a few years back.

The man that caught my attention the most was a regular named Willie. He reminded both Rebecca and I of the folks that my father and I used to play music for down at Sunnyside coffeehouse in Portland. He grabbed an old catalog of Rebecca's songs from inside our email list binder and thoughtfully went through the titles, calling out requests for his favorites. In this picture he is on the far left with his paintings to his right. Willie: collector of dead-pan jokes and giver of garlic and carob bars.

Tomorrow is a reunion - Us & Santa Fe.

2007-05-02T21:24:00.000-07:00

Wednesday, May 2, 2007.

Here we are writing from Jerome, Idaho, and man, are we feelin' good. Our first show of the tour was something special. We happened upon a fantastic community of people at Java's in Twin Falls. We even had some of the great musicians in the audience come up and play some of their music during our break - thanks Ethan and Nathan!! Coming back to play here again in October will be a joy, especially if Cole makes us a couple of those beautiful sandwiches. I don't even like cucumbers and I was eating them like they were going out of style.

Special thanks to Jean, Mike, Tiff, Cole and the whole crew at Java's!

Before turning in I want to extend a HUGE and heartfelt thank you to all of the Portlanders who came out to support us at the Cake Walk event. 81 of you showed your love for us and for sweets - and even more support was sent from the people who couldn't make it. That was tremendous!!! What a party! 15 bakers donated cakes to auction, and 5 cakes and 10 slices of this gorgeous chocolate creation were given away during our surprising and
hilarious Cake Walk. I say surprising because I don't think anyone there - including me - knew to what extent people would totally get into cake walkin'. Because of you crazy walkers, we raised enough money to pay for gas for our tour... and this, this makes me want to burst with gratitude. Long live music.

2006-11-28T03:28:00.000-08:00

Hello everyone it's Ji writing this time! It is 3:32 in the am and I just got home from a gig...no better time to say thanks.

I just wanted to extend gratitude to everyone that came out to the show at the beautiful Sapphire Hotel last night. The elegant ambience that the owners Shannon & Carrie have created, as well as the powerful feeling of welcome that we felt from you the audience made for quite an emotional night for us as performers.

For those of you who are not in Portland, we were joined by the fabulous Melissa Collins on cello for three songs--one of which was written by Rebecca the day after Thanksgiving and is aptly titled "Post Thanksgiving Day". Rebecca and I are both very excited about the song and have already begun working on arrangement ideas for recording it.

We loved having Melissa's complimentary sound with us on such short notice. Actually, with her help we have talked about working in some string quartet shows in the near future!

That's all for now...here's to everyone having a rich and safe holiday season.

Slay on,
ji

2006-10-28T14:35:00.000-07:00

October 24th, 2006.

As we drove across west Texas again, on our way to El Paso and beyond, we traced the same path as the hero in our book on tape. If you need a good story to listen to while driving through Texas, All My Friends are Going to be Strangers, by Larry McMurtry is a good one. Especially if you are headed to San Fransisco eventually. It's funny, no matter what music or book we put on, it always corresponds perfectly to our situation at the moment. Maybe it is synchronicity, and the fact the we are paying new attention to what currently influences our minds. But the correlary relationship between input and observation has been something of a wide-eyed wonder several times during this journey.
The road wore usdown a bit in Arizona, and we pulled off into a rest area to get a couple of hours of sleep before Phoenix. We have the great composer, pianist and omelet-maker Ez Weiss to thank for our stay in Phoenix. Also Heather, another fantastic Portland musician, was a total delight. The show at Mama Java's was small, but still fun, and the venue was very sweet with probably the nicest baristas in the entire world, ever. My friend Shannon lives in Phoenix half of the year, and Portland the other half. It was nearly an optical illusion to see her someplace other than Sanborn's for breakfast! But we love her turf and are excited to return to the desert again. Thanks to all who kindly supprted us on this leg of the tour.

2006-10-28T14:20:00.000-07:00

South to San Antonio is much easier than Santa Fe to Austin. We were greeted with a royal welcome by Unity and Cristela. Their apartment feels like a wonderfully liveable art museum. Everything is imbued with creativity and clarity and comfort. Here are some photos of the place we were lucky enough to play in and stay in for a couple of days.
October 22, 2006.Ji was being his usual creative self playing windows and taking artsy pictures...House concerts are really the way to go. The feeling is very intimate and casual, we get to know the people we are playing for, and the overall performance experience feels more interactive and tangible. Our lovely hostesses put on such a glorious spread of food... here is an example of a "little" dish: figs sliced in half, stuffed with goat cheese, topped with an almond, and drizzled with honey. Yummmmm. And I don't even like almonds. I ate maybe ten of those little delights.
The next day we went up into the tower, and along the River Walk, and then ate dinner in a building that slanted so much there wasn't a right angle in the place. The surroundings were beautiful, and all the artists and fabulous people we met, plus our darling ones Unity and Cristela, made it very hard to leave San Antonio behind.

2006-10-28T14:05:00.000-07:00

October 21, 2006.
My dear cousin Kelly had the patience to stay up unitl 1 am to let us into her house in Kileen, TX. Who knew west Texas was so huge? AND she had a big test the next morning. Thank you soooo much.

We played at a huge and very busy coffeehouse in Austin, called Mozart's coffee roasters. Under the tree, by the lake, out on the deck, I think I had a definitive first experience. While I was singing, a spider flew by and hung off of my nose. I held down the bass line while my right hand lifted it up and ushered it on a new flight in the swift breeze. Also, the leaves thet fell from the tree were falling onto Ji's snare and adding audible pops to the percussion. After Ji wowed a caffeine and computer riddled audience with his triangle-in -the-mouth maneuver, we packed up shop and headed to an authentic Austin country and western bar for cervesa. Brad led us to Donn's Depot, and Silvia, Bob, Kelly, Ji and I willingly followed. The dancers in their cowboy hats, silver belts, and tight jeans, were so smooth they appeared to be rotating above the floor on pegs circumnavigating an eliptical track. Then a crazy dip would happen and we knew they were real. Meanwhile the musicians kept on truckin' without breaking a sweat. So long, Austin.

2006-10-28T13:48:00.000-07:00

October 19th, 2006.

We stayed in Carol's beautiful adobe house in Madrid, about 30 minutes south of Santa Fe. The above picture was taken during the sunset on our way there. Madrid is a small town where the dogs rule and are known to charge cars. For our morning run we whistled by the pioneer cemetery atop a most gorgeous mesa. No photos of that... The camera lens was too sweaty.

In the evening, we had the privilege of seeing some of the finest musicians on the planet. Robby and Char Rothschild went to the college with me many moons and suns ago, and if I was impressed by them then, it can't compare with how bewildered I am by them now. This is a picture of Char playing the accordian and, yes, the trumpet at the SAME TIME. Later he decided to play the accordian and the gaida (a kind of bagpipe - think of a little goat), again, at the same time. And he was brilliant at it. During the break he even asked me if I had seen anybody in Portland do that. NO. What a feat. This is a picture of the ever-facile drummer Robby switching up instruments and playing the kora. These two have never been happy with just one or two or five instruments. Check them out at www.roundmountainmusic.com

2006-10-17T21:13:00.000-07:00

Part of our tour includes the opportunity to revisit people that are very important to us. Today we made our way to "Casa Wendy", the house of my beloved teacher and extraordinary human being, Wendy Chapin.

While in her garden, our conversation meandered as we sipped coffee and were watched over by Bacchus. This glorious sculpture of styrofoam and acrylic paint was created by the great set designer Clark Duncan. Bedecked in clusters of grapes, the god of abundant pleasure lorded himself over her pond, and reminded us of the work we had done together on the play she directed, "For the Love of the Nightingale', 12 years earlier.

Another divinity wended her way in and out of the ornamental grasses and violet-hued flowers. Isis, the 16-year old kitty, found our conversation dull as the storm winds picked up and caused our coats to be wrapped more closely about our rib cages. How uncivilized not to have fur.

The jasmine, the canna, the lillies and the stones. The words wafting through whipping breezes. The laughter that erupted
and settled and erupted again. Thank you so much Wendy, you've shown us again how time and distance elicit no matter of great importance to the connections of the heart.

2006-10-17T20:28:00.000-07:00

Probably the most important thing about Santa Fe is The Horseman's Haven Cafe. This little family-owned diner attached to a gas station earned it's way into Gourmet Magazine with the most outstanding green chile sauce you have ever tasted. Since I was here six years ago, they have their own building next to the station. When the waiter learned of our devotion, he quickly brought us "Level 2" green chile, and we proceeded to burn our lips off. It makes it hard to form words, but since our vocal chords were singed in the process anyway, the question of speech is a moot point. We smiled in blissful, tear-stained silence.