I got home last night at almost 3 a.m., feeling pretty beat up. The Corporal record is ready to mix. 9 days of work over a year and a half. Traci woke up and we had burnt cookies and rye in bed. No matter how bad I was feeling, I did not stray from the satisfying pull of absolute gravity. Beneath any bruises and overworked nerves, there is the satisfaction of knowing.

Further on down the road...

We spent last night in Bigos where Jorge, Josh and I ate traditional country cooking and talked about our favorite concerts ever. Josh saw a big Bob Dylan anniversary concert at Madison Sqaure Garden in the early 90s where everyone in rock music played Dylan songs and then Dylan himself came out, only it was after the house lights had come up and people were starting to leave. But Bob didn't care and played 4 songs including "Song For Woody" (which I thought was a poem and did not know was a song.) Then I gave context and personal anecdotes for a powerful account of seeing Prince on the Lovesexy Tour in Cincinnatti. In the middle of my telling, Josh bit his tongue so bad he thought he might have swallowed some of it with his pork. But he didn't flinch once. I must have been mezmerizing!

Tonight we play a Women's Festival in Ourense. There's a story to tell later about this but for now I will recount the time just after 4pm when we were pulled over by police on the highway. They said they had a picture of our van traveling at 145km and the limit for vehicles like ours is 100km. The police told us to wait because they had to leave for an emergency. When they left they took the van's registration and Jorge's license with them. While we waited Dawn read to us stories from Dean Wareham's rock biography. The police came back in 15 minutes with a ticket for Jorge: 300Euros and a loss of 3 points on his license. Jorge had extra points added last year because he's never had a violation before. And the fine, which is a lot, isn't as bad as he expected.

"I'll still be able to pay my rent," he said, forcing a smile. Then when we got to Oursense, Jorge took us out for a glass of local white wine that was so crisp, I am still puckering. As he paid the old man behind the counter, he said, "Today I have near disaster, and the only thing to do is greet it with enjoyment." Salut, Jorge!

"Wow you're getting stripped in many ways on this tour," Dawn said. I had just learned that the bag with all my clothes was not found at the hotel in Madrid. "How does it feel not to carry around a big bag," she asked.

My back answered first, followed by my brain, and both were in total agreement.

"It feels great," I said.

On the way to Castellon I had spent some of my perdiem on toothbrushes and deodorant. This was when I knew I had no toiletries (left 'em in Birmingham), but had not yet learned that my bag was not in the van. Now the toothbrushes (a 2 brush value pack!) and the deodorant were all I had.

"That's kind of all you need," said Dawn. She knows a thing or two about living out of bags. Her blue ASCAP shoulder bag has been her most reliable band member, making more tours and carrying more stuff than anybody. In the early days, Dawn's blue bag would house her guitar pedals, her toothbrush, and all of her clothes.

There's a book by Maya Angelou that we used to keep in our bathroom called "Wouldn't Take Nothing For My Journey Now." I love that title and thought of it on my last night in Bushwick when Traci and I were packing my bag. It had been years since I packed so specific and thoroughly, meditating on the need, mood, and weight of each piece of clothing. I was excited for every stitch. I have not been sad to see them go. Whoever possesses them next will enjoy themselves.

Besides, before we left Barcelona, our new friend Maria brought by some old shirts for me that belonged to her roommate. One of them (seen in the above picture along with Dawn's blue bag) says "Granada" and has a drawing of the Alhambra. That it is a little small in no way diminishes the warm reminder that I am, at all times, provided for.

When we arrived in Madrid on Saturday Jorge was there to greet us. (He's the one on the left greeting Josh.) We met Jorge last September when we toured with Elvis Perkins in Dearland. Jorge was driving EPnDL around Spain and playing bass with them on a song called "Stop, Drop, Rock and Roll." At the time Simon (our UK tour manager of late) pointed out that next time we came to Spain, we should call Jorge and not waste Simon's time with our pithy Spanish excursions. (Kidding, Simon! Ahhhh! Get fucked! HAh! )

Okay but seriously, Simon's advice was taken and we have been looking forward to seeing Jorge this week. Jorge's been looking forward to seeing us, too. And he says he's glad for the work. Ain't we all.

Jorge made music to a film he made of his girlfriend underwater. He's made others filmsongs, too, and he has a show coming up. (He's passing out cards about it but I don't have one yet so I can't tell you more.) Jorge can play many instruments and will sit in with us this week on Kids In A Play and maybe anything else we can rope him into. He is a gentleman and a good driver. And Bonus: Jorge knows how to ask for toast and coffee with milk in Spanish. He's good at ordering lots of food and drink, actually.

D L and the Hounds are loving every meal in Espania. Dawn says Spain is giving France a run for it's money food-wise. Today Jesus and Coche treated us to a great lunch in Madrid. Tonight the promoter in Castellon took us out for another amazing meal. In each city, warm hands wagged forks across the table for little bites of joy. Both meals ended with yellow Herbal Liquor I can't spell properly, especially after drinking it.

Which makes for a funny segue to another event of the day.

My bag with all my clothing was left in Madrid. When we had come back from lunch to collect our bags and leave, the hotel attendant had given me cause to think it had already been taken from the storage room and put in the van by one of my party. Argh. I should have double checked.

When I told this to Jorge he smiled and said, "Okay, so I'm going to watch you." Yes, Jorge. Watch me so I don't leave anything else behind. I might start losing track of band members or what's left of my sanity. Keep singing "Where Is My Mind" to me Jorge. I'll keep smiling. Watch me and please help me get toast and coffee. I need help, Jorge. And I'm not too proud to admit it.

(sigh)

The only shirt I have right now is the one on my back from last night. It still says, "Very Modern, Very Italian, & Very Good."

DL&Hounds Tour Day 7, pt. 2 (or Day 8?)

Amazing what a few hours of sleep and some nice wallpaper can do. I woke up looking at this bird on my wall with "Rockin' Around The Christmas Tree" playing over and over in my head. It wasn't Brenda Lee's version I was hearing, but the rendition that we played last night for Spanish Television. We had a fine fine time singing and shaking some jingle bells while Dawn sang and Josh and I "Ooohh"d and "Ahhh"d. We did it just before we played our set at Clamores Club. My electronic fiasco during the show made it easy to forget the earlier high point, but now things are a bit more in balance. Know what else was great last night? The tapas meal we were served after the show. Water, wine, gazpacho, veggies and tortilla. Coffee, too, which Dawn decided this morning was not such a good idea so late at night.

...oh, Wow. Dawn just got a song sent to her from her friend Joan. A few years ago, Dawn wrote a song about Joan, singing about how she wanted to be Joan. Joan's brother created a techno-trash-electro-crash song called, "Don't Envy Me Dawn". Hard to dance to, but it's distorted nastiness mixes naturally with the X-mas tree rocking in my head. Oh wait....is this a hangover I'm starting to feel?

Off to have breakfast and then play a radio station before driving to tonight's show in Castellon.

DL&Hounds Tour Day 7

Okay, seriously? You want the truth about tour? Can you handle the truth? I woke up today in Madrid having dreamed about Louisville being visited by a foreign and beguiling brown fruit that grew from every plant in the city. These dreams were interrupted by the muscles in my lower back freaking out because the bed was so hard. A bed like the one I slept in should be a beautiful thing, with powers to will a spine into proper alignment, but my twisted muscles were having none of it. I woke up at least 5 times in pain and tried to roll into a position of comfort. What could have wrecked my body so, you ask? Packing and transporting my equipment from New York to tour.

Then, tonight I plugged my equipment into the power strips at Clamores Club in Madrid and half of the electronic trash I broke my back to bring over here fuzzed out. I didn't even get the satisfaction of electric fireworks or the smell of melted circuitry. Nothing. Kaput. During our set, I tried in vain to plug my mic and sampler in and out of the remaining working components to approximate the music I have been making. Vain vain. It was all in vain.

For years I put off exploring electronics in my performance because i didn't want to suffer from being dependent on them if ever they turned on me. Tonight was the incarnation of the worst case imaginable.

Everyone else on stage and in the room were genuinely pleased with the show, and while this should have made me feel better, it only added insult to injury ...do the things I do even matter? What the hell am I doing?

But this is where the story takes a turn.... I'm in Spain. I don't know anybody, and it's not necessary with Dawn and Josh to put on like I'm pleased when I'm not. I can sulk all up and down this city and no one will give a fuck. These are passionate people, after all. They can appreciate a sulking douchebag like me.

So I sulk. And a little sulking relaxes me. I go to the bar for a Jameson on the rocks and don't care when the bartender charges me most of my per diem. I can't remember the last time I said out loud to no one "I need a fucking drink goddammit!". In a few sips, things start to turn around.

So there's a little slice of tour: the occasional opportunity to do and feel your absolute worst, but with a cool shirt on, no one will notice. In fact, chances are good that while you're in a miserable sulking state, you might radiate some kind of broken honesty that will make you glow in someone's eyes. (I had great conversations while I sulked!)

...and my shirt, by the way, is by far one of the coolest shirts in Madrid. It was my Dad's and it says, "Very Modern, Very italian, & Very Good". It was THE coolest shirt in the city until Josh turned his "Fun Is First" shirt inside out.

DL&Hounds Tour Day 6

Dawn lost her wedding ring in Brooklyn and Josh found it by the toilet at Ronnie's in Birmingham. Josh found a book he was reading on last tour just before starting this run, and picked up where he left off. Josh watched Madonna's Truth Or Dare last night in Madrid. In it, there's a scene where Madonna is on tour in Madrid and has dinner with Amaldovar and Antonio Banderas. Josh is mixing his new Rocketship Park record while traveling in a van playing rock shows. Josh can sniff out the great places to eat in a town or city you've never been to. Josh has superpowers.

DL&Hounds Tour Day 4

You have to have the wide eyes of a visiting alien to keep up with the world passing before our eyes. Liverpool was cold and grey, but the people were warm and the hotel by the Mersey felt just like we were staying in our building in Dumbo (except it was clean and had no rats.) Josh and Simon were troopers in Manchester, taking the brunt of the load in and load out at Dry Bar to let my aching back have a rest. Dawn has had a hard time swallowing but no problem singing, and today's drive to Birmingham included Lucinda William's Car Wheels On A Gravel Road, which we all agree is one of the greatest albums ever. I ate some curried kidneys today and threw up a little in my hands, but there are no ills while we stay for the night with Ronnie and Adam on Rotton Park Road. Tonight we sipped cognac and learned "Rockin' Around The Christmas Tree" for a performance on Spanish television in a few days.

Tomorrow we play here in Birmingham and then leave at 6 a.m. on Saturday to catch our flight to Madrid. Simon is looking at his ad in the paper for "Tour Manager available for bands cooler than Dawn Landes and The Hounds" as he sadly anticipates dropping us off at the airport.

2 for U

2 people I know recently sent me e-mails. They both had tags at the bottom of their e-mails.

One said

"The information contained in this transmission may contain privileged and confidential information. It is intended only for the use of the person(s) named above. If you are not the intended recipient, you are hereby notified than any review, dissemination, distribution, or duplication of this communication is strictly prohibited. If you are not the intended recipient, please contact the sender by reply email, or fax and destroy all copies of the original message. Thank you.

The other said

" ...the thought has come to me that the old world in which our people
lived by the work of their hands, close to weather and earth, plants
and animals, was the true world; and that the new world of cheap
energy and even cheaper money, honored greed, and dreams of liberation
from every restraint, is mostly theatre. this new world seems a jumble
of scenery and props never quite believable, an economy of fantasies
and moods, in which it is hard to remember either the timely world of
nature or the eternal world of the prophets and poets. and i fear, i
believe i know, that the doom of the older world i knew as a boy will
finally afflict the new one that replaced it."

-wendell berry

Scam on. Y'knowit.

PROLOGUE: on an evening on July 16th (I think) I went online to sign up for unemployment. Googling unemployment, I clicked the first site I saw, a clean looking site called File For Unemployment. I recognized the site was a "step to the desired step" type of operation which always costs money, and soon figured out that it was a publishers sweepstakes type of scam. But when I saw I could get a gift card for Whole Foods if I walked through their maze of signups and questions, I did what every broke and curious soul would at least consider doing, if not do.

ONE

I tried for the third time in a week to complete my unemployment application. I was using the phone this time, but riding on the train was making it difficult to hear. The processing was not going well. My other line rang and with not a thought I flashed over. I was offered a free trial for selling stuff online for kids and pets. I told the woman I didn't want to waste her time, that I had a use for the EBay kit I signed for, but this pet thing was too much.

"You're contacting me though the unemployment scam I went through to get free food," I told the woman. "Now you're calling me with free offers and I haven't even filled out my unemployment application yet. I don't have time for your free trial. I would get it, not use it, forget to send it back, and you'll charge me for it."

"But Raymond," said the woman. "I thought the point was that you needed to make money."

Can telemarketers be penalized for psychological harassment? Even, swift, and clean as a blade I replied to the woman and said, "I have designs for the EBay kit - and the colon cleanse I signed up for. But there is no place in my life for pet supplies and kids toys."

I thought of Traci hearing those words, laughing, and then getting a little sad. A few nights earlier she had sat and watched me do the online questionnaire.

"You will get to the end and they'll tell you you don't qualify and then they'll have your information," she'd said.

I didn't care. I was scared for our needs. also but playing around with Dimitri, Brian's scam buddy had given me a shot of fearlessness. I was out of body like a Camus character. I'd been worried since I lost my passport that someone was already playing around with my identity. Thinking back on it all, I'd say that at that point, I was ready to give it all back and start over.

Sometimes I think about people who would steal an identity only to make constructive changes for the people who's name they borrow. Fix their credit report, make a donation to a local cause the original person doesn't have time to do. Answer e-mails from O.P.'s family, register for more free stuff on the internet...

I stand on my head upon a thin thread these days. If Traci and I had action taken against us for non-payment or poor scam choices, there are places we could land securely. There have been many a great moment lately when we realize life could maybe be better, but that the present is a great place to be. The financial losses we face now are mostly healthy ones that wrere taken with the risks firmly noted. We have our tails between our legs about a few things, and wish our credit wasn't a mess, but we pay as we can. I'm doing the best work of my life.

PART TWO

Traci sat on the bed and I at my t.v. tray desk and we went over bills. in the course of things the phone rang. It was Macy's. We made a plan to pay in the store on August 12th. The next call was the Student Loan Servicing Center. This is not my favorite bill to be late on, especially after missing our first payment post-forbearance. The third caller said he was with publishing something, or EBay publishing. Another result of my participation with fileforunemployment.net

"Will you be using the E Bay professionally," he asked.

"I'm not sure I understand the question."

"You want to use it to make money, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Will you be using it for your primary source of income?"

"I am hoping it can suppliment my income if that's what you mean."

"Will you be selling your own stuff or other people's things?"

"My own stuff. I don't really know EBay," I said. "I am sure once I understand how to use it I may get some ideas."

"Thank you for your honesty," said the man, who wished me a good day and got off the phone.

These people already got my credit card purchases (under 10.00 for E Bay package and 30 day colon cleanse!). But the payment is not the half of it. They are after information. The more this unemployment scam goes on, I realize that The Royal Scam in the Obama age is a strong one, utilizing the dream of goodwill in the lower income class. A strong front in the war of the soul which came in full technicolor to me on 9-11.

I always wanted to try a colon cleanse. And learn how to sell on EBay. I still have not been able to finish my unemployment application.

THREE

I finished my unemployment application yesterday on the phone. My attempts to file the claim had a few glitches. Apparently I said I was handicapped.

"You must have been filling it out quickly and made a mistake," the kind woman said.

FOUR

Macy's has started calling again. I answer today for the first time and tell the caller no. No I will not pay today because I already made arrangements. We get off the phone. The next time it rings a woman answers. I take the offensive. "Hello, Macy's," I say before she can introduce herself. I already feel bad for her.

"Your business is terrible, " I say. "I already made arrangements with your company and you are still calling which means your records or something is not consistent with my last conversation. What do I need to do to get this straight? My credit is bad enough as it is." I go on.

I am told again that it is being recorded in the computer that I will make an in-store payment on the 12th. " can hold off the calls until the 9th," she tells me.

"Then you will call to remind me about the 12th," I confirm.

"Yes," she says. While we'd been on the phone I had logged into our bank account to see if there might be 15 dollars to squeeze out for Macy's prior to Aug. 12th. I see that our account was 85 dollars over drawn. A purchase had been made of 79.00. For a colon cleanse.

"Anything else I can help you with today,' the Macy's woman asked.

"No."

Brian Checks In

This morning I listened to Jerry Reed, Pat Metheny's 80/81, and Stevie Wonder's The Secret Life Of Plants" on vinyl. The joy was brought to me by Brian Vinson, Louisville friend and fellow Days of The New player, who brought his stereo into the apartment last night. Since arriving in New York last Thursday , Brian has attended the 12th Night closing party, partied with lesbian German ladies at a gay bar, taught a bass lesson to a gifted young musician, and been frisked by cops on our street (learning in the process that the word "dope" means something different in New York than Kentucky.)

Brian makes a great pasta dish with tomatoes and basil and is putting Traci and I to shame hustling work: he rounded up 340.00 in jobs in his first week in the city.

A few minutes ago he was working on his resume when I pointed to the UPS letter package that had come for him this morning. In the package was a check made out to Brian for $2975.00.

Immediately I had a flashback to the bogus Tool ticket I bought outside the Hammerstien Ballroom a few years back, but the way Brian's luck was going, I had to pause and wonder the odds. "This sounds just like a scam my neighbor told me about," Brian said. "They send you a check then tell you the money needs to be delivered immediately. So you deposit the check, deliver money to someone, and before you know the check has bounced, they have made off with your money."

This didn't stop the instantaneous daydreams of where the money would go.

"How much do you owe on rent, Ray? Let's go pay it!"

There were no watermarks.

"That weed dealer got anything bigger than an 8th?"

The check appeared to be from an account belonging to The New York Foundling at 590 Avenue Of The Americas. A search online revealed that there was indeed a New York Foundling Hospital at that location. A 140-year old non-profit New York institution dedicated to the children of the community. Their motto is "Abandon No One".

The signature on the check was a bloated pixilated computer signature from somebody named Hayes. The participating bank was Commerce Bank at 90 Fifth Ave. Another search and a few phone calls and we learned that 90 Fifth Avenue is the bulding by Union Square that houses Guitar Center and they have space available. We also learned Commerce Bank was now TD Bank, and the validity of the check was, according to a bank employee "supect".

The UPS package was from an unnamed person residing in White Plains, New York.

Brian continues working on his resume and I play Joao Gilberto. Brian's phone rings. "What? Who?"

A man on the other end identifies himself as Dimitri.

Brian: "Oh, yes sir, I did get the check in the mail, But its for 29-uh, but our arrangement was for eight hundred. Not twenty-nine hundred - "

Brian turns down Gilberto. "I was expecting a phone call from you before I got the check. I just got it an hour ago... you would like me to do what with the 2100.00? How, uh... I said, how would I go about doing that without putting this check in my account?...[long pause]... if I can get it cashed at the Commerce Bank then sure - I'll get the money to your landlord. What's your landlords number? ....[longer pause] What's not possible?"

"Well, if its in New York, I can get it cashed and run it by him."

"If this check will cash at the bank, then yes."

"Alright, well, what's your landlord's name and number?"

"Yeah, but you didn't send the landlord's name and number did you?"

"How do you spell your name?... D D or just D? Okay, go ahead....(writes) okay...okay...uh huh. Okay...okay...access to a computer, yes. I'm on it right now. Want me to check my e-mail? Okay, so...have the realtors name and address of what the apartment is..."

"...well the banks are probably closed now - its 4:30 so I'll have to do it first thing in the morning. Uh, it's 4:30 here in New York and the banks are already closed..."

"Sir." Brian's voice is sharper and deeper. "Well, if I can go by the bank and cash it, we can get the money to your landlord. Yeah. That'd be great. Send me the e-mail. Thanks."

Dimitri. I ask Brian what nationality he seemed to be. "Who knows it wasn't no English." Brian cops an accent that could have been African or Egyptian and tones Dimitri's reply when Brian told him he hadn't cashed the money yet. "Oh, I thought you were going to do that already."

Brian leans into the laptop in front of him. "Yeh. Dimitri here. He said he would send me an e-mail. Let's see if he's sent it yet."

I remind Brian that he'd already talked to TD bank and the check is "suspect".

"Yeah," he says. "But they didn't really look it up."

We're gonna go to the bank tomorrow.

12th Night: Meet The Illyriacs!

Our band for 12th Night affectionately named ourselves The Illyriacs. Chris on pipes and flutes, myself on bodhran, Steve and Jon Patrick on guitars, Andrew on violin and guitar, and Leslie on flute. We have to admit to ourselves every so often that we are a pretty good band. Over the past 5 weeks, we have made as much of a tradition as we can of meeting behind the Delacorte stage before the show begins to warm up. Herb Foster (who plays Valentine) is always there ahead of everyone, settled upon a folding chair, gazing out at the evening's Turtle Pond activity. Leslie is quick, too, usually sitting next to Herb playing her flute. Steve will arrive, have a quick bout of tuning with his funky guitar, and then we play our opening song and anything else we have time for. By time Stage Manager Kaus calls places, our pulses are usually settled into a collected tempo.

12th Night: Layerian Pipes in Illyria

It's an hour before we'll be called to places and Christopher Layer sits next to me in the dressing room, tuning, warming up his Uilleann pipes. I have discovered that there is no greater instrument to make my tennitus pop off with a chorus of Ode to Joy than Chris' pipes. The ringing in my ear mixes with the otherworldy sound of Chris' instrument in ways intoxicating and excruciating. Some nights I cannot take it and have to leave the room and get some aspirin. Other nights I succumb to the sounds, jump to the center of the dressing room and do my Fred Sanford jig-dance.

The other night before our pre-show warm up, Steve Curtis commented that he and Chris were not in tune.

"These pipes," Chris said smiling." You play them in tune."

I like Chris' use of the word play.

Steve said that when Hem got a list of recommended musicians be a part of 12th Night, he was handed 2 pages of pipe players. Chris was nowhere on the list. This doesn't surprise me in the least. In the words of the madly used Malvolio, I don't think Chris is of the element of the musicians who get on lists. He is his own walking list, a superstar in some circles, the only instrumentalist in the western hemisphere licensed to play a number of compositions written for the uilleann pipes. Christopher Layer hails from Lafayette, Indiana, an internationally regarded flute and pipes player. Chris exudes a personal journey every bit as musical, specific, and idiosyncratic as the pipes he plays. He is a list of one. When The Public tracked Chris down, he was in New Orleans. The producers had to wait until he came back from Jazz Fest to audition him.

Our first 12th Night music rehearsal wasn't 10 minutes old before Christopher demonstrated without trying that he knew more than anybody in the room about Irish music. I later learned that Leslie our flautist showed up to the same rehearsal surprised to see that her teacher was playing the bagpipes in the band - again, "Ladies and Gentlemen, Christopher Layer... " When we looked at the pictures of Old World locales that had been posted for inspiration in LuEsther Hall, Chris said, "I've played a concert in that castle." No one was surprised.

One night early in rehearsal we were on dinner break. Chris asked a guy in line at Famiglia if his "Blackwater" golf shirt was a joke. The guy did not have a sense of humor. "You can't come to this city and not be social," Chris said. "Plus Blackwater is so fucking horrible." Chris didn't learn much about me over that dinner. I was too interested in what he had to say.

"New York City is going to have to figure out what they're doing about the water," said Christopher Layer. "It's the real problem facing us now."

Chris has on more than one occasion thanked his fellow Illyriacs for putting up with him and his ways. The apology is totally unnecessary and to me, reeks of the sad fact that if the artists roaming the world haven't had to homoginize their manners in order to play together and get on lists, they have probably suffer too many expectations of civility. I don't think anyone in this cast hasn't walked around for at least a day convinced that no one likes them. (I've clocked in at least a week with such a condition.) But I think this feeling results from the priviledge of actually having been given freedom to work in a collaboration where no one has dramatically drawn lines with their fellow artists. There is no music director for the Illyriacs. Everything that has happened has been the result of combined input from everyone involved, and everyone agreeing to listen to one another and solve the problems as a group...and we're still getting along! I guess sometimes apologizing is a good way to check in and be reassured.

Besides, Chris has a knack of keeping his gift of gab interesting, not to mention useful. Everyone from the Hem composers to me (playing the bodhran for the first time) would perk up our ears when Chris made a suggestion or, when directed at me, a wisecrack.

One day, looking at the box of bright colored percussion instruments I'd brought, Chris said, "Did you rob a clown?" He was particularly intolerant of one saucy little instrument I used for a while - a jingly Pier One holiday napkin holder. "It sounds like a candy wrapper!" he said. His initial subtle attempts to get me to put it down didn't work, but eventually I agreed it wasn't the sound.

Then during tech rehearsals, I pulled the offending instrument out once more to hear it for a run through of the finale song. Immediately and before I had a chance to play it, Chris recognized the sound, turned to me and snarled, "I thought we were through with that thing!" It was an unfortunate moment: however much I might have wanted to impress upon Chris the outdoor acoustics and the way I was using the micing to get my colors, I told him that if I could appreciate the sound of him warming the fucking bagpipes, he could be patient while I mixed my sounds.

But Chris and I get along fine in this moment, of course. (In the end I still did not incorporate the jingly napkin holder.)

Chris wrote the funeral melody for 12th Night that reprises as the introduction to "Come Away Death". Some nights, the intro is played so strong that I worry for Raul and Annie who must then work their magic as Orsinio and Viola discussing the trappings of women and love. But everyone rises to the occasion, and Annie punctuates the famous line about "dying even as they to perfection grow" with giddy poignancy, so rock on Layer!

Other nice things about Chris Layer

1- he's an inventive cook.

2 - He's the first person to have recognized the impending lunar cycle upon our production (which just completed with a mind blowing full moon last night.)

3 - a mockingbird lives on Chris' street. It has made national news for mimicing the car alarms.

4 - Chris is a nudist ("especially when I'm on a raft going through the Grand Canyon"). On his personal blog, there used to be a picture of him playing a flute on a rocky waterfall, looking like a mancicle. The lantern in the background of the picture would make you think the photo was taken at Turtle Pond behind the Delacorte Theatre, but it wasn't.

One more Chris moment: before a recent show he was venting about an unsavory turn with one of the ensemble members, and I said, "That's mean spirited."

Without missing a beat, Chris swaggered and said, "I am mean spirited in case you haven't noticed, Ray. Which reminds me. I brought some licorice for J.P.."

Dinner Break (18th night pt.2)

I'm eating the loneliest slice of pizza in New York.

The second loneliest, I guess. The first and most lonely slice was a little further north on Columbus. Eating it gave me some energy and immediately I didn't feel so much. But when i finished, I was still hungry, and I decided if I was in for another lonely slice, it should be Ray's.

This one is much better.

On the radio is Sheryl Crow singing, "If it makes you happy, it can't be that bad. If it makes you happy, why are you so sad?"

Maybe it's is a sad slice.

I wonder if in the time it takes to eat this slice I could get it out of me. There's a black shriveled leaf of basil in the middle of it.

(Paul Simon "Something So Right.")

I am sad because sometimes, today especially, I feel so far out of my element that I don't know how to act. My shyness and reluctance to speak has weighed hard on me in the past weeks. It's an unnatural behavior that I've made habitual. I am pretty sure I am the only person in the cast today who was lying down in the dressing room with the light off, scared to step out into the hall. I haven't had a vacation in over 18 months and it's wearing me down. I see the difference it makes with people around me as I fumble through our limited exchanges. I feel like I've been in the presence of random passing people for so long that I've forgotten how to talk. (Gram Parsons "In My Hour Of Darkness) I am awkward in instances, or come on with such force its too much. I have become more rather than less self conscious.

Kierkegaard has written about the man who imposes introversion. I am reading it in Denial Of Death and its freaking me out. But more on that later. (Days Of The New "Last One")

Yesterday the lovely cadaver.
Today Tim Krekel passes.
The rain it raineth.

I thought in moving here that we would make good friends in New York City. But I feel like Traci and I have barely got to know anyone much less feel like we've grown with anyone.

It's better than this. I'm just having a hard day.

(Lyle Lovett "Church")

Traci has been happier lately which is a direct effect of my having such a good and steady job. This has relaxed me and that has been great for both of us. On a day like today, I am already dreading it ending, and this is making it even weirder to relate to the people around me. I've been here before. I don't think I have the strength to feel this way any more. Something's got to change.

My brother Mike is coming home tomorrow for a 2 week break from Iraq. This is so impossible for me to conceive of. I have barely spoken with him.

I talked to Dad today. On a day like today, where my mind goes...

Paul Simon in Central Park. Slip Sliding Away. Feste and Come Away Death. It's a big, sad cocktail, isn't it?

People Are Giving Less On The Subways

by Little Willy Shakes and Ray aboard the long A Train

I watch twelve o'clock turn to twelve o one a.m.
My mistress I'm misdressed, night mayhem clocks
at midnight but I rock Big Ben

Brother can you spare a stroke

".can you please help a homeless person?"
again dragon's feet and knees, hollow teeth
grey braided hair
fingers long and jaded
pressing a word to the flat floor

) (

I could have helped before the door opened and left him
nothing
did I say

Hello Hi Hey n"Ice E U in Eighties

dungarees nice undegrees

I didn't do nothing, I did worse. Seeing a second time both times in the same mind
he knew I knew the times a'make you loosen your ties, improvise

calling lies
in2
questions
revise
retention
Be
lies in intention
all is one
all is ice
in Hades

Play these, tune awhile
from now be gone and
smile

Courteous curtsy,
bow
wow wow yippee
O ditty say

"Kin' rain again some sunny a'day?"
away from hysteria
the element is clearing. YEah.
I'm so pleased I'll ear in ya mouth
ear in ya mouth

clearing
hearing
speak
in the
south

ear in your mouth
I'll ear in your mouth
I'll earn 20 an hour if i go pro
ear in your mouth, I'll ear in ya mouth
or do my best when I'm all alone
I'll ear in ya mouth

Uses are uselessly calling me home
I'll never go without you
I need to know, need to grow
into your ratatouille
you in my chop suey


"Uses are useless"
:kiln baked motto of a single mind
dead.
An end of a
voyage of nothing

With hat's off like mathematicians
gave it over to the innervisions

joy is a strong thing
to support your moves
find some proofs
and flush the suit

18th Night

Rehearsals for the musician/actors of 12th night began the week of May 12th. May 18th was Mom's birthday. On that evening I left the apartment with Traci's ipod on shuffle.

It started with "Fall"? from Vivaldi's The Four Season's, which was the c.d. I played when I would give her a massage. The next song was an Afro Cuban drum and voice performance of "I Wish You Love". Then, Paul Simon singing "Have A Good Time". Then the Pointy Kitties "So Unreal". Then more Cubano. Ba ba ba.

On October 14th it will have been ten years since Mom left. Mom would be 71 this year.

I always remember the day she died.

This was the first year in !0 I felt the day she was born.

There is a song in 12th Night called "Come Away Death". it is the bulls eye of sad song lyrics, and when we play Hem's version of it, I truly believe that every soul in earshot feels the warm insulation of utter sad despair that Orsinos everywhere will cloak themselves in. it's a drug rush, this kind of sadness. It can become addictive.

"Come Away Death" has in it the saddest line in a song I have ever heard.

"Sad true lover never find my grave to weep there."

It is a lyric that could make Hank Williams mute in a "the rest is silence" kind of way. I used to think "I'm So Lonesome I Could Cry" was the saddest song ever written. But Willy Shake put to Hem's melodies, played by the Illyriacs and sung by David, Raul and Annie takes the cake.

A week ago I watched a filled body bag on a stretcher be taken from the house across the street. There were only the medical team members present. it reminded me of when Mom was sick.

"You don't know how lucky she is," Nurse Judy told me. "Many people go through this alone." Judy also told me I was lucky. I got to mourn Mom while she was alive.

One day during tech David Pittu saw the book I'm currently reading and said, "Oh, stop denying death, Ray!"

I did.

12th Night :"Karmic Debt"

The rain is falling nicely on the understudies as they run through the scenes in the roles they have prepared to cover.

Julie is Viola.
Robin is Olivia and Maria. (A dangerous feat to behold.)
Slate is Toby Belch.
Dorien is Andrew Aguecheek
Kevin is Malvolio and Antonio.
Baylen is Duke Orsinio.
Clifton is Feste
David is Sebastian
and Leslie our lovely bandmate is understudy for Olivia's ladies.

Andrew and I are "male swing" understudies, which means that in the event that Dorien, David, Slate, or Clifton are needed to cover a principal role, one of us may have to step in to their roles as soldier or attendant. Kaus just laid the specifics on us: Andrew is tracking Dorien. I am tracking Slate.

Andrew immediately asked Dorien which roles he was tracking. It's a reasonable possibility, suppose, that Andrew would need to know the lines - the understudies are tracking multiple roles and it could happen that on some wild night, two roles Dorien is tracking would need to be covered.

But I think Andrew and I pretty much understand the real possibuilities of such things, so presently I am typing on the computer in the stage manager's office while Andrew plays his guitar and sings in the next room. He is playing songs that a friend of his wrote, songs that would resound comfortably in a singer songwriter spot like Rockwood Music Hall.

"I'm not ready for the spotlight, not quite yet," goes the song Andrew sings. "I'm still paying off this karmaic debt."

I frankly wish Andrew would sing the Over The Rhine song that he covers so well. I've heard the song he is singing now too many times to ignore the fact that I just don't understand how "the spotlight" can be the brass ring of a wistful and breezy introspective 6/8 song. I wouldn't be as beguiled if the word "spotlight" was replaced with "your love", but I would still wonder too much how someone could have such a clear grasp of their karmaic ledger. It sounds really, um, Puritan. So okay - I'm being a dick, which means its hitting close to home, this song of Andrew's friend. Every time I hear Andrew sing it, an uncomfortable knot twists in my gut, and it won't be untwisted by simply railing on what a goofy song it is or name calling. There is an element of the song that is indestructible, which comes from the questionable but grand values of it's writer and the out and out commitment of Andrew the singer who clearly feels every word.

And it's exciting that Andrew has a song like this to pour himself into on the eve of his audition for an international tour of "Fame". Kick that song in the ass my friend! Then please sing Over The Rhine.

12th Night: The Best

I have wondered and continue to wonder as 12th night rolls on... what does Shakespeare think about relationships and marriage in particular? Clearly marriage makes everyone happy at the end of the play. But Feste: "She has no folly. She will keep no fool until she be married."

In the last song, "When I came alas to wife, with hey ho the wind and the rain, with swaggering I could never thrive..."

I relish Raul Esparza's delivery of Orsinio's line: "For I myself am best when in least company." For the past few shows it has come across a little embarassed, but also proud, as if he is revealing a superpower that he knows no one can appreciate because they are simply not there when it reveals its force.

I want to know how a woman could love with a guy like that, partly because I want to know better the woman who sleeps down the hall from me as I write. Part of me is always, for better or worse, unavailable. And the unavailable part is the part that Orsinio says is his "best". Even if no one around him agrees that the best of the Duke unfolds in their absence, this is what he thinks. It is this image of himself that is affecting his reality, and this has to be okay with her.

I love the scene in Act 1 when Cesario/Viola listens to Orsinio go on about what Olivia must be told about his love. I love the scene because at this point the audience knows Viola loves Orsinio, and we see them as they cannot: as a woman and a man communicating to one another. Viola speaks out of love to the man in front of her who is too absorbed in his ideas of his romantic ambitions to see things for what they are. You get the feeling that Cesario could be a woman at this point and Orsinio still would not see. Do we think that part of this not seeing is also part of his attractiveness to her? Is it just me or is Shakespeare rocking some serious relationship dynamics here?

My drummer character in 12th Night is fucked up by what happens in the first minute of the play until he hears Orsinio talk romatically about Olivia's mourning. At that point, the drummer sees in Orsinio the things that Viola will: a guy in need of saving from his own indulgences. Maybe its true that our best comes when we're alone. I certainly can't write with anyone in the room.

12th Night : "Have You Ever Seen The Rain?"

Last night's Hootenanny is still echoing in my head. Early in the evening, Kevin Kelly sat in with mandolin for a few rounds of song and on break, two comics wandered by and gave us a taste of their craftiness. Then The Doctor, his nephew, Jesse, Colin, Robbie and I managed our best Bachata and Merengue before The Doctor's family and Willie took over. A dance floor was made of the dirt and loose wood on the garden ground. Traci's Mac and Cheese, Nash's lentil soup and Israeli cous cous sated the Pot Lucky. Even Pee Wee at the end of the night had a guitar out and sang a few verses.

I set up the instruments under the portico next to Willie's Bodega because after a week of rain in Central Park, my nerves could not handle getting rained out. The night before, 12th Night was cancelled for rain - it was the ONLY night in a week and a half of rain when we didn't manage to do the show.

The way it works at the Delacorte is this: even on rainy nights, management can wait as late as 8:45 to start the show and still have the audience out of the Park by midnight, which is city law. This factors into rain delays, too - every night, our 8p.m. show has 45 minutes in its back pocket to give to the rain.

It was still raining at 8:45 on Sunday when Audra, Annie, Raul and Julie walked out onstage to tell the audience that we had to cancel.

"Couldn't you just start and then stop if you had to," asked one man in the audience.

Backstage, Brian Gold, one of our Production Assistants, had water drops on his glasses and was drying himself off after tending to Stage Right during the rain that started at 7:35 and had not let up. "What people don't realize is the amount of work it takes to make a show happen," he said. I hate to think about the disappointment of a cancellation after waiting in line all day for tickets. It would make it hard to appreciate the factors involved in doing Shakespeare In The Park for free. These matters range from insurance to health and city laws, spot operators in high towers exposed to the elements, not to mention the megafolly of trying to negotiate with Mo' Nature on a minute to minute basis.

By now everyone in cast and crew has learned that iPhone and online weather reports are not trustworthy indications of whether our show will go on. Last week, before our second night of rain, Annie had been sick, and with dark skies at 7:30, she thought for sure the night would be called. "There are going to be six people out there," she said, walking from wigs. "I know three of them," I offered. Actually, I knew six, and I was feeling very responsible to them for the rain that was sure to fall.

But even if our performance could have been called on account of low attendance, this was Queens night. Earlier in the day, Shakespeare Festival had passed out tickets in the borough and Queens had shown up with their rain gear, dressed for a football game. They weren't going anywhere. At 8:05 p.m. drizzle fell on the guy from the Queens Borough President’s Office as he made a quick speech relating Joe Papp's vision for Free Shakespeare to Queens being the most ethnically diverse area in the world. There was some clever wordplay using “Twelfth Night” and “thirteenth night of June”, and then he ended with, “Let’s hope this rain stops.”

That night the rain delay came earlier in the play, during Jay O Sanders’ and Julie White’s first moments in Act 1 Scene 3. Their energy was barely buckling under the downpour when the round and assuring voice of Production Manager Steve Kaus came ver the God mic to halt the scene. The audience cheered when Julie stuck her hands out, huge raindrops exploding in her skyward palms, and shook her head as if to say, “What? We’re stopping for this?”

It seemed miraculous that night when, shortly after 11:30, we made it to the end of the performance.

"I learned my lesson," Annie said later.' The show will always go on."

But there she was, this past Sunday at 8:45p.m., onstage with the rest of the principals and an umbrella, trying to make the audience feel alright about the bad news.

"There actually is no nudity in Act 2," she joked. "That was last summer."

As Sunday's rain shower continued and it grew closer to the time that the show would have to be called off, the cast had loosened up backstage. "We're going to do two shows tonight," announced Hamish Linklater. "A midnight show!" replied David Pittu. Zach Villa stepped into a jam session in our dressing room and played a song he had written that sounded like John Mayer writing an early Springsteen epic. Stark Sands described the odd experience of wearing the brown contact lenses he was given to make him more twinning with Annie. "I have MacKenzie Phillips AND Bonnie Franklin in the audience," pouted Pittu.

Hamish looked at the backstage doppler and Herb said he got a call from people south of us who were slammed by rain. Both reported dismal prospects. Every few minutes, Kaus the Production Manager made an announcement from his cinderblock stage manager's office. When he did, the cast gathered in the hall between the dressing rooms to listen. At one point, Kaus reported that things had cleared up and Pittu walked to the Vom entrance and back to tell Kaus he was wrong. "I'm not going to believe you anymore," proclaimed Pittu. Grinning, Kaus walked to the Vom entrance and back. "I guess it picked up again."

We had endured such a wet performance the night before that when we'd arrived, Kaus had set up a table of baked goods backstage with the note" OK...maybe it WAS more than just a mist. - Kaus" At 8:45p.m. on Sunday night, I am certain Kaus was looking at the sky still wondering if we could pull it off when the clock ran out. Finally, he came over the p.a. with the final call, asking some of the actors to come to the stage to make the official announcement.

"Ya'll should know," said Julie White to the audience, " that most nights we will do the play when it's raining like this, so come back some night when its raining. You can walk right in!"

I felt for Steve and Hamish and others who had family in to see the show. Traci was there, too, but having seen the show last week, she took the opportunity of the rain delay to explore Shakespeare Garden and Belvedere Castle for the first time. She was deep in enchantment mode when we met back up to walk with everyone for drinks that hardly seemed earned.

I was glad for Brian and everyone else who would relish the night off after such an intense week. It was nice thinking of Herb getting an early start with his drive out of town, listening to Chris Layer's cd as he rode.

But it hurt to walk out of the park at 9:30 on Sunday night behind some of the people who had come to see the play. A slow moving portly woman in front of us and another before her in an electric wheelchair both had their Shakespeare In The Park rain ponchos on, the printed skulls upon them looking like a sick joke. It didn't help that in the time it took to walk from the Delacorte to Central Park West, the need for umbrellas was gone and it never rained for the rest of the night.

12th Night : "Forces of Nature"

Every night when I watch Audra McDonald and Anne Hathaway play together through a swarm of bugs, I remember what Lucas Papaelias told me about his time doing Romeo and Juliet 2 summers ago: “Being in the band for Shakespeare In The Park is the best job. Those actors will go through hell being outside. You get to sit and watch it."

Last night was the first night that everyone in the show felt the bells ringing. Even the bugs gave their best performance yet. Entering at the end of Act 1 Scene 5, they clearly had their choreography together, sending to the stage a fraction of the numbers that have flown around the actors on previous nights. In the moment when love overtakes Olivia, they formed a perfect dazzling thought bubble in the air around her.

Perhaps Mimi Lieber our choreographer had worked with the bugs on their moves earlier in the day or perhaps after showboating for the past week, the bugs finally decided to leave their egos backstage and be a part of the ensemble. But I suspect they finally realized they are no match for the force of nature that is Audra McDonald...

It's the final moments of the same scene on Tuesday night. Olivia gives Malvolio the ring and sends him off after Cesario. Then Audra McDonald turns strongly to give the audience the totality of Olivia's feelings in her final lines.

"I do not know what - " she starts, her eyes wide with the wonder of love. Her next inhale perfectly takes in an air born marauder.

There is a most dramatic pause. Olivia's face hardens and her eyes dart to the ground. In the instant, you can see Olivia confronting an uncontrollable wave of anguish following the love that's just bloomed in her. With yellow flower in hand and watering eyes, you can feel Olivia, terrified, asking her brother if it is okay to proceed towards the possibility of new life before her. She is stiff, still, holding herself together, and you imagine that Olivia's time of mourning has now reached it's end.

You can experience these things most completely if you do not think of the bug that presently wanders the rich interior of Audra's golden throat. Like a tourist at Notre Dame Cathederal, I imagine it tiptoeing around, appreciating the warm acoustics, taking pictures and calling home to say, "Guess where I am!"

Then Audra McDonald as Olivia swallows hard. She continues, eyes still to the ground.

"-and...fear to find...Mine eye too great a flatterer for my mind"

I marvel at the display of focus and control it must take to deliver these lines while suppressing a gag reflex. The effect gives Olivia an angry truth, placing her thoughts even more within the shadow of loss.

At this instant, I become aware of the Hem score which will come up in a few seconds to transition the scene. It's a bright and uplifting melody that perfectly suggests a progression out of melancholy. So no matter what the dramatic possibilities might be for Audra to end the scene within her present painful response to love, she knows we're headed to happy land. Audra, the amazing actress and singer that she is, knows this.

"Fate, " she says, a harsh address, "Show thy force".

...Olivia, tired of mourning has grown impatient, and speaking to fate as she might a servant. But then her body relaxes. A greater, natural sense seeming to overcome her.

"Ourselves we do not owe," says Olivia roughly, but with her head now raised, her eyes returning to search the bright places in the distance before her.

"What is decreed must be -" A brilliant musical note rings within the word "Be" and cuts though the humid air. Audra and Olivia are singing again.

"And be this so!"

The music comes in, perfectly in synch with the world thanks to the timing and rhythm and tone of Olivia's last words. And Audra McDonald as Olivia exits the Delacorte stage as she does most every night...to great applause.

12th Night : "Rain Delay, Part 1"

It’s raining in Bushwick an hour before I have to leave for rehearsal. I am never sure about the weather, but from the outset, this looks to be the worst day of weather for our play since previews started last week. I don my Kentucky Colonel rain jacket and head for the train, forgetting for ½ a block to check if my backpack is open. It is unzipped, proud rain drops chilling in the firewire ports of my laptop.

So far we have had two nights when our performance has been delayed for rain. The first rain delay occurred on the night of our second show, moments after Andrew Aguecheek’s arrival in Act 1 scene 3. As he and Toby Belch spilled their drink following Maria’s exit, the voice of Stage Manager Steve Kaus came over the "God mic" to interrupt the scene.

"We are going to pause for precipitation," Kaus says, asking the audience to bear with us.

The announcement of the delay is met with discernable laughter from the audience. On my way back to our dressing rooms, a woman walking behind me says, “Pause for precipitation! That’s the funniest thing I ever heard!” I can’t tell if she is leaving or going to the wine vendor.

Once the ensemble is backstage and dry, Kaus comes over our in-house speaker, this time asking us to bear with stage management. “Once the weather clears and we clean the stage, we will return and pick up from Cup of Canary, Cup of Canary.” The protocol for returning from a rain delay is to pick up at the previous beat or from the top of the scene, whichever makes the most sense.

The rain stops. Johanna, Brian, Maggie and Buzz hit the stage with squeegees and wring the set as dry as they can while the sky continues to spit. Backstage Kaus asks us to take our places to reenter for “Cup of Canary, Cup of Canary”.

Waiting on the wheelchair ramp for our cue from Buzz, we hear Kaus over the God mic once more requesting that the people in the audience close their umbrellas. Down go the beaten colorful things to reveal faces that pucker in anticipation of the raindrops that quickly hit them.

Buzz says “Standing by” and leans into her earpiece for the message that comes over her headset. Then she nods a pleased co-conspirators smile and says, “Ah, you may go.”

The band return to the stage to deep and gracious applause befitting a baseball game or rock concert. I want to applaud back. Hell yes - we are doing this. Then Hamish and Jay come back out to even greater applause. Andrew and Toby drink their second cup of canary and things roll proudly forward.

Steve “Tally” Curtis leans over his guitar and says, “The audience looks bigger.” I look around and take a deep breath. During the delay, people moved down to take the empty seats closer to the stage, heating the area around us. I am awed feeling the will of the audience, cast, and crew to make the night happen. It cuts through any and all bullshit. This is it. The collaboration. Make the space for it to happen, and with nature's mercy it may be so.

12th Night : "Parade"

Somewhere past the turtle pond and behind the castle, the thundering rhythms of the Puerto Rican Day Parade - it's deep bass rumble soaked in the sound of yelling and cheering so steady and strong that it seems like a recording. You feel the sound emotionally whether you acknowledge it or not - a whole people are gathered close by, shaking their skin from their bones. Puerto Rico has gone for a walk today and Puerto Rico is very excited. I decide that for this year, imagining the parade through the sound it makes will be better than seeing it. Next year I will seek out Boricua weekend first hand. This year I'm sitting on the edge of stage of the Delacorte Theater rehearsing.

Onstage the ensemble members involved in the finale dance are storming through their new and improved choreography. They cook in wet sunlight and keep time with the recorded portion of Hem's song, "The Rain it Raineth", the title of which I imagine Hem might have thought twice about in a band meeting: Steve pipes up from behind his coffee “Uh, guys, what can we do with this? I just wonder if ‘raineth’ really our best option here? Anyone have a Thesaurus?” Then Gary drops his fist on the top of the piano making the meteronome fall in Dan’s lap. “Dude, these are Shakespeare’s words you’re talking about. You don’t fuck with the Shakespeare!”

The band is called onstage to add our parts. I grab my bodhran, my tipper, and my shaker and meet Steve, Leslie, Andrew and Chris at the top of the fantastic stage-crafted hill. Chris and I have monitors that we wear in one ear to make sure that the live band stays in time with Hem’s orchestrations. Except for a technical glitch on the first night where the volume of my earpiece was compromised and the audience, dancers and band played the whole finale a half beat off, we've had no problems. From our present position onstage the thunder of the parade through the trees is actually giving the recorded track a run for it's audible money.

"The Puerto Rican Day Parade is the best parade in the city," Christopher says. "Much better than the St. Patricks Day Parade." These are serious words coming from a man with bagpipes. "So boring," he continues. I tell him that by comparison to what we are hearing, I can easily imagine St.Pats Day as far less fun. No pulse to dance to, boring colors. "Plus, they don't let in gays," Chris adds. Well, there you go. 

Unreal

Tim called today to tell me that the Bill Gates Foundation came by his Salvation Army outpost on Saturday with a glistening new tractor trailer decorated and filled with computers to give away to needy foundations. Tim and I have been biting our nails trying to get internet into his kitchen for our COHR streams - I immediately identified with how cool this could be. 

"They were all set to give us computers and then they told us that they wanted to wait until Monday so they could get better press," Tim said. The SA director in charge of this matter is a young 25 year old guy who was hyperventilating all weekend preparing for today's visit and the press conference that he would have to participate in. 

But the Gates Foundation never came back. No calls, no nothing.

"They must have found someone else to give the computers to," Tim said, an audible smile in his words. The total absurdity of the whole scam. 

I have noticed that when you commit to things the way one does when working for Salvation Army, you develop a sense for savoring the ridiculous that plays out as you try, by any means made possible, to do your work with what the world can give you. People value so much the idea of charity that the government created whole new tax laws to inspire big businesses to buy big busses, load them with computers, and go around looking for all the free press and tax write-offs they can get. Maybe Bill Gates Foundation deserves a better shake than this, but prioritizing their effort based on media coverage makes them open for the shot: Douches! Every rock star has long since known the best press is NEWS! You reach more people and its free. Just ask all the new pr firms popping up that specialize in benefit operations and non-profit operations. 

Even Kind Monitor got some juice out of an idea of making a benefit cd where they decided afterwards (by asking the artists) what organizations to give money to. 

I'm gonna knock my balls around the chinashop here for a minute more ...Tim and I have had many discussions about the ideas of non-profit work. I think that soon the matter is going to have to be held in different regard. Non-profit is, or was, the 8th largest economy in the world. And it is highly unregulated. It has been a haven for people who have abuse tax laws, but it is also a choice for people looking to be creative in their business structuring, a viable means to an end. The problem is that the title "Not for profit" suggests a kind of benevolence, as if the NFP business got certified as official do-gooders and are therefore to be trusted. You're then not just playing with people's money, you are playing with their trust.

In planning Motherlodge, the theater people I spoke with took it as a foregone conclusion that I was or would soon be a non-profit. And no wonder! We would not have what meager theater there is in this world if not for people using the non-profit fundmaking to support their program. No harm in that, but I have to say I am interested in seeing what comes from the independent theater once the effects of the funding dry-up pulls the financial carpet out from under and we see who still can't stop writing, producing, and performing. 

Makes me think of Mike's lyric in "Unreal"

"It's so thoughtful when billionaires are philanthropic

our cultrual landscape might wither and die if not for their help"

I lit a candle so I can fart to the darkness, and this soap box won't be a polarized position. If non-profit big money funding can make possible something as incredible as Shakespeare in Central Park, it won't be hard to get me to kneel before the concept from time to time. I have no axe to grind, really, except with pompous bullshit. I am just curious why a benevolent for-profit business that works to break even don't get the same respect as a lazily conceived concept waiving a 501(C) banner? This is a casualty of unexamined anti-capitalist feelings and an easily abused system called Not For Profit. 

What are we saying about the value of building community when businesses labeled as "community building" are non-profit? I don't know about how it works in Peoria or Illyria, but in Bushwick, a little profit can build community just fine. I guess it just doesn't seem as trust(news)worthy. 

Night off, nearly.

I'm exhausted but I know I'm going to wake with my heart pounding.  I finally sent the last Motherlodge press e-mail with the full schedule today....now I get to turn and see the stacked-up pile of "need to's" that has been sitting next to me while I was down that rabbit hole. 

Like, "need to be all lovin' with my lay-day"...

Hay hay.

A quick list:

1) next year, take into account SxSW when sending press stuff. Too many out of office replies today...

2) Make packing list - clothes...taxes for Dad..band equipment...merch...uh....

3) Call the performers and say hello. 

4) Now that I got a social security card, get a photo i.d. 

5) Facebook my brother.

6) Birthday invitations for Dad's dinner next week.

7) Send Chef Tim his DVD so he can prepare for his CNN interview on the 28th.

8) Sip bourbon. 

9) Have sex with cat.

10) Surf porn, erase history.

11) Beg every human I know to come to Motherlodge Louisville.

...I met with David Van Asselt today from Rattlestick Theatre on Waverly. We talked for 10 minutes about getting together with Scott Morfee at Barrow Street and laying plans for Motherlodge West Village in January 2009. When I texted Bob this news he texted back, "God spoke to you on the vernal equinox and declared you a New Yorker for the indefinite future. And an artistic direc"[cut]  

Does that go in the bio? 

I know, but...

It's hard to explain, but some of the ideas that I couldn't get together for this Motherlodge were not necessarily time consuming. Some of them are a matter of a phone call. But they are, as I often say, "one call too many" - if I numbered the great suggestions I've got and then considered how easy they would have been if the person suggesting them had started with, "How bout I do this for you..." what a change that could have made. 

I dunno. Maybe I'm blowing it up because I am someone who from being so over extended all the time can easily spot someone who is too consumed to ask for help. These are the people upon whom it's easy to try out one's generosity and helpfulness. "What can I do", I'll ask them (like so many people have asked me lately) even when I know that they are too overwhelmed to know where to begin in answering. So I feel like I offered, and don't have t sweat being expected to follow through. 

Here's my list for anyone who is reading this and has good follow through ...

We need a morning show! Terry Meiners, WHAS!

We need posters to go up for Taylor Mac and our opening concert on March 29th.

We need big audiences!!! (If for no other reason than because it makes it more fun. But there are other reasons as well...)

Today I planned the last Motherlodge event. It will be a panel discussion about ideas of profit and not for profit with regard to artists getting funding, making a living, and having freedom to do so. I don't know if it will be a discussion open to the public or just something we broadcast on our soon-to-be network channel. But 3 speakers are confirmed: me, Julia, and a puppet.

  

Curation Creation Motherblog Paddy Day

If you were a flower bud in the ground, how would you know the count of your pedals or even what color they'd be before you bloomed? If you were  bacteria in a skin pore on the nose of a 13 year old, how could you predict what you'd come to look like in the mirror until you became a zit?

These are the kind of wise rhetorical questions my attempts for complete understanding of Motherlodge have brought me. Every once in a while I'll have a moment of "Oh, so this is what it is going to be!" Sometimes the realization catches me off guard. Other times, it's the incarnation of my earliest hopes for what could happen.

Yesterday, mogulus.com contacted me and they are very excited to partner with Motherlodge in time for Motherlodge Louisville. So one of my very earliest ideas for Motherlodge - a network channel for the greater creative community around me - is going to happen.

Then, today, Mark Langley of Clifton's Pizza called me to tell me that after many years and numerous attempts, the kitchen crew at Cliftons finally has a bona fide cover band. "We're playing our first paid gig this weekend at Longshot Tavern". Motherlodge on March 30th after Less the band will be their second. (Now if only I could get them on a double bill with Chef Tim Tucker's Shelby Park Soul Stew... ahh - next Motherlodge.) 

The Clifton's Kitchen Band settled some questions for me regarding what I have been up to with Motherlodge. (Aside from upturning the schedules of my friends and risking complete financial ruin for my family.) What I'm doing is multi-tasking, but that's hardly news - I've been multi tasking since I learned to suck a nipple and shake a rattle - it's the tasks themselves that have been hard to identify. Now, a nearly fresh realization of what I have been up to...

1) creating Motherlodge, but also, especially for this first Motherlodge Louisville, I have been 2) curating Motherlodge Louisville. 

People like to throw titles around as if it says something about themselves that they need to convince other people of. I tend to come from the other direction hoping that the work will make it obvious, but that's not always been the sanest approach and here lately, I've learned that a fair grasp on naming your tasks helps everyone understand what's going on. I sent an e-mail to everyone who appears to be on the Motherlodge team to write me back with descriptions of what they are doing. I had failed to respond up to this point. This seems like a good place to start: I'm creating. I'm managing/producing. And I'm curating.  

From Sunday's  Opening concert at Salvation Army to Molly Rice's Saints Tour.... Taylor Mac and A Boy Called Noise....Lady Rizo and Big Diggity....live theater in Ear Xtacy records....Joe Hanna, Tom, and Opus Ditty's children's concert....RONNIE DORSEY (you will have to meet her to understand) and Adam Rapp having a week to do everything he does except maybe a game of basketball (next Motherlodge, Adam!)....no one could be more pleased by the universe that is coming together than me. And having Less the band and Clifton's Kitchen Band share a bill takes the cake.  (That one kind of curated itself.)

Every exciting new understanding of the mechanics of Motherlodge comes joyfully with a task to mark for the not too distant future...CURATORS for the next Motherlodges!

skeleton of an invisible man

Adam texted at 3:30 that he couldn't make 4:00 rehearsal. He was pissed, but two conference calls with HBO "came up". I texted him back asking him to make sure HBO had my new number and proceeded to Dumbo where our already skeleton-crewed Less rehearsal was down to Rob and I. 

I've been tired of playing drums so I pulled out the Guild and found a space in which to maneuver with some ideas Rob had. At the end of our second burst of energy, I started thinking of Aaron Stout, and I felt a vastness stirring in me, with words to say and melodies to spit.

You left at dawn to be first in line for the beheading. You came back wide-eyed and asked me do you realize where we are heading. It's been hard to talk to you.

The words are not the thing yet. It's the feeling. Here's some more:

.......(uh)......

Okay, I can't think of it now, but this line - the one I can't remember -  woke me from my sleep the other night and it was good. And it's somewhere in the dusty apartment I call my head.  It went something something something something, "over the bridge unabridged, from 1 to 5."

Today was a day not to think about Motherlodge too much. I got up at 5:30 a.m. and went to the Fulton Street Social Security Office to apply for a Social Security card.  With my birth certificate and marriage license I was approved. If I'm lucky I might get it before we leave for Louisville.

On the way out of the building, I was mocked by the security man at the door for not holding the door for a blind man. But I was confused. I'd just gone through applying for the SS card feeling like no one was going to be convinced that I was who I was. Walking out to see the blind man who had no regard for me, my first reaction was to feel even more convinced that I was not there. And on top of this, the guy was going in the wrong door. So I didn't know what to do - Do I help him go through the wrong door, or direct him to the - "HEY!" (before my thought was complete the security guard was on me) "That's great, sir! Thank you. Thank you for holding the door for him! Can't you see the man is blind?" 

I had my reasons, but reasoning aside, as they say, the facts the facts: Today I stood aside and made a blind man open a door himself. I did some cool shit, today, too, but this is the story to end the day with.

And this completes today's blog from Ray - the guy who still sometimes thinks more than he acts.

Motherblog 12 Mar. 2009

Needs for the day: 1) help with contacting for Louisville High Schoolers who WON'T be leaving town on Spring Break. We need volunteers. We need actors. We need responsible drivers.  2) someone to contact potential food sponsors for our meals. 3) someone with printing capabilities to help with programs the week of Motherlodge.

Commence naval gazing...

We lost Moby a few days back.

Okay. That's just fun to write. Really, we never had him, he's just cool enough to have considered coming to Motherlodge. He thought it sounded like fun, and said he'd check his schedule. I can't argue with him passing us up to play a benefit for transcendental meditation with Jim James and Sir Paul McCartney.

"Hopefully next year!" said Moby. 

Yes Mobes, yes.

I can see why J.K. McKnight visualizes a ship for his Forecastle Festival. Organizing our humble first Motherlodge feels like equal parts witnessing and navigating the balance between natural systems and structures that have uniquely different behaviors and rhythms. (Like ships to water, venues to bands, or, say Brigid Kaelin and Shannon Lawson.) Yet somehow amidst the crashing of seemingly unrelatable manners, THE VESSEL that is the thing takes on shape and a direction.

Seriously - this wasn't the best Motherlodge for Moby. Or Jim James or Paul McCartney for that matter. This is the year for me, Traci, The Rud, Melanie, Bill, Derek, Myron, Matt, and everyone else who is going to be involved in Motherlodge to discover what it is.

Motherblog #1

Bill had another great idea. 

"Why don't you blog about the Motherlodge as its coming together, that way next time you'll have notes on what happened and what to improve on."

My first note of what to improve on has been with me since day one - never schedule as many shows with me in them again. But there was no way of avoiding that this year. To start, the only way I could imagine filling 8 days was to think of the people and ideas within my reach. 

The Opening Concert is going to be the last thing that ultimately comes together, which figures, because it is the mission statement of Motherlodge. And like every good mission statement, it eludes containment like a dolphin covered in vaseline writhing on the deck of a tuna boat.

To start, the centerpiece of the concert is meant to be the audience, not the performers, but how exactly do you get people to come without a good reason? So tonight, a little over 2 weeks out, I am scrambling with the list of performers to advertise. The poster has yet to be made (!) It is going to say "10.00 suggested cover. Pay what you can. Just come." The emphasis is on just come. It stems from an idea that Chef Tim at Salvation Army and I feel strong about - everyone at some point can use a free meal. But for some reason, we attach a meaning to the kind of person that accepts a free meal. And this is block one in us being able to understand ourselves and anyone else in the context of our community. I hope some people who can barely afford the cover pay, because we will give them something worth paying for. And I hope some people who can afford to don't, so they can enjoy being taken care of. Don't get me wrong - we need to make money from the show. Quite a bit of money would be great, because the idea of Motherlodge is that everyone gets paid as well as possible. But for this, our opening concert, it is more important to stress community. There are nearly 1300 seats to fill. Just come.

The name of the opening concert is a tricky bugger, and I imagine at this very moment our co-organizer Todd Hildreth stretching his best German Mother Frown across his face as he reads some of the titles we have come up with for the opening concert.

But I should share some ideas before I get to the title options (which, by the way, are only options in my head because Tim and I settled an hour ago on a title - I'm just still pondering in my usual Ray way.)

So, some backstory - a few years ago - 15 or so actually, Craig Wagner and Joseph Castriota and I came up with a concert idea for our jazz trio. We were students at Bellarmine at the time and in our short jazz careers we had what I now think was a surprising knack for arrangements of spiritual songs. We also loved the soundtrack to Jesus Christ Superstar (the funky one with Ian Anderson and Murray Head). So Bellarmine College (at the time they hadn't found their way to University status) could only say yes to our idea to do a themed concert of music that turned a secular eye to the last story of Jesus.

Keep in mind, this was long before Mel Gibson or Southeast Christian. 

I'm not sure what I mean by pointing that out, but there it is.

We never ever addressed the idea of Jesus resurrecting because we thought it was the part of the story that sold out the intelligence of the people who found inspiration in the man's story. In terms of song selections, we had some missteps. I really had no business singing "Simple Song" or "They Won't Go When I Go". And one year, when Craig failed to edit down a video we borrowed, the program ran with 4 excruciatingly long minutes of a televangelist hitting his peaks accompanied by overdubbed fart sounds. 

But by the third year, there was a focus and drive to what we were doing that made for some of the best theater, music, and live art that I've ever participated in. 

These days we are post Gibson and present Southeast Christian (a Louisville Church that has the budget to take out full page adds for their Passion spectacular show that sells out their church which seats thousands). With the Jesus story staying current with the modern temper, I don't see anything wrong with the next gospel contextualizing Jesus as an X Man, or a South Park character for that matter. But what has changed for me since our last concerts has come from living in New York: whatever you believe had best be of use to your neighbor or else it's not worth a shit. And by neighbor I don't mean the neighborhood, the demographic, the high school. I mean everyone sharing this world with you. 

In his poem "Motherlodge", Kipling writes, "We met upon the level and parted on the square". He talks of the distinctions of religions recognized in the outside world, but of the little consequence they had inside the Motherlodge. (Which was, by the way, a Free Mason lodge).

Sure, Kipling didn't speak of women or homosexuals, but giving him the benefit of the doubt, we arrive at what I hope will be the core of the concert on the 29th - a warm, inviting place where everyone is welcome and encouraged to belong. Because of this it is my hope that Jesus stories are just part of the meditation, and that we land more firmly in the contemplation of everyone's story.

Tim and I like the title: "The Passion Fruits". I also like "SUP". Whatever it's named will taste and sound marvelous.    

Spacemen have Orbituaries

Published yesterday by the Indy Sun...

Aaron Joshua Stout, 29, died February 27, 2009. He was a loyal and cherished friend, brother, and son. He was a singer, songwriter, musician and composer, poet, artists, actor, and filmmaker. He is loved and missed by his parents, Stephanie and Jim Stout; brother and sister-in-law Simon and Liz Stout, James and Shalonda Cheatham; girlfriend Amia MAdole; grandparents Ronald and Carolyn Sue Doak, James and Eileen Stout; uncles and aunts MArk and Christi Doak, John and Gloria Comstock, Tim and Joan Doak, Doug Stout and Jill Warvel, Bob and Penny Stout, and Beth Coleman-Valdettaro; cousins Liz, Loren, Andrew, Tim, Christopher, Anna, Jordan, Betsey, Colleen, Bobby, Jeff, and AJ. Born August 6 1979, Aaron graduated from North Central High School in Indianapolis and attended Indiana University and University of Prague, Czech Republic, and wandered the world making music. He was blessed with rare creativity and passionately pursued his dreams. Aaron had thousands of friends. He brought much happiness and inspiration with his wacky humor, kind heart, remarkable intelligence and his wonderful talent. Aaron leaves a body of artistic works as his legacy. Many knew him by his art and we are left with sadness that we will not be able to create the new music that was his vision. He never knew how amazing he was. In lieu of flowers, contributions may be made to the Indiana Organ Procurement Organization or The United Way. Donations made to the family will support Simon's congregation Adonai Roi in Israel. Come visit with friends and family at the Conkle Funeral Home, Speedway Chapel, 4 p.m. to 7 p.m. Tuesday March 3, 2009, with a service to celebrate Aaron's life at 7 p.m.

Before/After

Tomorrow night Corporal will play with Caithlin DeMarrais. While setting up the show, I had a moment when I wasn't sure what would make the best order for the bands. Caithlin and half of her band are from Ranier fuggin' Maria. This will only be Corporal's 5th show I think, but with Mike fresh from the Oscars, a lot of friends are psyched to check in with him... no one in either band really cared and the matter was easy to decide, but it had me reflecting on some stories where order made a difference.

One of the best band-order stories was told to me by Ben Daughtery. In the late 80's, Squirrel Bait opened up for GG Allen in Cinncinatti. Even for soundcheck, GG was the consummate professional, knocking a light tech off a ladder and checking the mic by sticking it up his anus. When it was Squirrel Bait's time to check (for those that don't know, soundcheck order goes in the opposite of show order), Peter Searcy had to use the mic GG had christened. (As the story goes, later that night the show was raided and Squirrel Bait, most of whom were underage, were locked in a closet with GG who had been in the middle of a set where he was painting himself with his excrement. Showbiz!)

I realized writing this that Ben told me this story on the way to a Love Jones show in Phoenix Arizona where LJ was on a bill with All and (I think) The Descendents. Ben had a bit of a meltdown with the billing and we never played.

Which reminds me of the time I travelled with the Impressions for a show in Houston, but that is a whole story unto itself.

Other band order memories:

Playing after Foo Fighters. This was back when their 3rd album had just come out. It was my 5th show with Days Of The New.  This went amazingly well in part because after seeing them destroy the stage, I felt like there was no point in being psyched out. I never noticed David Grohl and Taylor Hawkins sitting behind my drum riser during the set, which would have freaked me out. I remember Taylor's drum tech telling me about when FF's had played with Alanis Morissette that Alanis had made a stink about who played when and Grohl stormed into her dressing room, said he didn't give a fuck and played before her for the rest of the tour.

Playing after Black Keys at Rudyard Kipling. That sucked. This was the first time the BKs came through Louisville and I, being afraid of nothing, did not count on how less confident I could feel singing and playing guitar rather than drums, which was what I was doing at the time. I spent the set staring at every open space in the room, which seemed to be many after the Black Keys set. 

IAJE 1991. Craig Wagner and John Skaggs and I were made the "host band" for a late night jam session. What a mess.

Days Of The New and Sevendust at Louisville Gardens. Travis and his management felt that because it was Louisville, Days Of The New should headline no matter what. By this time, (5 weeks after the Foo Fighters show,) I was beginning to understand the virtue of playing next to last. It is really the best time slot. It saves you from watching hundreds of drunk people stream out of the auditorium while you play the forth song of the set. I have great memories of the show, though. It was Dad's first quasi-arena show. Sidestage videotaping the topless chicks makes any set time a good time.

 

The week that totally was

I'm not making this up. We really have a new President. Traci really got a client. Shannon really got an Oscar nomination and Lucas really got a gig at Humana Festival. 

There isn't enough money between Traci and I to have a significant trip to the grocery this week, but there is food in our bellies, a world full of staggering change, and warm nights to share at home where we can shake our heads, look at each other and say, "Can you believe this?"

Inauguration Day

Yesterday I woke up in a place I could have killed myself in. I was feeling the age in my bones and thinking that every decision I'd made in the past three years was wrong. It took most of the day to recognize that I was only thinking of the choices I'd made that were unfortunate. They were piled like dirty clothes on the wrong side of my bed and they were the ones I rolled myself into when I woke. But I wasn't thinking of all the choices I had made. Some of them haven't sucked. 

The last line of the Hopi poem says, "We are the ones we have been waiting for." In the new year that started at 12 noon, I would hope that these words can be appreciated without a) sacrificing the whole of the poem they came from or b) being taken, mistaken or assumed for a slogan of arrogance. This Is about Inheritance. It is the work of the responsible to articulate all that can be imagined, and turn dream to action. These next few months are shaping up to satisfy those who can think freely. The searchlight for new ideas may not likely be this bright again (...one speech cannot sway nearly half a life of guarded cynicism...) or it could keep getting brighter.

I listened to the man speak, kicked myself in the ass once for the times I checked out and didn't continue to apply myself, and then resumed the uncharted program. 

The end always feels near if you feel yourself nearing the end. 

I spent Inauguration night with people who had been checked out of the system longer than I've been. Every one of us found reason to take a step closer, and reach for more in our thinking.