It’s another busy week around the Gordon-plex, and a short week because of impending travels. Nice to feel the Fall finally settling in; I was wondering there for a while if it would actually happen. Given the year that 2017 has been, not much would surprise me. I’ve been home a lot lately, doing those things I do when not driving around a few hundred miles a day: beating on guitars, caterwauling and scribbling. Attacking the overdue 2016 1040. And cleaning windows. For a simple chore around the crib, I can’t think of anything more obviously satisfying. Our house was built around 1930; the original windows, for better or worse, depending on the room you’re in, are still in use, covered by storm windows. The seasonal light deprivation coming on is motivating—I need as much light coming in as possible! I know it negatively affects me, though when it gets cool and cloudy, as a Louisiana native that translates in my mind into “gumbo-making weather.”
But sitting outside yesterday, though the daylight’s getting shorter and changing hue, for the first time since late Spring I was able to look way up into the giant ash tree in the front yard and see a woodpecker going about his percussive business—the leaf-cover that brings so much welcome summer shade over the house (the ash, and a cherry tree in the front; a hackberry(yuck) and two large pecans in the backyard) is slowly disappearing. Shorter days, but a wider sky. And I swear that the squirrels who live in the larger pecan tree have been downright partying since my dear dog’s passing—a breeding party from the looks of it—and have taken on a new can’t-scare-me-mister attitude. One’s mind sometimes turns to the idea of a pellet gun . . . nah. I just wish the urbanite hawks and owls around here (the owls nest in a tree two yards over) would work a little harder on keeping the population down. I suppose they are, when it comes to the rodents I really don’t want around, because I don’t ever see those, though I do fear I’ve got a possum squatter under the deck.
The last-minute additions to my show schedule have been plenty this month, and it’s been fun knocking around town morphing into different versions of self—old-school honky-tonk guitar player with Jon Byrd, an upcoming special set with Paul Burch later this month, to fronting my own shows, including tonight’s “rehearsal” gig (which I was asked to play, via text, last night at 10:30), a solo set at the Family Wash, at 8:30—rehearsal for three shows I’m opening for my pal Todd Snider later this week:
Thursday, 10/19 Kent Stage Kent, OH
Friday, 10/20 Otus Supply Ferndale, MI
Saturday, 10/21 Bell’s Kalamazoo, MI
If you’re planning on attending one of these shows, check with the venues for showtimes, etc. And don’t be afraid to cheer on your humble opening act! It’s a real pleasure to play shows with Todd, and his crowds have always been receptive to me. I know that Saturday’s show, at least, is sold out—hoorah!
Speaking of scribbling, I did get some good news recently, that a song Gwil Owen and I wrote, “One I Love”, was recorded a few days ago, here in Nashville, by a great artist from out of town—I’m a little superstitious about these things, so details will be revealed as they become more certain. I’m also in the revision stage with two new songs that I’m excited about.
Okay, if you’re on the email list, check the email version of this post for a special discount on selected merchandise—I’m trying to make that a regular thing, though sometimes I don’t quite get there! (I can only wear so many hats for so long . . . and the marketing hat is the most uncomfortable on the rack.) If you’re not on the list, now is a great time to change your life, ha ha—there’s a sign up form on just about every page of kg.kevingordon.net . Those in the know will tell ya—it’s a once-, at most twice-a-month knock at the in-box.
On a serious note, to all women out there, I applaud your courage in speaking up and out about sexual harassment and abuse. I hear you, and I believe you. More about this soon–because it is a huge, and hugely important, subject. Please keep telling your stories. It’s my sincere hope that the clueless among us will at last somehow get one.