Good morning—must’ve been a bumpy night in dreamland cuz my hair is sticking straight up and out like it’s 1984 again, only this time without any sticky stuff or punk rock. I’ve got both of those around just in case . . . in the meantime it’s strong coffee and cleaning up the joint cuz we’ve got company coming over at noon. So I gotta keep this brief. Just wanted to let you know I’m still breathing and above ground.
Been a quiet week or two here; I suppose that’s obvious. But I’m looking forward to my trip back to Belfast in a couple of weeks to play the 12th Belfast-Nashville Songwriters Festival again. It’s been several years and I’m excited to see my old friends there, as well as to make some new ones. Let’s just hope the new passport gets here in good time—yeah, that just adds some unnecessary drama to the whole deal. And I don’t think I’ve had quite enough stress lately, so bring it on. After Belfast I’m supposed to be heading to Texas . . . Austin specifically, but gee whiz, kids, there’s only one show on the calendar as of now. Though I guess if I can fly across an ocean to play two shows in Northern Ireland, I can drive to Texas to play one. Heroic or foolish? Likely a lot of both, though depends on the day and how the morning light hits the idea. Troubadour for hire, fellow travelers . . .
Jumping ahead to April(!), I hope you’ll come down to “New Orleans, the land of dreams” (those don’t sorta-rhyme unless Jerry Lee or somebody’s singing) for our big show at the New Orleans Jazz & Heritage Festival on Sunday, April 24, time and stage still TBA as far as I know. This will be a quartet show, at least . . . stay tuned for updates. And if any of you NOLA locals happen to have an empty house that weekend, (ha ha) let me know. We are extremely well-behaved, at least by the musician standard you’ve come to expect; we now hold a proud record of many years of touring with very little breakage of others’ property and no serious accidents requiring official medical attention. At least since 1995 or so.
The vinyl issue of Long Gone Time is still in the oven, music lovers. Believe you me, I will shout loud and clear from the desk and the driveway when those boxes get here. Probably a little before then.
Since you asked (no, you didn’t), I’m just about done with Peter Guralnick’s fantastic biography of Sam Phillips; it was great to run into him at my pal Paul Burch’s gig at the 5 Spot here in the neighborhood a couple of Thursdays back—Paul had the courage to invite me to play guitar in his band that night and I had a great time, both onstage and off, getting to know his beautiful music a little better. You might see me again there, on the last installment of his residency Feb. 25. Otherwise, I’m into Kristin Hersh’s book about her very talented friend Vic Chesnutt, and listening to Clark Paterson’s fine record Final Tradition.
Sorry for the lack of linkage above–but I gotta get on to my chores now—and you know how to do the Googling anyways. Hope y’all have a good weekend. I’ve always been a little scared of that angel in the diaper with the crossbow and arrows, and you know that St. Valentine fella really didn’t have such a good go of it. But love is love, be it joyful, messy, magic, tragic, and/or whatevah. Play it how you feel it. But feel it, and say it, if you do.