May 13, 2004

11:05 p.m.

Kripalu

My band doesn't really need a backup band. We are our backup band. But when a great bass player, a superlative guitar player and an awesome drummer invite you to be their guests and offer to play on some of your tunes, what do you say?

Well, you say yes. Even though you're not getting paid and you have to schlepp all your crap into NYC to do it. And even though the room is small and the sound guy has lost about half his hearing from a lifetime of rock and roll, so he's overamplified the place to the point of pain. And even though there isn't really room for you onstage except either right in front of the kick drum (OUCH) or blocking the superlative guitar player. And even though you've never played with them before and your only rehearsal is three hours before the gig... and a list of other ands. I had to give up needing to hear anything I personally was doing, and my voice was trashed after the set. But y'know, it was a good time, I slobbered all over the bass player's technique, there were two other artists on the bill who were great, and I hadn't walked down the street in the Village at night for many years... I'd say, since 1986. After the set we packed up but couldn't load out yet, so to escape the noise level I walked a few blocks down to MacDougal, past the Actors Studio, and found a cafe where I could get a decaf latte which was about four hundred degrees hot (my tongue is still singed), and remembered one of the few key things I liked about living in the city. Carol and I talked about it today, and we decided our neighborhoods are poignantly devoid of proper cafes. This is why we can't write. No place to bring a notebook, sink into the atmosphere and suck on a long-term cappucino.

Anyway, back to the venue, where I tried to listen to Joey Eppard but only lasted about 45 seconds before my eardrums were bursting, so I went into the "dressing room" in back, where I could hear the music perfectly loudly. The dressing room at the Bitter End is a sty. The walls are completely covered with graffiti, and the two large mirrors are completely obliterated by band stickers. Bathroom poetry adorns the back alcove -- I read some to Dar over the phone and we had a good snicker, and he said, "Nothing has changed since seventh grade." This is what I always feel about NYC gigs -- they're in shitty places with no amenities (the bathroom was, I am not making this up, three feet square, and we couldn't even get a bottle of water for free) and they don't pay well, if at all, and they're a pain in the ass to get to.

Having said all that, though, we're going back to play at some very large church later this summer and, as I recall, getting paid very well indeed.

The other thing I'll say about the evening is that these guys are incredible musicians. We sent them some pretty difficult pieces to learn -- one of mine has a chart in 5/4, but there are surprise sections of variable meter which make perfect sense to US, but for someone coming in cold it's like untangling spaghetti. So to get the structure of a song in just a few takes is one thing, but then to actually be inventive and come up with figures and adornments and shapes, to make it exciting and give it texture and build, is going above and beyond. We were honored that they invited us to be a part of their Monday night series.

So they said they wanted to have us come back, and eventually build up a repertoire, but we're considering how viable it really is for us. I'd rather just take a day trip to NY and visit a cafe.

********

So, no phone call or email from Will all week, and that's just a little bit odd. Maybe he's just not in the habit of checking email yet, since he just got it, or maybe more family is visiting. But I feel like here he is running a little hot and cold again -- first he calls me because he wants to be connected to me when he opens my birthday box, and then *poof* he disappears. Well, I could be making it all up. Too much thinking about Will. We've certainly hashed this corned beef before.

So we had to get up early this morning -- we stayed in NJ again, and every time, I think it's the last time before the house is closed -- and C&C had a couple of gigs this morning so I headed north by myself to the yoga retreat, where we are now. They were playing what I call "This Land is Your Land" gigs -- there's an agency that books them for detention centers, prisons, halfway houses, and people who are homebound from illness or whatever. I've played a couple of these gigs and generally the kids are sullen and really want to be somewhere else. Plus I really don't get excited about singing Oh Susannah and Stand By Me and If I Had a Hammer. Not that those aren't good songs in their way, but my soul doesn't live there and it's hard to get enthused in front of a room full of people one third my age who just wish we'd go away -- except that we're getting them out of some other obligation they also don't want to do. Anyway, the money is good and C&C have a mortgage, so they take these gigs. Carol was really tired this morning and dreading having to do them.

I cruised into Lenox about 12:30 and had lunch at an exceptional little place (speaking of cafes) where they make outrageous salads with all the GOOD greens, and poked into a couple of shops but didn't buy anything. I got into Kripalu at maybe 2:00 and got all my gear upstairs to my 3rd floor room. They make the beds with just a fitted sheet, and leave the top sheet folded with fresh towels and blankets on top, and the visitor makes the bed up. Once in a while I'm unlucky enough to not have a sink in my room, but this week I have one, so I'm happy. There's a lovely little tree outside my window. I closed the blinds to keep out the warm afternoon sun and, to my gratification, felt the old familiar Kripalu lethargy steal over me. The first few times we played here, this would happen. I'd just get so sleepy -- it's such a refuge here, so quiet and everything smells just perfectly fresh like Castille soap -- I would do nothing but show up for meals, and then go back and sleep, punctuated with an occasional hike. Then, the last couple of times, I didn't feel that way at all and was almost disappointed. Imagine my delight to find today that I was in complete crash mode and took a huge nap til dinner time.

C&C arrived in time to have dinner. It's buffet style here, all vegetarian, and I usually eat a lot. Most of the food is really great. The kitchen is staffed with an assortment of beaming, dreadlocked, tie-dyed types who are learning what a joy it is to serve. I think they're on a program where they live and eat here free, and take courses of whatever kind, and in return they have to work a certain number of hours a week, either in the kitchen or in housekeeping. I always get the sense that they're truly joyful, because everything is so carefully done and the place is always spotless. Tonight we were offered a red lentil "pate," which was more like a loaf, with this amazing mushroom onion gravy thing; cauliflower and millet mash (surprisingly good); steamed green vegetables; roasted carrots and potatoes; and their famous salad bar which is a daily option. They also had huge baskets of spelt loaves -- they don't always have bread but when they do, it's appetizing.

But my favorite meal here is breakfast. I remember last winter when we were all on diets, what I missed most was having my granola smorgasbord with sunflower seeds and coconut. I was being so careful with all things grainy and seedy, I took much less and then felt all deprived because we're only here a handful of times a year (and less now, in fact, since the management has changed) and I didn't want to miss any breakfast opportunities!

After dinner we went for a little hike before it started to turn dusky. We found a place at the edge of the woods where some wetlands begin, and of course the peepers are out in force now, making all the noise they can to attract peeper mates, hopeful about their prospects for making even more peepers. We closed our eyes and cupped our hands over our ears, trying to hear as well as dogs, meditating on all the cacophony -- with birdsong woven in, and a distant woodpecker... We're a month too early for the wild strawberries, which are just blooming now. Too bad; we won't be back until September.

Carol will get up early for yoga; if I get up before dawn I might go walk the labyrinth. It would be nice to revisit it; I did a lot of meditating on Will there, in the couple of years past, and it helps ground me about the whole thing. Plus watching the light emerge on the hillside is really special. I hope there's a little fog.

********

Wednesday

No, no labyrinth. I woke up somewhere after 5:30 and the dawn had already splashed itself on the Berkshires, so I saved it for another day. Now, though, just after 8:00am, the sky has cleared from last night's rain and I think a good long hike is in order. Haven't seen my band yet today. Think I'll take my camera.

********

It was a good hike. I love that my little Elph camera will take movies. I documented much of the hour and a half walk.

The rest of the day was spent sleeping and eating, really. I had a profound dream about Herman Munster -- some bit of slapstick involving a falling-apart house -- and another about being on a long walking journey and going into some people's house who were not in summer residence yet, and getting stuff out of their kitchen. Last night's gig was not our best, I think; some programs were meeting so a lot of people couldn't come in the first place, and it was one of those rather quiet audiences where you can't really tell if they're loving you or not. Carol's voice was half wasted from the last two days, and I wondered if she'd make it to the end of the set.

This morning I got up at 5:00, sure enough, and walked the labyrinth. It was a foggy dawn; I didn't see any acrobatic birds or grazing deer, as I did once last year. My walk was less meditative than casual. I didn't try to go deep, just listened to the birds and watched the sky go from nondescript gray to slightly pink to hints of blue. It was a little chilly.

Then I had over an hour til breakfast, so came back to my room and dozed lightly until seven, at which time I hied me down to the dining hall and took advantage of some major breakfast. Once in a while they make a "baked good" which today was a blueberry cake made with spelt flour, and it was lovely. I'm surprised I didn't just take the pan back to my room. Actually the menu here is evolving on account of a change in management -- some folks from the Omega Institute are now working here, and though the menu has always been strictly vegetarian, now there's tuna salad in the salad bar and I heard a rumor of chicken salad to come. It surprised me a little, as Kripalu has always been so hardcore, but then of course people are different and it's nice to have a choice. I'd certainly eat chicken salad, wouldn't I? But I imagined all the stalwart vegans, for example, writing letters of protest. I used to belong to a co-op in Willimantic, and when they were voting whether to carry organic, free-range chicken and the like, a great outcry was raised against it. But that's kind of like pushing your religion on people, isn't it?

Breakfast is silent here. I like that, as I wake up slowly. This morning I found myself playing out some of my favorite "You done me wrong" tapes. I tried to be a good Buddhist and observe them. There was the abusivefuckwitwhodidhimselfin, so I had the discussion with myself about whether there's any real need to develop more compassion for him; a couple of little band things, ways Will might be dicking me around, and lots and lots of judgmental thoughts about everyone in the room coupled with a slight paranoia that they were all aware of what a total blueberry cake hog I was being. Just the usual Bornearly blather. I must say that, in spite of the soundtrack, I thoroughly enjoyed my breakfast.

We packed up last night and left our boxy things (everything but instruments) covered with a blanket in the main chapel for easier load-out today. Normally we'd have left last night, but because of Monday's gig we moved our three-day stay by one day. Though we're booked through tonight, I might go after lunch. We have to be in Mystic tomorrow and it's always better to have more turnaround time. Plus you never know -- there might be a bike ride in my immediate future.

So it was a good stay; things are blooming and bursting everywhere, and there are whole swaths of wild strawberries in bloom which we'll miss. (Did I say this already?) The Berkshires are so full of wildlife, and I've never heard so many birds. And, of course, just knowing that James Taylor lives somewhere in this geographic area makes it more special.