April 10, 2011

11:47 a.m.

Musician's Log

The weekend's tour ran the gamut from exellent to crappy. Friday's audience was lovely; effusive, responsive, asked fun questions and laughed and clapped endlessly. I found myself telling more personal backstories to songs, the story behind the story. There's what you say to introduce the song so it will have a context, and then there's what really happened. I don't know if I just trusted them more or wanted to make the songs more interesting to me on the 600th time playing them, but it worked. A totally gratifying performing experience for a small crowd somewhere in Vermont.

Saturday's drive to New Jersey was hindered by a very long traffic jam. We were opening for someone prominent and you have to toe the line more, do your job well and not get in the way of the headliner, and we were LATE. It's not someone's fault they have an accident. I always remind myself that someone is having a worse day than I, if I'm in traffic like that. But Chris and I got separated and I couldn't see him any more for a long time. When the road opened up again we were so late that he was going 80 and I couldn't catch up for a long time, though we were in contact by walkie-talkie. He kept saying, "We have 19 miles; plenty of time for you to catch up." I wanted to say, we're not sound checking until all of us are there anyway, so why can't you just slow down for two minutes until I'm behind you again? (I didn't have the directions.) Our driving in tandem skills haven't been used for a while, and he forgot his. To add to the stress, my gas light came on and I said I needed to stop for gas. He replied, "You still have a gallon left. It's 28 miles to the venue; you'll probably make it." What an asshole he can be sometimes. After the traffic jam, having to pee, chasing him for an hour, taking a wrong exit because I couldn't see where he was, and not wanting to do the gig in the first place, this made me hate him. I hated everything in that moment. It's the way I've heard menopausal women describe their mood swings, where the anger is so intense that if they had a weapon they'd be dangerous. I cursed everyone who ever hurt me (even those I thought I'd made peace with), I cursed my band, I cursed the day. The dark wolf had his say. After a while the white wolf came and licked his wounds, and I was just sad and battered. I did some self therapy on the rest of the drive.

We stopped for gas and a pee, made it to the venue and the headliner was just starting his sound check anyway so we weren't "late." Chris apologized profusely and wanted to know that I still loved him. I wasn't sure but I made nice enough, civil enough, without being dishonest.

It took me a long time to calm down, and I wasn't normal the whole night. It was a weird situation for us. Carol had been trying to get us an opener slot at this large venue for years, and this was the first time anything had worked out. It was just kind of stupid that it was one of our six remaining gigs in the U.S., and there's no point in trying to build an audience there for almost no money (and a total of seven hours of driving, no make it eight because of the traffic). I felt like we were young and green and trying to squeeze ourselves politely onto a very crowded stage with other people's instruments, microphones and gear. I felt like a nobody. I know it's all perception, and on another day it might have just been a fun time... but it was what it was. The set was okay; people seemed to like us. I struck my equipment at the break and was allowed to make my "Irish exit" (when you leave the party by the back door so no one will see you) and begin the arduous drive home.

It took four hours, stopping twice to take cat naps because I was in danger of killing myself and sleeping right through it.

I got home and lit the wood stove, and got into bed at 2am. I've decided I'm riding with C&C next weekend on a similarly long trip. So this was my last solo night flight. Throught the fatigue I'm thanking my stars and guardians for that. I never have to fight sleep behind the wheel again. I never have to open for that guy again. I never have to chase Chris in traffic. Slowly I am letting all of it go. I have a certain amount of work to do regarding the tendency to place blame for all of this. I'll meditate on it while building a chicken coop.

Now I must get myself together; there is much to do this afternoon, and Karl needs my help. I must collect my kitty from next door. And the carpenter is coming at 3:00 to give me an estimate on several jobs which I will delight in getting done. I turn my mind to my home life now, my real life.