liber II

i was staying in a basement room at home in this meantime between moving out of

the apartment and the beginning of the road trip. the room was small, nearly empty with exposed dry wall and a floor of broken shattered black and white tiles which i covered with some rugs. the next morning was sharp and quick to the touch. i awoke in a stuper with the day bidding its list of obligations. though i tried to feign from them, to fend them off. they pressed upon me further, minute by minute as i laid in bed. the overwhelming weight of guilt eventually set in so i siezed of my plight and saw that the only path to victory would be paved with bravery. so i rushed into the magnificent city which the night before had only rendered a sour taste. it was a crystal clear bright day. i had nearly forgotten what had happened less than half a day previously as i stepped in line with the traffic marching down the kennedy express. as i passed under the congress overpass i caught the scent of maxwell polish mustard and grilled onions. there's no time for a great chicago past time i had to pick up ralph, my soon to be other half for the next few months. i had somewhat "hired" him to do a job which at first only had a few facets, to sell CD's and drive a few hours here and there as needed. that much was agreed upon months before the present time. slowly but surely we convinced each other that ralph was to be required to do a little bit more. next was the drawing up of flyers. which in the end churned out some great and unforgettable work. next as the timing sought fit, ralph ushered himself into a managerial role. it's too bad he rarely took this role and applied it to himself. it could have done him some real good and saved me a lot of stressed time. next on the list are many duties that he eventually appointed himself as he saw fit.

as i rolled through washington park and passed stagg field i remembered the days and evenings we spent mowing down pints and double cheeseburgers at Jimmy's. the many lust filled nights we stalked the allies of hyde park searching for that in-dubious college co-ed. the mornings we spent tracking down and defaming the milk stealing culprit of our roomate, Blake Whitsman. a worn down, sped up, weary fellow who seemed to only spend his frivolous time here on earth figuring out ways to be gravely outlandish towards others, but especially towards me. there are too many stories to recall one right now instead i will wait until the time is right. as i parked and went inside, the first morning's interview was taking place and i was the next to be questioned. over time i grew so tired to be in front of that trasparent ghostly upside down mirror. Ralph saw that it pained me, to be humor for the seething public eye, to always act as if i was being watched, and so he pushed this to its edge and so i eventually grew tired of him as well. i tried to cast these disparaging emotions away, but anguish built on anguish until the inevitable day. anyways, so on with show. i made a complete ass of myself trying to re-count the errors of the previous evening. i tried to be enthusiastic about how "well that's how a road trip should start." but deep down i had given myself black eyes and blue cheeks. it really sucked, i don't know what

else to say about it. i fucked up pretty bad, right from the start. I gave him the equivalent of iran with an atom-bomb. who by the way does not want one. they just want the uranium to put in dirty bombs to destroy jerusalem piece by piece. we'll get back to history and politics later. i have plenty of breathes about all that rotten business. so we packed the car and hit the road but first a quick stop to say goodbye to my mom. it was on the way and it had been one of the few days in my life that i can say i woke up before she did, therefore i didn't get to say goodbye to her. though it was a chivalrous adventure, it proved useless. being as i remember we only caught her on the way out to errands. it was more akin to a drive-by.

so there we were leaving nothing but very few items behind to a world of worn out paths and closed opportunities. we were finally at the home of the endless road. we had talked about it and how it beckoned and taunted us for months. oh how it begged us "come hither", and so we did. into the land of badgers and cheese. the state capital of our midwestern compatriots to the north. we were set to convene at a local venue and late night spot called "The Frequency". I don't remember much of the road on up to there except for the fact that we saw some really fancy cars each with their own paint jobs and specialty chromatics. it was inspiring to see this parade of good ole american hard work on display.

we were met that evening by one very talented band with this female fiddle player, Laurel Premo. i clapped for her after some amazing leads but i fear it was only taken in jest, with a tinge of impoliteness. my timing seems to always be off for that kind of thing. we also met two very nice couples. i can't remember their names but i do remember they were there particularly to see Laurel. i think they had bought some CDs and buttons from us, out of pity mostly. they gave us an especially great and friendly time. afterwards another face to face with the camera. then we got some free drinks, and went out for a night on the town. i played drunker than i was. we were in madison, i had to blend in. at least that i think that might have been the case. after a romp of creative havoc in the pedestrian thorough-fares we got some pizza and headed back to the car for the first bout of night driving. we had to be in minneapolis first thing in the morning to catch this amazing cello player, David McGee whom i was introduced to by way of current TV. he rode his bike and took two busses just to go play free live music at the minneapolis farmer's market. i had to meet this guy and or play a song with him.

liber I

it was an early summer evening in June and spring had left it's residue on the flowers in the city gardens. buckingham fountain sprouted from the concrete like venus from the foam. the southside statues of the mag mile greeting capital's wandering mass over the river still tainted green lasting from the past year's intoxification celebration. oh what a guilt stricken day that must have been for all of us bearing that cross glossed in a whiskey haze. schools had just been let out for a few months and it seemed you could taste the embrace of leisure's sweetness in a breath. oh how i loved that bike ride, the non-native cabbies, the CTA buses, the honking from a strung out floor boss in a streak clean mercedes benz. careful of the pedestrians they always come first. in and out of fear, i dodged the potholes. i almost hit a side mirror. in and out of fear, sailing through the redlights and gazing at the patterned sundress of girls acting much older than they should.

i was set to play a stage in a quaint quiet little place north of here. lilly's was waiting, wrought with friends and family loving to send me off well and tell me full of joy how glad they were to send me off so well. my brother of a friend, ryan sweeney had an in here and was running the night for me. another mutual future friend in brian miller, was pushing the numbers and counting the cash at the doors. he had only months before mixed some recordings of mine set to the tune of high octane drugs; weed, mescaline, addiral and burning kentucky blue moonshine in the kitchen of my fancy back in that three storied sordid affair that were the years i had spent in

indiana. it was the sort of evening you are to ever remember for the cause of being. there was kati-kat a brief girlfriend, at least i'd call her that, some others including herself though might disagree. she wears nothing but love and will make a great mother. there was ralph carlile

browne, a relative unknown on his way up and out of the grips of his "overbearing" parents, in whom i confided many things. he drew strange but extremely inciteful excitingly emotive pieces that were inspired by the everday. he was a faithful friend, up to a point. there was dan kuhlman

and his brother i believe, whom for both i had just finished a few tunes for a short film that they had written for the death of their father. there was aric braun, a led head, and a campfire wanderlust like myself. there was michelle, an old crush of mine and her boyfriend of a few years. patrick fit right in the fold of the crew and has become many's favorite including mine. there was my brother, The Marine who showed up as well. he brought a few people he had known for a while but had met again just recently. he graduated from the Naval Academy weeks before and stood in command of the room as his heels neatly clicked and chipped the wood floor splinter by splinter. he ran off early though with a pair of northside floozies eager to please the boy freshly turned man with an open heart and open wallet in hand. a new good friend in justin howell who had a knack for Jimmie Rodgers would open the night with a song or two he wrote, really lonesome wanna die kind of stuff. he sipped Teas from Texas, Tennessee and pretty much any low lying southern state that would, could, and should be considered a promised land. it was a place where fore-fathers of "old timey" drank and thanked the red light laidies of the night for a well deserved time. he had brought some friends of whom i had met on subsequent thursday evening haunts at bernice's tavern,

"back of the yards" off 30th and halsted. they were a sovreign group of Chicago southside intelligentia. all from varying backrounds and intensities but most of all they were open to the proding of philisophical topics and daily political agendas. we were joined on stage with the pre-emminent Dobro Joe who also picked the banjo. Joe had a mathematical degree of some sort and was using it to teach at a local community school. he was a happy bachelor it seemed but more importantly he was absolutely steeped in the americana of my choice. Joe and I met one afternoon when he arrive at my apartment at 55th and hyde park blvd after responding to a craigslist posting i had thrown against the wall to see if it would stick. i had a big show booked and was in dire need to piece a band together. he was an easy fit. quiet, unassuming, non-confrontational. he was in it for the right reasons just like my reasons it seemed; to find a group of people to play music with, share a beer, have a moment to remember, to laugh, and smile.

i always enjoy having joe around. soon as well arrived Paul a seasoned veteren of many big bands. he also responded to my craigslist posting some while ago and seemed nothing but interested or maybe down right intrigued with the opportunity to work on something new.

Paul was a stain glass artisan and was being sought by construction contractors and churches, one even all the way in staten island as far as i can remember. Paul played bass. with the downturn of the housing market Paul seemed to be eager to fill his time in someway. he bestowed a great many wisdoms on my all too raw appearance, presence and musical attitudes.

then arrived the nashville wreckers who, lead by the formidable Don Melas showed up in spades and rocked the crowd with their trio of fiddle and two guitars into a state of dancing entranced angst. with cowboy boots stomping stamping the amps ramping up the volumes of open suggestive chords toying with the possible routes of a never ending highway. they especially seemed prophetic to me that night. i know there were others but their names escape me though their faces are not forgotten. please be kind to a novel memory. after what seemed to be a decent set of pickin grinnin and drinkin, there were too many cheers to recount them all. i think the same one's might have been said twice of even three times throughout since the mind sets of all at the time were so frivolous. i was handed all the booty from that evenings take and consequently lost it, all $150 or so of it. the worst part of it all is the fact that i was renting the room for the night at a very cheap rate and i was to pay the musicians as well. fortunately for me sweeney and brian came up with the gracious idea of setting me off on the right foot. they talked to the others and everyone scrapped the rent cost and donated their time, which amounted to giving me not only everyone's cuts from the evening but some of their tips as well. i remember going out to have a hit or two to celebrate, at which point sweeney handed me the cash with a few words of lovingly brotherly advice but more importantly with a hug. within moments it had disappered into some gutter unbeknowst to me. i hadn't even thought about it until after my next set. i went to check my coat and it was gone. (to be continued...)