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...)
