I’m also here: 
AUG 17 :: TALKING DYLAN WITH PETER CASE
This is a piece I wrote for Blurt, but I can no longer find it on their site. It was a fun conversation to have and, if you’re at all in to Dylan, Peter Case, or songwriting, it may be of interest to you. If not, skip it, as it’s pretty long.
KA: Do you remember the first time you heard the tune? I was pretty young when Infidels was released but, growing up, my dad would usually put on a Dylan record and then play me his favorite tune from each record. “Jokerman” was that tune from Infidels.
PC: It was 1984 and I was still in the Plimsouls, but outside of a couple tours that year, we had wound down, and I was just knocking about, living alone in a tiny pad up in Laurel Canyon. (In the same cottage the Melvins eventually moved into, after I split!) I was writing songs for what was gonna be my first solo LP, and felt like I was on the moon, ’cause I was living at night, isolated, kinda living in my dreams and musical ideas, and I didn’t have to show up anywhere or anything, it was woodshed time. It was a good time. I was 30 years old, freed up for the first time from a lot of things that had been bugging me.
So I picked up the new Dylan LP at Tower on Sunset, and took it straight back home, threw it on, and was completely transfixed by “Jokerman.”
The first thing that got me about it was the Sly and Robbie groove, unlike anything I’d heard before; it’s not rock or reggae either, but something new, very open. As usual with a Dylan record you hear every word. He delivers that very clearly.
On first listen the song hits you with a strong sense of life, of what it’s like to be alive in the world at that moment, a sense of NOW. The complexity, color, seductive sensual lure, sense of danger, of freedom, of possibility that one feels in the world – call it the Modern World – is all communicated so vividly, that the flash of recognition I felt upon hearing it, EVEN THOUGH I HAD NO REASONABLE IDEA WHAT HE WAS ON ABOUT, gave me a rush of companionship. That’s the first thing about the art of his songwriting, he wins you with the representation of what it’s really like to be alive. And you feel that before you understand it.
I think “Like A Rolling Stone” did that for its time. And the song “Dignity” hit me with that kind of force, when I first heard it on the radio, and had to pull the car over. It’s a hugely exciting thing. I’m not sure to this day that I could say I understand the song really. But I find it really moving.
The lines about ships, mist, snakes, glowing eyes… all were like kindling. I went up in flames when he hit, “freedom just around the corner for you / but with the truth so far off what good will it do?”
That’s what I mean about him reflecting the true complexity of being alive, instead of the party line, which would be something like, “Gotta get free!” or “I’m free but with freedom comes responsiblility.” You know, “freedom = good!” I was in a period of my life when I felt a bit of freedom, but the nagging thoughts about the validity of what I was doing were unexpressed, kinda murkily swimming about in my mind, then PRESTO! Dylan’s said it, and I’m pushed into a new dimension of thought. All of this I just felt, though, on that first listen.
“So swiftly the sun sets in the sky,” yeah especially if like me you’re getting up in the afternoon and turning night into day. “You rise up and say goodbye to no one.” Check. “Shedding off one more layer of skin, staying one step ahead of the persecutor within.” He does it again with this one. Shedding off skin, sounds good, that’s what I was trying to do; reinvent myself, renew my musical vision, evade the weights and mistakes of my past. “One step ahead of the persecutor.” It was like he was reading my mind. I’d been feeling guilty for my impulse to ditch the band and go solo, though it seemed necessary from a purely artistic point of view. So, those lines hit me too.
As they would anybody I think, who was actively going through the kind of changes life threw on individuals at that time, which is still THIS TIME, by the way. The struggle of freedom, guilt, knowledge, power, foolishness, that we all experience.
KA: The groove, the Sly & Robbie thing. Not to get too anthropological about it but I have always found White Guy Reggae and White Guy Blues to be really hollow and hokey, with a few exceptions – you and Dylan being two of them. What do you think it is that he taps into, and that you tapped into, that so many imitators can’t get their heads and hands around?
PC: White guy blues? Well, the first thing about that is, a white guy can’t really be a blues singer now. I’m not sure there really can be any blues singers now, in the way there once were.
Bob Dylan uses roots music to tell his story, his way. That’s what I try to do as well. But you have to know your limits. Dylan is the best at that, he’s got that “bullshit detector” that lots of people talk about. It better be real or forget about it.
I grew up in a house when blues and jazz and early rock and roll were just coming out, and the records were constantly being played on our record player, and my sister and her friends (who were all about the same age as Dylan) were attempting to play the music, too, on piano and other instruments. And that 50′s music was all blues-based, or country. And then there was Elvis, who I experienced as a three-year-old. He’s the original white boy with the rockin’ blues. I feel like he died for my honky ass, so I could sing any kind of music I can feel. He had the feeling on the Sun Records, and the early RCA, and I just soaked it up. Also the Everly’s, Chuck Berry, Link Wray (the first HEAVY guitar), Richie Valens, Fats Domino, and Little Richard and Jerry Lee on TV. All of that is blues.
Then Dylan and the Stones, Beatles too, and I followed the streams and discovered Muddy Waters, Blind Lemon Jefferson, Carl Perkins, Buddy Holly, and I just loved all of that so much. And it got deeper from there. Howlin’ Wolf, and Robert Johnson, McTell, Gary Davis, etc. I just loved it and listened endlessly. And kept TRYING to play and sing it, and I HATED what I sounded like at 17, 18 years old, so young and white and reedy. It was EMBARRASSING. The story of all this is in my book, As Far As You Can Get Without A Passport.
Somewhere in there it all opened up to me, but you still gotta keep a sense of humor, and the bulllshit detector trained on yourself. Look out!
You gotta work to be YOURSELF, sing through the influences.
KA: I often wonder about Dylan’s tunes, how much of himself does he put into the characters? Do you feel at all like this song is Dylan addressing Dylan?
PC: Jokerman, that’s him singing about himself, and maybe about Jesus in verse three, and maybe about the silence of God at the end. But it’s also anybody. The Fool, jokers trying to get serious (by that I mean living with their eyes open), not “asleep ‘neath the stars with a small dog licking your face”; an image of a childish, maybe foolish sort, but also attractive in a way.. The nightingale’s tune, is that like Keats’ Nightingale, the Muse, or Imagination? Flying high by the moon, that is almost in the dark, moony, lunar, almost lunatic inspiration, like the sub conscious, or unconscious (I mix them up!) which it always seems like Dylan relies on. For example, he always insists the songs come “through him” and the creation of his early work had to do with “power and dominion over the spirits.”
It does seem like he is singing, at least in part, about himself. And it’s relevant to you and me, to the degree we want to apply it.
KA: I love the notion of Dylan conveying clearly what it means to be alive. You read a lot of criticism of his writing as cold, detached, esoteric, inaccessible, and I think that’s just nonsense. What he does is tap into the most universal experiences and distill their complexity into one or two lines. Had you heard “Jokerman” ten years earlier or later, how drastically different would the impact have been?
PC: Well, there’s a great difference between his best work and his other stuff. “Jokerman” is one of his great songs, right in there with the best of the early work, and the best of the 70′s. One of the things that makes it great is this really alive quality it has, which isn’t present in some other songs. “Neighborhood Bully” doesn’t have this kind of impact, whatever you think of its message. “Man Of Peace,” likewise. I think “Union Sundown” is a great piece of work, but as a song lyric, though it’s good, maybe someone else could have written it. He merely covers the subject. Another song like that, from a later album, is ” Everything’s Broken” from Oh Mercy. It’s strong, complete, but not necessarily “Dylan-esque,” in that it’s not communicating that super-vivid and 360 degree sense of life, of what’s it like to be alive at that moment. And when you hear the songs that have that quality, it’s like a mirror, or a trick window. You almost feel as if you’re looking through reality, getting a glimpse “behind the screen,” and that’s what makes it so valuable.
So some of it is cold, detached, etc., but people need to hear his great stuff. His Greatest Hits, Volume 3 is pretty powerful, for that reason.
If you don’t get Bob Dylan, you don’t get much, in my opinion. Complaints about his voice are a sure sign of ignorance of music and history. It’s not a matter of taste. It’s a matter of mind or not. I know as time goes on it may be harder for younger people to get in on, but it’s worth trying to find the door in. A whole universe opens up.
Alot of it comes down to words. Can you relate to another mind, as related in language? Beyond the either/ors of binary choice; Democrat/Republican? Hot/Not? Young/Old? Yes/No on this or that issue? Pro choice/Pro-Life, etc. Talk about manipulation and dream twisting. The media are reducing everything to sound bites and pablum.
But we all know that. Sorry. The point is love of language.
Dylan comes into that spiritual and mental gridlock and makes entirely new roads through it, expresses true thoughts of a lightning mind, and we get a huge blast of energy from it. Which is why it’s always “Christmas” when his records come out.
AUG 02 :: ROUGH MIX
Over at tumblr, I posted a couple of rough mixes from the record we’ve been working on whenever I get a break between gigs. The band for this one – and if I have my way, for all foreseeable records – is Andrew McKeag (guitar), Sean Cronin (bass), Julian MacDonough (drums) and Lewi Longmire (keys). We cut it here in Portland with Jordan Richter engineering. We’ve got plenty of work left to do yet, but for now, here are those roughs I put up.
Kasey Anderson’s 21st Century Revisionist History Blues
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Save It for Later
English Beat tune you’re familiar with, I’m sure. We’ve been closing shows with it for a while now, and wanted to cut a version. So we did.
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MAY 02 :: ALBANY, NY
Photo by me
There was a laundromat with free Wi-Fi right next to the club. I was so drunk on giddiness from that Utopian wonderland, I can’t even remember the gig at Valentine’s. I’m sure it was magnificent.
MAY 01 :: NYC
Photo by Anna Foster
Lakeside Lounge. Me + Chip + Eric Ambel + Phil Cimino + Allison Jones. Aint’ a bad way to spend an evening.
The Lakeside is on Avenue B, between 10th and 11th. If you’re out that way, swing by. Best jukebox in the city. I keep threatening to move to New York and I might actually make good on that threat someday but, fact is, the longer I’m away from Portland, the more it feels like home. But you keep putting those Stumptown stores on every corner, New York, and we might have something to talk about.
In the stereo: Roky Erickson & Okkervil River – True Love Cast Out All Evil
On the Idiot Box: Treme’
On the hotel nightstand: Buncha back issues of Paste
Speaking of Paste, here’s “Don’t Look Back” from the Live from Paste session I did while we were in Decatur. If you’re a Paste VIP Subscriber, you can download it from their site.
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APRIL 30 :: BOSTON, MA
Photo by me
Stepped outside the hotel and saw this. Yellow ribbons, along with the names and ages of those lost. I dunno where you take a day from there. Eventually, Chip and I carried it with us to Boston and back. We split from the city around 3:00 P.M. and rolled back into it fifteen hours later, watching the sun come up over the water. On the drive back, we covered as much conversational ground as we did actual ground, but my mind didn’t stray far from yellow ribbons and nametags. We’re way past “enough is enough” in every aspect of this “conflict” in the Middle East, and those who haven’t been laid to rest are suffering in every possible way imaginable.
Bring ‘em home.
APRIL 29 :: NYC
Photo by Anna Foster
New York. It made me feel brand new. Big lights did inspire me. Or whatever.
APRIL 28 :: PHILADELPHIA, PA
Photo by me
I’m not going to name any names but I bore witness as one single, small person consumed both a Pat’s cheesesteak and a Geno’s, in an attempt to put an end to the eternal argument over which joint makes a better sandwich. The test was inconclusive, but it was perhaps the most impressive display of epicurean dedication I have ever seen. Bravo, anonymous eater.
The Tin Angel is a damn fine room. A damn fine room.
I can’t play Philly without thinking of the fellas in Marah, although for me, the band ain’t the same without Serge, who dove headfirst into fatherhood a couple years back and, good man that he is, hasn’t come up for air. But that Kids in Philly record, that’s a landmark record. I play “Round Eye Blues” often and I always do so with the hope that, if Serge or Dave were to hear it, they’d be proud of what I did with their song. Knowing them, they’d let me know one way or the other. And that kind of honesty, along with a million other things, is what makes them both such great writers. I hope I’ll see ‘em on the same stage again sometime.
APRIL 27 :: BALTIMORE, MD
Photo by me
No sign of Avon Barksdale or Marlo Stanfield anywhere. That David Simon’s full of shit, man.
I imagine the people of Baltimore are long since tired of visitors making Wire-related comments and inquiries, so I tried to steer clear of it, though it was tough not to wonder if McNulty’s kids were playing front and follow with me as we grabbed crab cake sandwiches from Faidley’s in Lexington Market. Probably, they weren’t.
Peter Schmader’s one of the good guys, and those are becoming fewer, farther between, and harder to distinguish from the not-so-good guys. Peter used to run a joint called Rancho Deluxe in Baltimore, but now he books the occasional show at the Golden West. I’m not always a guy who likes to hang around and shoot the shit after a gig – sleep is a rare commodity and, more often than not, we’ve got to be somewhere early the following day – but I wished Peter and I could have spent a bit more time catching up. I’d be willing to bet we’ll cross paths again soon.
Simon’s show exposed aspects of Baltimore to a public that may have been largely unaware (and to some of us who may not have been) of the city’s corruption, poverty and crime, but there’s a lot of personality to Baltimore, and it goes far beyond the corner kids. Geoffrey Himes called it the greatest city in the world, and while I don’t necessarily agree, it is a city with a very distinct heartbeat, and in a country that has become increasingly gentrified, that’s a rarity.
APRIL 26 :: WASHINGTON, DC
Photo by me
When half of the “attractions” in your nation’s capital are war memorials, it’s time to re-think some shit.
APRIL 24 & 25, 2010 :: RALEIGH & WINSTON-SALEM, NC
Friday: Coffee, radio gig, coffee, nap, food, coffee, gig at Slim’s, sleep. Terry Anderson’s band may actually be the best band on the planet*. Holy shit. What an honor to front that band for a set. And remember what I said about Eddie Owens? Well, Van Alston did him one better.
*That nod may actually go to the Yayhoos but, shit, Terry’s in that band, too.
Saturday: Coffee, brunch, coffee, gig at Sadlack’s in Raleigh, drive, coffee, gig at The Garage in Winston (great crowd – thanks). Chip put on his most Westerbergian set of the tour, for sure.
Here, see for yourself.
Photos by Anna Foster and me
APRIL 23, 2010 :: COLUMBIA, SC
Photo by Anna Foster
Just two dudes thinking about sandwiches and John Prine. No big deal.
APRIL 22, 2010 :: AUGUSTA, GA
Photo by Anna Foster
Augusta, Georgia is home to the world’s most famous golf course (Chip and I settled for trash-talking about a putt-putt match we never even played), one really great journalist (Steven Uhles of the Augusta Chronicle), and the best bar in America (Soul Bar, which took over the title when the 3B shut its doors). Also, there’s a Mexican joint that puts some sort of sedative in its tacos. You will not change my mind about this.
I dig Augusta but somebody should probably tell the Augustan people that, when the number of chain restaurants in your town surpasses the number of citizens, it’s probably time to back it off a bit. Just something to chew on. We can come back to it next time.
Really, though. If you’re in Augusta, hit Soul Bar and stay far, far away from the ketamine tacos.
APRIL 21, DECATUR, GA
Photo by Anna Foster
Betcha didn’t think I was going to write an entry for every. Single. Fucking. Gig. Did you? Surprise! How’s that taste? Tedious? Boring? Drink it in.
Eddie’s Attic is one of the best rooms I’ve ever played, and Eddie Owens trails only Aaron Roeder and James Hardesty in the race for best club owner I’ve ever dealt with. I hope he’ll have us back.
Down the Line got added to the bill at the last minute and they were… they… to paraphrase Anna, if Disney had hired a boy band to write the soundtrack to a documentary about Jack Johnson writing the soundtrack for Curious George, that boy band would be Down the Line. So, here’s hoping they score that gig someday. If you find Rascal Flatts to be “too edgy,” Down the Line is the band for you. All the best to them.
Thanks again to everyone at Eddie’s Attic. Y’all are the best.
APRIL 19, 2010 :: KNOXVILLE, TN
Photo by Anna Foster
At least they spelled our names correctly.
We did a thing in the morning, this WDVX Blue Plate Special thing, which is a great gig if you’re not a surly dude who was up until 3:00 A.M. the previous night, then woke up at 6:00 A.M. to make the haul from Nashville to Knoxville in time to make the gig. Oh, and they invite an audience to this thing?! Which is great if you’re Carrie Rodriguez, and you’ve had a full night’s sleep, and you show up fresh with a killer band in tow. Less great if, again, you’re a surly dude running on three hours sleep who kinda thought he’d get to hind behind a microphone and just croak out groggy bummer tunes via Knoxville’s airwaves. All in all, good gig.
Plus, Knoxville is home to Yee-Haw and the Tomato Head. I ain’t complaining.
By the way, to the guy who loudly interrupted Chip’s set at Preservation Pub by belting out the worst joke I’ve ever heard: fuck off.
APRIL 18, 2010 :: NASHVILLE, TN
Anna, Chip and I soldiered on as Eaglesmith cast his treacherous shadow over Nashville.
I love Mike Grimes, his record store, and his club (The Basement), and it was great to catch up with Korby Lenker, a friend from way back. Korby used to front a great bluegrass outfit in Bellingham called the Barbed Wire Cutters. They got real popular around the time that the American Consumer decided Bluegrass was cool, since George Clooney was in a movie where a bunch of people played “old-timey” instruments and danced around like drunk chimps. America, where art is only good if two million other people say it’s good. Anyway, Korby’s band was damn good and while I never saw it happen, I bet they played “Man of Constant Sorrow” at many a wedding. It was around this time that I came to the realization that the majority of people in America don’t appreciate art, they just really like pop culture. Once I was able to swallow that, it became a lot easier to tolerate the countless bands who have not gone broke underestimating the taste of the American people.
I’m not real big on reminiscence, but from time to time I’ll remember some July nights in Bellingham watching a bunch of sweaty hippies twirl around to a Bill Monroe tune. Were those the halcyon days of yore? Nah. But they got the job done. Sometimes, that’s all you can ask for.
APRIL 17, 2010 :: MEMPHIS, TN
Photo by me
Isaac’s* last night on the Bachelor Auction Tour. Kid’s got an enormous voice and his writing gets better by the song. Watch out for this kid. For real. Chip will attest.
I ducked into Java Cabana to grab a coffee before the gig and listened to a gentleman, whose name I didn’t catch, playing some really beautiful classical guitar to an otherwise empty room. Couple of hours later, as I watched a guy pay the cover, then walk in and stand directly in front of the stage and run his mouth through an entire song, I felt a little envious of the guy back at Java Cabana. I don’t want to sound ungrateful – I appreciate everyone out there who buys the records and comes out to the shows – but I’ve never understood why anyone would buy a ticket to see a show and then talk through half the show. Why not buy a six pack, stay home, put on my record, and talk through that? Hell, put the game on, too, while you’re at it. Maybe crack open the Swimsuit Issue and ogle the ladies. But when you’re in a room with a bunch of people trying to listen to a guy sing a bunch of bummer tunes, maybe put a lid on it for 90 minutes.
Just a thought.
*Isaac, if you’re reading this, get your ass back out on the road and sing until people listen. That’s the only way to do it anymore, my friend.
APRIL 16, 2010 :: HOT SPRINGS, AR
EAGLESMITHED!
Hot Springs has 2,000 liquor stores, one karaoke strip club, and more shirtless, hollering teenage douchebags than you can shake a bong at. It’s also got Maxine’s, a brothel-turned-venue that really could be a great room if it weren’t filled with loud, disrespectful drunks. You know the saying, though. When life gives you lemons, just say, “fuck the lemons,” and bail.
Thanks to Sara(h?) and the rest of the folks at Maxine’s for making the night tolerable. If we see y’all again, it won’t be in Hot Springs.
APRIL 15, 2010 :: DALLAS, TX
Photo by me
Of all the cities I’ve played, Dallas is definitely one of ‘em.
Mike runs a good joint (the AllGood Cafe), and I’ll be back there sometime, I’m sure, but putting a club that cool in the middle of Dallas is like hiding a buttermilk biscuit in a stack of urinal cakes.
APRIL 14, 2010 :: DENTON, TX
Photo by someone in Eaglesmith’s inner circle
Last verse, same as the first, a little bit louder and a little bit worse.
I will remember April 14, 2010 as the night the phrase “Eaglesmithed” was born. Thanks for the memories once again, Denton.
APRIL 13, 2010 :: DENTON, TX
Photo by me
Said adios to Austin after one last cup of Jo’s. (See what I did there?) A few hours later, The Bachelor Auction Tour rolled into Denton.
And Denton, I had missed you. Been almost two years between visits, which is too goddamn long. Y’all got a great little town, and a couple of great resident songwriters in Brent Best and Isaac Hoskins. Good coffee, good used record store, two great clubs (Dan’s Silver Leaf and Rubber Gloves), and a whole shitload of hospitality. Reminds me a good deal of Bellingham circa 2003, which is why I intend on visiting far more often than I have, but would advise all of y’all to move somewhere else, even if just for a little while, and even if only to appreciate Denton a bit more. The thing about small towns like Denton is, the longer you’re there, the smaller they get. Claustrophobia starts to creep in and, next thing you know, you can’t breathe. Or maybe that’s just me.
APRIL 12, 2010 :: AUSTIN, TX
Photo by Anna Foster
Danny Bland
Hotel San Jose
Jo’s Coffee
Waterloo
Maria’s Tacos
Yard Dog Gallery
Oh, I think we had a gig in there somewhere, too. Almost as impressive as watching Chip and Isaac sing at the Scoot Inn was watching the sound guy shove his tongue down the throats of three different girls in the span of about 45 minutes like he was on some kind of MTV game show. On my way out of the club, I heard him laying a bunch of lines on some poor, unsuspecting philly who would no doubt be his fourth victim. I’ll give him this: for a gangly, unkempt Austin hipster, he seemed to have some kind of voodoo going. Woulda been cool if he could have dedicated that same level of concentration to pulling some treble out of the monitors but hey, beggars can’t be choosers.
I’ll be back in Austin soon enough, we’ll do the whole thing again, alright? (Minus hipster tongue assassin.)
APRIL 11, 2010 :: HOUSTON, TX
Photo by Anna Foster
NiaMoves is a venue by night, yoga studio by day. As such, we played in our socken feet while the audience, also sans footwear, sat on yoga mats. So… that happened.
Also, the very kind woman who runs the joint, Corinne, was next to Chris Whitley when he died, under her care, in her home. We talked a lot about that after the gig.
I dunno if it was thinking about Chris, or trying to calm the hallucinogenic brisket (courtesy of Luling City Market) that was altering my perception of reality, but I didn’t sleep well. Everybody’s got their own ghosts, and mine are pretty quiet lately, but Houston must’ve rattled ‘em a bit. That’s fine by me. Haunted houses ain’t always so bad, long as you know how to get out of ‘em. I’m pretty good about finding my way out these days.
APRIL 10, 2010 :: SAN ANTONIO, TX
Photo by Anna Foster
Another night where we traded in sleep for laughter and song. Again, and as always, I’ll take it. Learned about a Joni Mitchell record (Hejira) I had never hearded, talked a lot about Warren Zevon, and laughed harder than I had in a long time.
The Zevon talk got me thinking about just how much I miss looking forward to another record from Warren every few years. I think it was Springsteen who said, if there’s such a thing as Pulp Songwriting, Warren was the master. That about sums it up.
So here’s to new friends, old records, and the Excitable Boy. See y’all again in June.
APRIL 09, 2010 :: PRESCOTT, AZ –> VAN HORN, TX
Photo by Anna Foster
The above photograph was take in the lobby of the Hassayampa Inn in Prescott, following my gig. Great old hotel, ton of personality. If, for some reason, you’re passing through Prescott, go ahead and crash there for the night.
All we did was drive. All day. And most of the night. I suppose you could count the time we spent using Safeway’s free Wi-Fi while waiting for the folks at Jiffy Lube to put a bit more jiff in their lube as “free time” but there was nothing free about the oil/fluid/filter change and tire rotation.
So that was it. The duration of our last day off until sometime in May was spent trading shifts behind the wheel, listening to Calexico, Black Prairie, Nick Cave & Ellis, Dylan, and whatever else we listened to. I lost track somewhere.
My last clear memory of the drive is seeing a semi on fire on the roadside somewhere in Texas, along the Mexican border. From what we could see, it appeared the cab and driver were unharmed, but whatever cargo was being hauled was set ablaze by something. But, seeing a flaming semi at 3:00 A.M. on an otherwise blacked-out highway will play some tricks on your eyes and mind. My sleep was uneasy at best, though it probably would have been anyway, given that I knew we had another seven-hour drive awaiting us the following morning. To quote Joe Pug (whose record I’m sure we listened to, as well): “Livin’ the dream.”
APRIL 08, 2010 :: PRESCOTT, AZ
Photo by Anna Foster
According to the signs posted all around town, Prescott is “Everybody’s Hometown.” I find that difficult to believe, Prescott. Back that claim up with some facts or take down those boastful signs.
What a strange little town you’ve got there, but a great venue – one of my favorites in the country – in the Raven Cafe. I don’t know how or why people end up in Prescott, but those that do seem to operate just a little bit differently than anyone else I’ve ever come across. Case in point: I asked several people what I believe is a simple question – “Where can I get a decent cup of coffee tomorrow morning?” Every single person answered the question the same way: by simply listing every location in town that serves hot, caffeinated beverages. One resident even went so far as to inform me that both Safeway and Albertson’s sell ground coffee. Thanks.
On a tangentially-related note, if you’ve ever got 90 minutes to kill, pop into the Prescott Valley Jiffy Lube for one of their 30-minute oil changes.
APRIL 06, 2010 :: SAN DIEGO, CA
Photo by Kasey Anderson
Los Angeles –> Santa Barbara –> San Diego. This tour routing brought to you by blindfolded children throwing darts at a map. I wish I could say this is the last time we’ll careen around a state pinball-style but it is not. A gig is better than a day off. In theory.
On a semi-related note, if you run a club and you think it’s a good idea to start a three-band (two massive ensembles supporting a SOLO ACT), Tuesday night show at 10:30 P.M., maybe you should consider doing anything other than running a club. But whatever works for you.
On a semi-related note to the above semi-related note, if you’re a band, and you decide you’re going to cover a Vic Chesnutt song, please do everything within your power to avoid butchering it, or don’t cover it at all. I’m just sayin’.
On the bright side, if you drive around San Diego for ninety minutes on a Wednesday morning, you’re likely to find a decent bagel. So that happened.
The above photo is of Anna Foster who, along with selling merch and photographically documenting the tour, is keeping her own blog, which is quite good.
APRIL 05, 2010 :: SANTA BARBARA, CA
Photo by Anna Foster
I had been to Santa Barbara once before. It was an unmitigated disaster. I was supposed to play a gig with the band and the Mercy Lounge in Goleta, but a previous night’s noise ordinance violation had, evidently, shut down the club (I maintain, to this day, that the club owner was/is full of shit and just didn’t want my band from jump street, but booked us as a favor to a bar friend/fan of mine), leaving us with an in-store as our only gig. This was 2007, The Reckoning tour.
Said in-store went fine until a gentleman insisted that the State Street I reference in “Don’t Look Back” was located in Santa Barbara. Not true. The State Street in question, for those who give a shit about such things, is located in Bellingham, Washington. Yes, aggressive Santa Barbarian, there is more than one State Street in our fine United States of America and no, sir, I do not know the first thing about yours, let alone enough to make reference to it in a song. The adamant gent and I nearly came to blows arguing about the lyrics to ONE OF MY SONGS.
On top of that, there was some all-night bowling alley in the area, a Z-named place that none of us could accurately name, let alone find. Zardoz? Zanzibar? ZibZabs? We had no fucking idea. When we did eventually find the place (Zimbabwe?), the lanes were full and we were relegated to Whack-A-Mole and Pop-A-Shot. All well and good but hyphenated games were not what we signed up for when we ambled in to Zorbatron. But, again, that was 2007.
These are new times. Changed times. The record shop that hosted the now-infamous (to me, anyway) in-store has long since closed, as have, evidently, all other independent record stores in Santa Barbara. A man on a mission, hunting for the new Jakob Dylan and Sharon Jones records*, I found myself humbly purchasing the albums from… wait for it… Starbucks. I hung my head. I hung my head. So, if you’re out there and reading, Santa Barbara, support your local businesses before Starbucks and Target overrun your town.
The night ran on long after the gig thanks to old friends, ghost stories, and bad jokes. My dreams were filled with cackling Russian women and eye-eating bacteria. Not a restful night, but I’ll sacrifice a little sleep for a night like that any time.
*Dylan’s record is really very good, thanks in large part to T-Bone Burnett**, Neko Case, and Marc Ribot. Sharon Jones’ record is a Sharon Jones record. If you’ve heard one, you’ve heard ‘em all, but they’re all great so this one is as good a place as any to start.
**How the hell did he get the nickname T-Bone? Was it a self-applied, Costanza-type situation? Just curious.
APRIL 04, 2010 :: LOS ANGELES, CA
Photo by Kasey Anderson
I won’t lie to you, playing a show on a holiday is not something I relish. Especially when it’s a holiday that is so near and dear to my own personal belief system; a holiday where families gather together to celebrate rebirth – newness, a renewal of core values that might well have been forgotten over the winter. I am speaking, of course, of Opening Day.
Los Angeles has gone from being a city I dread to a city I look forward to visiting. While I’m not packing my shit and hitting craigslist in search of apartments in Silver Lake, I remain shocked by just how tolerable – hell, enjoyable – LA has become for me. Between Forage, Intelligentsia, and the taco joints alone, LA can go toe-to-toe with San Francisco (and until SF gets the “everyone’s walking somewhere but no one is in any hurry to get there” situation under control, it’s no contest), if not Austin (Portland and New York remain untouchable).
I suppose, once I realized that being in LA doesn’t necessarily mean I am required to hang out with Spencer Pratt and his succubus, the city became eminently more impressive. I’m still not sold on sitting in traffic for 45 minutes to drive 1/2 a mile but that’s just logistics.
Fuck it. I dig LA.
There. I said it. Now what?
APRIL 03, 2010 :: SAN LUIS OBISPO, CA
Photo by Anna Foster
Sometimes “intimate” is just a kind euphemism for “poorly attended.” At the Steynberg (pronounced “Stain-berg” for those passing through) Gallery in San Luis Obispo, that was not the case. I wouldn’t say there was a massive throng of people, but there were enough to fill the space, and everyone who came did so with the intention of listening. In situations like that, everybody wins.
The gallery is an incredibly lively room, so we ditched the mics and PA and let the guitar and my mouth do what they were (theoretically) supposed to. While that little tidbit of technical info is neither here nor there, it’s worth noting simply because I used to think amplification equated directly with “professionalism,” but I’ve long since been disabused of that notion. Sure, it’s great to be in a big venue, and to fill that venue and make use of its state-of-the-art PA and expert sound technicians, but every once in a while, an acoustic performance helps reinforce what the songs were about at their inception. For me, especially within the context of touring behind a record that is 90% autobiographical, that’s pretty important.
If you’re near San Luis Obispo, swing by Peter Steynberg’s gallery. You’re likely to run into Peter himself, or his lovely wife and daughter, who help him run the joint. They’re open in the morning if it’s bagels and coffee you crave (as is always the case with me), and if I may allow myself a second plug (and it’s my blog, so I’m allowed whatever the fuck I say I’m allowed), Guiseppi’s makes one hell of a dinner. They serve some otherworldly concoction of olive oil, balsamic vinegar, garlic, and parmesean with the table bread. It was no doubt brewed in a witch’s cauldron, and it blew my mind to tiny bits.
Oh, it’s worth mentioning that we hit Boo Boo Records in SLO, too. Worth mentioning only because it was at Boo Boo that I tracked down the new Dr. Dog record, which is phenomenal.
It dawns on me that, to the untrained eye, it would appear this tour is little more than an excuse to hit every record store in California. Not the case, I promise you, and there are eight more weeks worth of posts ahead of us to prove it. Next stop: Amoeba Hollywood, er, Los Angeles, CA!
APRIL 02, 2010 :: MOUNTAIN VIEW, CA
Photo by Anna Foster
The second house show in three days also happens to be the last house show of the tour. I gotta be honest, I wouldn’t mind adding one or two more. There’s something to be said for a small-but-captive audience, a patio, a fire, and old friends. Thanks to everybody who hung out, and to Lacey and Jason Berry for putting on the show. Let’s do it again sometime.
Before leaving Mountain View, I hit House of Bagels (salt bagel, B) and Red Rock Coffee (some strawberry/vanilla/South American hybrid thing, C+), which I mention only to highlight the fact that I am now accepting bagel and coffee recommendations for any town we’re hitting on tour. Feel free to drop me a line (kasey@kaseyanderson.com) if you’ve got a lead on the caffeine and carbohydrates I so badly crave.
Currently in the car stereo: Sam Cooke – Greatest Hits
Currently on the idiot box: Youth in Revolt
Currently on the hotel nightstand: No nightstands here at the Standard, but I did pick up Christopher Moore’s book, Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff, Christ’s Childhood Pal, based on a recommendation from Ryan White, whose writing I very much enjoy.
APRIL 01, 2010 :: SAN FRANCISCO, CA
Photo by Anna Foster
Any day that begins at Amoeba Music and ends with the guys from Front Porch Musings ain’t half bad. San Francisco was, for a time, one of my favorite cities to visit, and was damn near my post-Bellingham home until I came to my senses and realized that, being as I had spent eight years missing Portland, the smart play was to just move back. I did, and that was that.
Subsequent visits to San Francisco have served only to reinforce my belief that I made the right call. This is not to dismiss or deride San Francisco – as long as City Lights and Amoeba are in existence it will remain among my favorite cities to visit – but simply to say that I can’t imagine myself ever feeling “at home” there. While I’m doling out back-handed compliments, can I just ask you, San Francisco, what is the deal with your pedestrians? Everyone’s got somewhere to be, and nobody’s in any hurry to get there. There’s a leisurely pace, there’s a snail’s pace, and then there’s a Northern Californian pedestrian. I’m not asking you to sprint across the crosswalk but, Jesus Christ, pick up the pace just a tad, would ya?
Rage subsiding.
The highlight of the evening, for me, was seeing Dan Lefkowitz and his girlfriend Becky. Dan’s got his own record coming out later on this year and, speaking plainly, you’d be an idiot not to pick it up as soon as you can.
I’ll be back May 18 at the Hotel Utah. Get the pedestrian thing under control before then.
MARCH 31, 2010 :: RENO, NV
Photo by Anna Foster
Tim Wainer puts on a hell of a house show. Hell, he’d have won me over just on his dog’s name (Farrar) alone, but then Tim invited a few dozen friends over, dimmed the lights, shut off the TV, and turned me loose. After an hour or so, they commenced to revelry and Anna* and I split to squander our hard-earned bounty in the Biggest Little City in the World.** Judging by the staggering amount of personalized license plates I saw while in Reno, it oughta be re-christened the Vainest Little City in the world. To the guy driving the black Suburban: I find it difficult to believe that an actual Secret Service agent would spring for the SCRTSVC plates, but what do I know? I’m just a guy with a randomly generated combination of letters and numbers. Or is there rhyme and reason to the license plate business? It it some code that, if pieced together correctly, spells out the secret name of God? Either way, Tim’s place (which he has dubbed 7th Street Station) was a gas. I’ll be back soon.
*Anna’s got her own blog going. You’d do well to follow hers, as it is quite well written and entertaining.
**There was very little in the way of actual squandering. I lost $8 and won a $0.40 voucher. You win again, Reno. I’ll see you in Hell.
MARCH 30, 2010 :: CHICO, CA
Photo by Anna Foster
Everyone in Chico looks vaguely like somebody I know, but none of them are. You repeat that scenario enough times throughout the course of a day, it’ll fuck with your head. I felt like I was in a Twilight Zone episode, except there was no danger, only confusion. Also, hunger.
As gigs played at coffee shops located in train cars go, tonight’s Empire Coffee thing was hands down the best I have ever played. I’m well aware that they can’t all be Bellingham/Seattle/Portland/Eugene (?!), and I’m fine with that. I’ve done this enough to know that you really can’t win ‘em all, and some of ‘em you’ve lost before the bell even rings. That is what it is. It’s my opinion that if, at some point, I can’t find a way to enjoy playing for 30 people in a train car as much as I enjoy playing for 300 people in a club, it will be time to find a new profession. So if you catch me on that day, remind me of what I wrote here, and take my guitar out of my hands. (Don’t touch my guitar.)
Currently in the car stereo: Still the Hornby book. So far, there’s not a single character I like but the story itself is entertaining enough.
Currently on the idiot box: Sherlock Holmes (Downey Jr.)
Currently on the hotel nightstand: A half-eaten (soon to be all-the-way-eaten) package of Swedish Fish.
MARCH 29, 2010 :: REDDING, CA
Wonder how long I’ll keep this up before I just start posting excerpts from Mark Twain’s “Extracts From Adam’s Diary.”
Redding, California is something of a utopian wonderland. If you consider 15 miles of endless strip malls and chain restaurants a utopian wonderland. On a related note, can anyone tell me why Chipotle Mexican Grill lists the names of dozens of musicians on the paper they use to line their baskets? Imagine my surprise when, staring down at a small mountain of taco debris and detritus, I made out the names “Steve Earle” and “Lucinda Williams.” Do they endorse Chipotle? Does Mr. Chipotle himself simply have an affinity for revered American songwriters? Is it some kind of awesome mind puzzle? These are not rhetorical questions, friends. Quite the contrary, these questions will haunt my every waking moment until I get answers. I need answers. Drop me a line if you get any leads. Until then…
Currently in the car stereo: Juliet, Naked by Nick Hornby (Audio Book)
Currently on the idiot box: Ponyo (English Language version)
Currently on the hotel nightstand: Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter by Seth Grahame-Smith
MARCH 28, 2010 :: EUGENE, OR
Photo by Anna Foster
Tomorrow is one of few days off this tour. We’ll head to Redding, CA for what will likely be a wild and debaucherous night of movies and sandwiches. Will I see the animated flick about dragons or will I watch in wild wonder as John Cusack and a bevy of pop culture references travel backwards in time via hot tub? Tough to say.
MARCH 27, 2010 :: PORTLAND, OR
Photo by Anna Foster
I really dig doing the occasional all-ages show. I’m at an age now where a number of my friends have families, and sometimes an early, all-ages show is a good excuse for me to see my friends’ families, and vice versa. I usually figure these Mississippi Pizza gigs – of which I do usually one a year, to kick off a tour, before playing a “proper” PDX gig to close the tour – will be chatter-filled, informal affairs, and I’m usually right. I count on it.
Fun to have home field advantage for one last gig before this circus moves progressively south-er and east-er. See y’all in May.
MARCH 26, 2010 :: SEATTLE, WA
Photo by Anna Foster
Been a while since I played Conor Byrne, probably be a while before I do again. Nothing against the joint – sound is fine, staff is fine, place was full of people – it’s just one of those places that is better suited to a band ready and rarin’ to give the people “a good time party time hot time tonight,” rather than, say, a guy with a guitar singing ten songs about how he’s a fuckup and one pretty important song (“I Was A Photograph”). Whatever. I hope y’all had fun.
Highlight of the night: meeting the guy who won a date with Don Slack and Marji Makers, thought he was going to the Zoe Muth show at the Sunset, then got dragged to my gig instead. He was a good sport about it, and did evidently make it over to the Sunset in time to catch Zoe’s set, but I loved the idea that Don and Marji just hijacked dude’s night. “Guys, I gotta tell you, I can’t wait to see Zoe Mu– Kasey who? Who the fuck is Kasey Anderson?!”
MARCH 25, 2010 :: BELLINGHAM, WA
Photo by Anna Foster
I’ve said everything I have to say about Bellingham, so I’ll just say James Hardesty, who runs the Green Frog Tavern, is one of the good guys. There are bigger venues in Bellingham. There are better sound systems, too, I suppose. But those rooms are either stale and lifeless, run by lunatics, shut down, or some combination thereof. James treats artists like family, and his bar is adorned with photos and posters of Townes Van Zandt, Guy Clark, Willie Nelson, and Ray Wylie Hubbard. As bar decor goes, you could do a hell of a lot worse. And as bar owners go, you won’t find any better than James Hardesty.
Adios, Bellingham. See you in May.
MARCH 13, 2010 :: PORTLAND, OR
Photos by Randy Reed
FEBRUARY 28, 2010 :: SEATTLE, WA
Photo and video courtesy of the lovely folks at Sound on the Sound
FEBRUARY 16, 2010 :: I WAS A PHOTOGRAPH
Here’s a video for “I Was A Photograph,” directed by Robert Archer.
JANUARY 29, 2010 :: GARMISCH-PARTENKIRCHEN, DE
JANUARY 18, 2010 :: HAMBURG, DE
The Pony Bar reminds me a lot of The Temple Bar in Bellingham, WA; dim, quiet, a lotta muted colors. A little nostalgia never hurt anybody.
Been in Europe almost a year and I’m almost starting to miss the racket of an audience only half paying attention. Now, I’m not longing for the days of belting out tunes over whatever sporting event of dire importance was blaring from the barroom TV, but there’s something about a quiet murmur that almost kinda dares you to get their attention. Over here, you’ve got it from minute one and as much as I appreciate it, I miss that fight. I’ll get it again soon enough.
Hamburg is, for all its industrial and media pretenses, a port city. The shipping industry is tattooed all over whatever wasn’t destroyed and rebuilt after the air raids. Being from the first major port town in the Pacific NW, there’s familiarity and comfort found wandering Hamburg and seeing anchors plastered on shirts, bags, buildings and signs, being reminded of the Baltic on one side and the North on the other. I haven’t outright missed home much this last year, but lately it has been on my mind, which reminds me that those two idioms, “home is where the heart is,” and “home is where you hang your hat,” don’t have to be mutually exclusive but, sometimes, they are.
I’m ready to come home.
