I’m making t-shirts that pair those favorite lyrics of yours with images.

Customize and purchase them here: http://www.zazzle.com/carsonmetzger.

Or let me know which one you want and I’ll make it happen.

Cheers,
Carsonthe o phentermine c delivery d buy illegal medium, After Washington for
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Daniel Boling performs at 11am. Rachel Langer plays at 5pm. Cynical Bird plays at 5:30 Kevin Morgan performs at 6pm.

Rachel Langer and Eva Avenue will be joining me, Carson Metzger, for a show at Yusif’s Cafe (216 Yale Blvd. SE, Albuquerque, NM) on Sat, Feb. 28 @ 7pm.

No cover but please come out and buy a cup of coffee to support Yusif’s as they are graciously opening their doors to local musicians.

Carson

The Black Sheep Coffee House, South St. Paul, MN

Day 23 Stats:

Shows Played: 12
Open mics played: 2
Miles Driven: 2040
Gas $ Spent: $650.11
Nights spent in other people’s homes: 7
Nights spent in hotels: 2
Nights spent at campgrounds: 1
Nights spent in hotels: 2
Nights spent in the bowels of asphalt Devil: 4
Early mornings spent in the van outside a house: 2
Copies of the Nova Anatomia Sold: 9.5
Copies of the Nova Anatomia Used as barter for services: 11 (19 Given Away)
Copies of the Nova Anatomia used by strangers for personal cooling system: 1
Pinkies Healed: 1
Gallons of Water Consumed: 13.5*
Loaves of Bread Eaten: 2
Sprinkler Showers Taken: 3
Stunt Jumps Completed: 16 out of 50
Strings Broken During Performance: 19 (Adam: 11/Carson:
Adam’s Respect for Carson: CORRUPTED
Carson’s Respect for Adam: CORRUPTED
# of shirts sold by Adam: 10? 11? 12?
# of CDs sold by Adam: 7ish
Times I’ve seen Adam naked: 0
Times Adam has seen me naked: 0
Times Adam has engineered a situation to catch me in the nude: 1 (ask him for details)

This last night was special. Aside from being the final show of the tour, we received some respect from Peter, the owner of the Black Sheep. Upon recognizing that we were good musicians playing for an empty room, he said, “What can I do for you guys? I’ve been listening to your CDs. We can have you play outside on the sidewalk. I’ll take my shirt off and run across the street!?” While I do appreciate his thoughtfulness, this reaction underscores one of the hurdles facing an independent musician on their first tour: promo is difficult; especially when traveling places where you don’t have a social network. [This tour has exceeded my expectations in that we’ve generally played to much larger audiences of strangers than I had anticipated]. And most owners and workers at coffeehouses have neither the time nor the interest to run across the street with their shirt off to promote a traveling act.

This is a second and largely obvious problem. When you aren’t making money for a business, you don’t get much attention from the establishment. I have a warped view of the way this all works due to Norm Everett’s handling of Blue Dragon performers (I discussed this in a previous blog). He attempted to be hands on with the music and when he couldn’t be, he asked (and sometimes paid) his staff to do so. Most of the places we have played seem to have no routine for dealing with performers.

We often didn’t meet the people who booked us. The baristas were frequently apathetic and/or lacking in even the most rudimentary training for dealing with our arrival. Half the time we received the nonverbal equivalent of a shrug from the staff when we announced that we were performing.

The exceptional baristas and owners took the time to tell us about the place, and made the simple gestures of showing us where we would perform and helping us arrange the space. These actions likely seem small, even insignificant to the employees. But for two musicians touring for the first time-muscians who are serious about their tour-such gestures often made a huge difference in our overall comfort level. The more committed the owner, manager, and/or employee, the easier it is to enjoy playing a venue; any hint of un-welcomeness or apathy and you’re playing through an extra layer of noise.

On this last night, Jake the barista (and the guy who booked us) was responsive. He gave us a run down of the place, options for our set up, and he even tipped us off to the fact that we should not expect a crowd at The Black Sheep in South St. Paul, MN on a Friday night.

And so, for a third evening, your trudging protagonists played the hell out of Minnesota; we played the hell out of our second Black Sheep coffee house in a week; we played the hell out of 12 gigs and 2 open mics. And in spite of the Friday-night emptiness, our voices reverberated beautifully off the stained wooden floors. We joked, laughed, strummed, growled, and had a hell of a good time tonight.

Thanks to Peter, Jake, and Javier, the artist. Javier, having just hung his show in the cafe, sat through the majority of our sets.

On this last night, we return with The Boss to Madison, reflecting on the rumble of the road, the bugs on the windshield, Fast Heart Mart, and the mess of Husker Du on the stereo.

I reflect in smiles.

And the proverbial puffed lips.

Carson

Lately, She’s a Sea Monkey

Day 22 Stats:

Shows Played: 11
Open mics played: 2
Miles Driven: 2032
Gas $ Spent: $570.11
Nights spent in other people’s homes: 7
Nights spent in hotels: 2
Nights spent at campgrounds: 1
Nights spent in hotels: 2
Nights spent in the bowels of asphalt Devil: 3
Early mornings spent in the van outside a house: 2
Copies of the Nova Anatomia Sold:    9.5
Copies of the Nova Anatomia Used as barter for services: 11 (18 Given Away)
Copies of the Nova Anatomia used by strangers for personal cooling system: 1
Pinkies Healed: 1
Gallons of Water Consumed: 13
Loaves of Bread Eaten: 2
Sprinkler Showers Taken: 3
Stunt Jumps Completed: 16 out of 50
Strings Broken During Performance: 17 (Adam: 10/Carson: 7)
Adam’s Respect for Carson:  CORRUPTED
Carson’s Respect for Adam: CORRUPTED
# of shirts sold by Adam: 10? 11? 12?
# of CDs sold by Adam: 7ish
Times I’ve seen Adam naked: 0
Times Adam has seen me naked: 0
Times Adam has engineered a situation to catch me in the nude: 1 (ask him for details)

Those of you who follow The Great Midwestern Lacuna Tour Blog Stats might have noticed that, in the last installment, the respect of your large-hearted duo jumped overnight from a dwindling 70% to a pristine 100%. I assure you, this is not the reality on the ground. In fact, if anything, Carson’s respect for Adam and Adam’s respect for Carson was, at the time of the last post, precariously balanced upon a fragile precipice.

This author does not know who or what managed to tamper with The Great Midwestern Lacuna Tour Stats. Nor do I know how they managed such a feat given my numerous codes and encryptions. But the truth of the matter is this: respect was 70%. That WAS a fact.

Now that the Tour Stats have been violated, Adam and I are arguing about a matter that was not included in the original experimental design. Were I to try to calculate respect now, I’d have to account for the variation induced by this extra-experimental tampering. To all my good friends, family members, partial lovers, fans, and cyber-trolls, the respect category of The Great Midwestern Lacuna Tour Stats has been irrevocably “CORRUPTED.”

With that technical matter out of the way, let’s move on to today’s definitions:

HIPSTER and PARTICULARLY DISCERNING HIPSTER

HIPSTER: A he, she, both, or it, that cannot use first-hand experience to distinguish quality entertainment from crap entertainment. A HIPSTER takes joy in ignoring and scoffing at that which he, she, both, or it has not listened to. These peculiar humans congregate in urban environments in search of a PARTICULARLY DISCERNING HIPSTER (they often substitute a third party critic such as Pitchfork media) to tell them what bands/performers they should stop ignoring. Only then are they capable of taking time out from their scoffing posturing to witness quality entertainment and rave about it to their friends.

PARTICULARLY DISCERNING HIPSTER: This breed of scenester appears, at first, to be capable of identifying talent in the way that a teacher sees potential in a student. Don’t be fooled by this gesture. Yes, the PARTICULARLY DISCERNING HIPSTER does take a chance by advocating for bands/performers that have yet to be discovered. But these socialites are not interested in quality entertainment for the sake of the entertainment; in fact, they often advocate bands/performers that they, themselves, have never actually heard or seen. Rather, the PARTICULARLY DISCERNING HIPSTER gossips about talent in an effort to solidify their social status in their hip little kingdom by discovering artists before their friends do. These gatekeepers of hipness are the early adopters of the indie entertainment world and they pride themselves in shaping the tastes of their HIPSTER brethren.

Playing big cities is difficult-people have lots of things to do. Adam Hooks and Carson Metzger generally failed to register on the hipness-radar of the Twin Cities. We know no one here and we left our little black book of PARTICULARLY DISCERNING HIPSTERS beneath the pull-out couch in Adam’s Madison living room.

The curiously repeating trend this tour has been the disconnect between us and the local HIPSTER that hang and smoke outside the coffee shops. As we play quality tunes and play our hearts out, we are certain these people (largely youth) are incapable of listening to anything that a PARTICULARLY DISCERNING HIPSTER has not yet deemed cool.

So we play to the people that are present. And the point is to play as hard for a single person as I would for 40 people.

Tonight, we performed most of our show at Amore coffee for three folks and the two baristas. One of the listeners kindly bought an album from me after I sewed my gut into Wrinkle in the Blueprint, The Boys Who Bring it Home, This Apocalypse, and My Sweet Irene. And we met Alex-an engineering student pursuing green design. Thanks to those who listened.

I enjoyed myself, once again playing the hell out of the joint even as I fell deaf on the ears of the deaf.

Home draws near the beautiful green of the Twin Cities.

Over n’ out for now.

Carson

Shows Played: 10
Open mics played: 2
Miles Driven: 2032
Gas $ Spent: $530.10
Nights spent in other people’s homes: 7
Nights spent in hotels: 2
Nights spent at campgrounds: 1
Nights spent in hotels: 2
Nights spent in the bowels of asphalt Devil: 3
Early mornings spent in the van outside Adam’s house: 1
Copies of the Nova Anatomia Sold:    8.5
Copies of the Nova Anatomia Used as barter for services: 9 (17 Given Away)
Copies of the Nova Anatomia used by strangers for personal cooling system: 1
Pinkies Healed: 1
Gallons of Water Consumed: 12*
Loaves of Bread Eaten: 2
Sprinkler Showers Taken: 3
Stunt Jumps Completed: 34 out of 50
Strings Broken During Performance: 16 (Adam: 10/Carson: 6)
Adam’s Respect for Carson:  100%
Carson’s Respect for Adam: 100%
# of shirts sold by Adam: 10? 11? 12?
# of CDs sold by Adam: 7ish
Times I’ve seen Adam naked: 0
Times Adam has seen me naked: 0
Times Adam has engineered a situation to catch me in the nude: 1 (ask him for details)

*Apparently, some respondents to this blog think we have not had enough water to drink. These statistics do not account for water consumed outside the van. This water was drawn from various sources, including: the common faucet, the reverse osmosis filtered faucet, sprinklers, refrigerated flasks, refrigerated bottles, and the occasional toilet bowl.

Here. Where The Minnesota bends into the Blue Earth River. Our drive from the west and into the picturesque corn fields and pastoral silos.

We are thankful to Kolb and Amber for attending and putting us up after our  Black Sheep show in Sioux Falls. We laughed a lot. And thanks to Altman for showing up. Tonight and tomorrow, we are two places at once: with Adam’s uncle Paul in New Ulm and at The Coffee Hag in Mankato.

Paul stuffs us full of sausage; Amy shares her Schell’s; we roll over to the bonfire.

Song and drink; Adam is on fire. Campground covers of Destiny’s Child and Britney Spears and his own tunes: Losers, The Babysitter, Wondering. And the smoke follows the unluckiest of fools.

I have the best and cheapest Americano of the trip at a used bookstore/espresso joint in downtown New Ulm.

Manakto-I fell in love with a name and now I am here. Mankato, you slope and blossom.The Coffee Hag lacks the requisite cauldron for a witch’s brew, but the stomp-inducing wooden stage will do.

Adam’s old friend Tom appears to watch us. As does Ocho.

We play the hell out of Mankato.

We play the hell out of Mankato.

Paul puts us up for a second night. Thank you Paul, for your generosity-for food, shelter, and camaraderie.

This Minnesota breeze. Cool and gentle.

Sleep tight.

Carson

Today we slip back in time to Sunday, August 3rd in Aberdeen, SD.

This is the beginning of a polemic that will continue beyond the course of The Great Midwestern Lacuna Tour. The tour has forced me to face the following points. In the contemporary moment:

1. The image of a thing fuels its popular success more than the specific qualities of of the thing itself.

2. Contemporary music caters to an ADD/ADHD aesthetic. A defining quality of this aesthetic is randomness in lyrics.

3. Popular songs deal with one feeling at a time; e.g. this is a love song; this is a break-up song; this is an angry song.

Despite my pragmatism in many other areas of my life, in matters of creativity and songwriting, I am a thorough idealist.

A pragmatic songwriter in the contemporary moment would cater to the realities of image outweighing quality; the truth of randomness as an aesthetic-a lyrical quality that allows people to passively dip in and out of a groove without having to work to understand the content (listening closely or reading lyrics along with music is work); to the model of the song that addresses a single emotion.

I am an idealistic songwriter/musician in holding onto the following irrational beliefs: 1. The crafted song itself is more important than the crafted image; 2. Lyrics crafted in the interest of suggesting meaning are more affecting than random lyrics; 3. Songs that evoke multiple emotions or tensions-in other words, songs that demonstrate a fluidity of emotional states-are more entertaining than those that dramatize a single emotion [In the future, I’ll write on songs that dramatize taboo emotions].

One person on this tour characterized my lyrics as “esoteric.” I have been guilty of this in the past and I will probably tend toward the esoteric end in the future. But I believe that one can be esoteric and still present listeners with a lot of potential meaning: a good writer should provide a roadmap within each song or story to allow listeners and readers to find meaning within the song or story itself.

I fail to do this in the final two verses of The Potato Song-these two verses are largely cryptic and vague. Similarly, My Sweet Irene has a lot of content that, in my opinion, is more vague than ambiguous. But three years ago, as I finished writing My Sweet Irene, I was listening to a Beck album at a coffee house in Albuquerque. That day, I made a commitment to write lyrics that are not random; lyrics that strive for ambiguity rather than vagueness.

A vague songwriter fails to adequately suggest meaning-the meaning could be anything; the meaning is random. A writer who understands ambiguity uses writing strategies to craft multiple openings for meaning. The point of songwriting is not “it could mean anything.” The point is to suggest a field of meanings and allow listeners to struggle with those meanings.

My idealistic commitment to crafted, meaningful lyrics will not go away. Similarly, I plan to hold onto the emotional ambiguity in my songs. In my life, I am scared in situations where I trust. I dislike when I am trying to like. I feel anger towards those who I love the most.

But image. I see no reason why i can’t compromise toward a more pragmatic stance on this points. The packaging of The Nova Anatomia is a gesture in this direction. Perhaps one can be pragmatic about image yet remain an idealist in crafting meaningfully ambiguous lyrics that demand a certain amount of labor from listeners.

For those of you who enjoy my music, I hope you continue to find your own meaning and an occasional groove. Without you, it would not be worth it!

I’m close to home.

Carson

Shows Played: 9
Open mics played: 2
Miles Driven: 1850
Gas $ Spent: $530.10
Nights spent in other people’s homes: 6
Nights spent in hotels: 2
Nights spent at campgrounds: 1
Nights spent in hotels: 2
Nights spent in the bowels of asphalt Devil: 3
Early mornings spent in the van outside Adam’s house: 1
Copies of the Nova Anatomia Sold:    8.5
Copies of the Nova Anatomia Used as barter for services: 8 (17 Given Away)
Copies of the Nova Anatomia used by strangers for personal cooling system: 1
Pinkies Gouged: 1
Gallons of Water Consumed: 10
Loaves of Bread Eaten: 1
Sprinkler Showers Taken: 3
Stunt Jumps Completed: 36 out of 50
Strings Broken During Performance: 15 (Adam: 9/Carson: 6)
Adam’s Respect for Carson:  50%
Carson’s Respect for Adam: 55%
# of shirts sold by Adam: 9? 10? 11?
# of CDs sold by Adam: 7ish
Times I’ve seen Adam naked: 0
Times Adam has seen me naked: 0

Adam Hooks and Carson Metzger performing The Potato Song

Adam Hooks and Carson Metzger performing The Boys Who Bring it on Home

Adam Hooks as soldier

g’night.

Carson

Shows Played: 7
Open mics played: 2
Miles Driven: 1646
Gas $ Spent: $480.09
Nights spent in other people’s homes: 4
Nights spent in hotels: 2
Nights spent at campgrounds: 1
Nights spent in hotels: 2
Nights spent in the bowels of asphalt Devil: 3
Early mornings spent in the van outside Adam’s house: 1
Copies of the Nova Anatomia Sold:    7.5
Copies of the Nova Anatomia Used as barter for services: 8 (17 Given Away)
Copies of the Nova Anatomia used by strangers for personal cooling system: 1
Pinkies Gouged: 1
Gallons of Water Consumed: 10
Loaves of Bread Eaten: 1
Sprinkler Showers Taken: 3
Stunt Jumps Completed: 36 out of 50
Strings Broken During Performance: 14 (Adam: 9/Carson: 5)
Adam’s Respect for Carson:  70%
Carson’s Respect for Adam: 70%
# of shirts sold by Adam: 8? 9? 10?
# of CDs sold by Adam: 7ish
Times I’ve seen Adam naked: 0
Times Adam has seen me naked: 0

If the point of this tour was creative travel writing, the following blog would be told from the perspective of a foreign exchange student describing her first day on American soil-a first day that would include: an introduction to the six members of the Hooks family, a brief driving tour of the Aberdeen, SD strip malls (including the nation’s first Super 8 Motel), decorating her new room in the Hooks’ house, pizza, a struggle to get her sister on the phone, and attending an Adam Hooks/Carson Metzger performance at The Red Rooster.

I’m going to go out on a limb and suggest that most foreginers likely don’t think of Aberdeen, SD when they think of America. Aberdeen: famous for almost being a bustling railroad town until the swampy ecosystem underlying the  built environment curbed the enthusiasm of the railroad boosters. I later learned from Altman (Hairsucker) that Aberdeen was also home to a bustling rainmaking industry at the end of the 19th century; well maybe not bustling. But the folks of Aberdeen paid a pretty penny to bring in a merchant and his rainmaking machine to end a drought. He did so on command.

As the sun rose over South Dakota, we drove past wreckage from a July 31st storm, landing home in Aberdeen around 7:30 in the morning.

I had two headaches yesterday: one upon waking and one shortly before driving home. My propensity toward migraines was a major fear of mine prior to this tour. I have long doubted my ability stay migraine-free and capable of functioning through multiple shows in a week. Thankfully, I kicked both these headaches.

I’m happy to be here in a familiar place with Adam’s family. I played Adam’s CD release show here in Aberdeen a year ago. Adam joked about his family scaring Ida, the exchange student; he forgot to joke about them scaring me.

Adam’s family is weird. But I find them weird, not for their sense of humor, but because they actually hang out together. His family spends time talking, joking, playing music. I also come from a family that spends time together; but not like the Hooks. I was so impressed by the ease and volume of their socialization. I enjoyed talking with Adam’s parents Dan and Polly, his sister Marian, and his brothers Marcus and Isaac.

Marcus Hooks performing at The Red Rooster.
The show at Aberdeen’s Red Rooster coffee shop went well. Marcus Hooks opened up and played a mix of covers (The Pixies) and originals including “Edith.”

While we’ve been consistently playing for 15 people or so (sometimes as few as ten; other times, as many as 25 or 30), the Rooster crowd pushed well into the 30s if you include the in-and-out activity of the smokers. Having spent a number of his formative years in Aberdeen, Adam knows a lot of people here. With family and friends in the audience (including Steph’s parents Marc and Jo Nelson), we hammed it up a bit. Silly on-stage banter has been one of the most rewarding outcomes of touring with Adam.

Beyond the banter and Adam’s playful energy, I will remember this performance for two other reasons: Adam threw himself into his soldier performance on The Boys Who Bring it On Home. He had me laughing in the middle of the song with his theatrical miming of a circumcision. And he broke three strings. Two on his guitar. One on mine. He now has a comfortable lead in the broken string stats.

Thanks to the Hooks and all those who came out to see us; and thanks to the Nelsons for feeding us, chatting, and letting us clean our clothes. Thanks to Dan for having us at the Rooster. And to Altman for taking us out to breakfast. Thanks to Jeremy for doing sound. Mandy, Jessica, Amber, Alyssa, Peter, Ryan, Trevor, Sierra, Asher, Cheryl, Brian, Marian, Marcus, Isaac, Ida, Dan, and Polly, thanks for listening.

I look forward to returning to Aberdeen. And Albuquerque.

Cheers,
Carson

Day 16 Stats:

Shows Played: 7
Open mics played: 2
Miles Driven: 1264
Gas $ Spent: $480.09
Nights spent in other people’s homes: 4
Nights spent in hotels: 2
Nights spent at campgrounds: 1
Nights spent in hotels: 2
Nights spent in the bowels of asphalt Devil: 3
Copies of the Nova Anatomia Sold:    4.5
Copies of the Nova Anatomia Used as barter for services: 8 (17 Given Away)
Copies of the Nova Anatomia used by strangers for personal cooling system: 1
Pinkies Gouged: 1
Gallons of Water Consumed: 10
Loaves of Bread Eaten: 1
Sprinkler Showers Taken: 3
Stunt Jumps Completed: 36 out of 50
Strings Broken During Performance: 11 (Adam: 6/Carson: 5)
Adam’s Respect for Carson:  62%
Carson’s Respect for Adam: 67%
# of shirts sold by Adam: 5
# of CDs sold by Adam: 7ish
Times I’ve seen Adam naked: 0
Times Adam has seen me naked: 0

I suppose I was fumbling a bit when he offered to help me put the band-aid on my pinky. Having finished his business at the urinal, he appracoahed me as I stood in the bathroom of the Devil’s 12th rib attending to my nearly healed-gouge. Bandages are sticky. Stickiness is awkward. I guess I looked like I needed a helping hand.

Acts of kindness exist on a continuum of reasonableness: there are extremely reasonable acts, entirely unreasonable acts, and the grey fare that lies in between. I’m mostly convinced that allowing a stranger to help dress my pinky is unreasonable. If this were not a lowly tour blog but more a thematic narrative on life and a rigorous deconstruction of “human nature,” I would have something big to proclaim; something like this: In weighing the decision to accept or reject generosity, the trickier offers are those that occupy the space in-between reason and unreason.

We didn’t stay with Sam a second night. He offered, but circumstances and tiredness caught up with us. We shouted out the windows as we merged onto I80 East, leaving Lincoln-finally, leaving Lincoln.

In spite of its bipolarity, Lincoln and Lincolners gave us a lot of reasonable generosity; and we rode the tail winds of this generosity up I80 East and into Omaha. Call it by whatever organizing principle you prefer-karma or chaos; dumb luck or fate; purpose or chance: Adam and I have fallen into the good graces of many people on this trip. When you have lost faith in the hearts of people-or if you never had any faith to begin with (or, when the burden of the Ring of Power has become too much to bear), become a touring musician for a month and witness people share the wealth of their small corner of abundance.

Tonight, we played an art opening at Omaha’s P.S. Collective (short for Pizza Shoppe Collective). The joint sits in a cool little neighborhood that is, apparently, growing in hipness. Surrounded by coffee shops and other music venues (including Mick’s Omaha where we almost played an open mc), the P.S. Collective shares a space that is half pizza shop and half gallery/music room. Pete was managing the night we played.

When we arrived, Stephanie Gorazckowski was hanging her works in the gallery space-a large wooden-paneled room with an Elk Lodge feel.

Dane Sybrant of the P.S. Collective greeted us and did our sound. Dane is a local singer-songwriter, currently working on his recording. Aside from some extra vocal pops from the SM-57 that we used as a vocal mic, the music sounded great.

Stephanie’s family started filing in and helping her to finish hanging her work around 7. She uses mixed-media: a combination of painting and decoupage. She recently completed a new sign for the P.S. Collective that has an urban spray-paint-cum-fine-art feel.

The crowd piqued somewhere between 20 and 25 people. Adam and I had a good time accompanying each other tonight. I’m singing harmonies on Losers and The Babysitter and he backed me up on The Wrinkle in the Blueprint of the Plan of Her Life, The Boy Who Bring it on Home, and The Potato Song. The latter of these three songs smoked tonight. Adam plays tambourine and echoes me on the staccato parts: “Ghost! Ghost! Ghost!”; “drums, drums drums.” Krys, an old acquaintance of Adam, walked into the room at the beginning of The Potato Song and refocused the energy by grooving to the music. She was accompanied by her friend Jamie, a graphic designer.

It’s 1 am. We have a six hour drive ahead of us and the two gas tanks of The Boss to fill. Off to Aberdeen, South Dakota and the arms of Adam’s family.

We accepted Stephanie’s generosity. She gave us all the money generated at the door and we gas up at the pump.

As for the friendly man at the bathroom sink: groggy-eyed and un-caffeinated, I politely refused his generous offer to dress my pinky.
Farwell Nebraska. Merging onto the highway. Screaming out the windows one last time.

Lyrics to “Nebraska” by Brice Springsteen

“I saw her standin’ on her front lawn
Just twirlin’ her baton
Me and her went for a ride sir
And ten innocent people died

From the town of Lincoln Nebraska
With a sawed-off .410 on my lap
Through to the badlands of Wyoming
I killed everything in my path

I can’t say that I’m sorry
For the things that we done
At least for a little while sir
Me and her we had us some fun

The jury brought in a guilty verdict
And the judge he sentenced me to death
Midnight in prison storeroom
With leather straps across my chest

Sheriff when the man pulls
That switch sir and snaps my poor neck back
You make sure my pretty baby
Is sittin’ right there on my lap

They declared me unfit to live
Said into that great void my soul’d be hurled
They wanted to know why I did what I did
Well sir I guess there’s just a meanness in this world”

Romance: a quality or feeling of mystery

I

There is no breeze in Lincoln this evening. The heat sits heavy, festering in ears and staining even the most prepared of armpits. Just one more night and we can move again. There is no romance in stillness.

From where I sit, to the right of the performers at the Crescent Moon open mic, the spotlight silhouettes the sweat rolling off the bridges of noses; silhouettes and spit spat unintentionally onto microphones.

My life is usually not like an open mic. I mostly know who will show up and when they will show up. I mostly know how much people will care and how to avoid those who don’t care. But at an open mic, certainty is at a premium. In the absence of guarantees, all I can do is enjoy myself and give people something worth caring about.

There was no breeze in Lincoln this evening. The heat sits heavy, festering in ears and staining even the most prepared of armpits. There is no romance in stillness. Language knows no perfection.

II

Adam and I had a leisurely morning. He awoke on one side of Sam’s large couch. I awoke on the other. I fell asleep shortly after the Oingo Boingo video ended. Danny Elfman has incredible stage presence.

We took our time. I showered and typed. He showered. We went to the UPS store and out for a cup of coffee.

Around 3pm we met up with Sam and his friend Doug at their newly assembled studio in Doug’s basement. Sam offered us some recording time as he and Doug needed to work out some kinks in their studio setup. The joint was temperature cool; the walls were lined with guitars; the carpet was mustardy.

Doug (left) and Sam (right)

Adam falling in love with a 12-string (in the distance).

We recorded a newish song of mine, “The Boys Who Bring it on Home” (you might know this as “100 Foreskins”). The tune, a retelling of a Biblical story from the book of Samuel, has been a consistent hit on the trip. The music for “The Boys” is a bludgeoningly repetitive backdrop for a humorous retelling of David’s (David & Goliath) quest to win the hand of King Saul’s daughter.

The tone of the recording session was relaxed; we mixed laughter with performance. I recorded guitar as Adam played snare drum to accent the military/soldierly theme of the tune; and he hilariously performed one of the soldier parts on the dialogue portion.

After wrapping up, Sam took us out for the best wings in Nebraska at the Watering Hole-a bar and grill he has been haunting for years. After treating us to wings, we strolled to a record store and then on to sign up for an open mic-an open mic at the Crescent Moon where Adam and I performed for each other the night before (see last post).

Tony Church, the instrumental guitarist we met the night before, was hosting and by the time 8 o’clock rolled around, the audience (performers included) was pushing 15 to 20. During my set, a group of ten teenagers showed up to support their friend Stewart in his first open mic performance. Stewart attacked the microphone with incredible energy and played his guitar so hard he lost his pic. By the end of Stewart’s 3-song set, the crowd was pushing 35 people.

When Adam took the stage he played his new song-”She Used to be a Dancer.” I adore this song; not only are Adam’s lyrics incredibly descriptive-but I have had the privilege of witnessing him string these words together over the last week. I have watched as he has turned an idea into a full-fledged expose of a woman who has lost her life and her beauty to an injury.

I went up after Adam to play Woohoo!, The Boys Who Bring it on Home, and Lately, She’s a Sea Monkey.

We rationalize time as moving forward. But it stops. On rare occasions, time ceases. Then, there is romance in stillness. We practice for these moments. We imagine these connections: spot-lit and silhouetted; electric and acceptance.

VI

There is no breeze in Lincoln this evening. The heat sits heavy, festering in ears and staining even the most prepared of armpits. As the night grows quiet, we move again. The romance of touring happens in the interstices. Language knows no perfection but I know I am enjoying myself.

Miss you,
Carson

We received a tip on this trip: the most important factor in touring is the (lack of) engagement and the (non) support of the owners of performance establishments. We have largely been blessed on this front.

The booking of our show tonight was confused from the outset and we ended up splitting time with Tony Church, an instrumental musician who plays Lincoln’s Crescent Moon Cafe every Wednesday from 8-10.

The courtyard of the Crescent Moon is all rustic bricks, fountains, and wrought iron. And on Wednesday night at 7pm, it was empty. Ironically, this  show was our most publicized. Having been in Lincoln for six days and five nights, we actually had time to dig our heels in and do a little publicizing.

I performed my first three songs for Adam.

I pretended the audience was vast and eager and respectful. Adam took some photos and whooped. He is particularly adept at whooping. And I turned the stage over to him just as three folks took their coffee and seats in the courtyard in front of us.

Playing for three strangers turned out to be productive. If performers need audiences, then audience respect and connection (especially with strangers) is equally a necessity. Both Adam and I reached out and connected with these three people-two Lincolners and one woman from the Berkshires in Massachusetts. Thanks to you folks for tuning in!

Adam played his new song, tentatively titled “She Used to Be a Dancer.” This song is incredible. He thinks it’s depressing. I think it’s the type of song I want to be sang asleep to.

But keeping your energy high for nine or ten songs without the electricity of a consistent audience takes its toll.

The evening-hell, the whole town of Lincoln-really took a turn shortly after our performances when we met Karen and Sam.

Karen Church, Tony Church’s mother, is a writer. She and talked about writing as we took in Tony’s music. Karen paraphrased Tony, suggesting that the Crescent Moon courtyard receives less foot traffic as people are not going out to eat in these dog days of high gas prices and low consumer spending.
And Sam. We have received a lot of generosity on this tour; but Sam has embodies the archetype of care and generosity. He bought us a beer, put us up in an air-conditioned room, showed us an Oingo Boingo movie (Danny Elfman’s old band performing on Halloween), and fed us fruit. We are likely going to see him tomorrow to do some recording at his studio.

On good nights like tonight, the cracks in venues are plugged by sympathetic strangers.

Cheers,
Carson

Ideas and Craft

I have a song idea.

Ideas are dangerous. American pop culture is full of good ideas. But a good idea is no substitute for the skeleton of the idea-for the execution of the idea. I like plenty of pop culture; but my take on most popular culture-music, movies, and TV-is that it usually amounts to good ideas that are poorly crafted. This failure to execute a good idea is, in part, a matter of poor writing. A good idea is so often a house of cards: the crafting of the idea can’t stand up to an errant hurricane or a rogue’s sneeze.

Leonard Cohen once described himself as having NO good ideas. As a songwriter, I have learned to mistrust song ideas. If I put too much weight in an idea early in the writing process, I allow my rational mind to write the song: I end up trying to craft the brainstorm with my will.

The initial idea for The Potato Song was a song about a ghost in a photograph: “Ghosts in a photograph/are ghosts that will miss you.” Had I stuck with the initial idea of ghost in photograph, I wouldn’t have gotten to the eventual subject matter: the Irish Potato Famine:

“The white, white noise/of the ghost in your tummy.”
Ideas are dictators; they attempt to steer your song toward an ideal that emerges less from the architectural process and more from the conscious mind of the architect.

My best lyricism occurs when the non-rational part of me starts to fashion stanzas. Later in the writing process, as the kernel of the song becomes apparent, the rational mind becomes important-carving and revising. Here, work must be done on the song itself and this requires working with the idea that has emerged from the page-from the process.

A Song Idea

That said, here’s my idea: the song works through three verses describing the behavior of a group of people. By the end of the first verse, the song establishes these people as “abnormal.”

The second verse broadens this theme by showing the “abnormal” characters interacting; this verse turns up the volume on the environment they are in: they seem to be patients, drawn together beneath the roof of some sort of institution.

The third stanza pushes the notion that these people are not just “abnormal,” but really out of their mind. Yet in the last two lines of the song, the narrative flips and reveals these folk to be patrons of a coffee shop. What seemed like a mental institute for the mentally ill, is, in fact, a small town coffee house.

I’ll string coffee house allusions-imagery-throughout the first two stanzas; but it will become obvious in the last two lines that the characters are, in fact, in a coffee house.

We’ll see if the song gets written. The idea seems too sharp to be converted into song. I’ll most likely try to write about it only to find myself steered off the path toward something else.

Our well-manicured tour library.
Day 12 Stats:

Shows Played: 5
Miles Driven: 1195
Gas $ Spent: $382.48
Copies of the Nova Anatomia Sold:    4
Copies of the Nova Anatomia Used as barter for services: 7 (15 Given Away)
Copies of the Nova Anatomia used by strangers for personal cooling system: 1
Pinkies Gouged: 1
Gallons of Water Consumed: 9
Loaves of Bread Eaten: 1
Sprinkler Showers Taken: 3
Stunt Jumps Completed: 39 out of 50
Strings Broken During Performance: 10 (Adam: 5/Carson: 5)
Adam’s Respect for Carson:  75%
Carson’s Respect for Adam: 70%
# of shirts sold by Adam: 5
# of CDs sold by Adam: 7ish
Times I’ve seen Adam naked: 0
Times Adam has seen me naked: 0

It was a time of personal hygiene on The Boss.

Some shaved. Others clipped fingernails. Still others used Andrew Weil’s nasal-douching technique. The van was a veritable carnival of cleanliness.

I had a wound to address.

I gouged my finger last Thursday on a wooden door at the Coffeecat. I can’t actually explain how it happened. I was in denial about it needing any treatment as it seemed ridiculous that a scrape from a wooden door could cause any real damage. But the gash was a little bit deeper than a scratch or a cut. I started using some first aid cream and it has cleared up. I’m blessed to have received the wound in one of the rare parts of my hand that I don’t use to play guitar. The wound is hard to see as the displaced skin is still connected save the last photo where you can see the it in all its recovering glory.

This lag has been tough. But we’re gearing up for a series of performances on five straight nights: 2 open mics and 3 shows. I can’t wait!

So for those of you who have been following this daily, you probably know that the heat has served this writer as an antagonist and a consistent dramatic situation. If you’re not convinced by this bloggers experience of sweat and sunburns, then please note this small “heat warning” published on the AP wire. http://www.ktiv.com/Global/story.asp?S=8746863. Apparently, this heat really is dangerous.

Adam’s mother, Polly (not to be confused with Polly Punkneck of Jason and the Punkneck’s, a band that rocked The Meadowlark last Saturday) works in the hotel industry and she got us a reasonable rate at a hotel tonight. We will escape the nebulous matter of the Devil’s medulla oblongata for a night in an air conditioned vessel.

Miss you all and miss performing. This is a tour, right?

Carson

See Adam and I were parked outside the State Fair Park Campground on the outskirts of Lincoln. We decided to van-camp for the night. The ratty wood of the campground booth slouched. The building had been abandoned for the night, save the gentle light humming on the inside. I shuffled through a pile of used envelopes seeking the appropriate vessel for my after-hours payment. But I wasn’t sure how much I owed. The booth was covered in signs-each with varied instructions. As I sleepily read the various patches of text spread about the shack, I caught a movement out of the corner of my eye.

I was slow to focus on the silhouette of a body clinging tightly to the corner of the shack-a quiet silhouette that wasn’t supposed to be there. As my eyes fully focused I recognized the figure as an elderly woman in a nightgown, meekly peering at me from around the building. My recognition proceeded in slow motion; I told myself, “Hey, look at the woman standing there.” But the acrobatic neurons firing sound rationales and even-keeled perceptions could not shackle my bodily compulsion: I leapt off the ground in fright.

I was scared by an elderly woman last night.

“Oh! You scared me,” I exclaimed, as if she hadn’t just witnessed a grown man jump a few feet off the ground.

“Well you scared me,” she retorted.

“How much do I owe you for a campsite?” I asked.

“$15″ she responded.

Martha is her name. I learned this the morning after as I read the text plastered on the wall across from the showers of the campground restroom. I was cursing myself as I had just shaved of a few locks of my ponytail in an attempt to remove the hair on the back of my neck. As the proprietor of this campground, shouldn’t Martha be accustomed to men sleepily stuffing envelopes in the dim midnight light of the parking lot? Am I really so scary?

We nestled The Boss up on the concrete slab of our little patch of rented earth: a serious expanse of grass, yes; but the three tiny trees would offer no relief from the early-morning sun. These are the kind of trees that collapse when you sneeze.

Don’t spend $15 at this site. Please go somewhere else.

But we slept well. Thankfully we slept well.

I chalk up our relatively calm reaction following our car accident to the decent sleep we got after Martha scared me a few feet off the ground.

Around 2pm Lincoln time, Adam ran a yellow-becoming-red light. We were traveling from the Crescent Moon Coffee house to some local gardens. The rest looks like this:

No one got hurt.

The van is fine.

The instruments are well.

The cops took awhile to show so our necks got reddened.

The passengers of the truck we hit didn’t give us a hard time.

So now we’re sitting in The Meadowlark as Adam makes calls to the insurance company and his family.

But accidents are stressful-and expensive.

There are moments like these-call them accidents, mistakes, or “bad” moments-that make make me think of the strange threads we weave in moving from event to event, person to person, yesterday to today. We are always living the culmination of everything that has preceded us-why should an accident confront me with questions about fate and avoidance. Why didn’t I drag my feet on the patio outside the Crescent Moon? Why did we tether ourselves to leaving when the meter ran out (I’ve overstayed my time at many meters before)? What if we hadn’t camped at the crappy State Fair Park Campgrounds? If I hadn’t let that little old woman scare me? A moment here and a movement there and the present ceases to be the present it might have been.

We play again on Tuesday-an open mic at Jones Coffee in Lincoln, NE. Lincolners love their coffee shops.

Lately, my urine is green.

Just kidding.

It’s blue.

G’night and soon to be missing you all from the hot concrete expanse of the Devil’s pulled groin.

Carson

Did I mention that we jammed with bassist Greg (thanks for the coffee), harmonica-player Tom, and Smokey the bird?

Good times.

Day 10 Stats:

Shows Played: 5
Miles Driven: 1195
Gas $ Spent: $382.48
Copies of the Nova Anatomia Sold:    4
Copies of the Nova Anatomia Used as barter for services: 7 (15 Given Away)
Copies of the Nova Anatomia used by strangers for personal cooling system: 1
Pinkies Gouged: 1
Gallons of Water Consumed: 8
Loaves of Bread Eaten: 1
Sprinkler Showers Taken: 2 (1 each)
Stunt Jumps Completed: 40 out of 50
Strings Broken During Performance: 10 (Adam: 5/Carson: 5)
Adam’s Respect for Carson:  72%
Carson’s Respect for Adam: 75%
# of shirts sold by Adam: 5
# of CDs sold by Adam: 7ish
Times I’ve seen Adam naked: 0
Times Adam has seen me naked: 0

This heat returns to stand time still.

The proprietor plays a song on the house piano. Fools dance.

Nothing moves through this air that doesn’t have to.

We have to.

A still van sweats and leaves bodies forgotten.

We hunt rhythms in air-conditioned toy stores. Hunting time to survive.

Too hot to trim a fingernail. Too bothered to sleep a wink.

Lincoln, dear Lincoln, you leave me seething.

Day 9 Stats:

Shows Played: 5
Miles Driven: 1195
Gas $ Spent: $382.48
Copies of the Nova Anatomia Sold:    4
Copies of the Nova Anatomia Used as barter for services: 7 (15 Given Away)
Copies of the Nova Anatomia used by strangers for personal cooling system: 1
Pinkies Gouged: 1
Gallons of Water Consumed: 7
Sprinkler Showers Taken: 2 (1 each)
Stunt Jumps Completed: 41 out of 50
Strings Broken During Performance: 10 (Adam: 5/Carson: 5)
Adam’s Respect for Carson: 82.343434%
Carson’s Respect for Adam: 82.343434%
# of shirts sold by Adam: 5
# of CDs sold by Adam: 7ish
Times I’ve seen Adam naked: 0
Times Adam has seen me naked: 0

Have you hugged an independent musician today?

Well don’t. At least don’t go out of your way to do so. But do listen to one. And when you listen, please give them your full attention for a few songs. You will make them better.

Two observations:

1. Dean Maier (my friend, an Albuquerque-based songwriter, and part of the Albuqueruque Songwriters Co-op) once said the following (ore or less): “If you place a star like Dave Matthews in the corner of a coffee shop with a guitar on open mic night, he will encounter the same problems as an unknown artist.” Open mics are great equalizers. You don’t have much control over the sound. Strings break. You only have 2 or 3 songs to catch the audience’s attention. And the open mic musician usually has no more than themself to muscle their publicity machine.

Playing shows at new venues in places where I lack fans often feels like playing an open mic.

2. Beyond the open mic, acoustic music is a great equalizer: no pomp and circumstance; no glitter or distortion. When you witness a performer and a guitar, the quality of the song itself is on the line.

On the road and at open mics, the audience isn’t all there to hear you. I bring this up as a way to address a larger issue: the relationhip between audience and performer. I’m going to overgeneralize here. For a performance to appear “great” or “electirc,” these two entities-audience and performer-must exist in a healthy tension: a taut rubberband that doesn’t quite break.

The history of popular music includes many stories of performers who take the stage and wow their audiences with greatness. The story goes something like this: “I saw them when they were nothing. And they were great! I just knew they’d make something of themselves.” Not only is it safe to appreciate a performance in retrospect-some people consider it a sign of status: “I knew they would we be good before anyone else knew.” So much of what we’ve come to regard as great performance occurs when an artist alwready has a secure/sympathetic audience. And when an artist gets big, people recursively look back at earlier shows and say “that was an incredible show” (see The Ramones movie End of the Century. Note the lackluster applause from the audience at what is considered to be one of their break out shows at the CBGB). In the realm of popular Western music, we seem to recgonize greatness through hindsight or through a will to be hip and ahead of the curve.

I mention all this because the quality of a show is shaped, not by hindsight, but by the attentiveness of audiences in the present-during the performance. Audiences and performers exist in a symbiotic relationship. A performer cannot be anything if some portion of the audience does not give their attention.

The audience at The Meadowlark in Lincoln, NE gave us a ton of attention last night.

Adam and I played strong, high-energy sets for some really caring people. Thanks to all the folks who sat through, listened to, and cheered portions of our set: Dan and Eileen, Vicki, Nate (the owner), James (barista), Tom, and that group of teenage girls who brought some sass to the room.

Riley O’Connor and Molly B. Moon opened the show, playing some folk, country, and Scottish tunes.

Two audience members-a couple-sat and listened diligently the whole evening. I spoke with them toward the end of Adam’s set but, unfortunately, I didn’t get their names. They really made my evening. Thanks!

The Meadowlark’s stage offered us both some foot-stomping opportunities. Adam’s rendition of “Wondering” was smoking tonight. I’ve heard people cheer for this song before, but tonight, he really electirifed the audience. He also played “These Roots Run Deep”-one of my favorites from “Adam Hooks is Dead.” The song is about a fmaily protecting themselves from farm repossession. Adam worked “Roman Candle and a Reason” as well as I’ve ever seen. He added a dynamism to the song, teasing out peaks and valleys. He opened with a traditional song called “The Bad Girl.” I’m stealing this one from him.

I got great responses to “The Boys Who Bring it On Home” (the Biblical story about David and 100 foreskins), “Wrinkle in the Blueprint of the Plan of Her Life,” “Woohoo!,” and “The Potato Song.”

The generosity of the Lincoln folk continued after we finished performing.

Chris/Free gave us a cleansing prayer and a blessing.

Vivki put us up on the floor of her basement apartment. She provided us with warmth, kindness, fans, a shower, and eggs and toast with orange marmelade in the morning.

The script continues to write itself in new and unexpected ways. As performers, we learn ways to engage audiences. Yes, the onus is on us to make you interested. But you all make us more entertaining when you commit your attention.

Miss you. All of you.

Carson

Day 8 Stats:

Shows Played: 4
Miles Driven: 887
Gas $ Spent: $342.48
Copies of the Nova Anatomia Sold:    4
Copies of the Nova Anatomia Used as barter for services: 7 (15 Given Away)
Copies of the Nova Anatomia used by strangers for personal cooling system: 1
Sprinkler Showers Taken: 2 (1 each)
Stunt Jumps Completed: 43 out of 50
Strings Broken During Performance: 7 (Adam: 3/Carson: 4)
Adam’s Respect for Carson: 86%
Carson’s Respect for Adam: 87%
# of shirts sold by Adam: 5
# of CDs sold by Adam: 7ish
Times I’ve seen Adam naked: 0
Times Adam has seen me naked: 0

Eating Meat in Mason City and Seeking the Miraculous at the Coffeecat

Tonight, I really enjoyed some meat before bed.

I’m not a meat eater. But since shifting from hardcore vegetarian to a more flexible stance, I eat meat when the social circustances call for it. And the meat on the pizza supreme-pepperoni and sausage-was damn good. The path to the delicious meat was worn with overcast skies and psychedelic carpets.

Having spent on the night in the gaping concrete expanse of the Devil’s right hoof, I was pleased listening to the pitter patter of rain on The Boss. But we awoke to a rain-soaked front seat. The driver’s side window of “The Boss” is stuck slightly open. We forgot to duck tape it closed and I awoke to Adam sopping up the water with a towel. After peeing in the 24 hour restrooms of the Devil’s mighty aorta, we started the van and Adam, with a stroke of genius, tried to roll the window up. It worked. No more rain on the drivers side. No more air flow on the drivers side either.

We took our coffee at The Mars Cafe. Adam had the escargo and I blogged with a spot of espresso.  Again, the Mars Cafe espresso is simply splendid.

Our drive today was short (2 hours) as we headed north from Des Moines to Mason City.

Hallelujah, the cloud cover remained and we had a dreamy ride. The heat in Madison had me fearing this trip but today, passenger-side windows peeled, I felt damn good.

We arrived at Coffeecat in Mason City around two in the afternoon. Cat opened the Coffeecat with a $100 dollar bill that she had received from a customer at another coffee shop where she was working as a barista. She parlayed that $100 into a hip joint in downtown Mason City. If you’re in town, please visit her because she works hard-not only is she the owner; but she is the only employee. Cat distinguishes her business from the other four coffee shops in the city by brewing quality coffee for discerning palates (I had a nice smoky blend…really good stuff) and serving freshly baked scones and cookies.

Before playing, we exercised in the historic Coffeecat neighborhood. I did jumping jacks. Adam did push-ups. We never found the Frank Lloyd Wright house (I think he has a hotel and house here). But we did find a fine museum with marionettes! I’ve written about puppetmakers before (”The Sound of the Crowd”), but I’m not done with this theme yet.

Playing in front of white Christmas lights as the sun set on S Delaware Street, the performance at the Coffeecat went well. The room consistently had between 8-10 people (other than Cat, Adam, and I). Cat was very supportive-she listened and cheered us on; and we met another Steven (three so far) who gave us his attention. I hope you enjoy the video of me performing The Most Stellar Cartographer (see above).

But here’s the bottom line: playing for people who don’t know YOU or your music is difficult. As Cat wisely emphasized, first tours are mostly about making contacts. And I will gladly return to the Coffecat to perform and to drink coffee. But most strangers just don’t give their attention to you. Most people don’t laugh at your jokes. Most people don’t even notice you joking. I’m exaggerating here. Adam and I consistently get good applause and hold the attention of strangers for a song or two. But their attention does not compare to you, dear blog-readers. I’m thankful for those of you (especially you Albuquerque friends) who have consistently given me your attention. You are irreplaceable.

I understand that people don’t just up and listen. I often don’t give strange performers my full attention either. That said, I do recognize sincirity and energy in performers. And Adam and I both played sincere, energetic sets.

Amidst the air conditioning and energy, we almost experienced a miracle tonight. The Coffeecat was in the running for first coffeehouse show without a broken string. I made it through all my sets and as Adam wound his up, we thought we were home free. Then they asked me to play a final song. This was a mistake-at least from a string-breaking perspective. I was happy to play Lately, She’s a Sea Monkey. But the song killed our hope of getting through an entire show without breaking a string. For the second straight night, the Sea Monkey busted my strings.

Cat let us know from the beginning that she would help us out in any manner she could-we didn’t know what this meant at the time. But that’s the beautiful thing about touring: you place yourself in the graces of other people. When you are unknown, you give your music and you grant people the space to give what they can.  Cat really pulled through by talking to some of her regular clients about putting us up for the night. We stayed with Troy, Marie, and Drew at their apartment: The Kirk.

We really enjoyed meeting these three housemates. They fed us pizza, watched Adam and I strategize over Othello (so long as Adam neglects this blog entry, I’ll have you believe that I won), played us Fleet Foxes (good stuff) and Scarlett Johanssen’s album (primarily covers of Tom Waits!). We were taken care of with friendliness, fans, and meat.

And we scratched the surface of a really good conversation about photographs, meaning, music, and materiality.

Tomorrow is a long drive; a long drive to Lincoln, Nebraska, and The Meadowlark Cafe where we have a Friday night gig.

I’m in the groove and excited to play another show.

Missing you all,

Carson

Shows Played: 3
Miles Driven: 763
Gas $ Spent: $261.99
Copies of the Nova Anatomia Sold:    3
Copies of the Nova Anatomia Used as barter for services: 5 (12 Given Away)
Copies of the Nova Anatomia used by strangers for personal cooling system: 1
Sprinkler Showers Taken: 2 (1 each)
Strangers homes stayed at: 2
Stunt Jumps Completed: 43 out of 50
Strings Broken During Performance: 6 (Adam: 3/Carson: 3)
Adam’s Respect for Carson: 93%
Carson’s Respect for Adam: 89%
# of shirts sold by Adam: 4
# of CDs sold by Adam: 6ish
Times I’ve seen Adam naked: 0
Times Adam has seen me naked: He is starting to push his luck.

Preparing to Drive to Des Moines:

Do you share our enthusiasm?

Arggghh. Cutting edge piratry (?).

Driving to Des Moines: The Music Critic

We drove to Des Moines from Madison today. The excessive humidity finally broke in Madison and today’s drive, despite the 91 degree temperature, didn’t feel that hot.

Silence ruled the ipod with an iron. Just an iron. We did not need an ipod as Adam entertained me with acapella covers of Britney Spears (”Hit Me Baby One More Time), TLC (”No Scrubs”), and Husker Du (”Keep Hanging On”). Okay, so that only lasted for a small fraction of the drive. I am drooling over Tapes n Tapes having just heard them for the first time. I blitzed Adam with some Maiden tunes-a wide selection that spanned numerous 80s albums including “The Number of the Beast,” “Powerslave,” and “Seventh Son of a Seventh Son.” Up the Irons!

Murray Street by Sonic Youth remains high on my list of the most mature late-in-career rock albums ever made. The jams on this album consistently hit a sweet spot between noise and harmony. By the end of Rain of Tin, the typical dirty guitar work of Thurston Moore and Lee Renaldo becomes Allman-Brothers-esque.

For those of you still feeling guilty for not giving me a birthday present, please get me some studio time with Jim O’Rourke. I love his engineering on Murray Street and his mixing of Joanna Newsom’s Ys. Both of these albums speak to my concerns about the contemporary “volume wars” in the music industry (see p.16, the final passage of the Nova Anatomia).

Des Moines

Des Moines was flooded severely as were many other spots in Iowa, including Ames-home of the University of Iowa-and Mason City where we head tonight.

We played in a hip lil neighborhood, nestled in the middle Des Moines.

The Mars Cafe

The Mars Cafe is big. It feels spacious. But it’s actually hipper than outer space. As we know from The Most Stellar Cartographer, outer space is being colonized by an imperial government that uses the maps of our fair and God-loving cartographer for military means. Outer space is lacking in hipness these days as soldiers hold the line, flexing and straining their smart bombs and vying to keep all other governments from similar colonizing missions.

By contrast, The Mars Cafe streams hip electro pop over its speakers. The melange provides the background for the mingling of a mix of Drake college students, young professionals, and hipsters with tight jeans, meticulously angled hair, and multiple belts (here we see a tiny parallel between the Mars Cafe and the real Outer Space as a second belt IS useful when colonizing outer space: everyone needs an accessible place to store excess ammunition when “hold[ing] their latitude”).

John, the Wednesday night manager at The Mars Cafe, made Adam and I comfortable. I’ve learned how sensitive I am to proprieters/workers. If they don’t want you around, or even worse, if they just don’t care (see the Day 1 entry on the US Beer Company), then I don’t feel much like putting myself on the line. John treated us well, helped us set up the PA, and showed us some enthusiasm with claps. He thought the corwd was receptive to us. He’s a visual artist. Some samples of his books were on display at the Mars Cafe (I’ll add a link to his work soon if I can find one).

The coffee and food is great here. They sell beer as well. Becca served us Americanos and hummus plates. Best of all, for performers, the place has a steady flow of bodies. We were consistently performing to a room of fifteen people. Many were around the corner; other were outside; but for a Wednesday night, this coffee house was hopping.

The Performance

The acoustics in the Mars Cafe are great-a sweet large room reverb. I received a good reaction to “A Wrinkle in the Blueprint of the Plan of Her Life”; that song went over well at the Green Leaf Coffee House as well. In my second 3-song set I played “Hey! We Gas Up at the Pump,” “The Boys Who Bring it on Home,” and “Woohoo!” These three got a good reaction from the crowd. Tonight was the first time I’ve played Woohoo! on the trip. I usually play it late in sets but I moved it up because I wasn’t able to finish either of my sets during the first two shows.

I broke a string during Lately, She’s a Sea Monkey. For those of you who know the song, the descending melody of the chord progression is entirely dependent upon one string-the D…and I broke the D. I’ve never had that happen before so the solo was a cacophony of bad news and percussive brokenness. I had to conclude the song playing the same chord over and over again. And smiling about the misfortune. Adam and I are even: 3 strings broken each (in 3 performances).

Adam played one of my favorite songs of his, Counterfeit Heart. He also performed his Doogie Howser song, “NPH”, for the first time this trip.

The highlight of the evening: Andrew showed up! Thanks so much for coming from Ames to hear us, Andrew.

Thanks to John and Becca for making us comfortable and Daniel for booking us.

Tonight, we sleep in the concrete seas of the Devil’s offering. Tomorrow, we travel to Mason City, IA to play the Coffeecat.

Thinking of you all in those moments when I’m not showering,
Carson

yep. Iowa.

In the meantime, a recipe:
Ka’s Keep Ye Regular Cookies [with scrumptuous flax seeds]

1 1/3 C butter
1 1/3 C Brown sugar
1/4 C yogurt
1 egg
3 C flour
1 cup oats or 3 cups granola (you may need milk to moisten if you use granola)
1 tsp baking soda
1 tsp baking powder
flax seeds

MIX WITH HANDS

bake at 350 for 10-12 minutes

Ymmm…proto-corn syrup.

And I’ll sign off with some pics of Chicago from the vault of the trip.

Miss you readers. Looking forward to playing at The Mars Cafe in Des Moines.
Carson