Billings MT

Landing on a snowy night in Billings Montana, I wondered if the Montana of memory would be waiting for me in the cold light of day, or if I had just made the whole thing up over time. Tomorrow would tell, and by the time I had checked in to my hotel and pulled my boots off, I found myself taking a 12 story look at a sleeping town, feeling far from home and missing the warm smile that for the next 11 days would have to be imagined at the other end of a telephone. Bill Withers was right, I thought; ain't no sunshine when she's gone.

The hotel was a stone's throw from the town's birthplace - the Billings Stockyard, established by Frederick Billings, then president of the Northern Pacific Railroad, and as I drifted off into a well overdue sleep, my last memory was of a lonesome whistle riding the frigid dark, and the low rumble of boxcars past my window.

Morning, and somewhere on these snow covered streets, i figured there must be a place to eat. Seeing as this was new terrain for me, I decided to take the scenic route, and soak up what I could. One thing came back to me from my previous Montana experience - the friendly locals. People say hello on the street with a natural ease. I had grown up in a small own where this was once the norm, but seems to have vanished with the new breed, but here in Montana, it's still part of a person's day.

Eventually I found myself in Mc Cormick's cafe, chowing down on an omelette made with the freshest ingredients I think I've ever tasted, in a relaxed and friendly atmosphere of locals and travelers. I was reminded of William Least Heat Moon's observation that a diner can be gauged by the amount of calendars hanging on the wall - a good one having upwards of four, a bad one only one if that.

But in the thirty years since he made that observation, I guess a lot has changed, and although there wasn't a calendar in sight, I couldn't have asked for a better respite from the blowing snow.

Montana knows what it is and is completely comfortable in it's own skin. I felt no sense of striving - just doing. It seems, to me at least, that people tend to their work, and say hi to each other along the way - maybe a testament to the state's rural and ranching past or not. I don't know .

Before the show, I waited in my hotel, and scanned from my window the now thawing streets, and saw that Billings is a flat grid surrounded on all sides by steep bluffs, an industrial town with the outskirts dotted with generic chain stores, and downtown supporting local businesses old and new. After leaving Billings in the rear view mirror, I'm left with the confidence that wherever I am when I think of Billings, Billings is just working ahead, and ready to say hi whenever I get back.

NYC

There's not a lot you can say about the big apple that hasn't been said - the only thing that comes to mind is that everything you've heard is probably true, and I'm sure someone's beaten me to the punch on that one.

New York feels and acts like one symbiotic whole. I get why some people love it and never leave, and i get why some can't stand the place, and why native New Yorkers just don't get that.

Ironically, in a town that holds some of the country's most iconic attractions - the Empire State Building, Statue of Liberty et al - the real attraction is the city itself. My advice to the casual visitor is to save the admission fees and just start walking, and walking aimlessly - take a left here, turn right on 5th, check out that store.......

New York moves comfortably fast; two words you don't hear together very often, but it's part of the towns character, which is what this place is all about .
There's plenty movies that owe New York an Oscar for a supporting role, and not just Woody Allen movies.

It was a cold January afternoon when the percussionist and I decided to take a stroll. Central Park was white, and the bare branches stretched into the cold grey sky.

Mickey Mantle's restaurant was buzzing with lunchers, and horses waited with their buggies for willing tourists and love-struck couples with a penchant for sub-zero horse rides.

We nosed around a few music stores on 48h street, relaxed with coffee and cheesecake at a busy greek deli on 5th, and after watching the world go by for a while, it was time to head back to he gig. All together, time well spent in the city that never sleeps.

New York's a city that happens in the corners of your eyes. It's a city of sights, sounds and smells, and that myth about New Yorkers being unfriendly? Quite the contrary - they just get to the point quicker.
So the thing to do is to just show up. Walk around. If you have a destination, ask a local for directions. You'll get a quick answer.

Fall

Just off the highway, the traffic hum was soft - it was a while before rush hour traffic.

The air was still, like surface water waiting to freeze. Above, the grey clouds were translucent in the afternoon light, reflecting on the bright crimson trees below that lined the cathedral walkway.
From beside me , I heard the suggestion "let's throw some leaves in the air - you can take a picture!".
The idea was like the last breath of summer , letting itself go out in style as Fall died too, and before i knew it, the leaves danced downward, like the snow that we already felt in the air, and i was reminded of a line I heard a long time ago;
on a clear day, you can see forever.

Matthew Sweet

Mathew who?

Well, up to recently, I didn't know , but now I know - Matthew Sweet had a lot of buzz in the US back in my college days, but since I spent my college days neither in the US or college, he was a mystery to me.

Here at First Avenue, Minneapolis' leading rock venue, all the ex-college crowd were out in force, hell bent on some of that sweet sweet, erm, Sweet.

And lemme tell ya, that guy has the voice of an angel and belted out a barrage of strong pop songs that defy category. I know that may be a little cliched, but it's true. But more of that in a little while; "howabouta hand f'r de op'nin' act..."

The Bridge, a largely blond young Alabama band were treading the boards pushing their new album which was produced by Mr. Sweet. An all female frontline sang super harmonies over well written eclectic pop/rock/retro numbers, driven from behind by a skinny young drummer that was totally engaged and engaging - think Levon Helm as a skinny young guy in a t shirt.

They finished their set to a well impressed audience, and made way for Mr. Sweet and his band, who looked like they could have fathered most of the opening act, or maybe just rolled 'em and smoked 'em . The drummer was lost under a hair-filled trilby hat and beard. Somewhere in there was a man.
The first guitar player was every inch the Jimmy Page- style rocker with some great RAAaaaawwwkkk! licks.

All together, they made a sweet (sorry) sound and drove each song out of the park, and amongst the many fans were an inordinate number who sang every note as if it would be their last act on this earth. A testament to Sweet's songs, and/or the fan's drunkenness/loyalty, but I'll vouch for the songs - i only had a few bottles of Grain Belt Premium (when in Rome...), and had they not all been new songs to me, I'm sure I would've been in the thick of the horde, singing amongst the many like I was singing in the shower.
Mr. Sweet, I like you a lot.

CAM-PAIN

Vote.

Ocean city NJ

Awesome. One word. No meaning. At least, not here in the United States, where it's bandied about willy nilly to describe everything from the size of the known universe to a cheeseburger . However, it's a word that kept reverberating as I walked around this most american of cities.
Ocean City. New Jersey with it's Cotton Candy, Ferris Wheel, shooting galleries, hot dogs, pinball, boardwalk, beach front, family-run motels, gelato and surreys. Awesome. Freakin' awesome.

The sun shone steadily, and the Atlantic was an inviting temperature for the first morning arrivals to the beach, staking their claim with parasols, coolers and towels.
The beach front stores had already woken up . Books, beach clothes and bad food were all there for the taking, along with every garishly colored chotchke imaginable, and before I could drag myself back to the motel, I already had three books, a souvenir lighter for a friend, and a hankering for some early morning ice cream. Time to go.

The motel, The Trade Winds, is a family-run, accidentally retro affair, given it's age. Everything clean and simple. Everything works, including the pool in the parking lot.

It felt a lot like the beach town setting for "Jaws", but without the blood or the shark, and as a dry town , it keeps the "Family" in "Family Holiday", and clearly, families have been flocking here for a long time -the boardwalk boasts businesses that were established in 1888 , and by necessity, it has been divided into lanes for joggers. walkers, bikes, and surreys. Indeed by mid afternoon, just crossing from the beach to the street demanded rapid neck movement, or maybe eyes in the back of your head

So if for just one day (or longer) you want to forget the job, the diet and the heavy traffic, I think I know a place where the gelato, the pizza slice and the lungful of fresh atlantic air will knock 'em all right out of your head.
Ocean City, NJ, you rock (dude).

Denver CO

Durn it. It seems that this blog entry on Denver has less to do with the city and more to do with the ups and downs of the touring musicians life. The festival schedule allowed little time for sight seeing, and with the glory of the Rocky mountains dominating the horizon and the sun shining from a clear blue sky, it was all i could do not to fire myself and just head for the hills. Maybe it was the lack of oxygen up there in the Mile High City, but it wouldn't have taken much to send me over the edge and looking at real estate.

The rigors of life on the road were summed up very succinctly by the band leader, Cathie when I said I'd be staying with a friend instead of the hotel; "Awww", she whined " you get to sleep in a house..." . It's the little things.....

I did manage to get into town for breakfast at a neat little place called "Dozen's". "Hm, odd name" I thought, until I opened the menu- -the theme is eggs and the menu is splattered with pictures of chickens and deliberate misspellings like " eggsactly" and "eggseptional" - the kind of thing that computer word processing software hates, as is being made very clear to me right now.

After that , it was time for a stroll, passing the colossal Denver Art Museum, I say passing and alas, not entering - the little window of time was closing fast.


Drun thing doesn't even fit on the screen.............


The stroll was nice, though, with the streets in Sunday mode - mellow and slow moving around the pedestrianized mall area, and i got the impression that even on a busy week day, the pace would remain pretty relaxed. This city is a world away from it's coastal peers, with a character all it's own.

Back to the festival grounds for the final performance, then eating, drinking a beer and hanging with the other bands and the hardworking volunteers, then back to the hotel for a few hours sleep and from there to the airport, where I am right now, New Jersey - bound for the next gig, the glorious Rockies watching each one of us get in line, take off our shoes, find our gate, wait for seat assignment etc etc etc etc . When I grow up, I want to be them.