6.23.09: New York City

House concert season seems to be heating up. I had only done a handful of these private shows before this year but I've already done 2 this month and have another few on the schedule for July. The shows are always fun, always interesting, always a new experience and the bag of tricks (both musical and of the human variety) that I bring out to the shows are always different.

A few weeks ago it was New Hampshire. I had never played New Hampshire and had only crossed the state lines once or twice. "Live Free Or Die," the sign advised as I entered and I wasn't about to argue. Driving a car with some friends (Jason and Linda), some guitars, amps and a few drums felt pretty free. Maybe not 'Easy Rider' free but maybe something between Woody Guthrie and the Grateful Dead free.

That particular show straddled the folk and rock sound in able fashion (folk! Rock! Imagine the potential!) Burgers and hot dogs grilled on the patio while we were grilled by requests on the makeshift stage inside. Flamin' Groovies? Roxy Music? No problem. Songs off one of my earlier solo records. Hmmm.... A little tougher but we'll give it a try. Standing outside after the show, holding a beer, smelling the trees and watching the stars (most of these house concerts are far from the lights and glare of the big rock club cities) reminded me that we were far from, say, the Mercury Lounge and the East Village.

And last weekend Home Delivery Caravan was joined by Dave and it was the full -on Miracle 3 coming to your town and hoping to party it down. The town in question this time was Shirley, Mass. (Shirley! You Must Be Joking! I couldn't resist). We were given free reign to play near our full volume (the nearest neighbors were the hosts' two horses living in the barn behind the house and they weren't about to complain). The three hours of music were augmented by barbecued ribs and chicken, cornbread and various libations that eventually had the revelers (most of who were celebrating impending or recently passed 40th birthdays) dancing wildly to lengthy and frenetic versions of "John Coltrane Stereo Blues," "Amphetamine" and "The Days of Wine and Roses."

Yeah, I'm really getting into this modern version of the old-fashioned life of the wandering troubadour. It's a nice variation on the touring club scene-each bringing delights and surprises in their own way. So, if you're home one night watching "Lost" and hear a band down the road that sounds like they're playing a song off "...tick...tick...tick," that band just might be us. Bring some burgers. The grill is hot.

PS....Thanks, Kudos and Congrats to Jack (Bow, NH) and Alex and Andrew (Shirley, MA) for throwing down some mighty fine parties.

RECENT FAVES:

• FEAR STRIKES OUT (movie)
• A POSSIBIILITY OF AN ISLAND-MICHEL HOUELLEBECQ (book)
• Anything by NINA SIMONE or LINK WRAY
• IPPUDO NY (Ramen Restaurant, East Village)
• JASON JONES' REPORTS FROM IRAN ON "THE DAILY SHOW" (TV)
• KILLINGSWORTH-MINUS 5 (CD)
• DECEMBERISTS @ RADIO CITY MUSIC HALL (concert)

6.22.09: New York City

So, I'm sitting on a cement ledge near Symphony Space on the Upper West Side of Manhattan. I was just wrapping up a phone call when a guy walks up and sits right next to me. Now, you really can't get all worked up about personal space in New York City because there really is no such thing. But there, in fact, WAS plenty of space around me. Anyway, I figure no problem. I'm done with my call and I'll be moving on in a minute or two.

I finish my call and put the phone back in my pocket. He fixes his eyes on me and I can tell I'm in for an interesting ride.

"Do you think people ever get tired of talking,?" he asks.

"Maybe. Talking's overrated," I answer. I don't necessarily believe that but I figured it would either move the conversation along or provide me with an exit strategy.

He laughs and says, "Talking's overrated. I like that. I think I'll use it in a song. I've written a couple of songs. I think it would make a good song." He laughed, pulled a can of Colt 45 out of his big, stuck in a straw and chuckled. "Yeah, talking's overrated. That's a good song."

"I've written about a thousand songs," I answered, inhaling the pungent smell of the malt liquor. "So you can have it."

"Yeah, I've written a few songs. Do you know this one?" He starts singing "Runaway." "I was there when that song was written. Just me, Del Shannon, Fuzzy Linhardt and a bag of cocaine."

"Really." I took the bait. "Are you telling me that you wrote 'Runaway?'

"No. I didn't write that one. . But I was there when it was written.'" He sucked a big gulp of beer through the straw. "But I did write another song that Bette Midler stole from me. You know this one?" He starts singing, "But you got to have friends..."

"Yeah, I know that one. You wrote that?"

"I wrote that song but Bette Midler ripped me off." He gets bored with that subject and he's back with Del Shannon again. "You know who else was in that room when he wrote 'Runaway?' Todd Rundgren."

I couldn't help it. I had to play fact-checker. "Todd Rundgren wasn't there. He would have been a baby." Maybe not true but close enough."

"Oh yeah. He was there. I'm sure of it. He wasn't a baby." The guy gets up, stretches, pulls off his t-shirt, exposing a pasty and flabby midsection and blurry tattoos on his upper arms. He walks over to the corner of 95th and Broadway and dumps the t-shirt in the trash can.

This is my cue to leave. "And he lived in Philadelphia," I said.

The guy pulls another t-shirt out of the bag that also had contained the beer. "You couldn't pay me to live in Philadelphia."

I'm on my way but point out "Well, they've got good cheese steaks."

He smiles. "They've got good cheese steaks right here in New York."

And you know what? He's right.

5.16.09: New York City

Finally made it out to the new Yankee Stadium (aka The House That Was Built To Pay A-Rod's Salary) last night to see the Bronx Bombers take on the Minnesota Twins. Great game-everything you could want from a night of baseball. An early pitching duel gave way to a plethora of home runs (including an inside-the-park home run by the speedy Brett Gardner) And the local squad won the game on the last play, a walk-off two-run single by Melky Cabrera, delighting everyone in the house except possibly Linda who does, after all, hail from Minneapolis.

Now, I realize that the last paragraph just sent many of you into a confused, catatonic (dare I say BORED) swoon. And that's fine. We don't have to share all the same hobbies (there might be some of you out there who-gasp-don't care about food, the dreaded "eat-to-live" crowd who counters the much preferred "live-to-eat" variety). But the baseball season has begun and with it has come news that The Baseball Project will be doing a festival in Spain in August followed by a six-week US tour later that month and stretching into October. This is great news. I really enjoyed making that record and was disappointed that we were only able to do 2 gigs (that would be our wedding and the Letterman show, a weird First Two Gigs for any band) when the record came out. We'll certainly make up for lost time before the year is over-dates soon to come.

It also looks like we'll be making a follow-up to "Frozen Ropes and Dying Quails" before the tour begins so I suddenly find myself being able to justify baseball watching as Actual Research, an immersion songwriting program (watered-down beer and stale peanuts can only help the process, I suppose). And then the Miracle 3 will be hitting the studio towards the end of the year. In other words, a busy year ahead. Just don't book anything for late October. That would be the World Series. And after last night's dramatic win, optimism reigns supreme, one of the joys of a sport whose season lasts 162 games. It's ain't over 'til it's over. Which very well could be, oh, sometime around late September.

Recent Faves:

• LIFE ON THE FLY-AZITA (CD)
• "POP LIE"-OKKERVIL RIVER (song)
• LOBEL'S STEAK SANDWICH W/HORSERADISH (yankee stadium food)
• NILS LOFGREN'S SOLO on 'THE GHOST OF TOM JOAD" (Bruce Springsteen concert, Minneapolis 5/11)
• THE WIRE, SEASON 5 (TV)
• THE WAY HOME-GEORGE PELECANOS (BOOK)
• WIEN-ERNST MOLDEN (CD)
• TLACOYAS (new addition to the Taco Truck 96th and Broadway)
• DELIVER US FROM PEOPLE-WALKER KONG (CD)

5.01.09: New York City

Man, forget about the Beatles vs. The Stones. Oh, wait. You DID forget? Okay, then you might want to remember that long-debated subject of rock geeks that has raged and then snoozed and then raged again for, yes, generations. Okay, you remember that one now? Fine. Now forget it. It's ancient history. One band broke up and the other is a living museum piece, a hologram, a set piece for Martin Scorcese. No, the classic rock battle that still matters is Bob vs. Neil, especially since both of them buck the odds and redefine the concept of the aging rock star. Both of them have managed to keep fresh, maintain the element of surprise, seeming like they still care and continuing to make some of their best music.

And, as with any career approaching 50 years (can that be? And is my own moving towards that number in its own sweet time), there are going to be ups and downs. Dylan hit some dreadful lows just as Neil Young was waking up from his artistic slumber with records like "Freedom," "Ragged Glory" and "Sleeps With Angels." And then Bob made a couple of his best records ("Time Out of Mind" and "Love and Theft") while Neil was idling with records that were adequate but hardly inspired. Dylan's been on a roll with his radio show, his autobiography and the last few albums.

This might be the first time in a while that they both have new records out at the same time and I gotta say that I give the showdown to Neil Young. Dylan's "Together Through Time" is a spirited album, a fun album, an album with moments of brilliance but Neil Young's "Fork In The Road" is a loopy, funky, freaky record that feels tossed off in all the best ways and, in fact, reminds me of "Reactor," another overlooked Neil broken classic. I think the current rock critic (and fan?) conventional wisdom may not agree with my take on things but I can't stop listening to "Fork In The Road." And the videos are amazing (up on YouTube for your viewing pleasure). Hey, it's amazing (and personally inspiring) that these guys are still taking chances, pushing themselves and hitting moments of brilliance at this point in their career but I'm going to have to give 2009 to Neil, especially with Archives, Vol. 1 on the horizon

Yes, that's about as geeky a post as I've written in a while. But I find that I've been listening to a lot of music lately, finding more faves than usual. Between some of the people I met at last week's Lou Reed tribute in Vienna and oddities found on Emusic and Croz.FM and recent shopping in the East Village it's been all music, all the time. Here are a few things that stand out.

• Fulani Journey-Afrissippi (CD)
• "Franklin's Tower"-Grateful Dead (song)
• "A Short While Ago"-Chris Smither (song)
• Libra-Gary Barttz (CD)
• "Motorhead"-Hawkwind (song)
• "Foot Of Pride"-Lou Reed (song)
• Sometimes I Wish We Were an Eagle-Bill Callahan (CD)
• "Goodnight Oslo"-Robyn Hitchcock (song)
• Rhythm Spell-Terry Adams (CD)
• "People Make the World Go Round"-Ruddy Thomas (song)
• Dance Hall Style-Horace Andy (CD)
• Keep It Hid-Dan Auerbach (CD)

And I would go on from there but I see it's 6pm and I'll be on stage on the Lower East Side with Chris Brokaw in just a few hours. I mean, it's enough to listen to a bunch of music but now and then you gotta make some of your own, right?

4.10.09: New York City

Now, let's see. The last time I checked in with these pages I was sitting on a Delta flight to Venice from JFK. And now? I'm sitting on a very similar flight going back home from Venice to JFK. A week must have passed. The date on my MacBook (that's product placement, Steve Jobs, I'm still waiting for my endorsement) tells me that it has. I'm more tired than I was a week ago so something must have happened. I'm sure it did even though the only change I can see from my current perspective is that I am sitting 2 rows closer to the pilot than I was 168 hours ago.

Ah yes! I was in Ljubljana. The prodigal tourist (hardly a son-the adoption papers never came through) was returning home to Trubarjeva Street (cf: the back cover of Crossing Dragon Bridge) to return the sound and vibe and memories of his album to its rightful homeland. I was brought over to play one show, a live start-to-finish rendition of CDB with many of the local legends-Chris Eckman, Vlado Kreslin, Blas Celarec, Ziga Golop-who appeared on the record. The show culminated with all of us onstage for a marathon version of "Down By The River." I don't think Neil Young was placing his sinister character by the banks of the Ljubljanica but it all seemed to fit somehow.

One of the highlights of the show was the chance to finally meet Tomaz Pengov, who wrote "She Came," the song I covered on the album. Tomaz made a couple of incredible albums in the early 70s and then slowly extracted himself from the scene. In terms of music and his actual life story he is a hybrid of Syd Barrett, Townes Van Zandt and Leonard Cohen. I don't think he makes it out to many shows and everyone was excited to see him-even Vlado, the biggest recording artist in the history of Slovenia, seemed slightly cowed by his presence. Tomaz brought me a copy of his second album, a record I had been trying to find for the last 18 months and told me he liked my version of his song. And he stayed with us until we finally left at 3am, something that I'm told is very unusual for him. Check out this photo of us together (if you are reading this on my website-otherwise look in the photo section elsewhere on this MySpace page). What a guy!

And food! You knew I had to get around to food. There were many highlights but the biggest revelation was dropping into the Pomf diner and having my first bowl of Jota, a cabbage soup that seems to bring most Slovenians into a state of reverie, filling them with memories of mothers and grandmothers and cold winter days. A big bowl of the stuff cost 1.50 euros (3 if you wanted a hunk of sausage-which, of course, I did-tossed into the mix). Incredible and enough to stave off hunger for the rest of the day. And then there is the ubiquitous burek, the greasy, nasty puff pastry (filled with either meat, cheese or spinach although I'm told that only the former of those ingredients makes the TRUE burek) that is best used to soak up a night of revelry and stave off the inevitable hangover. I tried my first burek by the light of day and it still tasted good.

And that was that. The truly symbolic end to 18 months of recording and then touring for one of my favorite records I have made. What's next? Well, let's start with a roll of quarters for the laundry and a slice of pizza down the street (APRIL 10)

4.03.09: Ljubljana, Slovenia

It's strange, the things you'll watch on an airplane that you would never watch at home. I swear that I have been entranced by "Everybody Loves Raymond" while high up in the air but never watched it in my living room. And now I've just watched five back-to-back episodes of "In Treatment" and am somewhat relieved that there are no more on the in-flight menu on this flight from JFK to Venice. It's actually a really good show. I can see why Gabriel Byrne won an award for his acting on this show. And it's a therapeutic voyeuristic thrill while surrounded by hundreds of strangers, most of whom are asleep right now.

I'm on my way to Venice where I'll be picked up by Chris Eckman who will drive me back to Ljubljana. I have a show there next Tuesday, the closing chapter on the 18 months of "Crossing Dragon Bridge" that began right there in October of 2007. I'm staying in the same hotel, I'll be frequenting the same cafes and hunting down the same gyro at 2am. It's not that I'm not open to new adve ntures but there will be some comfort in the full circle that this gig will provide.

And then there is a strange sadness in the full circle. When I came to Ljubljana to make the record my friend Katherine was in the final stages of her fight against colon cancer and finally succumbed while I was making the record. I had my last conversation with her from an internet calling booth by the river and her spirit and humor and friendship was a strong presence on the whole record. Now I am returning just a few days after hearing that my friend and sometimes bandmate Duane Jarvis died from colon cancer this week We last played together at the Cinema Bar in LA in November. He knew that things were getting worse, was very matter-of-fact about his battle and yet dove into his tacos at our pre-gig Mexican food stand before the show as well as our songs together that night with the same joy and enthusiasm, smiling about the food, about the music and about the time we were spending together. Duane made some really great records and added his spirit and talent and love to music by people like John Prine and Lucinda Williams and Michelle Shocked. I really liked him and I'm so sad that he's gone.

I see the drink cart coming down the aisle. I think I'll get a shot of something brown and raise a toast to my fallen pal.

3.11.09: New York City

I've been told that mentioning the words "Vegas" and "Divorce" in my latest Tales Of Urban Delight will bring in a whole wealth of new and very confused Googlers today. And that's a human behavior experiment that I'm willing to try. So…if you're reading this blog, this diary, this missive, please be assured that I am not the casino owner, am not a multi-zillionaire and that divorce is the furthest thing from my mind. Well, that's not true. The divorce of my namesake is on my mind. But only until I finish this paragraph.

Now. Where was I? What was I saying? I can't remember a thing.

Seriously, I don't think that my namesake (he spells HIS first name with a "ph," the poser!) would have even begun to contemplate divorce had he watched HIS wife rock the drums so mightily with Dee Snider last week. I've got to say that I imagined many things when I was young but never quite imagined that I would someday watch my wife playing on stage with the architect of the Nuggets compilation and the leader of the dBs while they backed the leader of Twisted Sister on his biggest hits. I mean, Twisted Sister didn't even exist at the time. I've gotta say it was also quite a thrill to back Lenny Kaye on a version of "Gloria" and seeing his eyebrows raise with delight over my various lead guitar squonks and squeals during his middle section rap.

Middle Section Rap! Sounds like a hip hop anthem for AARP. Note to self.

The mixture of past and present and the leveling of the playing field between heroes and pals will continue tonight when we go to Carnegie Hall (how do we get there? Practice? Nah, the 1-Train will do just fine) to see an REM tribute show featuring the previously mentioned dBs and Lenny Kaye (as part of the Patti Smith Group) and Calexico and my new pal Rhett Miller who I met last Saturday in Philly. My bandmate in The Baseball Project Peter Buck (he's also in REM. Did you know that?) will be in town and invited us to the show. Full reports will follow although you shouldn't expect anything that mentions "Vegas" or "Divorce"-I never play the same con twice.

RECENT FAVES:

• GARY BARTZ-"Juju Street Songs" and on-stage with McCoy Tyner (jazz)
• CHEESE STEAK AT CARMEN'S CHEESE STEAKS (food in Philadelphia)
• NETHERLANDS BEATS DOMINICAN REPUBLIC (WBC baseball)
• INTO THE WILD (movie)
• FEATURE ON DAVID FOSTER WALLACE (article in New Yorker)
• GOODNIGHT OSLO-ROBYN HITCHCOCK AND THE VENUS 3 (CD)
• TLAPOYO DE POLLO (taco truck 96th and Broadway)
• HERE AND NOW--PETER HOLSAPPLE AND CHRIS STAMEY (CD)
• "PEOPLE MAKE THE WORLD GO ROUND" (extended version)-STYLISTICS (CD)

2.20.09: New York City

Inspiration is where you find it and here in New York there's plenty to be found especially on a week like this. All you have to do is to venture beyond your front door which seems pretty daunting on a cold day like today. And I will get outside if nothing else to play some harmonica tonight at the Lakeside Lounge during a set by the Prima Ballerinas, an all-girl New York Dolls cover band featuring one Linda Pitmon on drums. I will very likely turn 49 right at the moment I blow those first blues notes on "Pills," the old Bo Diddley classic. It's a good thing to begin your 50th year on the planet with a harmonica in your hand.

Of course, I'm just a mere child compared to the man I saw on stage last night. Leonard Cohen played down the street at the Beacon Theater. I think he's 74 although some of the math wouldn't quite add up. I would say he's closer to 80. Doesn't matter. He played for well over 3 hours, dropped repeatedly to one or both knees almost like a cross between James Brown and Al Jolson, skipped-actually SKIPPED-off stage before each encore and pretty much played every song you would want to hear him play. And he played them with more skill, emotion, nuance and passion than you could ever hope to hear from a man who was born during the first term of FDR's presidency.

But that wasn't the full extent of this weeks Inspiration From Old Guys. Linda and I went to see Loudon Wainwright at the Blender Theater on Wednesday. I believe he had played in Manhattan more recently than Leonard's last show in the early 90s but he doesn't play around here much more than that. The last time I saw him was in Olso back in the mid-90s, just a few years after we shared a festival stage in Brugges. I had forgotten how great he is on stage. Yes, he's a great songwriter. You know that (and if you don't, you should check out his records immediately). And he's probably best known these days as "Rufus and Martha's Dad." But on stage it's another story. I've never seen anyone who actually LIVES every word of every song so vividly during a show. It's almost as though he is experiencing each moment during the song in the moment when the event first happened. It's really something to see although it's hard to say when you'll get the chance. I think he might be doing just fine with soundtrack and acting work. Oh, and keeping up on the careers of his kids (Rufus joined his Dad for one song, by the way).

But an equally awe-inspiring and maybe more easily accessible moment of inspiration happened on Tuesday as I wandered the length of 14th Street and listened to all 17 minutes of "Highlands" by Bob Dylan on my headphones. Since I don't have the opportunity to put an "Ask My About My Grandkids" sticker on my car (I have neither a car nor Grandchildren) I should have an "Ask me about 'Highlands'" sticker on the back of my coat. I love this song and truly believe you can only appreciate it if you hear the entire song from start to finish. If it wasn't for "Tangled Up in Blue" or "Every Grain of Sand" I would say it's the best song he's ever written (which is to say that if it weren't for those songs or "Famous Blue Raincoat" or "First We Take Manhattan" or "Motel Blues" or "The Man Who Couldn't Cry," it would be the best song ever written). It's "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" as performed by Charlie Chaplin, it's a mix of the profound and the mundane much like life itself. And it quite neatly gets you across the width of Manhattan if you walk quickly enough.

And all of that inspiration should certainly should send me on my way to a new record, a few rock operas and the 2nd and 3rd volumes of the Baseball Project (it is Spring Training after all) but there's a cold, biting day outside just daring me to take it on. I don't know if I'll last the duration of any 17 minute songs but there's a Minutemen song or 2 that I'm wiling to enjoy.

2.08.09: THE ROAD TO ZARAGOZA

For a while there it seemed that every rock show was being held in a disco that was slightly augmented to accommodate live music. Bands would play to devoted fans who would then be unceremoniously ushered out rapidly to make room for the club kiddies who would pour in to dance to techno (remember "techno?") until dawn. Promoters of such clubs were often music fans that continued to book live music because they WANTED to but would also book the disco nights because they HAD to. The heyday of such things were the early 90s, the height of the once-per-decade declaration that Rock Is Dead and that guitars were meant to be banished to the deepest recesses of the mustiest attic space. I remember such talk in the early 80s, again in the early 90s and I'm sure that some version of that manifesto will still be proclaimed 50 years from now when some kid discovers the wonders of an electric guitar for the first time and gives birth to some cool new band that makes rock music new and exciting once again. I'll be 98 and I'll be there in the audience.

Anyway, the era of "please-load-out-quickly-so-we-can-make-room-for-the-disco" has largely passed but last night's show at the Santana 27 in Bilbao was certainly a throwback. At midnight we were wrapping up a fiery show to a packed room and then soon after we were chatting with the fans and signing CDs but by 1am it was as though the show had never happened. Disco kiddies well into their weekend buzz (they had been huddled in the nooks and crannies of the industrial zone outside, drinking beer, wine and calimocho, the deadly mix of cheap red wine and coca cola) and were filing into the club as we were hustling our gear out and into the van. I was tossing my Stratocaster into the back seat when I saw a fight break out by the front door. Man, these two guys were going at it. They were separated by the bouncers and carried into the club, aloft horizontally with arms and legs flailing and then, apparently brought to OUR backstage room where Linda and a few other friends were hanging out. The two guys began to go at it again and within minutes blood was flowing, bones were breaking and our backstage resembled the end of a cheap wrestling match. We barely got out with the rest of our stuff and were back on the road leaving the insanity just as the police and ambulances began to arrive.

Needless to say the adrenaline was flowing by the time we got back to the hotel with our friends Esti and Ricky (old pals from Bilbao) and Hammi (who had flown down from Cologne) and we were ready to hit the town, hopefully tracking down Chris Brokaw and Steve Shelley who had played earlier that evening. But it was not meant to be. Steve and Chris had most likely gone to sleep by then and we couldn't find a bar that wasn't jam- packed and on the verge of yet ANOTHER bloodbath so we returned to the hotel lobby. Linda had a bottle of wine and some glasses but no corkscrew (this is what Hell very much might resemble). The hotel bar was closed but not locked and our heroes Chris and Josh hopped over the unattended bar in search of said corkscrew. No luck. But they DID manage to find a bottle of top-shelf vodka and a party did ensue. Yes, my friends, our sophisticated and well-dressed orchestral ensemble did break (or maybe just bent) the law but, let's face it, we had no choice and no blood was shed. And, best of all, nobody had to listen to bad remixes of a-Ha or Culture Club.

2.07.09: THE ROAD TO BILBAO

I usually play the Iguana Club when I'm in Vigo. Great place with unusual hours. You tend to sound check at midnight and then go to dinner before taking the stage at 2am at which time you play for 90 minutes before the club turns into a disco around 4am. It usually makes for advance tour burnout, good times and stories to tell when you get home (or stories to forget as soon as possible-take your pick). But this time we tried out the brand spanking new Club Mondo. Cool place-it had that "new club smell," all shiny and perfect. The backstage was bigger than many places I've played and the bar was covered by various hams, cheeses, pastries, breads and, of course, octopus. It was the continuation of what was an all-day non-stop parade of gluttony. And that meant that we had to play that much harder just to work the food off and get our systems back up to full speed. The plan was a success and by the time of the encore we were firing off Full Punk Orchestra first-time-on-the-tour versions of "Amphetamine," "Carolyn," "Annie and Me" and even the Cramps' "Human Fly." We talked with fans, signed CDs and then drank something called "black vodka" while talking about episodes of "Curb Your Enthusiasm."

Now we're back in our car/van 2-vehicle caravan on a long, long drive to Bilbao. Chris, Linda and I are in the sleek roadster with Marcos while Roberto is driving the van with Erik and Josh. In the course of 6 hours I've seen snow, sunshine, blue skies and clouds. I haven't seen fire and rain but I can hum a few bars. And speaking of bars, I have a feeling that a few of Bilbao's most famous are in our future as we're expecting to meet up with our old pal Hammi (who flew down from Cologne) as well as Chris Brokaw who is playing in town tonight with Christina Rosinvinge. Another late night? Of course! And with the end of this short tour only 36 hours away it's time to put the pedal to the metal, the fire to the brimstone, the nose to the grindstone, the hammer to the Gods. In other words, No Sleep Till Queens!