Pig Out - "Power"

California, there we go

This license plate was affixed to a car down the street from the house in Sacramento where we played the final show of our tour last night. It really sums up the experience of the show.

We played in the back yard of this palatial house in the burbs, for a private party celebrating the safe homecoming of a soldier friend who had been in Iraq. Very nice people all. Plenty of free food and booze. So, all the makings of a fun party but hardly the right conditions for a Hands of Plenty show. The audience was all either over 45 or under 12. And no one paid us much mind. And we learned that we play pretty poorly beyond a certain level of intoxication. So it was quite a way to end this string of shows.

But whaatev - California has been good to us. Sure, Arcata sucked (much to the consternation of our once-Arcata-based friends), but San Francisco was wonderful (the show, the company, the city), Davis felt like a recharging of our batteries, with a ravenous crowd and wonderful people to relax with.

The show in Sacramento was equally good, but in yet another kind of way. When we arrived at Luna's, we greeted somewhat brusquely by the owner who, due to some communication breakdown somewhere along the line, was expecting just me and my guitar to grace his tiny stage - not five smelly dudes with four amps and a drum set. We could see his eyes bulge from their sockets when Dan wheeled in his enormous, coffin-like bass cab.

But i think we won him over in the end. We played between two very talented local songwriters, Vinnie Guidera (pictured) and Scott Bartenhagen. The place was tiny and so packed, with Jesse and Lisa, some of Dan's local entourage and bunch of other folks. So instead of going the Sophia's route, we played it cool and quiet, starting with Telephone and Empty Bed and easing ever so slowly into the more uptempo numbers.

And as the dance-happy crowd in Davis pushed to get dancier and happier, this small, polite audience pushed us to be ever more intimate. I loved it. I reflected on the idea of terroir that I wrote about here a couple days ago - the idea that there are still things that you have to go the source to find, that you can't have delivered to you. For an example, I slow-jammed a number of excerpts from the wall in the men's restroom.

A few samples:

"I just want to be a good father - bu the bitch won't let me."

And:

"The problem with poetry is that nothing rhymes with scrotum." (Though an older audience member rightly pointed out that "totem" fits.)

At any rate, while these were sentiments you might find expressed in any bathroom stall anywhere, these particular ones existed only in the men's room at Luna's in Sacramento, Cal. I'm struggling to articulate for myself just why that's important, but it has seemed almost magically so on this trip.

We crossed the border as I've been writing this. So hello again to Oregon and thanks to California for one of the best musical weeks of my life.

Days 6 and 7

Portland was great on Saturday, but I think our show in San Francisco might go down as the best of this tour, with Davis a close second.

It’s not that our performance at the Bollyhood was even that great. In fact, at our scheduled start time, things were looking decidedly grim. Aside from the bar staff, us and the headlining band, the place was empty. We thought it might down as another Seattle/Arcata experience. And we were only so-so for most of our performance — songs were a little sluggish, my energy level was down.

But as we played, the place started to fill — with friends from Sandpoint and Redlands, with parents of friends from Spokane, and with the loyal, passionate and remarkably international and multilingual fans of Diana Gameros and Makru. The latter were a boisterous crowd, and very supportive — even though our brand of white-bread, twangy pop felt a little out of place.

But everything came together at the end. I played my two San Francisco songs. (Singing “sorry that you led me to the Mission” in the middle of the Mission was exceedingly satisfying.) Then Makru broke out their battery of percussion instruments and joined us for our last two songs — “The Alligator’s New Skin” and Mark’s ukulele song.

It was utter magic. The band followed along beautifully, the crowd beat out a clap that was more sophisticated than we could even keep up with. The place was pounding. I felt like my soul left my body. I could’ve died happy, there on the dance floor.

Then Makru took the stage, with a fiery set of Latin barn-burners that had the entire crowd, including a flamenco-dancing cross dresser, on their feet. We clapped until our hands were raw. Moving on the dance floor, looking at the Benetton ad swinging around me, I thought, “This is what music is supposed to be.” Moving, laughing, singing, clapping, sharing the experience together.

Bringing people to the table to eat, essentially. That’s what I’ve likened it to since one especially moving homecoming show in Redlands around 2004. My friend Jesse Pizzitola — at whose kitchen table in Davis I’m now writing — came to that show, and we were talking about his love of food and farming. What was it about that drove him, that animated him? He told me that the toil and the sweat were worth it when, at the end of the day, you could get people around the table to share a meal together. There’s something innately human about that.

Brian Estes, a gardener for a CSA in Spokane, told me the same thing, when I interviewed him for a profile in The Inlander a few weeks ago. “It’s hard not to recognize someone’s humanity [at the dinner table],” he said. “Eating is so fundamental to who we are, and it’s so fundamentally pleasurable. It’s hard not to find yourself a more compassionate person when you have to look another person in the eyes to pass them something across the table.”

It’s the same with music, I think. It doesn’t matter what wind blew you onto the stage or dance floor, or from which direction, when you start dancing and clapping and singing and having fun together. I know that’s an impossibly simplistic, idealistic thing to say, and it’s not really an answer for anything. But it seems like a seed for something.

Last night in Davis was different. Not the romantic experience of San Francisco, but such a solid show. We played on the packed front porch of Sophia’s Thai Kitchen, a very hip and very happening place packed with college students and really nice people who were ready to dance. The venue is booked by Michael Leahy, a middle school counselor and the host of a popular Davis radio station. He’s connected to several of my musical friends from Portland and Spokane, and he’s such a sweet guy. Exceedingly nice. Very easy-going.

We played a short set, cutting out the slow tunes and hyping up the dancey numbers. People seemed to love it. And we made $200, which is nothing to sniff at. And we took another round of Fernet-Branca. And we met some very nice people afterwards (Brian was especially sociable last night…).

Today, we’re relaxing at the house of Jesse and his lovely wife Lisa, who is out stringing up tomatoes in the garden while we thumb through books and prepare for a swim in the pool across the street.

We’ll head to Sacramento this evening, for our penultimate show. I think the prospect of the tour ending is a little foreboding for all of us, but on a day like this, with such good company, and two really lovely shows behind us, it’s hard to worry about the future.

Holy moly. Diana Gameros and Makru are out-of-my-mind good. Tonight was one of the highlights of my musical career. More later.

Palace in the sky

I thought we had it pretty good in Seattle, when we slept on a Chris-Craft on Lake Union, but it's beginning to pale in comparison to our home on this second leg of our tour in Portland. We're staying with a friend who's house-sitting this giant, remote mansion for a family friend just west of downtown.


What a life.

Pool, sauna, weight room, theater-style basement TV room, animal heads on the wall, nothing but forest outside the windows, everything made of giant, lacquered logs and leather. Every ridiculous thing that a rich person could want is here, from the industrial kitchen to the nearby helicopter pad.


The owner apparently made his fortune in some form of technology or electronics or something and has spared no expense in building his abode. Or "fortress," which might be a better word judging from its arboreal remove and the master's reading material.


I'm withholding judgment, at any rate, as it's a pleasure to stay here. I slept last night in the massive, antler-chandelier-bedecked, screened-in porch area that hangs over the carport in front. It was cold and smelled wonderful.


And last night's show was an absolute thrill, as the Alberta Street Public House was packed to capacity with Jennie Wayne fans. Despite some sound problems that got us off to a late start, we rallied early, feeding off the energy of the audience (which apparently included a healthy number of Spokanite ex-pats). They ate it up. Didn't buy a lot of CDs, but they eat it up.

Jennie (pictured) and Pete, performing as John Heart Jackie, played after, and it was sweet and beautiful. A real treat to hear. They even ended with a song by our college friend, Ben. Which kind of blew my mind.


This morning, we're recovering from all that. Might go for a swim. Might go for a Skyline burger. It looks like we're going to stay in Portland for another night (with the possibility of playing a house show here at the Grand Manse), then head out Monday.

The Festival at Sandpoint!

This was my view from the stage at the Festival at Sandpoint last night. What a crowd! And this despite weather forecasters' promises of pea-sized hail and biblical torrents. In fact, the furrowed storm clouds hooked right around the festival grounds, ranting with impotent lightning but unable to touch us. Not a drop of rain. Just a warm breeze, dramatic scenery and some great music.

This was my second time playing the Festival. It gets better every time.

Now onto the CD release party!

The Filibuster CD Release Show!

Karli Fairbanks with a full band! Kevin Long opening! The Filibuster performed in its entirety with special guests Karli, Jessica Hand, Jamie Frost, Kim Wescott and Cameron LaPlante! Chas A. Phillips will curate this night of celebration and reckless extravagance.

Nice bill

For as many shows as it seems like we've been playing lately, we somehow haven't been playing many shows with other bands. Just us on the bill. So it was a pleasure last night to play with some really good groups.

We missed Spokanites Grand Sequioa, unfortunately, but we did catch the very fine Holy Rolling Empire (whose shirt I'm wearing and Gigantis CD I'm listening to on my way to Boise right now). They're from Tucson. Really nice guys.

Following them: Not an Airplane (pictured), from Sacramento. Man, did I enjoy their set. Simple instrumentation, no tricks. None needed. Just great songs given life by Nick's great voice.

The Rub: There weren't many people there to enjoy all this. Though the Downtown Crossing in Sandpoint reports record numbers lately, at other venues (Empyrean, Zola), attendance has been scant, at best. One of the HRE guys said many of their tour shows have been the same. Bad economy? Good weather? Whatever the case, not the best omen for next month's tour.

Me and Julio Down By His Old High School

It was another of those nights that made me glad to do what I do. Not because it was a great show. It was pretty empty at 6 pm on the day before July 4, just as we thought it might be. Few people were listening, and we didn't make much money. But I liked the venue, the Mandolin Cafe, a surprisingly large coffee shop on 12th Avenue that had mandolins everywhere and some very nice ladies behind the counter.

What's more, our set was followed by a two-hour block from Portland's The Student Loan, which features my old college friend (and Tacoma native) Julio Appling, on the bass. It was a pleasure to see him after so many years. An even greater pleasure to hear him, as he's become an absolute monster on the upright bass, turning what could've been staid bluegrass solos into dizzying flights of fancy. Very nice work. Their mandolin player, Chad Kimbler, played some draw-dropping stuff, too. Man oh man.

The capper for me was joining them onstage for a performance of "Amnesia," one of my songs from River Roads. Julio contacted me a year or two ago, asking if they could play it. I responded with an enthusiastic "yes." They've been performing it for a while now, in various states and countries around the world, but I had yet to hear it.

It was a tad different than my original recording, but in the best way possible. What a treat to stand there and hear the song played the way it has always wanted to be played. It just blew my mind.

A homecoming of sorts

The band and I are playing in Centralia, Washington this week. I can hardly wait.

Centralia is sister cities with Chehalis, the little town where I was born and where I lived until I was about five. Where my mother started a quilt shop and where my siblings and I used to swing from trees and dip in the creeks. On top of this, I have a bunch of family coming, including my father, who lives in Olympia and whose 60th birthday we're celebrating over the weekend. How quickly we grow up...

Plus, we're playing with the very talented Noah Gundersen. Hard to beat.

(That, to the right, is a picture of the Centralia/Chehalis area when the Chehalis River flooded last year. When I saw this on the news, my heart stopped.)

On Friday, we play in Tacoma — a different kind of treat. We're playing with a bluegrass/newgrass band from Portland called the Student Loan. It's a treat because their bass player is Julio Appling, with whom I went to college, and who recorded bass on a few songs from an album I made six years ago. In fact, Julio and the Student Loan have been playing one of my songs from that album, "Amnesia," in shows around the country. I'm absolutely thrilled to hear their version.

After that, it's back to Pop's place in Olympia for birthday celebrations and a round of golf with my brother and Jose Cuervo.

Couldn't be finer.