ABOUT TO START:
If you're really and truly an American, you and I shared the same lingering childhood desire: to have a place in the Guinness Book of World Records. Is there anything more American than that exalted dog-eared paperback? Though it's actually created, compiled and published in the U.K., when it comes to the human body and the dumb stuff you can do with said body, we colonists own that part of World Records.
As a child of 7 or 9 or so, I attempted to gain entry into the sacred scrolls on several occasions. The world pogo-ing record of 112 hours, 13 minutes and 33 seconds seemed well within reach, but despite repeated attempts on early suburban mornings, my personal best constantly fell short by about 111 hours.
Being a realist, I understood that I'd never match the piano-sized-coffin of the world's fattest man, Robert Earl Hughes, who weighed 1,069 pounds. But I did think the record held by fattest twins Billy and Benny McGuire (together more than 1,400 pounds) seemed like a reasonable goal--with the added incentive that you might get to ride across the country on minibikes just like they did. But two weeks into the bacon and butter regimen, my sister started asking questions, and I was thwarted yet again.
As for all the rest: Hula- hooping is a mystery to me. I'm a chronic fingernail biter. I had half-digested my Schwinn Sting-Ray when I learned the Guinness folks were no longer accepting records of that kind.
Eventually I discovered masturbation, and my Guinness Book of World Records dream was shelved along with visions of guest-hosting The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson.
But with the recent commencement of my fourth decade--and the concomitant decline in my masturbation frequency--and in conjunction with the two near misses by my beloved Philadelphia Eagles and the nostalgic tone of country music songwriters everywhere, I've decided to revisit those early dreams.
And on one particularly late, if not particularly sober, night, I came up with this question: Could my adult career as a folksinger (such as it is) somehow link up with my childhood dream to be in the Guinness Book of World Records? God help me, I think it could.
Beginning Aug. 3 and ending 51 days later, I will do something no other solo performer has ever lacked the good sense to do: I will play 50 folk music shows, in 50 states, in 50 days. I will limit myself to one show per day, 'cause playing four shows in Maine, New Hampshire, Vermont and Massachusetts and then taking the weekend off would be a puss move.
Anyway, I want to invite you onboard. Whether you're a fan of mine or of folk music (or the fat minibike twins), or if you're just somebody who can't help staring at a train wreck, I'll be glad to have your readerly encouragement. Because without your moral (and perhaps silent) support, I might be the first guy to play 36 shows in 32 states in 74 days. And really, that's hardly worth giving up masturbation, don't you agree?
Every other week, you folks can check in on me via this column and see how it's going out there in the red states. It'll be fun to take you along, and it's really a win/win proposition for you.
Proposition No. 1: It's going great. Beautiful bisexual women are throwing themselves at a future Guinness record holder, and you'll all be able to say you knew me before I was cool (that would be now). It'll be warm and fuzzy: You'll feel like we're in this together. Instead of feeling jealous, you can live vicariously through me.
Proposition No. 2: It's not going so good at all. I'm on a chain gang in Georgia, asking George Kennedy if he's seen my spoon because I'll die if I have to spend another night in the box. Or I'm in Utah playing to a guy and six of his scowling wives, while they drink diet Dr Pepper and plan my mysterious disappearance. In that case, you can feel good as you lie down on your own crisp cotton sheets, flip on the cable and crank the air conditioning--with your last sugarplum thought as you drift into sleep ... "At least I'm not him."
August 11th 2003- The coolest thing ever just happened. I'm in the Florida panhandle, buying my daily $50 of gasoline and a Slim Jim and a bottle of reverse osmosis water, and the gum-chewing crackerteen behind the register is ringing me up while she's talking to her much older, more sparsely toothed co-worker.
I'm not really paying attention to anything except my Slim Jim, 'cause, like all boys, I'm obsessed with my own Slim Jim and fearful that it's too slim, or not slim enough, or whatever. And actually in this instance I see that I have chosen a nacho cheese Jim, when what I really wanted was original flavor.
This is distressing, almost so distressing that I didn't hear my own name--well not actually my name, but one so similar that it made me look up, tune in and eavesdrop on the last part of the conversation. Adam Broad (rhymes with choad) ski (no pronounciatory difference from the -sky ending, but much more annoying).
"Huh? That sounds like me." I thought.
Anyway, crackerteen was telling the middle-aged minimum-wage earner*, "Yeah, he's driving around the whole country playing concerts."
"Hmmm," I thought, "that sounds familiar. I bet I could give that guy a few tips."
"He's setting some kind of record," crackerteen continued.
"Hey, this is starting to get spooky," I thought.
"So I went to the website, and it was all F-this and F-that and lots of talk about the Lord." She actually called him the Lord. "He's playing down there** tonight, but I told Holly not to go."
It was then that I could hold my tongue no longer. Mustering all of my cool wit, polished from years on the road, I looked into the face of that adorable little Baptist and said, "Um, pump five, this Slim Jim and a receipt, please."
Of course the rest of my drive was replete with all the cool things I could have said.
So I'm writing to y'all*** from a Kinko's in Pensacola, Fla., which according to my Quaker etymological sensibilities means Penn's soda.
Tonight will be day six of the 50-state tour, and things are starting to swing a bit. The U.S. map on the side of the Pequod is starting to fill up with stickers. The states are getting bigger, the stakes are getting higher and the probability of failure is also experiencing an exponential increase.
Last night I played in Atlanta, which is the last bastion of East Coast sensibility (such as it is) I will encounter for a while. I am now in the Central time zone. Or as the locals like to call it, "the preferred time zone of Jesus." I think I saw that on a billboard, along with "This blood's for you." It's not as succinct as "No dogs or Jews," but it still makes the point.
Last time through Atlanta I went to the Jimmy Carter Library. There were cool artifacts like a tapestry given to him by the shah of Iran (I guess Jimmy didn't really care for that gift) and a Mister Rogers-style sweater he wore for a White House fireside chat.
But what struck me most was the whole timbre of his presidency. I got to thinking that that poor guy really got goatscrewed. I mean, he wasn't really a good president, but he wasn't as bad as it looks on paper. But the thing that stayed with me and ultimately made it worth my $7 (even though I did try to flash my National Parks pass) was a fond nostalgia for a time when a smart hippie who just didn't want to kill anyone or tell lies could be elected president.
The CNN tour was booked, so this time through I went and saw the Martin Luther King Jr. National Historic Site. It was touching and all, but rather long on video kiosks with loops of smartly dressed civil rights protesters getting hosed by the sheriff, while short on cool artifacts.
I like to stand next to actual famous things. For instance, in the Dwight D. Eisenhower Library and gravesite in Abilene, Kan., for some unknown reason, they have Hawkeye's bathrobe. So here at the MLK Jr. NHS, I was hoping for something. I mean, I wasn't expecting Fonzie's jacket or anything, but it was mostly pictures, and not very much stuff. There were some of his church robes, but once you've seen Hawkeye's, you've pretty much been spoiled.
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I don't take that much music on the road with me, because in the course of the thirtysome thousand miles of this tour it just becomes a question of, "Well, which of my favorite records do I want to end up hating?" So I listen to a lot of books on tape. And I take a perverse thrill in right-wing talk radio. And out here, there is Christian right-wing talk radio. Which is a bounty.
Let me quote from the yahoo du jour, who's name I didn't catch, but it ain't Schwartz. I can tell you that. He was using the traditional right-wing radio device of asking himself questions and then answering them.
"Do I think the Patriot Act is a good idea?
"You bet.
"Do I think that some Fourth Amendment rights are being eclipsed?
"Probably.
"Does that bother me?
"No. I say, go get 'em. Mr. Bush is a Christian man, and won't use these laws on any but the evil, but I don't know who will succeed him, and that bothers me. But go get 'em, Mr. Bush."
You can't really argue with logic like that.
But let's look ahead. Tonight there is Florida, but really it's more the Alabama part of Florida, way the fuck out here on the panhandle. It doesn't really feel like the Florida you see on TV. I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing.
All I know is that in a few hours it won't matter 'cause I'll be headed to Alabama. Oh, and here's a fact. This bar carries Yuengling Lager. But my drink tickets cover only drafts, so it's Coors or Coors Light for the dork.
Tomorrow is Alabama, but not the Alabama part of Alabama. I'm playing this little artsy fartsy town called Fairhope. Think New Hope with a drawl (and a slightly better parking situation). I forget the name of the bar manager there, but I have a huge crush on her. First off, she's sexy as hell, and secondly she has a big fat boyfriend who sits on her couch all day. If there's anything sexier than cute girl who's into ugly guys, I don't wanna know about it.
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I don't know if you've ever taken any historical tours in the South. Presidents' houses, governors' mansions, Civil War battlefields, etc. But there is one common theme. In the past 20 years or so most, but not all of these tours have changed their script to include the word "slaves," rather than the euphemistic "servants," "field hands" or even "assistants." Once I think I even heard "black friends who came by every day to help for free."
So now they mostly say slaves, but there is one rationalization that seems to die hard. Whether you're in Maryland (the north of the South) or the deep South, wherever you find these tours, almost universally guided by 89-year-old Daughters of the Confederacy, they will at some point say something very similar to: "Well, yes, Missouri (or Virginia or Alabama) didn't really have the kind of slavery issues that they had in the deep South. There weren't but a few scattered slaves in the whole area here. That was really more of a deep Southern institution."
But I really don't want to leave you with the impression that I dislike the South. It's a shock to the system and all, and I could really do without all the Christ this and savior that, but having people be nice to you is cool, and the sweet tea tastes wonderful.
To me, the explanation of the new South lies at a simple crossroads in Mobile, Ala. I took a picture of it last time through. It's the intersection of West Jeff Davis Boulevard and Rosa Parks Avenue. That is the new South. And I'm gonna play every state they got, or die trying.
Next week it's Louisiana, Mississippi, Tennessee, Virginia, New Jersey, Connecticut, Massachusetts, Rhode Island, New Hampshire, Maine, Vermont, New York and then onward to the Midwest. See you out there. I'll be the dork with the guitar.
* I do not say that pejoratively. Minimum wage sounds like good money from where I sit.
** by which I'm sure she means Room Ten26 in Pensacola, not her vagina.
*** yous.
September 2nd 2003: howdy dorkateers.
the pequod is a mess and i haven't written a single new song, why? i hear you ask. well i querried myself that same question and here's what i came up with.
as you know, order, regimen, and disipline are the staples of any folksingers life. and it turns out that my highly ordered regimen is in need of some disipline. for you see, i have discovered something about myself. and that is, i clean the van, and write songs on off days. cause really what else do you have to do in a walmart parking lot in des moines?
well guess what i don't have any of?
so the pequod looks a bit like oscar madison's folkmobile. and the closet i came to a new song is when i sang the veeahaftah to the tune of diesel dyke during my overnight drive from the ass end of virgina to my apartment where i spent all of 3 hours.
you'll all be happy to know that grover silcox will be reporting on our little record attempt on the fox morning show chanell 29 in philadelphia, sometime between 7 and 9 am.
for those of you who don't hail from the city that loves you from behind, grover is the edward r murrow of 2 headed kitten type stories. he makes that punk don pollack look like, um um, well, don pollack. Grover and i had a nice time, kibbitzing and chuckling about the oxymoron that is fox news, "we ask the questions, others are too smart to ask"
anyway it ain't huntly & brinkly, its fox. so i'm now just a couple of steps from my dream interview with bill "fair and balanced" oreilly
hey, i have a bit of information that i have to share with you, our spies at PRHQ have discovered shocking information about the 50th show at the tin angel in philadelphia. well it wasn't so much a spy caper as a simple phone call (incoming), but that doesn't change the fact that i was told the show is getting very close to selling out.. or to use the medical term, selling the fuck out.
i am actually loathe to bring this up to you, cause i'm afraid its going to sound like bragging, despite what messrs clay, woods and bern say.
but as i think about that last show...fantasize actually. it occurs to me that it really wouldn't be right if some of you weren't there, or even worse, if some of you arrived and were turned away at the door and were forced to give birth in a manger or some shit like that.
especially if your seats were taken by that whole KYW NPR crowd. remember, the room isn't that big, and those minibike twins need 2 seate each at least. (although i suppose serano downstairs will order extra tuna to sear.
anyway what i'm saying is, you should come to this show, cause its gonna be very cool. and if you are gonna come, then you best buy tickets, and i don't mean eventually, they told me the show will sell out in the next few days. and i don't want it to, i want everyone to be able to be there.
so if it does sell out, and you still want to go, you will only have one choice. i can get you in, but you gotta put on a pair of chunky glasses, and play three chord folk songs and say fuck and stuff on the stage for about an hour. and when
people ask you about particular states, just say somehting like, "um, its all a blur, dude"
so go to tinangel.com or ticketweb.com or the phone number at the bottom of this email.
and i want to aleviate all of your fears. i am unstoppable. you can ask that fuckface at that quoteunquote punk rock coffeehouse in new jersey who pulled the plug on me all those years ago, or you can ask the vast canadian conspiracy who tried the same trick only on a larger scale. darkening the whole grid trying to shut me up. but it wont work, i can not be shut up, even if i don't have anything to say.
they tried to shut up kennedy, and ira einhorn, and martin and marcel marceau and flock of seagulls. well actually they did shut up flock of seagulls. but the rest of us are unstoppable.
they didn't count on me travelling with my own power generator. do they think they are the first people who didn't want to listen to folk music, hardly.
actually i bought the genny before i needed it. It is an Onan power generator, and that just sounded like something i would have a use for, but it turns out its not what you think. (thats what they told me in the emergency room.)
anyway i'm in the peoples republic of cambridge where last night i met some wonderful folks at the kendall, and now i'm off to providance, portsmouth, bar harbor, burlington, then syracuse, and then the midwest.
i am reveliing in being back in the mean nasty northeast, some guy cut me off yesterday, and i almost pulled over and kissed him, it was so cocklewarming.
but soon i will trade puritan tightasses for baptist or lutherin ones, and the drives will get longer, and the dork will get tireder. is tireder a word. it is now.
as some of you know, i had a little bit of a computer problem, and including the next day shipping and the exorbatent retail price (which pains my grandmother just to say) and the all night drive to philaelphia to retrieve patched up, little macintosh, i'm back, and this time the email is personal.
so i really appreciate all your wellwishing, and sometimes taunting emails. and i have quite the fuckload of them in my inbox. i'm wading through them and i'll respond to you personally i promise. (catching up on email is another favorite off day activity.
but i want to send out crazy mad props ,as they say, to sara kelly at the philadelphia weekly who edited last week's piece. i don't mean to shatter your glowing image of me, but i have to tell you, sometimes i'm not the best speler around. punctuation and grammar often elude i. (see).
anyway as the battery became the only power my sweet little ibook had at its disposal. i was in a race against time. and if you know anything about races against time, you know that time is undefeated, eubie blake gave it a scare a few years back, and my grandmother is makeing a respectable showing., so with 7 minutes of battery power left i sent the dear sweet ms, kelly a very rough very disjointed, very antiamerican email, i tried to pretend it had an apollo 13 feel to it, but it was much more like apollo 1. so then i had to call her and say, "um, dude, i'm totally sorry, i swear i could be a real journalist, but not today."
anyway if you read this piece. http://phillyweekly.com/article.asp?ArtID=5989 you will see that she did a total badass job fixing it up, everythings spelled right and she somehow made it look like it was all written at once, instead of 4 words at at time over many days.
so i wanna publicly thank her. and if you get the actual philadelphia weekly, y'know the one made of paper, you can see a really cool drawing they made. its much better looking than i actually am. so if i evern end up on one of those make over shows i'll ask them if they could treble the size of my head, and give me little tiny legs.
so i wanna thank her.
ok, i'm gonna go, i've gotta change the oil and shower, and clean the van and...o yeah, and drive 20 thousand miles and play 36 more shows.
c'mon out to the shows. especially in north dakota...did you guys know there are 2 dakotas? don't you think that's just a bit excessive. do we need 2 of them?
anyway i'll talk to you next week about how to roll over your 401k and other creative shelters in these complex times.
see you out there, i'll be the dork in the pequod.
adam
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howdy dorkateers.
this week the briefest of notes. as i am really really really tired.
actually i'm sort of regretting typing that third really, but to go back and delete is would require even more energy.
but here i am in bloomington, making my quarterly pilgrimage to the 60 inch TV, alas i only have a few more hours to bask in its warm radiating glow before its quicktly southward to urbana, then up to the northern Midwest. (WI, MN, IA) and then a few shows in the heretofore pointless states of NE, SD and ND, then onward to beautiful, yet big boned MT, WY and then fucked up, but fun in a bigamist kind of way, UT. after that i'll be back in somewhat familliar territory, the pacific northwest,
wich apparantly incudes AK and so on and so on.
but we're a couple of days from the halfway point, and although i'm tired, i'm really overwhelmed by all your support. you guys have been fantastic, and i really appreciate all your emails and stories and stuff, they give me strength that i really need.
also many many strange and wonderful peoples have come up to me and said, "i was told to come here by a friend...and when i ask who, they say how they were sworn to secrecy, or they mumble something about security clearance or they say "alan smithee" but the point is, thank you, i really appreciate that. you have no idea what a differenc one or two people can make against an angry mob.
just ask, jay in rhode island.
the point is, i'm feeling all warm and fuzzy toward most of you, especially the pretty girls. but even a creepy boy will do in a pinch.
the pequod is strong, the other day my new cabinet with my cooler on top, fell over and made quite a mess, but an hour or so by the side of the road airing out and hosing off, and she was as good as new. something smells a little rotten in
there, so i either didn't get all the little bits of lox out of the carpet, or its just my natural road funk.
everything seems strong, i'm 5894 miles in, many many many more thousands to be driven, but i'm feeling good.
some guy named tim gave me a mark twain book on tape, so i'm feeling good about heading out to calavaris county.
sadly in terms of presidential sightseeing this trip has been kind of a wash, because i play every goddamn day, it seems that its always the middle of the night when i'm passing rutherford b. hayes' homestead. or the andrew jackson indian scalp collection, or the benjamin harrison, i swear to god i was president for a few years library. (not to be confused with grand rapids' "gerald ford's U-Store wherehouse of stuff that happened in the two years when i was housesitting in washington.
it turns out they have the gun that squeaky fromme tried to kill him with.
that's good thinking on Gerry's part. i wish i had the foresight to keep that french fry that asshole threw at me, but instead i chucked it back in his fucking face.
grand rapids was actually a lot of fun, and it turns out a real live judge bought all my records, which is cool, since that makes money taken from me by judges this summer $2028, money given to me by judges, $30 woo hoo.
i told him he could play these records in his chambers, since they are pretty much the opposite of the 10 commandments.
o well.
anyway i must be going.
hey tomorrow i get to play in madison wisconson, with lis harvey, the current record holder, 50 states in 60 days.
ha.
anyway keep being nice to me. and now that all the shows are booked confirmed, i'm having tee shirts made for you big donators. so you got that to look forward to.
also, i'm catching up on the road diary's and they'll be available in the next 24 hours, i really hope so.
so thanks for your support, you guys are the best, i can't wait to see you out
there.
adam
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Tour Diary
day 1
ok, this was a swell way to kick off the debacle, the place was packed and everyone either actually gave me love or faked it beyond reproach.
there was an older couple george and linda, who’s decision to come out to the show was based soley on the 45 seconds or so of the NPR spot. (the power of the legitimate media) anyway they stood up front for the whole show, and even reluctantly chanted a few bars of Hookers and blow at the end of the evening.
then we all trooped outside to put the Delaware sticker on the Pequod.
i went back to jeremys and stayed up as long as i could, and eventually they went to smoke on teh deck, and i told them that i had to colapse.
tomorrow fletchers. we’ll see.
day 2
ok,
this was a scary one, when we called for the show, they were all about it, they said its no problem that its a monday, we’ll build a show around you. (i love it when that happens) but then when we called to advance the show, we were told, “um. that girl who was booking the room quit” without of course, booking any other bands to play in a 400 seat room on a monday night. now let me tell you, in a best case scenerio, my baltimore draw could play softball against each other. best case scenerio, right feild is foul. well that’s what we got, best case scenerio.
we moved the show downstaris to the lounge type area. its got red and black flames painted on the wall, and a bunch of pop culture icons’ 8x10’s with devil horns and mustaches sharpied in.
and, fuck me, that little room was nicely filled. i think 28 or so people. which is actually almost 3 sofball teams. enough for a tournement.
fun time, but more importantly the humilation was aborted...although i suppose postponed is perhaps a bettter word. there are many more monday nights ahead of me. and many more square pointless states. but now i drive south to sweat
day 3
good show,
they dug it, i was the feature at the open mic.
folks were nice, although i don’t know if they’ll come back again.
day 4
what a cool room, the accents are getting thiick, so its hard to remember that that doesn’t necessarily make people stupid.
i spoke to a guy that sounded like he was tought eleucution at strom thrumonds finishing school but he was a political consultant working for dick gephardt. (although he’s voting for dean, and actually told me he’s been trying to get his consulting firm to dump dick and pick up howard.
and the very sexy lesbian who wrote the article in the paper, not only came to the show, but dragged the whole softball team with her. that was cool.
we all laughed, cried, mourned the loss of dear old strom, and they expecially liked my civil war 2 idea. they are bread to be seccessionists down there.
day 5
i was just sqozen in here to play a 20 minute set then hit the road. but the opening band had another gig across town, so asked if i wouldn’t mind switching, which was fine by me. so instead of 2 i played to about 26 or so folks. the headliners friends and family mostly, her mom bought a CD with a $20 and said keep the change for gas. good people.
anyway 5 down, 45 to go. next stop pensecola florida...i don’t lke the sound of that.
day 6
one brotherly expat was there, the room was hot and empty, the sound guy had friends visiting from out of town, he was preoccupied, but still very nice.
his friends hated me, they pretty much walked out, which is kind of a shame since i think they were both grad students...i love grad students.
anyway i jumped off the stage and sang to the 8 or 10 folks who were there. it scared me cause throwing my voice away this early would mean i would have to rely on my mime skills for a week or so, and i’m very rusty, not to mention unattractive in black tights.
day 7
i love heather, and her boyfriend bobby.
this was the day my computer took a header. and i was kind of distraught. i drove from pensecola to mobile to buy an AC adapter at almost twice the mail order price, but that wasn’t the problem, i then fed exed the machine back to philadelphia and if they could fix it i would pick it up between VA, and NJ. obviously it worked out, but i spent around 300 on a macning which might be worth 500 but once you’re in for a c-note, you gotta keep spending. o well.
anyway the alabama show was fun although very sparsly attended. the hightlight for me was when this skinny legged thick musthacheoed 40 something began to boo and offered to “beat my ass” i asked him to elaborate beyone boo, but he wasn’t very capable. eventually i coaxed some scant information out of him, “i just don’t like your music” he drawled.
“dude, i really feel sorry for you, cause you are in the one bar in the country where i am playing my songs. sucks to be you.”
but heather made me a care package. and her tummy is so flat i want to eat gumbo off of it. but don’t tell her i said that.
day 8
i’ve never been to the french quarter on a hot summer sunday...borbon st. smells like vomit. the locals tell me that is dereguer or whatever.
last time i played this coffee house i thought i’m never comng back here again. and yet here i was.
thhere arre a few of these on the tour, but you gotta get those check marks in.
anyway i showed up at 6 like my load in said, and when i walked in, i was told that they didn’t open till 7. i said, “i’m adam i’m playing tonight” and they just looked at me with a cajun look that said, i don’t care if you’re paul prudolme, come back at seven. so i thought this was gonna suck.
Again i was the feature at the open mic, and they really loved it. i sold stuff, and made tip money, and people signed the list.
nice surprise.
this was also the day that the van didn’t start, first at a rest stop in MS, so i jiggled the terminal connection and got it started.
then in teh french quarter. at this point i knew i had to get the fucker started 2 more times. once to the club, and once after the club, where i’d drive straight through to hattiesburg MS to a sears auto center and let them deal with it.
as i scraped away what looked like dirty metal, but was really corrosion i found enough new shiny metal for the batery to turn the engine over and swappig out both terminals only cost $10 so that was a scare, but not a bad scare. that same morning i spoke to dempsy at bundy computer repair who said if i sent him my ibook, he could try to fix it by thursday morning when i swing through town.
although overnight shipping was $52.
day 9
this willl be a fun place, they were very nice, to open up the club on a monday night, they are normaly closed.
a few people straggled in, and i played sans PA. actually put on a good show. but it was here that i realized that i left the tapes of the first 7 shows in new orleans, along with a weird mac cable.
o well. it was a good excuse to stop tapingh the shows. its a hassle and i know i won’t enjoy listeneng to them. although when ever something majical happens, like what happened a 2 weeks from now in providance. i’m sorry tape wasn’t rolling.
anyay the show was fun, and there was a cute girl who offered me a place to crash
my van is as comfortable as any couch. and i’d rather get some driving done.
day 10
slow night.
i showed up at my written load in time 7, and no one was there, so i played guitar on a bench and made $6. and at one point knoxvilles finest took some weird guy offf in a paddy wagon,
acutally people in teh bay window of the restaurant kept staring and finaly s big ex football looking player type guy came over and handed me $5 to play “bad boys (the theme from cops” i didn’t really know it plus i have an anti regge clause in my contract, so i played the bluegrass version.
around 8:15 or so, the bartender finally showed up. and let me in. he was mountain sheik. he looked like one of zak hurley’s friends...y’know like marah.
anyway i played, and nobody left the bar to come up front and see the music, so i left the stage and took it to them.
afterward the other guy, will fist, played and every body (all 8 of them) crowded around the stage, what’re ya gonna do.
he was actually pretty good, once i got my earplugs in, he played a crappy ibenez guitar through some sort of peavey amp, very very very loud, i think the songs might have been good, but i can’t know for sure.
he kind of looked llike an ugly rich kelly.
and on the way out, a pretty girl refused to put the sticker on the van, so i did it myself.
all in all
check.
day 11
ok, we all knew this gig was gonna suck it was fun to play with vaughn and a couple of east enders showed up to witness my shame. but all in all, it was a check.
brightly lit mom and pop coffee house. my favorite part was written right on the ADAM BRODSKY 50 IN 50 POSTER “COME ON OUT AND CHEER BRAD ON”
After this show, i had the first all night drive, up 81 through the asscrack of virginia. that sucked. i had to pull over just to grab about 25 min of sleep around quarter to five, i woke up behind the wheel and screamed, that was kind of funny in a horrifying kind of way.
anyway i made it home just in time to miss snuggling, and then i had to take a shower and meet grover silcox from fox on 20 minutes of sleep.
i just know that everything i said that was smart will be removed, and everything i said that was goofy will be kept.
like a whole set of hookers and blow, bite me ,clap you fuckers clap and the dickhead song.
anyway on to new jersey.
day 12
ok there was a black out, but i’m unstoppable.
i can’t tell if the ladies who own this place are hippies or soccor moms. very odd. its like dressing maryjo buttefuco in hemp and teaching her 4 facts about aromatherapy.
anyway i showed up and they had power, but even if they didn’t i would’ve strummed in the dark.
erick and beth and chris astorida and some other front porch monkeys were there, and while that was cool to see friends, i was also embarassed that they had to see me play such a lame show.
but ultamitly
check.
it would’ve been perfect too, cause it was in north jersey so i would have a tiny drive to conn, but i had to back tract to meet jillian who writes for the princton packet, so we had tea or coffee in princton, talkd for a few hours, i got a parking ticket, then up to CT.
day 13
wow what a nice surprise, there was a big ole piece in the paper and the same guy has a radio show fran something or other, and apparantly he played my songs for like an hour straigtht. so the show was full of people i didn’t recognize, so i naturally thought they were there for the other bands.
but they came up and said how they had heard me on the radio and stuff, and so they came out to the show. that’s the way i always heard it was supposed to work.
and i met one of my new favorite people. she has a website afterophelia.com she is smart...for a girl.
now on to mass
day 14
as usuall this was a fun show. robin and geoff and the posse showed up toting blueberry cake.
also ramblin joe’s sister came toe the show.
and three hot girls from lord and taylor bought JKA tee shirts. they came to see the other band, but went to my website that afternoon, and tried to get there early to see me, but as is typical of hot girls, they were late, and just caught the last song or two, which is just as well, cause that’s really all you need to know about me.
day 15
there were only 9 or 10 people there, but its ok, cause they were apathetic too....i’m actually sorry i wasn’t rolling tape, there was quite the interchange between me and a couple of soccer mom’s who took offense to my noting the widespread antisemitisim in europe throughout history.
it was a golden moment,
one of the things for which i’m sorriest is that i’m not carrying a taperecorder around with me.
the shows are the shows, but the things people say during the course of a day are what is most fasciating. and alas i am too tired and not skilled enough to allow any recreations to retain even a mocidum of their origanal entertainment and dialect...in other words you had to be there...or hear a tape of it.
day 16
this was a wonderful surprise. i usually have great shows here, and the food is amazing, despite the fact that fucking hippies complained enough to have them pull the chilean sea bass off the menu.
but this show was one of the 7 monday night gigs on this tour, and as such it was a crapshoot.
but 7 come 11 baby. the place wasl filled, it was good to see adrith and her posse, and nate, and carolyn and her boy and other regulars who come out on the weekends.
we had a great time, and greg simon opened the show. he also brought the PA. so i am grateful to himfor that.
despite being invited to several homes after the show, i had to get some driving done, cause Bar harbor ME is next, and that’s way the fuck up in maine, like 4 hours or somehting.
also i gotta get the oil changed on the pequod. but every place i go to is closed or wants too much money...i’m fastidtious, but cheap.
day 17
what an amazing night.
when you show up and they treat you like a rock star, it almost hurts to explain to them that you’re just a schmuck with a guitar.
but not only were kristen and patti the owners pleasent and accomodating, but the show was amazing too.
adam white opened up and he’s like a local favorite there, so he had been telling everyone to come out. and there was a ton of press, both in the alt media, and in the legitimate (daily) press.
actually an awesome article was written by a skate rat/journalist who used to live in philadelphia, and fail to land moves outside of george’s 5th st cafe, while i’d sit inside and fail to land gigs.
but the show was amazing, and the club had a shower and a washer dryer. which is really almost better than a good PA.
i am now a huge fan of this little tourist hamlet and i intend to come back there until they decide they no longer care for me.
its cool too, if you look at a map, bar harbor is on an island with acaidia national park, off the coast of maine. its as if maine proper was too urban for them, they needed something a bit more secluded.
you should all go there, but don’t tell them i sent you, i promised i wouldn’t let the secret out.
day 18
t-his was another nice surprise.
a few folks came to see me.
the davis’s who are just about the swellest jews anywhere.
they are so supportive, and kind, and they laugh at the yiddish.
and some hippies were there.
also the local news came out and taped a short piece. to run at 29 min past the hour, which frankly is where i belong.
and the biggest and most wonderufl surprise was one of my songwriting heros came out to the gig.
if you’ve ever heard me speak of anais mitchell, you’ve probably ended up dabbing the drool from the corner of my mouth.
i met her at kerville this year and she is simply and amazing songwriter and easy on the eyes as well.
i thought she was going to be in cairo so i didn’t even tell her about the show. (also i feel creepy writing to her, since i’m in such awe)
anyway, bam there she was. and i of course was on stage so i was in that theoreticcly loveable boorish jerkass persona, so perhaps i said some things i wish to slurp back into my throat but that ain’t gonna happen, so i’ll just hope a semester in egypt will dull the memory.
but. it was a fun show, and thus concluds the new england chapter of the world tour.
now the drives get long.
day 19
there were fruheads there, as well as the syracuse contingint of creepy boys. (and i don’t mean creepy in a bad way. actually most of them came with dates which is a very promising sign)
again i asked what was the most consecutive days worked by a member of the quoteunquote crowd, and again i was bested.
a guy there who’s name might have been tim, had worked 94 consecutive days at a TV station doing someting. now he works at a non profit doing something else, and getting paid poorly. i forget many of the details. but he did walk back to his house and return with a bunch of books and magazines and a book on tape of mark twain’s short stories.
that was very very cool of him. he also offered me a $20 voucher for food at the price chopper, but i had just filled the pequod’s cooler with some green stuff from a farmers market, so there was no room. (alas)
anyway it was good to play at happy endings again, i hadn’t been there in years, having been treated so swell by scot dixon down the street at armory high.
anyway now i’m off to cleveland
day 20
i try to never play clubs that contain flatulant references in their name, but i also try to make money and sleep with lots of groupies, so why should i draw a hard line here if notwhere else.
last time i played this club was a couple years ago, and to be frank, i sucked.
it was with kevin so, who was really quite nice to me. but i was having a bad day, and i think i also found out minutes before the show, that my court date had not infact been cancelled, and now there was a bench warrant out.
it was another one of those 53 in a 35 deals. god i hate those.
anyway this time was much much cooler
there were several clusters of fuckers. some had seen me in cleveland last time when i played with the asylum st. spankers.
melissa came from Delaware or the Upper Penensula of MI. i forget which.
pete and mary alice came from columbus where they first saw me with daniel johnston.
as well as some folks who read it in the paper or heard it on the radio or something.
and the hirsuite cutie behind the bar knows that other adam brodsky, the poet from cleveland.
i meant to invite him to the show. but i suppose we’re lucky if one adam brodsky shows up at these things.
anyway it was a cool night and the best time i’ve had in cleveland. i tried to convince more folks to go to the rubber museum in akron but they didn’t seem to take the bait.
day 21
i meant to get to town early and go see the gerald ford museum, but that didn’t work out like i planned.
melissa offered me 1/2 of her hotel room, and that offer was too seductive to refuse.
so i got a late start towards Grand Rapids. so no gerald ford muesum for me.
i’ll get it next time.
i was anticipating seeing the staircase from the american embassy in Vietnam, where we jumped on huey’s and got the hell out of there, but a fan at the show told me that i would’ve seen the gun that squeaky fromme tried to shoot him with.
o well, maybe next time.
day 22
what a nice surprise.
this show was on a sunday afternoon. not really prime crowd drawing time.
and last time i played the place, i had a small but attentive crowd. his name was bruce. he is the announcer at the indianapolis indians games.
but this time the place was relatively full. i though it was a coincidence, maybe folks looking for a friends of bill W. meeting or something. but it turns out they were some folks who were referred by some others (which is so delightful)
and then somer and scott and the bloomington IL posse was in the house.
the gig was finished by 4pm i had anticipated a slow drive to champaign, and a nice leisurly day doing nothing in IL, almost as good as a day off.
but scott offered me a place to crash with him in bloomington IL and even though it was an hour out of the way, i couldn’t resist the hot tub and the big screen tv and the satalite dish. we got back to his place by 6pm and he cooked dinner.
i don’t know what the fuck he put in the potatoes but they were fucking awesome.
ladies, you should all sleep with scott just to get him to make you those potatoes.
soon afterward i passed out on the couch with the radiation king basking me in its network of warmth.
Day 23
Not a huge crowd, but it was a Monday night.
Jack Willis opened again, and I like him.
The show had to be delayed, it was the U of I students first night back and right next door to the club nee Unitarian church was a sorority what was being serenaded by the tubamaba section of the band. Actually it was tubas and drums, (not drums and tuba) so we started late.
Actually the big room was kind of hot, but the adjacent room had better AC, so we all migrated to a conference room and I sang there.
Everyone laughed at some old joke I told about the pope. That was cool.
And when I told them that I was, in fact playing DC on the 51st day, I was greeted with the usual “what about Puerto Rico?, what about Guam?” so I said, “I’m only coming to your sector, if you can vote for the president.”
And someone, it might have been Scott, said, "That’s not true, you played Florida".
That was the funniest thing said all night.
Day 24
Small gig. The barista was cute and she had some cool major but I forget what.
I had dinner with Julie Eklund’s sister Susan and her husband Eric, and their toddler Emma.
They are locked into the academic world, Susan’s taking some time off to be a mom but she has like 2 or three degrees already I think, in foreign languages and stuff.
Anyway it was a blast hanging out with them. I like smart people.
And it leaves me at 66% of my goal of being fed by all of the Eklund sisters.
I asked Lis Harvey to play this show with me, it’s her hometown, I thought it would be fun for her to play a couple songs. But I think she was out of town or something. O well.
Derek and his girlfriend were there, and very enthusiastic, and there was a really tall pretty girl who knew Kevin Karg.
Really tall and pretty, not just really tall and pretty compared to Kevin Karg.
Day 25
This place smelled weird, I think it was just the scent of roasting beans, but for some reason it smelled like halitosis.
Small show, and I think I was sick as a dog. I was sniffly as hell, and I don’t know why, all I’ve been doing is sleeping in a van for 4 hours a night and driving all day and eating road food and singing every single night, how could I possibly have gotten sick.
The good news is the club was about 4 blocks from the Minnesota state fair, so I got to eat plenty of food on a stick and see famous faces carved from butter. woo hoo.
This is the half way point
Day 26
This might have been my best Des Moines show ever, some folks from before came out, and I think the TV station was there briefly. Also there was a Delaware transplant that came out and brought some folks.
All in all not bad.
Day 27
The more a gig seems like a lock the higher the actual chance that it will suck out the ass and conversely a gig in Omaha where I’ve never been, at a pizza shoppe with two p’s is probably good for not much more than a check mark and a sticker on the van map.
Well it turns out the Pizza Shoppe and Pub is now my favorite place to be in all of Nebraska.
The owner who’s name I can’t remember is a really cute girl who was really really nice to me, so was her boyfriend Aaron.
I had so much fun, and they made me a salad for the road.
Then they took me downstairs and we started chatting and she sort of got all serious and said “wanna see something?”
Always game to see anything a cute girl wants to show me, I said sure, then she showed me all these pictures she took late one night in the very basement I was in.
Sadly they weren’t smutty internet pictures, they were pictures that proved that her pizza shop was haunted.
I was at a loss for an explanation, but refused to buy that the place was spooked.
I tried to tell her that it was probably the old guy who owned the building trying to convince her to leave so he could get the gold that’s buried beneath it.
If that turns out to be the case, then complete will be my boyhood dream of driving around the country in a van solving mysteries.
jinkies I hope so.
Day 28
Y’know it was a show.
The barista was very cute, I think her name was Lisa.
This was kind of a fun gig, because I got to make fun of Tom Daschle, I hate him.
He’s a pussy.
And also their only congressman, that Bill Janklow was charged with felony manslaughter just a couple of days before I arrived.
The kids in the coffee house seemed fairly unconcerned.
But there were a couple older guys who quietly sipped coffee and then bought records. They told me of their personal experiences with Bill Janklow who is like the Ed Rendell of South Dakota, only with blood on his hands.
Day 29
WOW what a surprise, this was a Sunday afternoon show in a place that turned out to be more of a music store that sold the occasional cup of coffee and cookie.
But it was a great fucking time.
The guys who own the joint were very cool and they just opened up like 6 weeks ago so they have all their idealism still.
They make most of their money playing in cover bands, and this is an extension of that. They’ve painted the place kind of like Michael Lange’s and Artie Kornfeld’s New York office, or maybe the set of Laugh-In. Cool new furniture made cheaply to look like retro futuristic stuff.
Anyway not just one but 2 TV stations came out, and none of them were Fox. woo hoo.
One was just a vocot, and one sent a real live cute girl with blond hair and an amazing ass, named Whitney (the girl not the ass) with a journalism degree from some dumb college or other.
At first I thought the tiny fleck of lipstick on her teeth was a reflection of the backwater nature of her town and possibly her whole state, but she managed to remove the offending wax before the camera even white balanced.
Then there was the show. It was a lot of fun, there were folks of all ages there, I don’t know who they were or where they heard about the show, but it was great, they lined up afterward to buy stuff and they even asked for autographs, which makes me feel like a fraud, but what can I do.
Day 30
Ok, this show kind of sucked, there weren’t many people there. I met some real live cowboys and a girl who is too short to stick her arm inside a cow.
There were actually 2 people who came out because they had heard Uncivil Rights on the midnight special show. And they were thrilled that a big star like Adam Brodsky was coming to little ole Billings.
Read about the fraudulent feeling yesterday.
Also Deirdre Flint was there, I didn’t even notice her till I was on stage. It was swell of her to come, but I really wish that she’d been around yesterday, it was quite a dichotomy from being the coolest guy in Bismarck to just some schmuck in Montana.
I did get to go see the Little Bighorn battlefield. The only clear Indian victory in the Indian wars. But as you leave the national historic site, right there is the Little Bighorn casino. So who really won?
Also check out this sign on the Crow reservation which contains the Little Bighorn national park.
Day 31
Ok, this sucked too.
Jackson is a resort town, so there is skiing all winter and lots of hiking and rafting and stuff in the summer, really there is only one day of off season. Guess which day? Yep, the Tuesday after labor day.
So I played a show to a few locals and a bunch of cops from Wyoming and Utah who were there for a cop convention.
Clearly the USA patriot act is a travesty but try telling that to a bunch of crew cuts whose job is made significantly easier by its tenets.
O well, you win some you get arrested by some.
I drove out of town very slowly.
Also I saw old faithful, eh, no big deal.
Day 32
Ok, I didn’t know Provo was like that.
It’s the home of BYU so it makes Salt Lake City look like Sodom
I got brakes for the pequod which was expensive but needed to be done.
And I had a really good time hanging out after the show with the fresh faced Mormonic folk, they took me out for a Mormon good time
Which was a taco salad and hot cocoa at the IHOP.
I even met one Mormon girl who used to be a Catholic from Cherry Hill.
I asked her if before she turned all Mormon and shit, did she get to enjoy her right of passage as a NJ Catholic, and go through her slut phase?
She said, no she didn’t.
I asked her if she feels cheated.
She said, “no, I’ll go through my slut phase with my husband when I’m married.”
I said "I don’t think you know what that word means".
Anyway I wrote more extensively about the Mormons in the 4th weekly article, read that.
Day 33
This show was like it always is, fun, the girls who work there are pretty and nice to me, and parking is a bitch.
I played, I made some fans, I met a guy with a family and everything but he was on vacation traveling by greyhound “cause that’s how you get to really see the people”.
Individuals like that keep my miserable life in perspective.
Day 34
I love it at the Matrix, but for some reason it was very very very hot inside the joint so not too many folks showed up.
But Moon and Rick his hippie dad were very nice to me and more importantly it was in southern Washington so I didn’t have to schlep all the way up to Seattle or Bellingham, and then back down to Portland to go to Alaska.
Day 35
Well this was a shitty show
and quite a surprise too.
I was very excited about Alaska, as it was exotic and not hot, and fuck if it wasn’t beautiful.
And the people were cool.
The show just sucked.
The oysters were good though.
Trouble was the sound I think
Instead of a sound guy they just set the board up for me the night before, and when I sound checked in an empty room it seemed ok, but then during the show I had a shitty monitor mix and I really couldn’t do anything about it cause the board was way over there,
but that’s not an excuse.
I also put on a bad show.
It was a loud bar where a lot of folks were talking and drinking and eating dinner with children and whatnot. And I just didn’t do the things necessary to shut mouths and turn heads.
But I want to come back to Alaska, it was so pretty and it stayed light till like 10pm and all the vegetables were soooo expensive.
Elk was cheap though.
Day 36
Ok, this gig sucked, but I knew that going in.
This was the previous location of one of my worst shows ever. And I said to myself (and to others) that I will never come back here again.
Well here I am. Playing to the same apathetic empty chairs as last time.
But you see I needed an Oregon gig, and one that was in southern Oregon, cause Portland and Eugene are both too far from Reno to allow me to play and drive, and see the Donner Party Museum.
So I tried to maintain perspective whilst I strummed vacantly.
There was an old couple named Ed and Sharon, I think they stayed out of pity cause I was talking and sadly singing, directly to them. Although they didn’t seem amused even when I queried them about their lives and wrote them a song.
But they were polite.
Anyway check.
Next up Reno.
Day 37
Um, yes, I played at a Schlotsky’s deli.
I was supposed to have a gig at a club called Stingers, and they were gonna make a Philadelphia night out of it. First we’d all sit around and watch the Eagles pop the victory cherry on their new stadium on a Monday night by wreaking some revenge on the pewter pussies from Tampa Bay, and then we’d all eat what this club dared to call philly cheesteaks while some phiadork strummed perfunctorily and got his Nevada check mark on.
But the promoter of that show kind of took off with the dough, but luckily Doug the Christian came through and hooked me up with the Schlotsky’s deli gig.
I could describe the show, but I could never equal the adroitness of this review by my brief traveling companion Trishmae. Seriously, this is what I’ve been meaning to say, but am to tired to articulate.
Check it out
Day 38
Ok, this sucked too, but I knew it was going to.
Thus my conclusion is that non contiguous states are piss poor places to play shows. Although that’s what I used to think about anyplace that wasn’t Philadelphia.
Actually that’s what I used to think about any place that wasn’t my bedroom
Anyway the good parts were that I got greeted by someone holding a sign with my name on it. Cool huh? And she gave me a real lei, made of real flowers not plastic, and also a variety pack of macadamia nuts. Also the airplane magazine had a 4 page article on don ho. (go figure)
Now on to the bad parts.
As most of you know this gig was scheduled in the Interisland Lounge. Cause I wasn’t spending enough time in HI to do anything that involved egressing the airport.
The flight up sucked for me, but not as much as it sucked for Tre. “Who is Tre?” you ask. Tre is the 3 year old sitting next to me. Let’s just say that Tre was not a good flyer. But his mother was there with constant suggestions like “Tre, shut up” or “Tre, go to sleep”. The latter was often accompanied by the forcible prostration of Tre onto the two seats he was occupying.
While he did tend to stay prone for the next 30 seconds or so, it did nothing to decrease his volume. So she started to occasionally smack him a bit.
That didn’t work either, but I admire the sentiment.
That was the worst part of the trip, but the best part was clearly my starfucker brush with Juliette Lewis.
She was going through the metal detector right in front of me.
We both placed our gay little ibooks in those cafeteria tubs and I thought it noteworthy that there was Juliette Lewis and not 3 feet from her was my hard drive, on which resides at least two naked photos of Juliette Lewis.
Armed with only this as an opening line, I opted against small talk and off we went.
Day 39
Finally a good show.
This is like the first one in weeks.
And boy did I need it.
All my favorite LA people were there. All 12 of them.
Most of you know I’m not crazy about that city, I would’ve much rather played SF or Sacramento but I needed the quickest cheapest flight to HI, and something relatively close to Tucson (8 hours).
So LA it was.
It looks like I’ve finally found a club in LA I don’t hate.
The hotel cafe is cool. So cool in fact that I anticipate they will either politely decline my return, or they will go out of business. But either way it was good to see so many old friends and fans
And Elysa Davis surprised me by coming 3000 miles to the show, and arriving in a limousine. That was pretty cool.
I have to check the mileage croton NY to West Hollywood, vs. Opie and Kelly’s trek from Souderton to SF. That could be the longest trip ever. Its gonna be close.
Soon I’m gonna put up a webpage with long distance travelers.
Probably 500 miles will be the mark.
With additional asteriskal credit for doing things like arriving in a limo, taking a flight, or crossing an international border. Like the guy from the CBC did driving from Whitehorse CA to Anchorage.
Anyway it was a good time, I only wish I had more hours to hang out with Erik, or Miki, or Christian Anthony. Or Michelle, or any of the other folks who were so kind as to come out and see the gig.
Like I said it was a fun show, because I got to talk about Utah, and how shitty the non contiguous shows had been.
Day 40
Wow, this was a great show, and I sure needed one. I opened for the Jimmy Matthis knockdown society, apparently he was either the squirrel or the nut or maybe the zipper, but he was one of them, he brought some folks, and I brought some folks. Skee and Margaret were of course hospitable to the point of embarrassing me, buying me dinner, and filling my gas tank, if they’d only strangle their cats and rid their house of dander, I might move in with them.
Also some folks from last time came out, which was cool, and some drunk guy from Overbrook kept calling me “dawg” and asking me for g-love songs. But I showed him my street creed when he asked Pats or Geno’s? And I responded “Ishkabibbles”
Then he started to tell me about where to get the best cheesesteak at 3am in Kensington.
I tried to explain to him that I don’t care how delicious it is, I’m not going to do that.
I also postulated that people on the street in Kensington at 3am don’t usually have enough teeth to chomp a steak.
But it was a good show. There were even a couple front porchers there.
I sold some crap and basically felt good about myself for the first time in days.
These are long drives.
And the hot chick that looks like the number 9 was there with her fox crew we did an interview and then a live piece before the show. She was very cool (for a fox 2 headed kitten reporter)
Natalie Tejada.
Anyway on to Albuquerque
Day 41
Got the oil changed today at the Wal-Mart, and it too fucking forever.
Tonight I will play the first show ever where there is absolutely no possibility of Johnny Cash walking in. That’s sad. However it’s also the first show where there is no chance of Jack Tripper coming in, so although not equal, that’s something.
As I walk down Gold St. in Albuquerque I hear Johnny Cash’s greatest hits bleeding out from every bar in town, and while that is very nice, I think why isn’t it like this all the time.
I know 3 JC songs well enough to play in public, and he didn’t write 2 of them, but I’m gonna sing them.
Last night I meant to play the Dying Miner but it didn’t happen.
Turns out the club was very cool and Kevin the guy who wrote the piece in the paper was in the headlining band,
he was very kind to have me on the bill.
I owe him one,
I like the Atomic Cantina.
And there were these people who came out to see me because they once caught a show in Philadelphia.
I think it was the Atom and his Package/Adam “packageless” Brodsky show in Philadelphia, maybe at the Khyber.
Anyway it was coo, she was very hot and friendly. With lots of ink. And he was soon to be married, he had a baby, a newborn and still managed to make it out of the house to see the show.
And they had another friend who seemed very nice but I kept fucking up his name, he was either Simon or Samuel, and I kept calling him the other. I think it was Samuel but I’ve been wrong before.
Anyway it was a fun show, the girls were pretty and I got on the road by midnight, which was cool.
I hope to go back there.
I am beginning to taste the end.
Day 42
Denver is the worst city on earth.
I say that purely from a folksinger who has never had anything besides an atrocious show there.
And tonight was no exception
The chairs that weren’t empty were filled with latte sippers reading the paper under fluorescent lights.
I found it particularly bizzarro world that the yoga enthusiast/barrista behind the counter warned me that it might be slow tonight “cause its Saturday night”. I thought how classic that on Monday’s I play the places that are packed on weekends. And vice versa.
I was to be content with playing 45 minutes then heading away from the Rockies, and into the vast vacuum of west Kansas, but just at the 45 minute mark something happened.
4 people started listening. And I felt like I should sing.
They were two guys and their daughters. Like 8 and 10 year old girls. And the girls were cute as fuck, playing chess and listening to my songs and everything, and one of the guys requested a John Prine song, (mainly because the last song I played was one of my John Prine rip offs)
So although I am not anywhere near as smooth of a jukebox as Butch Ross, we played covers for the next 1/2 hour or so, and then I had the little foxes put the Colorado sticker on the pequod.
Colorado, check
Day 43
This was a classic Kirby’s show. A bunch of people ranging from somewhat drunk, to very drunk came in, and were loud but clapped.
There was an opening band scheduled, I think it was that Norwegian band Goldenboy who had beep playing a lot of the same venues I was playing that week.
Anyway I heard that they cancelled because they weren’t making any money so they went back to Norway or Egypt or wherever they’re from.
Anyway the club asked the band from the night before to open the show.
And while a nice gesture and nice people in the band, the point of 2 bands is to increase the asses in the seats. Not just fill an hour. Sometimes I think I’m the only one who thinks about these things, and then I remember that I don’t really think about them either.
Anyway it was a mostly fun show and I’m glad I got to play the KS show at Kirby’s where they treat me so good.
The violin player in the opening band was really hot and really good...and she teaches 8th graders so she has the patience of a saint.
Onward to OK.
Day 44
One of the worst shows of the tour.
And like most bad shows it came on a night that had all the earmarks of success.
I have been told for some time now that I should play Mike’s College Bar. So I did
The opening act was "Crazy’s Ex-Husband" a duo.
They played for a while, and then Joe Mack showed up.
Apparently Monday night is usually open mic night so he came to play, so play he did.
He was very cool and he brought a bunch of friends.
But then I played, very late, like at midnight and the place was full but full of the loudest, back turningingest folks I’ve ever seen.
By the end, I shook off Ross and his girl’s applause, as the sound of 4 hands clapping only piled on the humiliation.
I really suck, but these are good songs, I think.
Anyway after the show a few people came up and told me how much they enjoyed it, but I kept thinking, then where the fuck were you when I was playing to the backs fo folks.
Anyway you can’t really keep your standards so high on a Monday night.
And all in all the money wasn’t bad, and I am almost almost home. Where the fuck am I tomorrow night? hmm. TX uh-oh.
Day 45
I didn’t make it to the book depository museum again. I don’t know how the day slipped away.
Yesterday I went to the mansion of an ex Oklahoma governor and the guy who started Marland Oil until he was stupid enough to accept a depression era loan from JP Morgan. One day he showed up for work and JP was sitting in his big chair. D’oh.
But 3 months before that happened, he built a really big fucking mansion and married his adopted daughter.
When he was governor of OK, he had oil wells drilled right on the capitol lawn. Struck oil too.
But that was OK. Today Dallas.
It runs out Jeremy from Stucco Lobster Breadbox has come to the show, and is planning on road tripping back with me, he and his friend Jennifer are going to see the last 6 shows.
Like I’m Bob Weir or something,
Although we joked that probably by day 3 they will still be on the road, but not even coming in to the clubs, just selling grilled cheese in the parking lot.
Bill Fagen, also a stuccomrade, was there, he drove all the way up from Austin, that was cool.
He brought a friend who taped the show.
And interviewed me while I brushed my teeth. Very classy tour, this.
But the best part of the night was the opening band, they were called Fishing for Comets.
A duo, Camielle a pretty girl with a nice rack and a piece of pigvalve plugging the hole in her heart. And Sam.
They brought dinner. Like a sandwich platter. Like it was a Shiva house, little rolls and roast beef and everything.
In my opinion, Fishing for Comets are the fucking Beatles.
Day 46
This is an after hours club where I play from 1am to 3am.
It’s a hard gig but its fun.
And there were a bunch that came to see me this time .
Notably Jeremy and Jenn, and Andrea and Carl.
Carl flew in from CT. Not a record breaking distance, but enough to make the 500 club, if that’s what I’m gonna call it.
Along with my posse was Mike, I think his name was Mike, he’s the sound guy, and he’s the coolest, when I showed up he wouldn’t let me carry my own gear bag, which was sweet, but make me feel uncomfortably rockstarish for a guy who was playing a pool hall at 1am.
Anyway he made everything sound really good considering the shitty little pa, and everything.
Then he watched both sets sitting Indian style on the bar. It was adorable.
As usual the place was filled with very cute, very friendly girls. One of whom seemed genuinely disappointed there was no pole for her to dance around, I think her name was Dawn, she bought a tee shirt, and left with a piece of my heart.
But she was only one of many who were cute and nice to me. I can totally see why Gen. Clark would choose LR as the place to announce his candidacy.
I left a message at his hotel inviting him to the show, but I’m sure he was in his room with the do not disturb sign, playing hide the campaign contribution with a couple of Little Rock’s little rocks.
Day 47
What can I say, I love this place.
Along with playing a set, I also hosted the open mic, basically because it meant more money, and on a tour like this, any prospect of more money is not to be sneezed near.
They warned me that open mic, meant that anybody could play, and I should beware, but truth is, most folks were quite good
There was a guy named Justin or Jasen or something Brownstar, and his songs were wonderful.
And Jonathon Baird played, and he’s very cool.
And a bunch of other folks.
And the waitresses are very hot and nice to me.
I realize these diary entries kind of suck, but Jesus, fuck I’m tired, I just want to go home.
I can really feel I’m getting close, but I don’t want to break into my home run trot just yet because I remember reading about the 64 Phillies.
But I really like Fredricks. And I’m really grateful at how they have opened up their club to me. They make me feel like I’m at home. A very smoky home with lots of drunk brothers and sisters who I want to fuck, but home nonetheless.
Day 48
Today was national talk like a pirate day, and coincidentally, I played the show with Nate Thumis and his girl Brigid Kalin, Brigid happens to be quite the pirate enthusiast, and everyday is talk like a pirate day for her, but on this day she feels like less of a freak.
They were amazingly nice to me, offering me a shower and a place to stay and everything.
I really needed to do some laundry, but Nate gave me a pair of socks so I could put it off one more day,
It’s almost a shame to have to do laundry this close to being at home where I can to sit on my dad’s couch and wash clothes while I watch the history channel.
But back to the socks.
In a word, they were absolutely the finest goddamn mother-fucking socks I have ever had the privilege to stick my tootsies into. Jesus H, Christ on the frickin’ crucifix, did these feel good.
My gratitude to Nate knows no bounds.
And Ken who owns the Rud, is amazing as well, it’s a nice place, the kind of place where folks who don’t suck play. And me too.
There was a place in Louisville that I played my 2nd or 3rd time there called Barritones. And it was an awesome room as well, run by this awesome guy, Mac.
So awesome and so nice to me, in fact, that it went out of business almost the day after I left there.
I’m like the King Midas of folk music
But Mac now comes to see me at the Rud, not to mention all the Jews in Kentucky, and most of the ones in southern Ohio as well.
Good show, and I’m almost home.
I’m starting to get sorry I don’t have any new songs for these people. I’m really going to try to work on that.
Day 49
This was kind of a fucked up show.
And although I really don’t like to trash other bands, I think I will make an exception here. I was put on the bill with a stupid hippie reggae band called Foundation Stone.
As far as I can tell Foundation Stone is comprised of a cunt of a frontwoman who is also Canadian. Some dirty hippie of a guitar player who is also a dick, a bass player who was only a mild jackass, and a drummer who is actually kind of ok.
Look, when the show was booked I was the headliner. Then they got added and I became the opener, which is fine with me because really I wasn’t doing headlining numbers. (Neither were they, it turns out.)
But I knew this because my show was advanced, (ok, not by me, by Mary, but still it got done) they of course didn’t do such a thing, so they were shocked and dismayed that they didn’t have the whole night to themselves. Yes that is a disappointment, but it ain’t my fault you cocksucking posing reggae whores.
You should’ve heard this Canadian bitch with the blond hair sing “o jah, please redeem I”. I’m not making this up. Seriously. I mean I know when I sing sometimes I say caint instead of can’t cause it rhymes with aint, but that’s really not the same thing.
And I didn’t follow up on this information, but I was told this might have been their CD release party. Now I really hope that’s not true, because the crowd, if you can call it that, was really split into thirds. 1/3 came to see me, 1/3 seemed to be their friends or as hard as it might be to accept, their fans. And 1/3rd seemed to be there for the PBR cans. Or perhaps the casino video poker in the back. So I’m going to believe that this was not their release party, but just a tour stop. Because that’s too sad to even contemplate.
Anyway, they’re the headliner so they sound check first. (Actually I was upstairs taking a nap in a green room that can only be described as an homage to the young ones apt, only not as nice.
So I came down and tried to make small talk with the band, it didn’t go well, but whatever.
Then it was my turn to sound check. And the dreadlocked dickhead says, “So why don’t you play over here” (stage right). Well no thank you, I’d rather play in the center, but thanks for offering.
Well the cunty frostback center stage was really loathe to move the 3 plastic cowbells and her microphone that she had sound checked.
But look, I’m sorry, I’ve played 49 shows in a fucking row, and I’m no more excited to be here than you are to see me but we’re in this together, yes the club fucked us, but I didn’t fuck you. So lighten up, cunt.
In the spirit of compromise, I say I can set up slightly right of her set up, if they clear a little space. They don’t seem nearly as conciliatory as they fucking should be. Let me reiterate, their name is Foundation Stone, and I recommend you never go see them, even if it causes the blond Canadian to say, "Why do you disrespect I?"
So I’m setting up and her fucking mic stand is in my way, so I move it, look I don’t want to knock her mic stand into her elaborate rack of stuff you hit with a stick. So I move it. That’s when the dirty bass playing hippie says, "What are you doing?"
I explain, and he says "well it’s been sound checked".
Look, you don’t own the fucking stage. If you packed the house and this was your night or had bothered to advance your show, this might be up for discussion, but we’re sharing the bill so fuck you.
So basically I was content to agree to disagree, and play my set and get my check and hit the road.
I was scheduled for 10, and I went on the very minute the sound guy said, let’s get started. 10:30
So I was going to play 40 minutes and get off. Well 30 minutes into my set Williamina Cuntzler comes to the side of the stage and says, “this is your last song". I can’t fucking believe it. These assholes think they own the night. So their 7 fans can hear about jah. Well in the words of Tesco Vee of the Meatmen I say, "Blow me jah".
I say "look I’m scheduled for a 40 minute set, it’s only been 30". She says, “well you went on late.”
"I went on when they told me to go on."
"Do one more."
"Look I’ll compromise, I’ll do two more." Here I was giving more ground in the name of civility.
"Do one more."
So I did one more and was faced with the no win situation of either keeping my mouth shut, or taking trash from the state about another band. Neither of which appealed to me so as I’ve steamed for the past couple days; I decided I’do the only responsible mature sensible thing. And that is to trash them on the internet.
Again their name is Foundation Stone, and I advise any of the 30 of you who might read this to never go see their shitty little poseur white reggae band.
And if you are in Foundation Stone and have found this by doing a google vanity search feel free to contact me with a reasonable explanation as to why you guys are such petty loser cuntrag felchslurping jerks. (That felt good.)
O, and BTW if you are in Foundation Stone, I’d like to point out that I have a world record for playing 50 shows in 50 days and you once headlined in West Virginia.
Or maybe your highlight was the time you camped out all night to get UB40 tickets.
Ok, I feel better now.
I’m going home.
Day 50
What can I say, this was great.
I’m touched,
you guys all rocked.
But let’s leave the reviews to the professionals. Check this out.
Brian Howard of the Courier-Post explained this show better than I can.
Adam Brodsky still going strong after '50 in Fifty'
By BRIAN HOWARD
For the Courier-Post
There are gauntlets, and then there are Gauntlets.
Philadelphia singer/songwriter Adam Brodsky limped home Sunday night to play his 50th concert in 50 days, one in each of the 50 states. It was the penultimate show of his 50 in Fifty tour. (A 51st show was tacked on as a coda of sorts Monday in Washington, D.C.; pictures and a tour journal are available at www.fiftyinfifty.com .)
Brodsky, a Jewish solo artist who performs - like the young Bob Dylan - with an acoustic guitar strapped to his back and a harmonica around his neck, was attempting with his mammoth trek to make it into the Guinness Book of World Records as the first solo performer to accomplish such a feat.
This homecoming show, played to a 100-plus audience at Old City's cozy Tin Angel, saw the often potty-mouthed Brodsky weary but clearly energized by the home crowd (which sold out the show six weeks in advance). He performed an hour-plus set of raunchy, punk-inflected folk sing-alongs, politically edged protests, poignant tales of Jewish tradition and oddly touching love songs.
Appearing somewhat worse for wear, Brodsky began his set by asking humorously, "Where am I?" before launching into "The Feel Like I'm Gonna' Cut My Head Off Blues," an up-tempo rant from his new album Hookers, Hicks and Heebs, that reflected the giddy exasperation inherent in the event.
Brodsky often punctuated his songs with stories from his 50-state jaunt, a fact that did not seem to bother the devoted attendees, who sang along despite the frequent asides.
Though this show marked the end of the road, more or less, for Brodsky's tour, he seems to be at something of an artistic crossroads. Crowd pleasers from earlier in his career - the riotous if sophomoric "Hookers and Blow" and "Diesel Dyke" (which Brodsky performed with opener Mary Prankster to conclude his encore) - resonated, but felt somewhat at odds with more recent songs.
Chalk it up to growing pains. Though still lyrically acerbic, newer material performed this night, such as the almost uncomfortably up-tempo concentration camp tale "Talkin' Warsaw Ghetto," the political screed "Uncivil Rights," which openly contests the Patriot Act with barbs such as "so we must give up our freedom to preserve our liberty," and the heartrending "Some Girls," reveal Brodsky has more up his sleeve than clever lyrics and dirty words. He's got something to say and says it well.
A new, as-of-yet unreleased song called "Stuff on the Lawn," about a woman who comes home to find her common-law husband has kicked her out ("It's hard to feel nothing but wrong/ It's like living a Hank Williams song"), was a touching character sketch that was met with a few scattered, inappropriate laughs. "Drinking in the Synagogue" featured a typically ribald chorus - "And the rabbi's wife has great big knockers" - but revealed itself as a slyly touching remembrance of a mother's funeral.
For a guy who'd spent the last 50 days in clubs and in transit, Brodsky delivered a performance that was surprisingly energetic and fresh.
Adam Brodsky is scheduled to perform with Sean Altman, Rob Tannenbaum and Cynthia Kaplan Sept. 25 at Doc Watson's Pub, 216 S. 11th Street, Philadelphia, as part of an evening of Jewish songwriters called What I Like About Jew. The performance starts at 8:30. There is a $10 cover. Visit www.plainparade.org for information.
