Below Freezing at the Beach
Unexpected tour joy... and this dude named Frank.
Florida is weird, but the Florida panhandle is weirder. Last weekend, I played a show in Ft. Walton Beach. Normally, that’s reason to celebrate… but this time it hovered around 29-31 degrees the entire time. Not exactly beach weather, but I do think there’s something romantic about the coast when it’s cold/off-season. It’s less crowded, for one. But it’s like these towns can take off the tourist-facing mask for a couple of months and just let their freak flags fly. This, of course, was on full display as I arrived in bustling downtown Ft. Walton Beach. First, I stopped in a “coffee shop” to warm up— only to be greeted by what was effectively a bar for 15 year olds (which is totally cool!), complete with a band rehearsal space connected to it and a large poster advertising an upcoming “Hypnocomedy” show. Now, I don’t know what the fuck that means, but I can guarantee you that half of the folks hanging in this coffee shop already had their tickets.
The parade of weird didn’t stop at the coffee shop (or the three tattoo shops within earshot, either). It continued into the venue we played that night, where I was greeted by a man asking me if I had ever heard of a guitar player named Joe Bommanosa. “No sir”, I replied, “I know this guy named Joe Bonnamassa, though.” Then he told me how great Bommanosa was. Nice fella. I wish he had stuck around for the show.
At this point, if you have ever been on a “tour”, you know the thoughts starting to run through your head. They oscillate somewhere between soul-crushing doubt and a quick trip to the bathroom to look in the mirror and catch a glimpse of Sisyphus, with a little dash of self-loathing thrown in. Why do I keep doing this to myself?
The dread followed me to the stage and I turned in one of the worst sets I’ve played in some time. The food we had before we played probably contributed, but that’s another story for another time. When I come off stage after a “bad set”, I sound a lot like Trey does is this clip from Bittersweet Motel:
That’s a very, very quotable movie, by the way. I recommend it, even if you don’t like Phish. Maybe you’d understand why nerds like me enjoy it. Anyway…
So, Set II is about to be underway. I’ve made amends to my bandmates for coming in a bit too hot after the first set. Despite feeling bad about it, whatever I said must’ve lit a fire, because not only was I better… they were, too. Set II was cooking. The people in the bar were paying attention now. You could feel the energy shift.
And then, right then, the night redeemed itself and music, as it tends to do, provided me with a relief in the form of an older fella named Frank. Frank, I’d like to imagine, occupies the same stool in this bar on a daily basis. I ended up spending some time with Frank after the show, talking about music and New Orleans— even making plans to meet up with him on Mardi Gras Day. Wonderful, eccentric, interesting dude.
Our lead singer, Hays, isn’t exactly the most conversational musician. Sure, he talks to the audience, but he’s not going on VH1 Storytellers anytime soon. But every once in awhile, he says things that hit me in a certain way. This night, it was while he was introducing our final song of the evening, a personal favorite called “Not The Issue”.
“Do you ever feel like something is wrong, but you don’t know what it is and you don’t know how to fix it, even though you really want to?” Hays said. (Not an exact quote, but you get the picture…)
Bar goes quiet, Hays lets it sit for a second. Frank, leaning against the bar, says “yeah man, I’ve been there.” Not in a ironic way, either… that was the voice of someone who knew exactly what this song was about. I didn’t expect that moment in that bar on that night, but sometimes you can actually see & hear when music connects with someone—and its nothing short of magic.
Magic. That’s what we do it for. That’s why I keep getting out there and chasing “it”. Art is a spiritual discipline that can conjure magic from thin air. Next time you go to a show, see if you can see or feel some magic. Thanks Frank.
The Last Thing I Shazamed
The funny thing about this one is that I was aware of her and her music thanks to the Ethiopiques series, but when you hear things out in public, sometimes you Shazam it just to remember to revisit it later. (Hell, this was in a Wal-Mart commercial last year.)
Emahoy Tsegué-Maryam died on 26 March 2023 in Jerusalem, at the age of 99. Plot twist: she was born Yewubdar Guèbrou in Addis Ababa in 1923. This incredible, unique pianist was also a nun. Maybe you knew that… I sure didn’t. To me, that further underlines the way I’ve felt about this music since I first heard it. This is blues music. I can feel every single note, and I dare say it’s improvisational.
If you want to read something wild, check this out from The Guardian.
General Comments
These two have a special relationship. Canada rules. Just click play and enjoy. If you can’t appreciate the madness and depth of the Nardwuar Experience, then you oughta just smash that unsubscribe button. In this house, we put some respect on the name Nardwuar.
I’m grateful that someone on television is still brave enough to put something like this on a network. Maybe that person is Stephen Colbert himself, who knows… but this is still really special. 10 minute ambient flute music on the Late Show!? Sail on, sailor. Educate the people. That’s the most peaceful ten minutes on network television I can remember. It was probably really good for some people… including myself.
We are so lucky to exist in the same timeline as Wilco. What an enduring, constantly evolving, next-level American band. I was fortunate to be in the studio for the band’s recent KEXP session (and yes, Cheryl Waters is as cool and gracious as you’d expect), but I think I prefer this KCRW session. I like music + crowds. There’s an energy there that’s… just there. It’s undefinable. Jeff Tweedy sounds as good as ever and the band continues to be excellent. If you haven’t seen this, you should.