DECEMBER

I am working on a new website which will be much simpler to update and navigate, because this is just silly...

Thursday, Dec 1, 7.45pm
~ Medieval Manor, S. Boston

Friday, Dec 2, 7.45pm
~ Medieval Manor, S. Boston

Saturday, Dec 3, 4.30pm
~ Medieval Manor, S. Boston

Monday, Dec 5, 8pm
~ PA's Lounge, Somerville (accompanying Jay Psaros and the Slow Motion Ryders for a Triple Birthday Show!)

Friday, Dec 9, 10pm
~ Four Square Pub, Weymouth Landing, Braintree (I believe I will be sharing the night with Blueprint for a Riot)


AND...

Starting January 2, there will be a series of oil paintings on display at Stars on Hingham Harbor, which is a venue at which myself, Jay Psaros, and other fine South Shore musicians can be heard. It's also a great restaurant and pub, family- and sports- friendly. The series is called "Great Escapes," and is by me. Here's a preview:

A REVIEW FROM PROMETHEUS!

Prometheus said:

Olivia Brownlee is truly a remarkable musician! I've seen her live performances, which are simply magic! Fun, funny, beautiful with a gorgeous voice and a fine purveyor of goosebumps, glee and great music.

Google Troubles

Some of you have noticed (thanks for visiting, by the way!), that the Google Calendar on this website is not functioning properly. For this reason I am now posting calendar dates and gigs on the Blog Page. It won't be as comprehensive as squares and numbers, but it will be something...Thank you for your support.

September/October:

Friday, Sep 30, 7.30p
~ Medieval Manor, S. Boston

Tuesday, Oct 4, 9p
~ Leon's Place, Plymouth, MA
(Sharing evening with other great locals!)

Tuesday, Oct 11, 8.30p
~ Good Life, Kingston St, Boston

Thursday, Oct 13, 10p
~ Stars on Hingham Harbor, Hingham, MA

Saturday, Oct 15, 2.30p
~ Boston Winery, Boston

Tuesday, Oct 18, 7p
~ Tavern at the End of the World, Charlestown, MA

Thursday, Oct 20, 9.30p
~ Paddy Berry's, Quincy, MA

Wednesday, Oct 30, 9p
~ The Perfect Wife Restaurant, Manchester, VT

BAD-ASSINGEST FLYING ANT

FEEDBACK on EPONYMOUS

Olivia Brownlee’s Eponymous is simple music that doesn’t drone on and on. It’s straight to the point lyrics are what is needed and appreciated in her folk/pop realm. There’s no overshadowing of harsh beats or those lyrics that are fluffed, realism in music is what listeners get with Olivia Brownlee’s sound. Her folk ways shine in “Demons,” while her pop side (not the Britney pop, just the catchy ways) comes through in “Realizing the Rainbow.” A dozen of songs that are worth “Checkin’ Out” and showcase a woman who is “Passionate” about what she does. “What I Wrote When I Woke Up” definitely is the way to cap off the album; heartfelt and honest, standing out above the rest. Musical people who spend their time with Kate Bush and Judy Collins will want to add Olivia Brownlee’s Eponymous to their musical library.

Reviewed by Kendra Beltran of Bryan Farrish Radio Promotion

HAIR & MAKEUP BY ANNA-KATHERINE ELIZABETH (BROWNLEE) MARTINEZ

Photo by Auntie Jewel.

BLAHGS

I've grown increasingly cynical about blogs ever since I first heard of them. Mostly because the only blogs I've ever tried to follow are written by people close to me, and it's difficult to be captivated reading information for which you could just as easily (and more rewardingly) make a phonecall. Another blog grievance I couldn't have known without maintaining a blog is that people like me are a real nuisance to bloggers--we won't read the blog because we want the news from the horse's mouth in order to feel actively engaged in the blogger's life. A genuine sentiment, but it somewhat dampens the enthusiasm for the blogging process since the blogger feels no one is reading at all.

So The Real Challenge for bloggers is to write engaging and un-cryptic material for new readers, extra-conversational material for current friends and family, and material that isn't soul-killing to the writer herself--all in one breath. I hope whoever's reading this appreciates the arduous extremes implicit in this task. On the other hand, I have no choice, since not only am I bored with writing blogs, I wouldn't even be interested in reading my blog. A desperate and symbiotic vortex...

Here, then, is the beginning of creating blogs I would have a remote interest in viewing...

ALASKA, AKA: PERSPECTIVE

Sometimes people who never got over their teens are great at getting over some of the most amazing once-in-a-lifetime experiences.

Like riding on a car elevator to park on the upper deck of a 3-day ferry. Pitching your tent on the deck and getting so rained out that you resign to the plentiful deckchairs (which you find are much more comfortable--if you're under 6' long). Wandering into the ship's bar and finding a trumpet-player and pianist from the army band rocking out in the most inviting ways to songs like "Killing Me Softly" and "Yankee Doodle," and adding guitar and banjo to their midst. Watching live orcas cruise by without a care. Watching every traveler drop drinks, games, books and children to rush to the rail at the mere whisper of the word, "whale."

Like meeting a pilot in Takeetna and flying standby around the top of Mt McKinley at 20,000 ft. Or inviting just about every musician in town to jam with us on the stage of the Fairview and culminating in a band of 2 guitars, a washtub bass, 1 djimbe, 1 cajon, mandolin, fiddle, banjo, cello, melodica, harmonica, egg, tambourine, washboard, at least 6 singers and at least 10 dancers (www.reverbnation.com/sugarstrings) (www.youtube.com/watch?v=3TouWUXq1XM). Getting a $60 tip for having that much fun and buying a round of PBR's for all the musicians. Staying at one of the homiest hostels since the Juggler's Rest in Picton, NZ (www.talkeetnahostel.com/).

Or camping somewhat illegitimately on a riverbeach it seems only 2 other people in Denali know how to get to. Coming up with a new scheme for portaiteering and finding an unopened pale ale that someone had left to chill in the shallows.

I may be a spoiled teenager...but I think it's easy for anyone to take their present circumstances for granted...just God help me if I don't snap out of it once in a while...

McMenamins

Two brothers from Portland, OR have done remarkably well with their brewing business - one little cafe purchased in 1975 has turned into a multi-property chain of 57 (and counting) brewpubs, theatre pubs, microbreweries, historic hotels, and music venues. There is an onsite historian whose sole job is to collect information, photos and stories about the historic buildings the chain continues to occupy as well as answer your questions; every wall and flat surface is positively decked with original artwork from various muralists and portaiteers; they have probably the coolest website I've ever wasted an hour on (www.mcmenamins.com)...and I don't mind saying that through diligent persistence and a little luck, I wedged myself into a venue I call "The Tunnel" in Edgefield's Winery: It's a space about 40 feet long and 10 feet wide at the end of which the little musicians set up their stuff in a square section I refer to as "The Living Room." As there was a more local band playing outside, I was sure I'd be by myself for those 2 hours...when lo and behold, a face peeked around the corner, disappeared, then returned with drink, purse, phone and smile (this was my first friend, and I hope someday to give her a big hug and learn her name, for though she stayed for the entire show, was interactive and completely pleasant, I wasn't able to meet her before she left - so if you're reading this right now, First Friend, many thanks). She was shortly thereafter followed by four mid-westerners who sat in the tiny Living Room right in front of me, and who later brought back 2 other couples...and in-between a whole bevvy of folk wandered in and out and seemed to enjoy my musical supplements far more than I thought I should deserve. At the end I had played for an extra hour, observed no break, had played every song I could think of and was resorting to Disney covers (which we may poo-poo, but have you ever sat down and tried to learn a Disney tune on guitar? They're challenging, interesting, encouraging and soulful - Disney may have an unfortunately cheesy reputation, but for reals, mad props to their songwriters).

Gerda's Gone

Then it was up the coast to Gerda's Valley for us.

Those who've heard the song written for her probably won't think of Solvang by any other name. The author (my Uncle Barney, 3rd of four) and his siblings grew up there, and there we pit-stopped to stay the night and say a few too-quick hello's to too few family members. But we did get to see Mason Van Valin, my cousin, and solicit him to come to the East Coast and stir things up with us at some point in the near future.

So swing me out across the valley,
and wet my feet in a mossy stream,
and listen to the wind in the eucalyptus...
Oh Lord, don't wake me from this dream...

"New Mexico" (watch for it on the next album...)

I had a dream last night that Michael Jackson faked his death to induce Johnny Depp to cut an acoustic Django-style jazz album. When that failed he hired me to create my own album so the style would become popular again.

I only mention this because last week we played in West Hollywood's Viper Room, formerly owned by the jazz-guitarist-turned-pirate. My wee niece said that if I saw Mr Depp to tell him she thinks he's cool.

Dickie B. of Sonora Recorders (also long-time-family-friend and father's-former-roommate) turned up at the gig and offered his services to us for a couple hours Saturday morning, so we stayed a bit longer in LA--much to the consternation of our wallets--shot another music video, and recorded a song I'd written the previous Thursday and of which I don't mind saying I'm quite proud...

...Massachusetts has a wonderful story,

Arizona is rugged and free,

But the sand and snow of New Mexico
Is today what's calling me...

It's more Denver than Django, but I do believe it's the song that will win Depp over to his own recordings.

MAN OF GLASS

I was going to write more about Bob Marlowe in the Coffee Gallery post, but then decided to give him his own.

To the mind of the daughter who heard the tales from her mother, the Jesus Movement of the 60's was fronted in part by a band called The Salt Company from Hollywood Presbyterian Church. They wrote original songs about God's love, played guitar and sang in three-part harmony, wore their hair long and proud, and performed free concerts on beaches and in coffeeshops. The band was comprised of Pamela Van Valin (mum), David Covington, Bob Marlowe, and a bass player who has since passed on and whose name I can't remember. David and Bob (along with my dad and another fellow named Michael McGinnis) were my earliest musical influences--long before I knew what an album was or even radio--and I do feel uniquely blessed that I was raised with good, live music by trustworthy friends in the livingroom or in church (or both simultaneously). It's fed much of my philosophy regarding art and faith.

The peak of our Coffee Gallery show, for me, was twisting Bob's arm to close us out with a song of his own called "Maranatha." I'd forgotten how well I knew it, and surprised us both while I was singing along with him on stage. I felt connected to a piece of my parents' history without them being there, which was a new experience for me and one that couldn't have happened anywhere else in the world. Thanks for humoring a young girl, Bob. It was an especially meaningful day for me.

HOME SWEET HOME

To be perfectly honest, the only show I've been worried about this whole trip was the Coffee Gallery Backstage. It was one of the two draw-based shows we booked, and while I was born in LA, have some friends and family in the area, and am confident in our talents, I was worried what our success rate was going to be at this venue. In Altadena, CA, on Lake Avenue, this small coffeeshop's back room seats 49 and hosts some of the quirkiest and most professional acts in the nation. When I called the owner (a blunt, aging, but incredibly hilarious man named Bob Stane), I mentioned that I was born in LA and could probably produce up to 20 people if he was worried about draw. At that he recommended we take the matinee on June 5 as the main attraction. Following this conversation, I asked Bob Marlowe (old family friend and great influence on me, musically and philosophically) to open for us, and then basically crossed my fingers that we'd get enough reservations.

And in spite of all my nail-chewing, we actually went over very well. Afterward, Bob Stane even said that he was "satisfied with how things went," which to us from him was like receiving a B+ on a trigonometry test. We even made a profit out of which we were able to pay our awesome opening act. The family friends (who trudged all the way up the hill expecting to look at their watches halfway through the afternoon then convince themselves to stay in support of Scott & Pam's daughter) were positively effusive, saying how engaged they were throughout the performance, how touched they were, and what fun they had. My mom's old roommate made me cry telling me how she's been praying for me and my brother our whole lives. I got to see one of my mom's fellow doo-op singers who I've literally not seen in nearly 20 years. My childhood playmate showed up. We were able to stop for an In-N-Out Burger on the way to the gig. All in all, it was an Exhale kind of day.

ONLY TO FIND GIDEON'S BIBLE

The view from our Bungalow

After we thought things couldn't get any better, we got to the 29 Palms Inn in 29 Palms, CA. I think it only fair to warn my literalist friends out there that there are more than 29 Palm trees at the resort alone. Be that as it may, our stay there was just as well-hosted and warmly received as in the Hualapai's. Our friend and employer, Adrian French, saw to our every comfort, fed us, beered us and set us up in "The Hermitage," a bungalow on the edge of the natural oasis there (a real live oasis!). When we rolled into port here, we half expected to be met with the "air of indifference" for which the resort is supposedly famed...but as we traded songs and stories for our three-hour set, we noticed heads turning, smiles, toes tapping, mouths lip syncing to covers, and even requests! I did a rendition of "Ragtime Cowboy Joe," and was promptly thereafter beset with a request for "Ghostriders," which I happily obliged.

If you're looking for an unusual getaway in a remote location with a zany but friendly personality meshed with a respect for privacy, look into the 29 Palms Inn.

DAY BY DAY & SHOE BY SHOE

In the middle of Nowhere, Desert, between Arizona and California, Southwest of Havasu Lake and Northwest of the Salton Sea, there's a railroad junction, a burnt-out gas station, and a bonafide shoe fence. Some of you may already know about the Shoe Fence in Waihola, New Zealand that my friend Mary Rose and I visited in 2007, but we had no idea that America had one of its own.

While exploring this phenomenon, Jay turns to me and says, "I really want to shoot a music video here."
"Right now?"
"Right now."
"What song?"
"I dunno...'Away To You'?"
"Why that one?"
"Well, it's kinda all about doing your thing no matter what..."
"...Like whether it's in front of 10,000 fans or in the middle of nowhere?"
"Yeah."
"Let's put on sunscreen and charge the camera."

I shot it, Jay's spent the last 24 hours editing it, and here it is:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PWAqyguy6zc

HUALAPAI MOUNTAINS

Should you ever wend your way toward Kingman, AZ, you may think of taking a side trip around the Hualapai Mountains (exit 59 off I-40). And if you do that, you may consider having a drink (or heck, stop for a whole lunch) at the Hualapai Mountain Resort. And then, once you've found how congenial and genuine your hosts are, how earthy and pleasant your neighbors are, and how soft and unconcerned the local dog is, you may just say to yourself, "Heck, why don't we check into a room for the night?"

Jay and I booked at gig here for a date that turned out to be three days after the owners let the place go to a new manager: Miss Kathy, who (although she didn't know us from Adam) trusted our agreement with the previously mentioned previous owners, let us play, then took such good care of us that we felt almost sad we had a different commitment for the following night. While Jay played the first set, I made friends with Sean, Matthew and Olivia (!), three children who were having dinner there with their grandparents. They watched me change my strings and accepted the bracelets I made for them from the discards. The folks who comprised our audience bought CD's and download cards, tipped us generously, sang along to singalongs, danced exuberantly, and generally made us feel we were doing what we were born to do. The following morning Kathy had to ask me for another set of albums since she'd given hers to a couple who had been listening from their room.

Five stars for love. Thank you, Hualapai.

GRAND CANYON

Anyone who has been to the Grand Canyon can tell you how tiny and insignificant it makes you feel. Sometimes this sensation is received with pleased surprise and relief, and gaining the new perspective lets your spirit loose like an inside-out hug…other times, the feeling of smallness exacerbates an already existing feeling of smallness, making you feel smaller.

Few things are more obnoxious to me than indulging self-pity, especially artistically. I am among the first to jump up and admit that I have written many songs and drawn many pictures about What It’s Like To Be Me—some of them are even not terrible—but they’re all personal explorations which I’d like to think I’ve outgrown and gotten to the point where I can write about more important things, like shag carpet or war. The problem with ignoring these impulses to explore yourself, however, is that it makes you very anxious, uncreative, and subject to burst at the slightest provocation, sometimes in hapless company.

The good news is that sometimes your hapless company is solid and wise, and will sincerely explain that the impulse, albeit annoying, is honest, and deserves an honest nod. I think that most artists will acknowledge the wisdom in giving in to the impulse to expressing whatever it is that wants out of you.

BACK TO THE ROAD

I've spent the past 6 days in Spokane, Washington, polishing and performing an Andrews Sisters Review for Heritage Funeral Home with my mum & my music mentor, Pamela Brownlee & Leslie Ann Grove respectively. As well as a bevvy of fantasy musicians (fantasy implying that they're almost too good to be true, and i want them to - would be honoured to have them - grace my next album) including Chuck Boris, Brian Flick and Rick Westrick. If you need musicians, these are the guys to call!

And now i'm in the Portland airport waiting for my connecting flight to Denver, which will bring me to my connecting flight to Albuquerque which will connect me back with Jay to continue on our epic tour! Stay tuned for more information...

RARE SCOTT BROWNLEE PERFORMANCE OF "NEVERENDING LOVE"

TORNADO ALLEY

When I was a teenager I had a dream I was about to drive off a cliff when a tornado came out of nowhere, snatched me up, spun me around til I was desperate and crying out to God, then set me down on the grass without a ding. I have a very special respect for tornadoes. Particularly now, after standing on the porch of the Holiday Inn & Suites off of Highway 412, across from an oil refinery just west of Tulsa at 6pm last night.

From Dallas to Wichita there progressed almost a perfectly straight swath of storm on May 24, west of which it was a bright sunny day, east of which it looked like a methane midnight. We stood on the porch with several locals, watching the clouds roil and spin over us, seemingly close enough to touch, feeling the rain get nearer and nearer with each dropping degree & ducking like animals every time lightning busted right over us. “So when do we start heading inside?” we asked. “You’ll hear it,” they replied with a grin. “Sounds like a %@#ing train.”

The folks in Oklahoma have a humblingly practical outlook on life & death during tornado season. If it had been just Jay & myself taking shelter there, we would have been in the basement missing a completely impressive display of mightiness. But the folks we were sharing a lobby and porch with were in uncommonly high spirits, smiling and joking about the ways we could meet our ends, telling us stories of how they’ve “camped in worse than this,” and generally making us feel a lot safer even though we were staring one of the biggest storms either of us had experienced right in the fearful face. We were all pumped with adrenaline of course, but never had to run for the basement of the hotel.

Soon the rain began to fall down (as opposed to sideways), the air lightened and the temperature began to rise again, which is when we heard tornado sirens go off in the city of Tulsa just east of us. The worst of the storm had passed right under our noses.

If they don't delay my flight too much more, I'll soon be in Spokane, WA, drinking tea in my old room. If you're in the area and of the mind, come enjoy our Andrews Sisters review at Heritage Funeral Home in honour of Bob Hope and all veterans: http://www.heritagefunerals.com/fh/calendar/calendar.cfm?&fh_id=11479

JOPLIN, MO

While Joplin was being devastated due south of us, we rocked the Flea Market Bar & Grill in Kasey Moe. While Joplin was being shredded due south of us, we ate some of the finest burgers since the last time i was at In-N-Out. Having arrived at the conclusion that my hormones are made of crazy, i was arrested with no impulse to emote before the show, much to both Jay's and my relief...however, i did have strange and troubling dreams while Joplin fell, due south of us. A little girl, incidentally also named Olivia, sitting at the table nearest the stage area was very receptive of my rendition of "Once Upon A Dream" from Sleeping Beauty. And apparently our booker, Mike-of-the-Dashingest-Mustache-in-Kansas-City, missed his calling as a doctor when his handwritten press release warranted a poster reading "Jay Psaros w/ Olivia Brownleg"...If i ever had a stagename...

It's a point of interest that we probably would have been planning to play last night in Joplin had we not been able to book the Flea Market gig.

We're safe and holed up in a hotel in Pittsburg, Kansas right now, staying just out of the range of the weather. We'll be grabbing some grub shortly and planning our next move towards Oklahoma City. Be prayin' for God's gumption for us.

BREAKDOWN ON MISSING EVENTS (bloggers: Stay atop o’ your blogging...catchup’s a pain in the whatsa):

1: There was a gig in Columbus, Ohio: Bernie’s Distillery, beneath a bagel store in the middle of college town. Basement bar, local underground hangout for all things underground. Shared the evening with Arkansasian anarchist bluegrassers, Cletus Got Shot. Mark the gas-tank bass player is unquestionably cut from the same cloth as my dad (did not tell him so, figgered it’d be a weird thing to say at first meeting).

2: Followed by a gig in Indie (-anapolis, Indiana—may as well get y’all acquainted with the local vernack): Drove through the night post-gig to a campsite just southeast of the city called Whitewater and decided we’d be remiss not to go horseback riding on the morrow. Which we did with a true cowboy named Dave who directly upon seeing us walk up the drive yanked us into an old-time pickin’ session, fed us pizza, and told all his friends (good, good folk) that we’d be coming back in August to play a concert on his stage. We parted company with much reluctance to play in a biker bar in a strip mall in the middle of a fallow corn field in southern Indie, which was a worthwhile experience despite my preshow emotional wallow...I can’t figure why I cry so much before solo gigs, whether it’s because I don’t care enough or because I care far too much. Or because my hormones are made of crazy.

3: And St Louis, MO was the site of our happy hour gig last night at an oyster bar aptly called “The Oyster Bar.” Between the fried alligator and the bread pudding (best durn bread pudding I’ve ever eaten), I got swept up in a conversation with a restaurant equipment peddler named Chris who veritably ordered us to get ourselves over to the City Museum before we left St Louie. So we did the gig (not without the preshow cry and which went over very well despite a 2-mile-long train travelling at 4mph for 20 of the 40 minutes of my set), met up with a coupla friends of Jay’s (le Beouf & le Patrick), and got ourselves to one of the wildest man-made places on the face of the earth, an indoor jungle of welded rebar and steel rods connecting tidbits of American curiosity to achieve something like Rubelle Farms meets Disneyland, times 50, on hallucinogens. Well worth the $15 admission.

All in all it seems that even though my attitude consistently leaves much to be desired when I play by myself, people really enjoy our music and every place we’ve played so far has been enthusiastic about having us back. It mystifies me on my part, but I’m thanksful.

Athens, OH

The Penn Brewery gig was a hoppy gas, it went over very well in spite of a poor attitude on my part induced by existential brooding. I did my set and while Jay played the next, i went for a little walk with my soul across the nearby pedestrian bridge. I find, sometimes, that when i'm Troubled, God sends me a letter. This time it came in the form of graffiti, seemingly tagged by some other distraught musician-type in search of a deeper meaning:

Loose spirit to the wind
in discordant night's glow
emotion collapsing inward
but 8 more songs to go

We pedaled our boat across the northwestern tip of West Virginia to the college town of Athens, OH, infused with hippies and head shops. Our spirits remain undampened by the intermittent spring showers in our campsite, helped by stunningly lush countryside and roadside poetry such as this:

Hidden treasures can be found
In Massey's Valley they abound
made by people or from the land
...[missed this line in passing]...

The scenic drive is worth your while
Hickory Ridge is just a mile.

Our Ohio gig isn't til Tuesday, so til then we'll be exploring the Central Southern of the state, spending time with old college buddies (Steve & Melissa Heffner [stevenheffner.com]), and getting haircuts.

Tour Commencement; May 14; First Mate's Log

As it turns out, 11 straight hours of driving starting at 1am is a real fry...but we only got pulled over once (i was shimmying to "Hey-ya" & strayed a bit too far to the left)! Stopped in Scranton (home of "The Office") for an hour nap & rolled into Pittsburgh round noon where we finally checked into a hotel & slept for another four hours (word to the wise: book your hotels in advance).

Pittsburgh is a real affable city. I have a cold. Get the mashed potatoes at the Brewery. Sending you some of your namesake beer, brother mine.

Incubator 145...and did we mention TOUR?

A very special afternoon went down yesterday at 145 Brooks Street in Brighton...Incubator 145 is a brand new venue dedicated to nurturing brand new work from local talent, especially-but-not-limited-to theatre artists, and elegantly hosted by Boston choreographer Gabrielle Orcha (http://gabrielleorcha.wordpress.com/). I was lucky enough to be invited as the Premier Featured Salon Performer, wherefor i filled the first hour with some songs from ye olde forthcoming "sophomore effort" (maybe to be released in the next 360 days...). Following this performance was a brief period of noshing and networking (who would begrudge a few struggling artists to exchange business cards with one another?), which was followed by some 10-minute Spots for folks who had reserved them, to show off their best and newest work to an exceptionally receptive and willing audience.

Inevitably all my plans for my morning preceding the concert yesterday went awry--BJ's doesn't carry Otter Pops (HUGE disappointment, BJ's--it's a summer staple), and Shaw's only has bouquets of daises in all colors of the rainbow (which actually turned out to be very nice, but i was miffed at the time of purchase). All the same, how extraordinary to sit before a group of professional listeners and share 8-12 short songs about your year and your struggles and dubious victories, to laugh together at how insane women can be, and basically set me up for feeling like this summer's tour is liable to be a huge success.

OOPS...I may not have blogged since the news hit the reels about Jay Psaros' Second National Tour. That's okay: In short, Jay Psaros is embarking on his Second National Tour; and i'm coming! To rhyme, we'll be driving to Spokane via LA, playing gigs along the way, in bars and hotels for tips and pay--do your best to hear us play! Setting terrestrial sail on May 13, arriving in Spokane by June 17, Alaska will be our turf for the month of July, then home by August 26 for a special event at, yes, No Place Special. You can view a comprehensive list of our dates and towns here:

http://jaypsarosmusic.com/calendar/

(I have a calendar on my site, too, but Jay's is easier and more fun to read.)

Blogging is tedious and i have my doubts that anyone has time or patience to spend staring at computer screens when they know i'm just a phonecall away, but i'll be keeping a log here as we traverse a Route 66ish trajectory to the West Coast and back again. For those of you who like to read blogs...I love you, but i don't understand you. But God bless you. And God bless us.

Til next~

Misnomer of the Year Award goes to No Place Special

Just as i suspected!

The Flying Furlani's have created a bar/church/venue/home unlike any before it or to come. I've been to dives, mansions, parties, weddings, funerals, worship services, full moon ceremonies, in deep water, on planes, among friends, among friendly strangers, on the sidelines, inducted into families, drunk on everything from grey goose to good storytelling, so full i couldn't walk, so quiet i couldn't move, and so moved i couldn't sing. No Place Special is like all of them stirred together in one extraordinary home-made House. Please visit their website in the previous post and love on this exceptional family near or far from you.

As i said to Sue, their daughters Liza & Emi are yet exquisite hostesses. Thank you again, girls.

Whatever Happens at No Place Special

I give all the credit to the fella who open-mic-ed before me at the Lizard Lounge on the night of January 3, 2011 (Happy New Year, everyone!). Up against his set of "Suicide" and "Welcome To Another F@#*ing Day In Paradise," "Cookin' Tune" and "Wanderin' Daughter" (brand new tune freshly accompanied by Adam "Pickles" Moss [myspace.com/governorpickles]) were like beaming rays of sunshine and love that cure cancer (i'd still love to cover that Paradise song, though). Once i'd finished, our host, Tom Bianchi, pointed out some people to me, who waved me over and invited me to their home on the Cape. Tom pulled me aside later to give me some backstory on this:

noplacespecial.org

I give a URL because after an entire evening of people telling me how much my mind was going to be blown by their house/bar/church/concert venue, i still don't feel i have any idea of what i've gotten myself into. So on Jan 22, 2011, down the coast i go (somehow) to find out! And afterwards i'll lay such words and tales on this blog that you'll want to put music to them...Okay that was pretentious. Let's just say i won't leave a mere URL for you to go investigate yourself.