We’re in ABQ Quality Inn now and tired beyond belief. So much catching up and almost no sleep, the sheer energy of trying to hit a pace, drag of the learning curve, altitude change, diet change, and making sure not to let the computer cord hang out the van door.
I caught the Thule roof rack on the ventilation ducts in the parking garage at the Hammer and punched a hole in it. We’re 6 foot 10 inches and the clearance 6 foot 9 inches, that’s what I learned. Then one of the hangers in the van broke when the bellman tried to hang a 40 pound jacket bag from a hook that has a 10 lb capacity. The reason I know it had a 10lb capacity is because that is what it says when you lay down on the back seat and look up at the amputated hook. Then I drove up a hill with the emergency brake on, you could smell rubber wafting in over the chef salad I was eating at a Prescott, AZ Pie and Coffee Shop. No problem I can get this repaired. New pads, no problem. I’ll duct tape the roof rack. While I am at it I’ll repair the side door of the van which I gashed and dented on a fence backing out of a friend’s yard in Placitas, NM. I blame it on the altitude. I see us now driving back into California with the van duct taped together, bumper dragging on the asphalt, smoking tailpipe, and David and Terri in me, crowded in skeleton of a van (kindly loaned to us by Nancy Davis) muscular from our adventure, but with our clothes in shreds.
Okay, enough complaining. We’re fine. Working with the musicians in LA was transformative. Truly transformative. And it took an enormous amount of energy to flex and learn to improvise and collaborate at this level, and I was totally star struck. I mean these musicians are the real deal. And what am I? A poet. . . We only had a day to get the performance together and it all seemed so possible from my desk in Guerneville. But I was terrified halfway through the rehearsal ‘cause nothing seemed to be working out. Lots of talk and I grew dark and brooding. Nothing worked. We couldn’t find a groove. I couldn’t articulate what I wanted clearly and didn’t know what anyone was talking about.
Then David took over and the musicians were working with him okay, of course he is the pro, years of experience and all, and he had already done several gigs with Theo. Theo was able to give the musicians direction as how to approach David. Though I know David was still challenged by the possibilities of a complex collaboration of musical voices, blues and jazz. So it wasn’t until the last ten minutes of the rehearsal I finally saw daylight. Terri encouraged me to go back for another shot. Miracle of miracles we found our way. John B. Williams was able to suggest an approach of essential improvisation. Johnny Lee Schell understood it was tempo that I was looking for first and not so much a particular tune or style of music. Everyone got the groove, the swing, and was there with me, incredibly supportive. I was in heaven. Debra Dobkin throwing bells and shakers at her drums for percussion. Joe was laughing through his saxophone. Theo had it all grounded with beautiful chords. Johnny Lee saw the smile on my face and said, “Have we restored your faith?” “I’m happy,” I said. Totally. I had imagined the worst, a nightmare, standing on the stage of the Hammer, all those people in the audience I bothered about showing up, yelling ROCKPILE every day for 10 months, and me standing there with nothing to show for it, reading rubbish over a garbled noise, inaudible…
Beat, beat, beat, I am beat. Terri is working on the documentation and she hasn’t had a time to breathe either so we have dragged behind on that. Today is the first free day since we hit the road. She is getting her photos, video and audio organized for uploading today and tomorrow. Grateful to catch-up, David too, wholly consumed by it all, his stamina incredible but no time to stop and write. I’ll let him tell his own story. He is one remarkable dude.
Now, Terri is pasting pictures on the motel room wall. An advertisement from the official Visitor’s Guide and Vacation Planner for Albuquerque. She especially likes one advertisement for a golf and spa resort within the ancient lands of a native American pueblo, that says “Centuries of History Brilliantly Disguised as Fun.” — MR
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