For a long time Vienna held the record, until it was briefly usurped by Brooklyn, NY. But just a couple of months ago, I went on a mini-tour with my harmonica player, Kevin Raybon, and our final show of the weekend, in Seattle, blew everything else out of the water for me.
We had done a tour kick-off show at my favorite Portland venue, Jade Lounge, on Friday January 13th. The following day, we drove to Edmonds, WA for a photo shoot that I had scheduled with one of my favorite fashion and art photographers, Lars Giusti. Then Kevin picked me back up a few hours later and drove me to Monroe, WA, where we had our second show of the weekend. Kevin's family and some friends and fans of mine came out to support us and made the night pretty great. Then Kevin and I headed to Everett and spent the night in a divey motel downtown, but didn't have much time to rest up before another photo shoot for me the following day, in Kirkland, with another of my favorites, Chester West. But it was our final show of the weekend, the following night in Seattle, that took the cake.
We were scheduled to open the show that night at Hattie's Hat, a Ballard-area bar in Seattle where I had played at about a year before. When I played there last year, I was opening for an amazing blues man, Ray Cashman, who was on tour from Nashville. It was a treat for me to get to see him but we didn't have a very big crowd that night. But when I came back with Kevin, on January 15th of this year, we had a much better turn out. I cannot take the credit for this: there were a few people that I knew who came out to support us, but I'm fairly certain that most of the crowd was there to see the headliner, Natalie Quist. So what made this night so magical for me and Kevin, who now perform as Amy Bleu Duo? Well, a few things:
First of all, I had never met Natalie before, but I'd heard her name so many times. She tours the Northwest frequently, like I do, so I was always seeing that she was about to play some bar in some small town in Washington that I had just played, or that she had played some winery in Idaho the night before I would be there. So many times our paths nearly crossed. I heard from mutual friends that her music was incredible. Finally we got to meet at Hattie's, and she told me she had seen my name and heard so much about me for so long, too! We all got to the venue at about six PM that night for sound-check, and burgers. My friend, Charissa from Everett, hitched a ride with me and Kevin to help guarantee that it would be a fun night; Charissa always brings the fun. We were slated to open the show at 7 and Natalie would go on after, at 8 PM. A big crowd started filing in around 6:45.
This is the second thing that kicked ass about our night: the crowd came early, and they were quiet and respectful when Kevin and I took the stage. Their politeness seemed to melt into genuine interest pretty quickly. I played a few solo songs on my guitar, then invited Kevin up to play a song on his guitar while I sang back up and shook my egg shaker. Then he backed me up on harmonica for several songs. I belted out our cover of "Exes and Ohs", originally done by Elle King, and tapped my tambourine with my foot, while everyone bobbed their heads and tapped their toes along with us. Kevin absolutely killed it on the blues harp. Then he really brought the house down with his solo guitar-and-vocal performance of "Chelsea Hotel #2" by Leonard Cohen.
Another way that this night was a success was that we more than doubled our earnings in tips! After our set, we got sit back and relax and get mesmerized by the crafty lyrics, haunting vocals and crisp guitar sounds that Natalie provided. She had the crowd in the palm of her hand, and it was such a great feeling to know that we had also had them there. We connected with so many strangers that night! It was one of those nights that reminded me of why I follow my songs from town to town, when all the traveling and the photo shoots in between shows can be a lot of work, and the cost of being on the road is so great that sometimes you don't come home with much money.
As this series draws to a close (for now), I want to thank everyone who has been so hospitable and kind to me on the road. And I want to acknowledge that I have had way too many memorable shows in Portland, where I've lived for the past twelve years, and in Spokane, where I was born and where I returned to really begin my music career, in 2003. I couldn't pick my favorite out of shows where I sold out on CD release nights, where I had wardrobe malfunctions and gave the crowd more than they'd paid for with an eyeful of flesh, where I jammed with other musicians on their songs or they jumped in on mine and created a version of it that would only exist for that one moment in time. I will continue to play in Portland every month for a long time, if I am lucky, for the rest of my days. I will always come back and play my hometown, too, for as long as Spokane will have me back. So I challenge you, Spokane and Portland, give us our best show yet! I know you can.
Wednesday, March 22, 2017
Saturday, March 18, 2017
My Top Five, Part 4 (or My Second Best Show Ever)
In 2012, at the tender age of 31, I got into modeling. Actually, it was my best friend, Andrea Faith, who originally got me into it, when I was in my twenties. She was the first person to ever take a good photograph of me, when I was about 20. I was a young snow white, holding an apple, staring at the camera with my big eyes, asking the camera if it wants to bite the apple. Prior to that, everyone told me I was just not photogenic. I agreed with them, until Andrea changed my perspective and, really, my life, in this way.
Still, I didn't exactly know then how to parlay this into a living. I worked myriad minimum wage jobs, let the occasional lecher take my picture and played music at restaurants in exchange for free pizza and beer. Then I moved back to my hometown to live with a photographer boyfriend for a while. We dated for a year and he featured me in his gallery shows in local bars and coffee houses in Spokane -- until a nude photograph of me showed up in a coffee house I was performing music at, without my permission! It was classy and artistic but still, not what I wanted someone focusing on when they're supposed to be listening to my music.
There were some other artists I met along way who I modeled for, not for pay but in the name of art and friendship. There were a few random craigslist gigs for a small amount of beans. And then one day, just before I left for a six month long music tour, when I was 31, I realized that I needed to get serious about modeling, so that it could be my day job, while I lived on the road. It turned out to be the perfect day job: I could set my own hours and rates, I could shoot during the day and play my music at night, and I could find modeling gigs in every major city, and some smaller ones, too.
Flash forward four years: At age 35, I was modeling almost full time, on top of doing social work full time, and as for my music... I guess you could say I worked part time as a musician, but lived and breathed music all the time. I went to New York three times last year. Even after supporting myself for six months with modeling on my music tour in 2012, and going back to modeling on nights and weekends five weeks after I had my son, and making a really good living at it for the last couple years, I still never imagined that I would be in New York one day, modeling and playing music!
My friend Rosalee was another instrumental figure in my modeling career. I met her two years ago at a photographer's home studio near Seattle, but she turned out to live in Portland, just like I do. She attached to me quickly as she did not know many other models in the area, but I, on the other hand, but was intimidated at first by her beauty and also her street smarts about the industry. We did become fast friends though, and she has been more generous with her modeling contacts than any other model I've met. Whenever she works with a photographer that she likes, she tells them about me. So it was her idea that I should come to New York with her, in February of 2016, to meet and work with people that she knew there. Everyone she knew turned out to be unavailable to shoot with us, but we made some new contacts. I got to shoot in my lingerie on the Brooklyn Bridge and down on the streets of Manhattan in the early morning hours on a windy, chilly winter day, but I knew that I'd get a shot or two that would make it all worth it, and I did.
I looked for a music gig for months before our trip and finally found a venue that was willing to host me, with a caveat: I needed to book three other artists and build the whole show myself! Though this was daunting at first, I didn't balk because I had done the same thing in other towns like Seattle and Olympia, where I don't know many other musicians, but was able to find contacts by doing my research on Reverbnation.com.
Rather than searching for popular artists in New York in general, I refined my search and looked for singers specifically in Brooklyn, where I'd be playing. I met several popular Brooklyn-based artists online and, if they couldn't play, they referred me to other people whom I should talk to. Eventually I got my dream bill together: A pop goddess with a great following, an indie folk hero who had been featured on a popular late night television show, and a nationally touring artist who arrived just in time to headline after her band had finished opening for Ozzy Osbourne!
Rosalee was working as a promo model at a party that was running late that night, so she couldn't come to the show with me. I took the subway and ate a giant slice of pizza on my way to the show. I wasn't sure if anyone would be in the audience, if patrons would file in later to see only the artists that they had already heard. But the room quickly filled up as I was plugging in cables and gearing up for soundcheck. Damn, I should've taken a beta blocker but now it's too late in the game, I realized. Neurotic as ever, I started my set promptly at 9 PM. The room was one of those pin-drop quiet scenes, and a dark sea of faces with white shining eyes was facing me, hands clapping and then quieting so that their ears could hear more. Voices laughing in just the right spots on the funny songs, faces somber but sympathetic during sad songs. Right where you want them. My stomach felt a punch that wasn't unpleasant, like a rush after you've taken a pill and you know that intense euphoria is imminent.
Euphoria finally settled in as I heard the final round of applause, unplugged my instruments, and headed to the bar for a whiskey. The stage fright had nowhere to go but away. I didn't have to worry about fucking up any longer; all I had to think about was relaxing, listening to the other artists, sipping my whiskey and getting offered more whiskeys - along with compliments - from the denizens of the bar.
It was only after I returned back to the hotel that I realized that I had been buzzing all night from the adrenaline of playing a great show and connecting with audience members. The hotel room was so much quieter than the loud, dive bar, with my girl friend sleeping and the air conditioner humming. I suddenly felt exhausted and I figured that it was from expending so much energy at the show, adjusting to East Coast time, having a few whiskeys. Plus it was after midnight when I settled into my hotel bed to rest before I would wake up in the early morning hours for the aforementioned Brooklyn Bridge shoot. Little did I know, I was coming down with strep throat. But somehow I made out at six in the morning, with my weak cup of hotel coffee, into the February cold and hailed a cab, like it was no big deal.
Still, I didn't exactly know then how to parlay this into a living. I worked myriad minimum wage jobs, let the occasional lecher take my picture and played music at restaurants in exchange for free pizza and beer. Then I moved back to my hometown to live with a photographer boyfriend for a while. We dated for a year and he featured me in his gallery shows in local bars and coffee houses in Spokane -- until a nude photograph of me showed up in a coffee house I was performing music at, without my permission! It was classy and artistic but still, not what I wanted someone focusing on when they're supposed to be listening to my music.
There were some other artists I met along way who I modeled for, not for pay but in the name of art and friendship. There were a few random craigslist gigs for a small amount of beans. And then one day, just before I left for a six month long music tour, when I was 31, I realized that I needed to get serious about modeling, so that it could be my day job, while I lived on the road. It turned out to be the perfect day job: I could set my own hours and rates, I could shoot during the day and play my music at night, and I could find modeling gigs in every major city, and some smaller ones, too.
Flash forward four years: At age 35, I was modeling almost full time, on top of doing social work full time, and as for my music... I guess you could say I worked part time as a musician, but lived and breathed music all the time. I went to New York three times last year. Even after supporting myself for six months with modeling on my music tour in 2012, and going back to modeling on nights and weekends five weeks after I had my son, and making a really good living at it for the last couple years, I still never imagined that I would be in New York one day, modeling and playing music!
My friend Rosalee was another instrumental figure in my modeling career. I met her two years ago at a photographer's home studio near Seattle, but she turned out to live in Portland, just like I do. She attached to me quickly as she did not know many other models in the area, but I, on the other hand, but was intimidated at first by her beauty and also her street smarts about the industry. We did become fast friends though, and she has been more generous with her modeling contacts than any other model I've met. Whenever she works with a photographer that she likes, she tells them about me. So it was her idea that I should come to New York with her, in February of 2016, to meet and work with people that she knew there. Everyone she knew turned out to be unavailable to shoot with us, but we made some new contacts. I got to shoot in my lingerie on the Brooklyn Bridge and down on the streets of Manhattan in the early morning hours on a windy, chilly winter day, but I knew that I'd get a shot or two that would make it all worth it, and I did.
I looked for a music gig for months before our trip and finally found a venue that was willing to host me, with a caveat: I needed to book three other artists and build the whole show myself! Though this was daunting at first, I didn't balk because I had done the same thing in other towns like Seattle and Olympia, where I don't know many other musicians, but was able to find contacts by doing my research on Reverbnation.com.
Rather than searching for popular artists in New York in general, I refined my search and looked for singers specifically in Brooklyn, where I'd be playing. I met several popular Brooklyn-based artists online and, if they couldn't play, they referred me to other people whom I should talk to. Eventually I got my dream bill together: A pop goddess with a great following, an indie folk hero who had been featured on a popular late night television show, and a nationally touring artist who arrived just in time to headline after her band had finished opening for Ozzy Osbourne!
Rosalee was working as a promo model at a party that was running late that night, so she couldn't come to the show with me. I took the subway and ate a giant slice of pizza on my way to the show. I wasn't sure if anyone would be in the audience, if patrons would file in later to see only the artists that they had already heard. But the room quickly filled up as I was plugging in cables and gearing up for soundcheck. Damn, I should've taken a beta blocker but now it's too late in the game, I realized. Neurotic as ever, I started my set promptly at 9 PM. The room was one of those pin-drop quiet scenes, and a dark sea of faces with white shining eyes was facing me, hands clapping and then quieting so that their ears could hear more. Voices laughing in just the right spots on the funny songs, faces somber but sympathetic during sad songs. Right where you want them. My stomach felt a punch that wasn't unpleasant, like a rush after you've taken a pill and you know that intense euphoria is imminent.
Euphoria finally settled in as I heard the final round of applause, unplugged my instruments, and headed to the bar for a whiskey. The stage fright had nowhere to go but away. I didn't have to worry about fucking up any longer; all I had to think about was relaxing, listening to the other artists, sipping my whiskey and getting offered more whiskeys - along with compliments - from the denizens of the bar.
It was only after I returned back to the hotel that I realized that I had been buzzing all night from the adrenaline of playing a great show and connecting with audience members. The hotel room was so much quieter than the loud, dive bar, with my girl friend sleeping and the air conditioner humming. I suddenly felt exhausted and I figured that it was from expending so much energy at the show, adjusting to East Coast time, having a few whiskeys. Plus it was after midnight when I settled into my hotel bed to rest before I would wake up in the early morning hours for the aforementioned Brooklyn Bridge shoot. Little did I know, I was coming down with strep throat. But somehow I made out at six in the morning, with my weak cup of hotel coffee, into the February cold and hailed a cab, like it was no big deal.
My Top Five, Part 3
The first thing I can remember about my third greatest gig of all time is playing Madlibs in the car with my parents and brother on the way from Ljubljana, Slovenia to Vienna, Austria. It is the way that many good tours start out. Usually I’m suggesting dirty words to old friends or my band-mate these days; but my family was the original Madlib crew. My brother Jake was only a teenager, so he was the only one really age-appropriate for this game, but it worked for the rest of our gang with our combined emotional maturity levels.
There was a border with no one working at it when we crossed countries. I found it strange, but my parents said this was normal for that part of Europe. I suggested that we go to lunch at Cafe Landtmann, rumored to have been a favorite of Freud’s, when we reached Vienna. We knew that we would all generously be fed a vegetarian meal at the venue that I’d be playing at later, so we all agreed on soups and sandwiches at the famous cafe beforehand. A large hummingbird danced before our table, and we oohed and ahhed... until we noticed that he had antennae! He must be an exotic bug! Would he sting us?! we wondered, and we all screamed like crazy Americans and made everyone stare.The first thing I can remember about my third greatest gig of all time is playing Madlibs in the car with my parents and brother on the way from Ljubljana, Slovenia to Vienna, Austria. It is the way that many good tours start out. Usually I’m suggesting dirty words to old friends or my band-mate these days; but my family was the original Madlib crew. My brother Jake was only a teenager, so he was the only one really age-appropriate for this game, but it worked for the rest of our gang with our combined emotional maturity levels.
There was a border with no one working at it when we crossed countries. I found it strange, but my parents said this was normal for that part of Europe. I suggested that we go to lunch at Cafe Landtmann, rumored to have been a favorite of Freud’s, when we reached Vienna. We knew that we would all generously be fed a vegetarian meal at the venue that I’d be playing at later, so we all agreed on soups and sandwiches at the famous cafe beforehand. A large hummingbird danced before our table, and we oohed and ahhed... until we noticed that he had antennae! He must be an exotic bug! Would he sting us?! we wondered, and we all screamed like crazy Americans and made everyone stare.
My parents, being fairly reasonable people, rented someone’s apartment for the night for themselves and my brother, but I’d been promised a room at the University of Natural Resources and Life Sciences, where I’d be performing at later. I saw my parents’ nice two-story town-home before the show, and they insisted that I could stay with them, but I said, “No way, a spare room at a strange college in a foreign country where I don’t know anyone else sounds way better!”
We all headed to the venue, called Tuwi, at BOKU (the University of Natural Resources and Life Sciences) around dinner time. I got my soundcheck done and then joined my family and some new friends for vegan pasta and bread on picnic tables outside. It was a warm night in June of 2010. After dinner, we all went back inside the venue where they served all of us beer, even my brother, who was 14 at the time, but in all fairness, was super tall and had a full beard. Everyone smoked cigarettes and joints on the dance floor and they even danced to my music, which was something I had only seen children do before! I opened the set by greeting them with “Willkommen zur show!”and then apologizing for not knowing anymore German. My brother was standing around smoking and my parents were teasing him to go hit on college chicks because he looked so much older. Then my mom took pictures and videos of me playing, and the crowd asked for an encore. I teased them that they didn’t know yet that it was uncool to like me in America, and my mother asked me never to tell a crowd that ever again.
After my set, a jam band played, and then a DJ. My family retired to their own space for the night, but not before offering to take me back with them again. I insisted that I would be fine in the conference room that the staff had found for me to sleep in... with just a mattress on the floor... and no lock on the door. Never would this fly for 30-something me. But for just barely still 20-something me, it was apparently kosher. My family left so I tried some weed which I almost never did back then when I didn’t know the difference in strains and why some of them made me freak out! Smoke, dance, smoke, dance, repeat, all night, is what I did.
There were two African dudes fighting over me, who were both very handsome, but I was married. I wore a locket with his picture inside of it on that tour to remind me of how married I was, and to feel less lonely. One of these gentleman worked for the venue and kept supplying me with free beers all night, but I had to cut myself off and ask to be shown to my room. He led me to my room and explained how there was no lock and that he would check on me later. I didn’t like the sound of that. He tried to make a move but I showed him my locket. He waved at the picture and let out a tiny, “hello!” before leaving me alone.
After he left, I barricaded myself in the room, moving every piece of furniture I could find in front of the door. I didn’t want him or anyone else to try to come find me! The man who had shown me to my room told me that I would be paid for my performance the following day. I woke up and was grateful to find that everything was still in its place and that it did not look like anyone had tried to come into the conference room. Rubbed my eyes, gathered my things, and headed to the bathroom... Argh, no shower! I wrestled my grungy, kinky hair into two dirty pigtails and brushed my teeth in the sink. Then I headed downstairs in search of coffee and money.
In the cold, clear light of day, Tuwi was tranformed from a crazy night club / vegan restaurant, to just an ordinary hippie coffeehouse. I approached the counter and found a man working there, who hadn’t been at the show the night before. “Entschuldigen sie... Guten morgen. Wo ist Bridget?” I asked him. Bridget had booked me and I’d been told that she’d be paying me as well, so I had said “excuse me, good morning” and asked the man at the front counter where Bridget was.
The barista launched into a lengthy explanation, using way more German words than I understood. Geez, I really hadn’t thought this through. I backed up and asked him if he spoke English. He chuckled and confirmed that he did.
He poured me a cup of coffee and called Bridget on his phone. He spoke to her in more German and then got off the phone and addressed me. “Apparently there was a misunderstanding. Bridget thought that you were paid last night.” My forehead crinkled in concern and I’m sure my voice got squeaky, too. I asserted that I had not yet been paid, and he asked me if I could wait a few hours for Bridget to come in. I explained that my family was picking me up and that I had a plane to catch back to London, to begin my long journey back to the States. There was no way I could wait, and I needed to be paid before I left town.
The barista was very understanding and called Bridget again. She agreed that he could pay me out of the till as long as I could sign a receipt to verify that I’d received my full pay. He handed over a pile of Euros and I signed, and heaved a sigh of relief. My parents had left me with an emergency cell since I didn’t have a cell phone of my own back then. I called my parents and asked them to come pick me up. They arrived shortly after and more Madlibs were transcribed. I gave my brother a copy of my favorite book, 1984, which I had finished reading for the second time on that trip.
My parents and brother dropped me off at the small Ljubljana airport before they returned to their home there. I had one last pint of my favorite local beer that I had discovered when I had been visiting them and chilling out for a few days in Slovenia in between tour stops. I was almost too tired and partied out to finish that one last beer. Almost.
I took a plane to London, a plane to somewhere in between, and finally a plane to Portland. My husband arrived at the airport to pick me up. He didn’t drive but he’d wanted to meet me there and help me get home by shuttle or max train. He brought me a bouquet of flowers, and asked me all about my trip. I’d been gone for a couple of weeks, maybe just a week and a half, but it felt like we’d been apart for so long.
We decided to take a shuttle and I chattered on about my trip. When we got off and started walking home, he warned me that he had something unpleasant to tell me, but that he had wanted for me to be excited about my trip and to share it with him first. It was one of the kindest things that anyone had ever done for me.
When we reached our apartment, he broke the news to me, that one of my closest friends had died a couple days before I got home. Vanessa had been killed in a work accident. While she was working and passed away during the day on June 24th, 2010, it was night time in Vienna, and I was high and drunk but mostly jacked up on the good feeling of playing, at that time, the best show of my career. It felt paradoxical and impossible that these two things had happened at the exact same time. And then I didn’t want it to be one of my favorite shows anymore, for a while. Vanessa had been a performer as well: she opened for friends’ bands occasionally; she didn’t seem to pursue it as fiercely as I did. I felt guilt for having just finished my first European tour, and for having achieved some local success as well; I was touring the NW every other weekend those days. It was unnecessary guilt, my husband pointed out. If she had wanted it as badly, she would’ve pursued it harder. He reminded me how much she had loved being a welder, and how she died doing what she loved. It brought me peace, and it was another one of the kindest things he’d ever done for me.
Another friend told me, you make a space for her on stage and bring her with you. That is what I do now. And my fruit-loopy, sober, mountain dew-drinking, dancing-her-ass-off-at- any-opportune-moment friend, Vanessa, would have loved me playing in Vienna and I know she wouldn’t want me to feel bad for having fun that night, when I had no way of knowing what was happening back home. So I remember this show, and I always remember my family’s company, my audience’s ebullient response, my husband’s acts of kindness... and my friend, dancing, high on caffeine, as if she’d been in the crowd, or is now dancing in space.
My parents, being fairly reasonable people, rented someone’s apartment for the night for themselves and my brother, but I’d been promised a room at the University of Natural Resources and Life Sciences, where I’d be performing at later. I saw my parents’ nice two-story town-home before the show, and they insisted that I could stay with them, but I said, “No way, a spare room at a strange college in a foreign country where I don’t know anyone else sounds way better!”
We all headed to the venue, called Tuwi, at BOKU (the University of Natural Resources and Life Sciences) around dinner time. I got my soundcheck done and then joined my family and some new friends for vegan pasta and bread on picnic tables outside. It was a warm night in June of 2010. After dinner, we all went back inside the venue where they served all of us beer, even my brother, who was 14 at the time, but in all fairness, was super tall and had a full beard. Everyone smoked cigarettes and joints on the dance floor and they even danced to my music, which was something I had only seen children do before! I opened the set by greeting them with “Willkommen zur show!”and then apologizing for not knowing anymore German. My brother was standing around smoking and my parents were teasing him to go hit on college chicks because he looked so much older. Then my mom took pictures and videos of me playing, and the crowd asked for an encore. I teased them that they didn’t know yet that it was uncool to like me in America, and my mother asked me never to tell a crowd that ever again.
After my set, a jam band played, and then a DJ. My family retired to their own space for the night, but not before offering to take me back with them again. I insisted that I would be fine in the conference room that the staff had found for me to sleep in... with just a mattress on the floor... and no lock on the door. Never would this fly for 30-something me. But for just barely still 20-something me, it was apparently kosher. My family left so I tried some weed which I almost never did back then when I didn’t know the difference in strains and why some of them made me freak out! Smoke, dance, smoke, dance, repeat, all night, is what I did.
There were two African dudes fighting over me, who were both very handsome, but I was married. I wore a locket with his picture inside of it on that tour to remind me of how married I was, and to feel less lonely. One of these gentleman worked for the venue and kept supplying me with free beers all night, but I had to cut myself off and ask to be shown to my room. He led me to my room and explained how there was no lock and that he would check on me later. I didn’t like the sound of that. He tried to make a move but I showed him my locket. He waved at the picture and let out a tiny, “hello!” before leaving me alone.
After he left, I barricaded myself in the room, moving every piece of furniture I could find in front of the door. I didn’t want him or anyone else to try to come find me! The man who had shown me to my room told me that I would be paid for my performance the following day. I woke up and was grateful to find that everything was still in its place and that it did not look like anyone had tried to come into the conference room. Rubbed my eyes, gathered my things, and headed to the bathroom... Argh, no shower! I wrestled my grungy, kinky hair into two dirty pigtails and brushed my teeth in the sink. Then I headed downstairs in search of coffee and money.
In the cold, clear light of day, Tuwi was tranformed from a crazy night club / vegan restaurant, to just an ordinary hippie coffeehouse. I approached the counter and found a man working there, who hadn’t been at the show the night before. “Entschuldigen sie... Guten morgen. Wo ist Bridget?” I asked him. Bridget had booked me and I’d been told that she’d be paying me as well, so I had said “excuse me, good morning” and asked the man at the front counter where Bridget was.
The barista launched into a lengthy explanation, using way more German words than I understood. Geez, I really hadn’t thought this through. I backed up and asked him if he spoke English. He chuckled and confirmed that he did.
He poured me a cup of coffee and called Bridget on his phone. He spoke to her in more German and then got off the phone and addressed me. “Apparently there was a misunderstanding. Bridget thought that you were paid last night.” My forehead crinkled in concern and I’m sure my voice got squeaky, too. I asserted that I had not yet been paid, and he asked me if I could wait a few hours for Bridget to come in. I explained that my family was picking me up and that I had a plane to catch back to London, to begin my long journey back to the States. There was no way I could wait, and I needed to be paid before I left town.
The barista was very understanding and called Bridget again. She agreed that he could pay me out of the till as long as I could sign a receipt to verify that I’d received my full pay. He handed over a pile of Euros and I signed, and heaved a sigh of relief. My parents had left me with an emergency cell since I didn’t have a cell phone of my own back then. I called my parents and asked them to come pick me up. They arrived shortly after and more Madlibs were transcribed. I gave my brother a copy of my favorite book, 1984, which I had finished reading for the second time on that trip.
My parents and brother dropped me off at the small Ljubljana airport before they returned to their home there. I had one last pint of my favorite local beer that I had discovered when I had been visiting them and chilling out for a few days in Slovenia in between tour stops. I was almost too tired and partied out to finish that one last beer. Almost. I took a plane to London, a plane to somewhere in between, and finally a plane to Portland. My husband arrived at the airport to pick me up. He didn’t drive but he’d wanted to meet me there and help me get home by shuttle or max train. He brought me a bouquet of flowers, and asked me all about my trip. I’d been gone for a couple of weeks, maybe just a week and a half, but it felt like we’d been apart for so long.
We decided to take a shuttle and I chattered on about my trip. When we got off and started walking home, he warned me that he had something unpleasant to tell me, but that he had wanted for me to be excited about my trip and to share it with him first. It was one of the kindest things that anyone had ever done for me.
When we reached our apartment, he broke the news to me, that one of my closest friends had died a couple days before I got home. Vanessa had been killed in a work accident. While she was working and passed away during the day on June 24th, 2010, it was night time in Vienna, and I was high and drunk but mostly jacked up on the good feeling of playing, at that time, the best show of my career. It felt paradoxical and impossible that these two things had happened at the exact same time. And then I didn’t want it to be one of my favorite shows anymore, for a while. Vanessa had been a performer as well: she opened for friends’ bands occasionally; she didn’t seem to pursue it as fiercely as I did. I felt guilt for having just finished my first European tour, and for having achieved some local success as well; I was touring the NW every other weekend those days. It was unnecessary guilt, my husband pointed out. If she had wanted it as badly, she would’ve pursued it harder. He reminded me how much she had loved being a welder, and how she died doing what she loved. It brought me peace, and it was another one of the kindest things he’d ever done for me.
Another friend told me, you make a space for her on stage and bring her with you. That is what I do now. And my fruit-loopy, sober, mountain dew-drinking, dancing-her-ass-off-at- any-opportune-moment friend, Vanessa, would have loved me playing in Vienna and I know she wouldn’t want me to feel bad for having fun that night, when I had no way of knowing what was happening back home. So I remember this show, and I always remember my family’s company, my audience’s ebullient response, my husband’s acts of kindness... and my friend, dancing, high on caffeine, as if she’d been in the crowd, or is now dancing in space.
There was a border with no one working at it when we crossed countries. I found it strange, but my parents said this was normal for that part of Europe. I suggested that we go to lunch at Cafe Landtmann, rumored to have been a favorite of Freud’s, when we reached Vienna. We knew that we would all generously be fed a vegetarian meal at the venue that I’d be playing at later, so we all agreed on soups and sandwiches at the famous cafe beforehand. A large hummingbird danced before our table, and we oohed and ahhed... until we noticed that he had antennae! He must be an exotic bug! Would he sting us?! we wondered, and we all screamed like crazy Americans and made everyone stare.The first thing I can remember about my third greatest gig of all time is playing Madlibs in the car with my parents and brother on the way from Ljubljana, Slovenia to Vienna, Austria. It is the way that many good tours start out. Usually I’m suggesting dirty words to old friends or my band-mate these days; but my family was the original Madlib crew. My brother Jake was only a teenager, so he was the only one really age-appropriate for this game, but it worked for the rest of our gang with our combined emotional maturity levels.
There was a border with no one working at it when we crossed countries. I found it strange, but my parents said this was normal for that part of Europe. I suggested that we go to lunch at Cafe Landtmann, rumored to have been a favorite of Freud’s, when we reached Vienna. We knew that we would all generously be fed a vegetarian meal at the venue that I’d be playing at later, so we all agreed on soups and sandwiches at the famous cafe beforehand. A large hummingbird danced before our table, and we oohed and ahhed... until we noticed that he had antennae! He must be an exotic bug! Would he sting us?! we wondered, and we all screamed like crazy Americans and made everyone stare.
My parents, being fairly reasonable people, rented someone’s apartment for the night for themselves and my brother, but I’d been promised a room at the University of Natural Resources and Life Sciences, where I’d be performing at later. I saw my parents’ nice two-story town-home before the show, and they insisted that I could stay with them, but I said, “No way, a spare room at a strange college in a foreign country where I don’t know anyone else sounds way better!”
We all headed to the venue, called Tuwi, at BOKU (the University of Natural Resources and Life Sciences) around dinner time. I got my soundcheck done and then joined my family and some new friends for vegan pasta and bread on picnic tables outside. It was a warm night in June of 2010. After dinner, we all went back inside the venue where they served all of us beer, even my brother, who was 14 at the time, but in all fairness, was super tall and had a full beard. Everyone smoked cigarettes and joints on the dance floor and they even danced to my music, which was something I had only seen children do before! I opened the set by greeting them with “Willkommen zur show!”and then apologizing for not knowing anymore German. My brother was standing around smoking and my parents were teasing him to go hit on college chicks because he looked so much older. Then my mom took pictures and videos of me playing, and the crowd asked for an encore. I teased them that they didn’t know yet that it was uncool to like me in America, and my mother asked me never to tell a crowd that ever again.
After my set, a jam band played, and then a DJ. My family retired to their own space for the night, but not before offering to take me back with them again. I insisted that I would be fine in the conference room that the staff had found for me to sleep in... with just a mattress on the floor... and no lock on the door. Never would this fly for 30-something me. But for just barely still 20-something me, it was apparently kosher. My family left so I tried some weed which I almost never did back then when I didn’t know the difference in strains and why some of them made me freak out! Smoke, dance, smoke, dance, repeat, all night, is what I did.
There were two African dudes fighting over me, who were both very handsome, but I was married. I wore a locket with his picture inside of it on that tour to remind me of how married I was, and to feel less lonely. One of these gentleman worked for the venue and kept supplying me with free beers all night, but I had to cut myself off and ask to be shown to my room. He led me to my room and explained how there was no lock and that he would check on me later. I didn’t like the sound of that. He tried to make a move but I showed him my locket. He waved at the picture and let out a tiny, “hello!” before leaving me alone.
After he left, I barricaded myself in the room, moving every piece of furniture I could find in front of the door. I didn’t want him or anyone else to try to come find me! The man who had shown me to my room told me that I would be paid for my performance the following day. I woke up and was grateful to find that everything was still in its place and that it did not look like anyone had tried to come into the conference room. Rubbed my eyes, gathered my things, and headed to the bathroom... Argh, no shower! I wrestled my grungy, kinky hair into two dirty pigtails and brushed my teeth in the sink. Then I headed downstairs in search of coffee and money.
In the cold, clear light of day, Tuwi was tranformed from a crazy night club / vegan restaurant, to just an ordinary hippie coffeehouse. I approached the counter and found a man working there, who hadn’t been at the show the night before. “Entschuldigen sie... Guten morgen. Wo ist Bridget?” I asked him. Bridget had booked me and I’d been told that she’d be paying me as well, so I had said “excuse me, good morning” and asked the man at the front counter where Bridget was.
The barista launched into a lengthy explanation, using way more German words than I understood. Geez, I really hadn’t thought this through. I backed up and asked him if he spoke English. He chuckled and confirmed that he did.
He poured me a cup of coffee and called Bridget on his phone. He spoke to her in more German and then got off the phone and addressed me. “Apparently there was a misunderstanding. Bridget thought that you were paid last night.” My forehead crinkled in concern and I’m sure my voice got squeaky, too. I asserted that I had not yet been paid, and he asked me if I could wait a few hours for Bridget to come in. I explained that my family was picking me up and that I had a plane to catch back to London, to begin my long journey back to the States. There was no way I could wait, and I needed to be paid before I left town.
The barista was very understanding and called Bridget again. She agreed that he could pay me out of the till as long as I could sign a receipt to verify that I’d received my full pay. He handed over a pile of Euros and I signed, and heaved a sigh of relief. My parents had left me with an emergency cell since I didn’t have a cell phone of my own back then. I called my parents and asked them to come pick me up. They arrived shortly after and more Madlibs were transcribed. I gave my brother a copy of my favorite book, 1984, which I had finished reading for the second time on that trip.
My parents and brother dropped me off at the small Ljubljana airport before they returned to their home there. I had one last pint of my favorite local beer that I had discovered when I had been visiting them and chilling out for a few days in Slovenia in between tour stops. I was almost too tired and partied out to finish that one last beer. Almost.
I took a plane to London, a plane to somewhere in between, and finally a plane to Portland. My husband arrived at the airport to pick me up. He didn’t drive but he’d wanted to meet me there and help me get home by shuttle or max train. He brought me a bouquet of flowers, and asked me all about my trip. I’d been gone for a couple of weeks, maybe just a week and a half, but it felt like we’d been apart for so long.
We decided to take a shuttle and I chattered on about my trip. When we got off and started walking home, he warned me that he had something unpleasant to tell me, but that he had wanted for me to be excited about my trip and to share it with him first. It was one of the kindest things that anyone had ever done for me.
When we reached our apartment, he broke the news to me, that one of my closest friends had died a couple days before I got home. Vanessa had been killed in a work accident. While she was working and passed away during the day on June 24th, 2010, it was night time in Vienna, and I was high and drunk but mostly jacked up on the good feeling of playing, at that time, the best show of my career. It felt paradoxical and impossible that these two things had happened at the exact same time. And then I didn’t want it to be one of my favorite shows anymore, for a while. Vanessa had been a performer as well: she opened for friends’ bands occasionally; she didn’t seem to pursue it as fiercely as I did. I felt guilt for having just finished my first European tour, and for having achieved some local success as well; I was touring the NW every other weekend those days. It was unnecessary guilt, my husband pointed out. If she had wanted it as badly, she would’ve pursued it harder. He reminded me how much she had loved being a welder, and how she died doing what she loved. It brought me peace, and it was another one of the kindest things he’d ever done for me.
Another friend told me, you make a space for her on stage and bring her with you. That is what I do now. And my fruit-loopy, sober, mountain dew-drinking, dancing-her-ass-off-at- any-opportune-moment friend, Vanessa, would have loved me playing in Vienna and I know she wouldn’t want me to feel bad for having fun that night, when I had no way of knowing what was happening back home. So I remember this show, and I always remember my family’s company, my audience’s ebullient response, my husband’s acts of kindness... and my friend, dancing, high on caffeine, as if she’d been in the crowd, or is now dancing in space.
My parents, being fairly reasonable people, rented someone’s apartment for the night for themselves and my brother, but I’d been promised a room at the University of Natural Resources and Life Sciences, where I’d be performing at later. I saw my parents’ nice two-story town-home before the show, and they insisted that I could stay with them, but I said, “No way, a spare room at a strange college in a foreign country where I don’t know anyone else sounds way better!”
We all headed to the venue, called Tuwi, at BOKU (the University of Natural Resources and Life Sciences) around dinner time. I got my soundcheck done and then joined my family and some new friends for vegan pasta and bread on picnic tables outside. It was a warm night in June of 2010. After dinner, we all went back inside the venue where they served all of us beer, even my brother, who was 14 at the time, but in all fairness, was super tall and had a full beard. Everyone smoked cigarettes and joints on the dance floor and they even danced to my music, which was something I had only seen children do before! I opened the set by greeting them with “Willkommen zur show!”and then apologizing for not knowing anymore German. My brother was standing around smoking and my parents were teasing him to go hit on college chicks because he looked so much older. Then my mom took pictures and videos of me playing, and the crowd asked for an encore. I teased them that they didn’t know yet that it was uncool to like me in America, and my mother asked me never to tell a crowd that ever again.
After my set, a jam band played, and then a DJ. My family retired to their own space for the night, but not before offering to take me back with them again. I insisted that I would be fine in the conference room that the staff had found for me to sleep in... with just a mattress on the floor... and no lock on the door. Never would this fly for 30-something me. But for just barely still 20-something me, it was apparently kosher. My family left so I tried some weed which I almost never did back then when I didn’t know the difference in strains and why some of them made me freak out! Smoke, dance, smoke, dance, repeat, all night, is what I did.
There were two African dudes fighting over me, who were both very handsome, but I was married. I wore a locket with his picture inside of it on that tour to remind me of how married I was, and to feel less lonely. One of these gentleman worked for the venue and kept supplying me with free beers all night, but I had to cut myself off and ask to be shown to my room. He led me to my room and explained how there was no lock and that he would check on me later. I didn’t like the sound of that. He tried to make a move but I showed him my locket. He waved at the picture and let out a tiny, “hello!” before leaving me alone.
After he left, I barricaded myself in the room, moving every piece of furniture I could find in front of the door. I didn’t want him or anyone else to try to come find me! The man who had shown me to my room told me that I would be paid for my performance the following day. I woke up and was grateful to find that everything was still in its place and that it did not look like anyone had tried to come into the conference room. Rubbed my eyes, gathered my things, and headed to the bathroom... Argh, no shower! I wrestled my grungy, kinky hair into two dirty pigtails and brushed my teeth in the sink. Then I headed downstairs in search of coffee and money.
In the cold, clear light of day, Tuwi was tranformed from a crazy night club / vegan restaurant, to just an ordinary hippie coffeehouse. I approached the counter and found a man working there, who hadn’t been at the show the night before. “Entschuldigen sie... Guten morgen. Wo ist Bridget?” I asked him. Bridget had booked me and I’d been told that she’d be paying me as well, so I had said “excuse me, good morning” and asked the man at the front counter where Bridget was.
The barista launched into a lengthy explanation, using way more German words than I understood. Geez, I really hadn’t thought this through. I backed up and asked him if he spoke English. He chuckled and confirmed that he did.
He poured me a cup of coffee and called Bridget on his phone. He spoke to her in more German and then got off the phone and addressed me. “Apparently there was a misunderstanding. Bridget thought that you were paid last night.” My forehead crinkled in concern and I’m sure my voice got squeaky, too. I asserted that I had not yet been paid, and he asked me if I could wait a few hours for Bridget to come in. I explained that my family was picking me up and that I had a plane to catch back to London, to begin my long journey back to the States. There was no way I could wait, and I needed to be paid before I left town.
The barista was very understanding and called Bridget again. She agreed that he could pay me out of the till as long as I could sign a receipt to verify that I’d received my full pay. He handed over a pile of Euros and I signed, and heaved a sigh of relief. My parents had left me with an emergency cell since I didn’t have a cell phone of my own back then. I called my parents and asked them to come pick me up. They arrived shortly after and more Madlibs were transcribed. I gave my brother a copy of my favorite book, 1984, which I had finished reading for the second time on that trip.
My parents and brother dropped me off at the small Ljubljana airport before they returned to their home there. I had one last pint of my favorite local beer that I had discovered when I had been visiting them and chilling out for a few days in Slovenia in between tour stops. I was almost too tired and partied out to finish that one last beer. Almost. I took a plane to London, a plane to somewhere in between, and finally a plane to Portland. My husband arrived at the airport to pick me up. He didn’t drive but he’d wanted to meet me there and help me get home by shuttle or max train. He brought me a bouquet of flowers, and asked me all about my trip. I’d been gone for a couple of weeks, maybe just a week and a half, but it felt like we’d been apart for so long.
We decided to take a shuttle and I chattered on about my trip. When we got off and started walking home, he warned me that he had something unpleasant to tell me, but that he had wanted for me to be excited about my trip and to share it with him first. It was one of the kindest things that anyone had ever done for me.
When we reached our apartment, he broke the news to me, that one of my closest friends had died a couple days before I got home. Vanessa had been killed in a work accident. While she was working and passed away during the day on June 24th, 2010, it was night time in Vienna, and I was high and drunk but mostly jacked up on the good feeling of playing, at that time, the best show of my career. It felt paradoxical and impossible that these two things had happened at the exact same time. And then I didn’t want it to be one of my favorite shows anymore, for a while. Vanessa had been a performer as well: she opened for friends’ bands occasionally; she didn’t seem to pursue it as fiercely as I did. I felt guilt for having just finished my first European tour, and for having achieved some local success as well; I was touring the NW every other weekend those days. It was unnecessary guilt, my husband pointed out. If she had wanted it as badly, she would’ve pursued it harder. He reminded me how much she had loved being a welder, and how she died doing what she loved. It brought me peace, and it was another one of the kindest things he’d ever done for me.
Another friend told me, you make a space for her on stage and bring her with you. That is what I do now. And my fruit-loopy, sober, mountain dew-drinking, dancing-her-ass-off-at- any-opportune-moment friend, Vanessa, would have loved me playing in Vienna and I know she wouldn’t want me to feel bad for having fun that night, when I had no way of knowing what was happening back home. So I remember this show, and I always remember my family’s company, my audience’s ebullient response, my husband’s acts of kindness... and my friend, dancing, high on caffeine, as if she’d been in the crowd, or is now dancing in space.
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