We’re outside Tucson this morning (a nice, little, shitty motel in Willcox, Arizona…no place like home!), watching trains go by, thinking about Howe Gelb. Howe’s not even here, he’s in Europe, but this landscape is infused with Howe-ness to us. And Howe-ness is good: monochromatic, essentially American, rough hewn yet comfortingly smooth.
I’m on my way from LA to Nashville, where my beloved Trina Shoemaker, late of Kingsway Studio in New Orleans, is going to mix the new acoustic record. Steve Rizzo patiently rough-mixed with me over the phone, sending us MP3’s of the tracks while we caught up with 50FootWave and its associated Los Angeles pals: Peter Mansinne (guitar genie), Orrin Anderson (videographer) and Lisa Fletcher (photographer/videographer). I get a serious group high in that wacky city because of that wacky band.
At Pasadena Rehearsal Studios before our Siverlake Lounge show last Thursday, Bernie turned to Rob and said, “Sometimes I think 50FootWave is my real life and everything else is a dream.” 50Foot is definitely a nice place to be…I miss it.
But for now, we’ll turn off Sesame Street, load the babies into the car and head towards Austin, Texas, another nice place to be.