L’histoire
So here we come to summary once again…Scott encouraged me to make a summary & I wouldn’t want to leave you dear friends in the lurch, forced to stomach another sad retelling of what you’ve already heard (the sand mites, the cockleshells, the proscenium & opera, the piano bench overflowing with paper scraps). All of it is true & all of it is hyperbole. We’re grown ups here, let’s do our own sorting!
Boston to Brooklyn, with some stops in between. A lot of late-night drives through the woods & ice to where the late black feline Hank (god rest his soul) called home. Blind Bandjo Djim & I crammed a piano into a Grandmother’s den, after rescuing it from the sadly indifferent clutches of Kimball’s By the Sea. Together we taped each song like it was its own miniature story, scrapping them together in the evening hours amongst the wild turkeys & deer, the sparrows in the tree branches occasionally singing along. We stopped whenever Hank said so, drank salty plum drinks and watched Hank play with my beloved red hat (which also, god rest its soul, was lost on the E line somewhere around Northeastern University and never heard from again). The sessions ended in the spring, some time around when the ground begins to thaw & squishes underfoot instead of thumping/crunching. We put them away. During those months, the songs had become our mittens. We didn’t need them anymore; we had begun to feel warm again.
I made friends all the way on the other side of the country. They invited me to a BBQ & let me hold their own fattened feline, Elsa. Cats have a funny way of bringing people together. We drank steaming cups of coffee & shared secrets, never raising our voices above a whisper. I have always admired the soft-spoken and it was then that I decided I had found a home for my songs. Thus began my history, quite happily, with Hush Records.
After that, I began to take my Honda minivan for test-drives, tentative at first but with growing confidence. Every trip presented its own set of concerns, but the Beast soon learned how to nestle neatly into the trunk & withstand both the driest of heat & the iciest of chills. We made it as far as the Deep South, after I misplaced my voice in Charleston, S.C. for a week, only to find it again in the humid trenches of Mississippi. We drove that car so far in that we found ourselves addicted to the highway fumes, the long-stretches of ever-changing landscape, the hospitality and generosity that is the one fixed-thing of any traveler’s experience. It was astonishing & breathtaking. I said good-bye to Boston, some of the best friends one can ever hope to have, & everything familiar to me since my folks conceived me. That brings us closer to the present.
I’m now in Brooklyn. I have painted a brief history for you, though it isn’t much. But let’s focus on what is: I am still in love! Still kicking! Still taking The Beast to the furthest stretches of this big old country, until one of us gives out. I enjoy scrabble (or any kind of wordplay), eavesdropping, sun drop candies (the real M&M’s!), lemonade with mint sprigs, and big thick German novels. I bought a white Janssen upright & placed it in an alcove, chipped paint & all. I am writing & plotting. Still & forever, I hope, subject to further summary & endless revision.