Normal

"This is not normal," said the Bookmans staffer.

Or something to that effect.

Bookmans had hired us to play a two-hour set. Ron the Drummer and I were talking to the staffer during our break when the election came up. As weary as I've been of politics lately, it made me feel better. Because the first set had been weird.

It went well, mind you. People were responding really positively to us. One woman requested that we play a song we'd debuted at a previous gig. A few others came over to sign up for the mailing list and/or buy a CD. But this was our first post-election performance, and—as has been the case every time I've ventured outside since November 8—it was strange to see people walking around and shopping and being happy as if everything were normal. Strange to play and to chat up the crowd as if everything were normal. Tucson, though located in a red state, is a blue city; I was fairly confident that over 50 percent of our listeners shared our sentiments.

Anyway. The second set felt better, even though we didn't play any differently. After hearing somebody besides me acknowledge how not normal everything was, things seemed more ... normal.

Of course everybody was going about their lives. It's not like those of us who were unhappy with the outcome were going to do anything else.

So, it was a good gig. We hope to have many more like them. Especially if anyone wants to hire us for events that benefit the ACLU,
the Anti-Defamation League, Black Lives Matter, the Center for Reproductive Rights, the Council on American-Islamic Relations, the International Refugee Assistance Project, the Mexican American Legal Defense and Educational Fund (MALDEF), the NAACP Legal Defense Fund, the National Resources Defense Council (NRDC), Planned Parenthood, ProPublica, RAINN, the Southern Poverty Law Center, the Trevor Project, and other like-minded organizations.

Dancing in the Bookmans, part 2

Sometimes the best part of a performance is the goof you almost made but didn't.

While playing our cover of "Miss You" by the Rolling Stones, I flashed back to a video I saw a day or two ago: Mick Jagger and David Bowie's "Dancing in the Streets" with the music removed.

It's hard to sing when you're trying not to laugh.

Here. You have GOT to watch this.

Dancing in the Bookmans, part 1

While playing at Bookmans on Speedway, a crowd of young people dance-walked past us along with the music. I couldn't tell if they were genuinely grooving or if they were making fun of us. The song, Ten Years Later, is kinda sappy, not the sort of thing I imagine the yoots dancing to, so I had to wonder.

Later, though, somebody who came to see us said she saw those kids dancing to other songs earlier, and they seemed really into them. Cool!

Ron and me at Bookmans, not the Bookmans on Speedway where we just played, but a different Bookmans because we didn't get any pics of us at Speedway

Adoptable animals

There was a bit of confusion today when we arrived at HOPE Animal Shelter. The area where we were supposed to play was taken up by tables with food, raffle stuff, and other goodies. After some brainstorming, somebody figured out that we'd fit in the corner.

"HOPE has adoptable animals," I announced between songs. "Ron is a drummer-sound guy mix, and for a reasonable donation, you can take him home today. I'm a keyboardist-singer mix, but they need to spend more time socializing me, which is why I'm in the enclosure."

Ron is no longer available, having returned to his forever home with his wife and many cats. If you're looking to adopt a quadrupedal animal, however, HOPE is still a great place to go.

How to take a compliment

After a short performance tonight, an audience member came up to me and told me she'd enjoyed our set. The rest of the exchange went something like this.

What she said: "You sounded like Alanis Morissette!"

What I said: "Thanks!"

What I wanted to say: "Uh oh. Jagged Little Pill Alanis Morissette, or Alanis Morissette after she decided to start singing in key?"

Score one for knowing when to keep my mouth shut.

(P.S. I bought Jagged Little Pill in in 1995 and quite liked it, but as an artistic type I reserve the right to be neurotic about everything, including nice stuff people say about me.)

You win again, Mr. Sun ...

I've lived in Tucson, Arizona, for more than half my life now, and there are certain things I'm still not used to.

Like, today we had an outdoor gig and I got a little sunburned.

In October.

Oh well. If we're playing outdoors, better too hot than too cold.

Coming home to the Tucson Folk Festival

We played in the Tucson Folk Festival today, so I'm going to interrupt my ramblings about our week in Nashville to talk about that.

The theme for this year's Folk Fest: hot. It was in the mid-90s when we got there and the high 90s by the time we played. Even for Tucson, this is unusual. I was afraid people would opt to stay home with the AC blasting.

We lucked out, though. The stage we were assigned was La Cocina at Old Town Artisans. A huge tree grows in the middle of the seating area, providing shade aplenty. Even better, we had an appreciative audience. Really seemed to like us. Not bad, given that a decent number of the folks didn't know who we were and had probably only decided to stay so they wouldn't get baked.

A couple of songs into the set, I mentioned that we'd just gotten back after recording in Nashville. "It's been hard acclimating to day-to-day life after being there for a week," I said. "But playing at the Tucson Folk Festival makes the reentry a lot easier."

It's true, too. I can't imagine a better homecoming.

April updates

Oh man. It's been two and a half months since I posted anything here. Oops.

In my defense, there's been a lot going on. Ron the Drummer and I are flying to Nashville on Wednesday to record a few songs. I'm psyched about it, obviously. I'm also scrambling to get everything into place so I can leave.

Then, three days after we get back, we'll be playing in the Tucson Folk Festival.

Our slot is Saturday, May 3, 2 p.m., at Old Town Artisans. Come see us! Bring your 50 best friends!

More updates as events warrant, hopefully sooner than 2.5 months from now.

A real honor

"Thanks for coming out to see us," I announced over the simple left-hand riff I was playing on my keyboard. Then I stopped and turned to Ron. "That doesn't sound right. They aren't really coming to see us."

Ron and I were rehearsing for a VA Hospital gig. We would be playing in the cafeteria during dinner hours, entertaining the residents while they went about their otherwise normal routine. My usual intro wasn't going to work.

Ron thought for a moment. "Say it's an honor for us to be there."

Yes, that was much better.

"It's a real honor to be here!" I announced to the vets who were sitting at their tables and lining up to get their food. "We're Cinder Bridge."

Better, but still inadequate.

* * *

I was a senior at Indiana University when the Gulf War started. During the long run-up to the war, as George H. W. Bush formed his careful alliances, I felt deeply conflicted. On the one hand, we were obviously getting involved because it was in America's self-interest. On the other hand, Kuwait had been invaded, and they genuinely wanted our help. I didn't join the students who were marching around Dunn Meadow with signs that said "No Blood for Oil" because I thought it was more complicated than that. And yet ...

If I believed this war was just, why wasn't I signing up? How could I even have an opinion when others would be doing the fighting? I didn't want to kill, and I didn't want to die, so how could I say it was okay for others to do so?

Ever since then, when I've heard about the horrors our soldiers have faced in the latest conflicts, or Gulf War syndrome (which shares a lot of symptoms in common with myalgic encephalomyelitis), or PTSD, I think, You suffered so I didn't have to.

Yeah, there's still some lingering guilt.

But I could hardly convey that to our audience. What would I say? "Thanks for listening. I don't even deserve to be sitting here in front of you, but I hope you enjoy the music."

"It's a real honor to be here" would have to do.

I hope they enjoyed the music.

The Borderlands gig

Aw, man, I thought. There's nobody here.

Ron and I had just arrived at Borderlands Brewing Company so we could set up for our gig. The place had been packed the night before. Where were all the people? This was going to be our first time playing here, and if we played to an empty house, we likely wouldn't be invited back.

Then I remembered. It was 3:20 p.m. Borderlands didn't open until 4:00.

People started trickling in right at opening time. By the time we started, the place was packed.

So much for needless worries. Hopefully this means we'll get to go back. It really is a neat place.

Audience karma

We're playing at Borderlands Brewing Company for the first time tomorrow evening. I went over there tonight to get a feel for the space. A few minutes after I arrived, a man and a woman approached me. They quickly realized that I didn't recognize them—I have a horrible memory for faces—and introduced themselves. We'd originally met when Ron and I sat in on a Songwriter's Night at Monterey Court, and they signed up for our mailing list.

As it turns out, they were at Borderlands to see us. They thought we were playing tonight instead of Saturday night. Sadly, they didn't think they'd be able to make it out tomorrow. But, they said, at least they got to go to Borderlands for the first time, and they liked Shrimp Chaperone, the band that was actually playing.

I'll look on the bright side as well and take this as a good omen. Cinder Bridge hasn't even played at Borderlands yet, and we've already brought them new patrons!

Here's hoping karma works in our favor, and people who didn't mean to see us end up enjoying our music by mistake.

* * *

Borderlands Brewing Company is at 119 E. Toole Ave., Tucson, Arizona. We'll be playing from 5 to 7 p.m. on Saturday, June 11. As I discovered today, the space is fantastic. Come see us!

Whither the weather?

The rain, staying up in the sky where it belongs
and graciously not falling on our heads

"Hey, look, it's getting warmer outside," I said in my last message to the Cinder Bridge mailing list. "Just in time, too. We’re playing at La Encantada on Sunday, and the forecast says the high will be 72 degrees."

By the time Friday rolled around, an updated forecast was still predicting a high of 72. Unfortunately, it also said there'd be a 20 percent chance of rain. I had hoped we'd have a decent-sized audience in spite of the Superbowl. If it rained, we wouldn't even get to play.

I kept an eye on the great outdoors this morning and early afternoon. The skies were gray and somewhat foreboding, but no rain. I drove up to our gig in the Foothills without wearing a hat or using the windshield visor because clouds kept the sun out of my eyes, but no rain. Ron the Drummer and I set up, and it was chilly enough to make me wish I'd worn something a little warmer ... but no rain.

Just as we started to play, the sun came out. The glorious, glorious sun.

Days like this make me realize how far so many of us humans have removed ourselves from nature. Imagine living in a preindustrial world, where "work" meant hunting or gathering or farming. Whether or not it rained would mean the difference between life and death, or at the very least between comfort and discomfort. In that context, it's a little crazy that I only have to think about the weather on outdoor gig days.

Thanks to everyone who came out and basked in the sun with us.

* * *

Photos by Neill Mills. Muchas gracias, Neill!

The perils of ignoring mainstream culture

A few weeks ago there was a call for musicians to perform at the La Encantada Fine Art Festival here in Tucson. The festival was to take place this weekend. Out of the many performance slots available on Saturday and Sunday, I picked Sunday, 3 to 4 p.m.

Oops. Turns out this is Superbowl Sunday. Who knew? I mean, besides every other person in America except me?

The slot could be worse. Pregame stuff, whatever that is, starts exactly when our set ends. Kickoff begins half an hour later. So, you know, theoretically people could come out to see us and be home in time for the game.

Still, I probably should've just chosen Saturday to play. I have to remember to pay more attention to things that don't interest me when it comes to scheduling.

* * *

If you care as little about the Superbowl as I do (or you can drive really fast) and you live in Tucson, come see us! La Encantada is at 2905 E. Skyline Drive (NW corner of Campbell & Skyline). We play, as mentioned above, Sunday, Feb. 3, from 3 to 4 p.m.

* * *

UPDATE: People totally came, you guys! Not only did we have a decent crowd, but everyone was really into the music. It was the kind of gig that puts you in a good mood for the whole day. I wish we could've played longer.

Averted

We were nearing the end of our set at an indoor art festival when I felt it. Something in my throat. If I sang the next notes as I always did, the resulting sound would be a hacky train wreck. Even the people who weren't listening would notice.

I routed around whatever was in my throat. The hack-inducing thing went away. The mother of all clams was averted.

Everything before and after that moment went well too. We got a lot more positive attention than I would have expected, given that we were only there to enhance the ambience. Still, the thing I'm most proud of is the thing that didn't happen. Funny how that works.

Paws of the Past pics

In my last post about Saturday's gig, I talked more about my tragic inability to function in society than the actual gig. To balance things out a bit, a few details about the day's event:

• The benefit, for HOPE Animal Shelter, was called Paws of the Past. Its purpose was to raise needed funds and honor past adoptees. Attendees were encouraged to bring their dogs or pictures of their adopted cats. A friend of a friend brought her two huge Airedales. They seemed happy to be there.
• Before we started playing, Ron the Drummer introduced me to Al, who would be doing the auctions and announcing raffle winners. I found out the next day that Al was Allen "Big Al" Kath of KGUN 9. (If you live in Tucson, you've heard of him.) In the presence of celebrity, and I didn't even realize it.
• Performance itself was pretty relaxed. We'd do a few songs, then hang back while someone else made announcements. During one of our breaks onstage, a woman gave me her business card and asked if we ever played at restaurants.
• From the stage we had an amazing view of the Catalinas (or Santa Catalina Mountains for those of you not in the area). I wish I'd remembered to take a picture of them, but a picture wouldn't do them justice anyway.

Here are some photos. Except where noted, these are courtesy of Don Martin.

Hi!

Ron! Are you having as much fun as I am?

Look at all these keys! When I press them down, they make noises.

Whee! Hey, Ron, why aren't you in any of these?

That's better.

More Ron the Drummer.

Check out how nice this stage looks. The shade was greatly appreciated. (Photo by Neill Mills.)

Whee, I say, whee!

Ron, with his brand spankin' new ride cymbal (left). Cymbal made its debut at this gig.

Thanks to everyone who came out. We had a great time.

Doggies, kitties, and memory glitches

Saturday morning, 11:40, Brandi Fenton Park. I realized I'd left my water bottle at home, and trotted off to a booth that sold water so I wouldn't dehydrate for the afternoon's gig, a benefit for HOPE Animal Shelter. At the booth, I realized I had nothing in my pocket except my cell phone and a Cinder Bridge business card.

Huh. Must've left credit cards, driver's license, and money at home. Which was weird, because I remembered seeing them on the end table before stuffing the business card in my pocket.

The nice person at the booth said I should go up to one of the organizers, tell him I was with the band, and ask for water. I did, and we were up and running.

When I got home later that day, the first thing I did was check for my cards and cash. They weren't where I left them. I tore that area of my bedroom apart. No dice. Retraced my steps in the house, the driveway, the car, back to Brandi Fenton Park ... Nope.

Defeated, I called the credit card companies. The good news: no activity on any of the cards that day. So they probably weren't stolen. I had a hunch they were still somewhere in the house, and they'd turn up eventually. But I couldn't exactly wait the six months I thought it would take for that to happen. I cancelled my cards and figured that would be the end of it for a while.

The next day I did laundry. Cards and cash fell out of Friday's pair of jeans.

Oy.

Usually that's the first place I check. I hadn't because I'd been so sure I'd seen them on the end table. Instead, I must have seen them not on the table, assumed I'd already pocketed them, and confabulated a memory of seeing them there.

Anyway. The gig itself went off without a hitch. Great cause. Beautiful day. Once again, I wish I could be spending all of my time doing music. I can do music. I'm not all that good at activities of daily living.

Thanks to Don Martin for the photo. I noticed him there with the camera while we were playing and struck this pose for his benefit. In retrospect, it was an accurate representation of my mental state.

Gone on tour

I generally hate euphemisms for death. Today I made an exception.

Cinder Bridge kicked off a memorial benefit this afternoon for Bill "Patch" Wooldridge. While I didn't know him personally, he was by all accounts a great guy. I got to hear him play with Widow's Hill a few months ago. Lots of joyous energy in the music. I'm sorry I missed my chance to meet him.

Anyway. The event was called the "Gone on Tour Benefit Concert."

Gone on tour. That doesn't sound so bad. It would be neat if the people I left behind said that about me.

Or, even better: She went where the music comes from.

That's a real place, right?

Cinder Bridge at the Beau Brummel Club

Dr. Meatpie has broken up.

I'm unsure of the details. They were due to break up in May because the bassist was leaving town, but something accelerated the process.

At any rate, they won't be playing the Beau Brummel Club this coming Sunday as scheduled. Cinder Bridge will be taking their place.

If you can't make it to the club because of some lame excuse like living in another state, no worries. We'll be webcast.

Date & time: Sunday, March 11, 5 p.m.
Place (physical): The Beau Brummel Club, 1148 N. Main St., Tucson, AZ
Place (virtual): DukeandCat.com
Cover: Free!

We play for about an hour, and then get interviewed by Duke Standberry and Cat Vigil. Duke and Cat are most excellent hosts. We know this because we were on The Duke and Cat Show this past Friday. Video from that gig will be up very soon.

Come see us. It'll be cool.

Paws in the Plaza 2012

Date & time: Saturday, February 11, noon to 3 p.m.
Place: Casas Adobes Plaza (southwest corner of Oracle & Ina)
Directions: Go here
Cover: Free, but the Humane Society will happily take donations

Up-tempo

The band was hot. Well into their last set of the evening, they had a whole lot of people—including me—up and dancing.

Then lead singer Kristin Chandler addressed the audience. She was nervous about doing this next song, she said, because it was slow. That took her out of her comfort zone. She invited us to follow her out of her comfort zone.

The band played sweet, slow, and reflective. But after it was over, they launched into another danceable tune.

A week or so later, I finally had the chance to listen to the CD I'd obtained from the gig. Unlike their live set, most of Deja was singer-songwritery. That is, slow or mid-tempo, more contemplative, inviting listeners to pay close attention to the meaning of the lyrics.

I was a little surprised, but I shouldn't have been. I knew exactly why Kristin would feel good about recording songs she wouldn't play live.

About two-thirds of the songs I write are on the singer-songwritery side. When Ron the Drummer and I put a set list together for a Cinder Bridge show, however, we skew more toward songs that are up-tempo, or heavier, or have a prominent groove. We do it because live audiences prefer music that moves. When I'm in the audience, at least for unfamiliar music, I'm the same way. I'll happily bop along to a bar band whose stuff I'd never listen to at home.

So I get it. But it's annoying. It means a lot of my favorite songs aren't rotated in as often as I'd like.

We have GOT to put a new album out.