Back on tour again!

Wednesday, March 21st - 09:00 PM
The Fire (at the Philadelphia Bar and Grill)
Trio show with (the other) Jimmy and Maggie
412 W. Girard,
Philadelphia, PA 19123
$7.00 admission
with Cowmuddy, Luke Schurman (NY) and others.

Friday, March 23rd - 08:30 PM
Minstrel Coffeehouse
Morristown Unitarian Fellowship,
21 Normandy Heights Road, Morristown, NJ 07960
Cost : $7.00 on the way in (plus what you thought it was really worth
on the way out)
o/f Notorious

Saturday, March 24th - 09:00 PM
The Postcrypt Coffeehouse
The basement of St. Paul's Chapel at Columbia University,
New York CIty, NY
Cost: Tips

Sunday, March 25th - 09:00 PM
The Fort at the Sidewalk Cafe
Trio show with (the other) Jimmy and Maggie
6th and Avenue A,
New York City, New York 10009
Cost: Free (tips)

Greetings all.

I'm truly excited: It's been a long time since I've sent out a good
old-fashioned gig announcement. Longer still since I've legitimately
toured. Yes, I've been busy with myriad dulcimer festivals (both with
and without my talented wife). Those are good times. They are always
good times. But it's been a long while—years—since I've been back out
on the open road, hitting my old stomping grounds, playing some
familiar clubs with some dear friends.

So here’s a little backstory for those of you who have walked into
the middle of this movie: Long before the dulcimer was my main axe, I
was a singer/songwriter. With an old guitar I went running up the
miles on my dilapidated but beloved Honda Civic, stomping around the
northeastern United States, playing folk clubs, coffeehouses, tribute
nights, bars and anyplace else that would have me. I tried to break
the doors down by banging my head against it, thinking all the while
that I was not working hard or smart enough.

Being a performing songwriter combines the romance of riding the
rails, with glaring horror of rubbernecking a gruesome roadside
accident starring you. It is an addicting combination: you oscillate
between the rare magical gig and the exceedingly good story. I can't
tell you the number of times that I've walked away from this life;
the remains of my self-worth with whatever else I could carry with
two hands. The life is a cruel mistress and a mean drunk, but we go
back. We always go back.

Somewhere along the way I discovered the mountain dulcimer (actually
it was a gift from my friend Mary Krause who has a knack for buying
the right gift at the right time). With that, doors began to open: I
met my wife; I played more of “magical” gigs than soul-sucking ones;
toured the British Isles and generally got people excited. Then a
woman said, “Hey, you make web sites, right? I’ll trade you one for a
masters degree”

So between the moving, the marriage planning and subsequent soaking
ceremony, and multiple dulcimer festivals here and abroad, I’ve been
working on a master’s degree in Folk Studies. So the part of my life
that comes to you in these brief increments has been essentially put
on hold while I finish THAT little task.

But as you read this email that part of my life will be behind me (or
at least to my committee for final consideration before my defense),
and I will be doing what I have been telling myself I’d rather be
doing for the last two years; touring and playing music.

There’s a state of euphoria that hits me after I’ve been out on the
road a few days. The last time I felt it was about 1:15am on a
Friday, somewhere near the Delaware Water Gap on I-80 West. It’s a
sense of place that I think (and hope) comes from being where you are
supposed to be. I have that feeling right now.

I know what I’m getting into. I have no preconceptions, save that
inevitable romanticism that accompanies nostalgia. The odds of
success given the geographic distance I must travel to play these
gigs is slim, I am asking for changed time slots, questionable pay
schemes, and headaches caused by greed, ego and ineptitude.

And that’s just my part.

I am also looking at a 12-hour one-way trip, at NPR, at books on
tape, the realization that Virginia I stunningly beautiful (but only
for about two hours), and the distinct possibility that nobody cares.

But I also know I'll be reconnecting with old friends (some that I
have not seen in years). I'll be playing rooms that I love to play to
people I know are truly passionate lovers of good music. Their
company validates what I do, and reminds me that I don’t do it for
me, not if I hope to glean what truly counts out of life.

I’m playing two of these shows with Jim Taggart on drums and Maggie
Marshall on upright bass, meaning that at least three of us will have
a good time regardless.

I am leaving behind a beautiful wife, a wonderful and newly adopted
hometown and a brand new house that I’ve owned for less than two
weeks to go play a gig to a beer mug full of tip money (that’ll have
to split three ways).

Am I insane? Likely.

Am I happy? Definitely.

and really, how often do we get to say that?

C-ya out there.