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…
Without saying as much, we knew that we didn’t want to take it any higher yet. So after a while we unhooked the trio and let Mcshane know that we’d heard him, loved him, and now it was time to move on, because life’s just like that. Out of the corner of my eye I could see that Tony had stood up and was moving, swaying rather than dancing, eyes closed and grooving. Back in the day that’d be bourbon or h slowly killing the singer while the people paid big money to watch ‘em die. An entire industry was born out of that criminal waste of human life. Two centuries of business experience pleaded youthful innocence while they knowingly fed artist after artist to their own demons. In their blissful ignorance some folks still thought those were the good old days. Nothing but bullshit. No, if it’s got to be a choice between alcoholic meltdown and art, I know what I choose. Death ain’t art. No how, no way. To believe it is, that’s a sickness in itself. No, when she worked Tony ran clean, always had. And now she was takin’ it in, running it over her mind, waiting for an invitation.
Then it came. Mcshane brought us back down, we settled, and finally he stood back exactly where he’d started, one note, jangly and dissonant, feedback only, back before the end of the world. I felt the space coming, closed my eyes and leaned back. If it was just me it’d be texture. If the guys felt it too then we’d hit it together. And that was exactly what happened. There. The door in. We all held the space and waited for a heartbeat. The lady didn’t need asking twice.
In that moment of silence you heard her breathe in, and the whole room held its breath. Tony would do that to you. She’d sigh, and everybody in the room would feel exactly the way she felt. That was her art. And that voice.
“She’s nothin’ but gone…”
The words sliced into me, hard and clean. But this wasn’t about me. I had no idea what she was up to, but I was damned if I was gonna let my friend work with anything less than my best. So I put it away and served it hot, Waits opened it up beside me and made it easier. I couldn’t think of anyone I’d rather have standing there in that moment. I hoped he knew. We played it quiet and intense, let the voice set the scene.
The whole night was like that. We were all wide open and listening hard. Listening with your heart. It’s a tough place to be for so long. It feels so natural. And so naked. Like someone could reach in and cut out who you are and what you believe, leave you never able to hear like that again. But this night was about trust. And not about losing it. These people were too good, I wasn’t going to let them down. So we kept listening.
At one point deep into the night I realised I’d been staring at the crowd for a while, but hadn’t seen anything, I was so locked into the sound. I came to and turned to check in with Tony to see if she wanted the turnaround one more time. As I moved my mind caught more than my eyes, I almost stumbled as I tried to make sense of what I’d seen while keeping the groove. I didn’t have time to register much before I locked it with Tony. Her face told me she’d noticed a while ago, and was gently amused at watching me wake up. Seems our friend Archer was back.
Funny how much that mattered.
We kept at it. One long song, miles of difference from where we started. And yet. And yet. There is only one song. I guess that’s the truth. We were well over three hours in, probably could’ve kept going, but it was starting to feel like we’d said everything there was to say for the moment. Time to take it home. Mcshane was playing mister wonderful like only he could. I looked at Tony and made like I was asking the question. She nodded. I threw it to Waits and he picked it up. Killer was on it immediately. So now the game was to let Tony decide whether she wanted to finish it or leave it to the band. Suddenly it was out of our hands. Wonder boy hit a note hard and long, and held it, and held it some more. Then he threw it over his shoulder. “C’mon girl!” He was setting it up for her to take it. Decision made. We brought it around again and Tony matched his note, seemed like forever. Then she took us through one more round.
“And she said nothin’!” We rose up to feel it with her. This was where we’d been heading all night. Time to tell ‘em why we’re here.
“But in her eyes you could see…” I wasn’t hearing the words, only the meaning. Play to that, the rest would come. We hit it once. Two more lines. There, that felt like an ending. I tossed it over to Mcshane, he was standing in the space waiting. He wailed and brought us in again. We were all behind Tony but I could feel her pick up on the thought. Drums and bass worked it onetime while I held the groove. Mcshane again, this time in harmony with that beautiful voice. Finally the whole band last time, one bar. Then stop. Wait for it. Leave her space. No, not yet. Trust. Then she took it.
“Only love!” she said it, rather than sing. Quiet enough you could hear your heart beat over top, but you didn’t dare breathe for fear of blowing it away.
I went to play a final chord, but somehow I just couldn’t, it didn’t seem right. I looked up, Mcshane was already walking away. Waits hung out a moment to be sure, then unstrapped his bass and moved offstage. I set down my guitar and made off just behind Killer. Tony was still out there hanging over the mic. It would take her a minute to come down, but she’d be along soon enough. The whole house was on their feet and yelling and stomping like you’d never heard. Slowly we made our way back to the stage. I touched Tony’s shoulder gently. She looked up and I noticed she was crying. Come to think of it so was I.
We all took a bow. Then another. The noise just didn’t stop. Finally we left the stage. And still they roared. Later someone told me they’d kept at it for ten minutes. All I knew was somehow we’d made it.
And there was no way we were doing an encore.

…
I’d set up a sound that had way more nasty in it than my normal. And a bit louder than my usual spot, too. Wasn’t really thinking about it, but I guess I wanted the rhythm to be a little more up front tonight. I could still haul it back easy enough, but we were starting with more edge than I’d usually supply. I could feel Waits shift his tone around to make sense with mine. As usual with him there was no dialling or stomping pedals, it was all in the fingers. Man was amazing. As usual. We played it around twice more to settle it in. It might not be a killer dance groove, but it sure made heads move in time. Let’s stay here for a while, we’ve got all night.
Mcshane’s note had started to make some kind of twisted sense. At first I wondered how he’d held it for so long, thinking maybe he’d set up some kind of recorded loop. But no, like always he was riding bareback, nothing extra between him and his amp. When I could spare a thought I noticed he was standing in an odd position, his back to the people, facing his amp, but not too close. Then I got it. Oh man, he’s playing with feedback. He had hit the note and then stepped just close enough to his amp that his guitar began to resonate to the sound coming off the amp, which set off more guitar ringing, which set off more amp, and still more guitar. It was a loop that could get out of control and scary loud in a heartbeat, trashing everything we’d built so far. Took a lot of control to hold it right there. And he did. His amp had to be absolutely cranked to pull that off. The man was serious. I would have expected that sort of thing later in the night. Much later. But if that was where we were starting, this was going to be some time.
We rolled it around again, giving our man the volume he had to have from the rest of us so his note made sense. He felt the support and leaned in, moving the note from jangly dissonance to something rock solid and on the money. Then he turned away ever so slightly and the note changed colour, the low part was still there, but now there was a sheen that came out, first barely audible, then firm, and finally ringing over everything, taking on distortion as it grew, and you knew this is exactly what the end of the world would sound like. Then just in that moment when you thought it was all going to come crashing down he pulled it out and sent us into a long blistering note of melody, then another. And another. Not fast, only slow and purposeful. Inevitable. Man had something to say, and he was gonna say it. And you were gonna hear it. So listen up.
We stayed in that mode for a while. The groove evolved, but always the same. When buddy has something to say I want to make sure he has the space to say it. I turned towards the drums, Waites did the same, we were gonna hold this place for a while so it was time to make it rock solid. The three of us watched one another move to make the sounds, and moved to the sounds we made ourselves. It locked, hard. And wonder boy made with the miraculous over top. There was no hurry. So we stayed there for a lifetime. Let my man tell the tale.
…
I took in the scene as I made my way over. Waits, Mcshane, Killer, Tony. All present and accounted for. And everyone cheerful but already starting to focus on the work ahead. Yeah, this was sure gonna be an interesting night. I couldn’t help but grin at the thought. I gave the shoutout, “I hear you guys could use a decent guitar player.”
“Yeah, know where we can find one?” Killer gave the traditional response. Wasn’t exactly a lodge handshake, but it would do. I sat down at the far side of the table to give the man enough room to work. Always bad news to crowd a drummer.
Waits smiled in my direction, “You in shape enough for this old man?” He was exactly a year younger than me but could pass for twentysomething. We all knew, but I wasn’t gonna be the one to say it out loud.
“Look to yourself, kidstuff.” I threw him the finger of admonition that comes naturally when you hit a certain age. Come to think of it, that’d been a while ago. “Tonight’s a long haul, junior. And ain’t no one here been haulin’ it longer than me. I’d be more worried about the bright lights if I was you, they’ll be the ones standin’ in front.”
Tony looked cool, already getting her head in gig mode, she just shook her head. No worries there. Mcshane shrugged, “We don’t have to burn heavy all night. You guys just keep the heat on, when the moment comes we’ll know it. Just gotta have something to say.”
That was the thing about Mcshane, a man of few words, but he always had something he could say if he wanted to. And when he did you wanted to pay attention. Man was an incredible talent. Good thing he was so nice or he would have been insufferable.
We kept up the jive talk for a while, but the spaces got longer and deeper. I’d never seen this bunch more into the zone. We cabled up and checked it in silence aside from what needed to be said for tech. In some circles the vibe would’ve been read as sullen anger. It was so very cool to know this was all about being ready to do this thing we’d decided to do.
It had started off as a goofy thought that evolved into a dare, then it sat there as a real artistic thing, staring us down. “Yeah, I think I could keep a whole night going.” It had been Tony who was brave enough to admit it first. It would be. “As long as I had enough time to catch my thoughts once in a while.”
“No, count me out.” Josie shook her head. “That sounds way too much like hard work for its own sake. I’m not into that. I’ll come listen though. It’d be neat to hear someone work it out for a whole night.”
Eventually it had come down to the five of us. I really had no idea how it was going to go, what roads we’d run, or whether I’d still be standing by the end. But this was about trust. Trust the players. Trust the process. “Trust yourself.” I hadn’t realised I’d said it out loud.
“I do.” said Tony. I didn’t know whether she was talking about me or her. I didn’t ask. Was good to hear, though.
We’d set it up and had things pretty comfortable. I took a look around the joint. Good house. I guess word had gone around. And a lot more musicians there than you’d usually see on a working night. Funny though, I didn’t get the sense they were looking for the crash and burn. I caught eyes and nodded a couple of ways. No, felt more like brothers and sisters coming down to see what was possible. I didn’t want to think about that too much. I know what I’m doing on a guitar, fair enough. But don’t make me represent the whole tribe. There are tons of way better players than me. More than a few of them were in the house that night. Then again, I was the one standing there at the downbeat. I let the thought go. Thinking would come later.
We hadn’t planned anything. But for some reason we found ourselves making a ragged, funky circle, facing one another, ignoring the world outside. There would be time enough for them. No one said a word but we all looked around and checked in. Tony went head down, looking for all the world like she was praying. Then she came back up and showed us she was smiling wide. One by one we all caught it. She was right, if we weren’t gonna enjoy this there was no sense doin’ it. Woman is so wise.
“Alright.” I said, “Who wants to play?” I had my loopiest grin on, just couldn’t help myself. Waits was strapped into his bass, he laughed and grabbed hold of Killer’s attention. Three notes, slow and steady, by the time he hit four my man had caught on and drums echoed the figure onetime. Mcshane grabbed a note out of thin air, didn’t seem to make sense at first, but I knew better than to ask questions, so I hit up the space between with a rolling three-beat call. We worked it for a few bars, and it settled into a thing, almost blue, groovy yes, but we could stay here for a while. No worries. Tony walked over to the edge of the stage and sat down, very much present and attentive, but making it obvious she was gonna give us the space to let us walk for a bit. So we did.
…
I love this small flower for its tiny perfect beauty
and for where it chose to grow
From doing what was needed for others
now a time to walk with my own sense of life
but a moment before moving on
to be still…
thanks for what has brought me here
thanks for what is here
may it be honoured
in doing
and in being
And so it’s been a time
of saying goodbye
to people, to places
seldom by choice, these goodbyes
but that’s part of what life is made of
so…
…being able to say goodbye
well.
for poetry is not the words
but the thoughts between
for music is not the notes
but the spaces between
for life is
not the doing
but what is
between
Pote (noun)
one who writes
pomes
Hey, friend, how’s your day? I hope you’re well and enjoying some of the spring we’re still having. Because it was delivered so early this year there was talk of it being taken back after a few days, but apparently it fits well enough we’ll keep it and wear it in a little bit. I know it’s really spring now because I finally noticed buds on the tree out front. Couldn’t miss them actually. I guess I’d been walking around with my head down, hadn’t looked up. There’s a lesson in there somewhere, eh?
Had another lesson yesterday, I’m just not sure quite what it is yet. As you know, friend, I’m not a pack rat, I don’t care for collecting odd piles of things I just might use someday. I’ve walked with people who live like that and it makes me uncomfortable. It speaks of a sadness to me. Maybe that’s just me.
No, I’m not a collector, but I am a bit of an archivist. Sometimes I surprise myself at what I’ve managed to hang on to. So I shouldn’t be too surprised that I ran across a pile of papers last night that looked odd at first, but turned out to be stacks of old tunes that I’d collected or people had asked me to learn over the decades, as well as instrumental arrangements from late in the last century, and even a few pieces I’d written something over thirty years ago. I was surprised I still had any of it. Even more that some of it actually wasn’t bad. There were also several songs from a few years ago, things I’d forgotten about completely, one or two of which I might actually re-learn just for amusement’s sake. Mind you I don’t know what to do with the arrangements for violin, oboe, flute and cello. I think I got the chance to hear them on real instruments exactly twice.
Oh, and lyrics for the first two songs I ever wrote. How very strange yet typical that I could immediately hear the melody and the guitar part clearly and completely. Interesting to notice, too, that while the classic putdown of all young writing that it’s all about ‘me’, the first one was about Amos, a guy in South Africa who had climbed six floors up on a construction site to end his life while crowd gathered below chanting ‘jump, jump, jump’, and the second was about the end of the world from nuclear destruction.
Of course, typical me, they’re barely recognizable in those terms. The first owes more to ‘An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge‘ than any normal narrative structure, and the second is a whole ton of weird imagery flinging itself in all directions then returning to one person asking another what they saw when the world ended this morning.
Y’know, I guess when you start there pretty much anything is possible.
Maybe even inevitable.
Last night’s sky reminded me of another picture, taken a lifetime ago. For various reasons this is what I call a farmer’s sky.
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