We had a wonderfully breezy balmy morning at Barton Springs this morning. A few new families found us so there were babies sleeping and kids running around to make it even sweeter.
Sunday Singalong Set
Across The Universe p.4
With A Little Help From My Friends p.14
Let It Be p. 8
Tomorrow Never Knows p. 13
Blowin In The Wind p. 20
Mr. Tambourine Man p. 23
Outside
What’s So Funny Bout Peace Love and Understanding? p. 30
Maile planned the whole trip so I got to get way out of town and gratefully go along for our drive out west into the Texas desert for five days. We camped two nights in the divine Davis mountains, attended a stellar start-party at the magical McDonald Observatory, swam in beautiful Balmorhea and explored big Big Bend while staying La Posada Milagro in Terlingua.
I particularly appreciated the decompression from work during the busiest time of the year. Entering the Santa Elena Canyon cathedral, cooling in the Rio Grande for the first time between the 1500 foot rock walls, was an amazing experience.
But when we pulled out of Terlingua Tuesday morning I wasn’t feeling well. It was probably the chilly and the beer from last night. And the arid altitude. And the prospect of reentry. From the passenger seat with my travel guitar, I sang, “Adios, Terlingua” and wrote this song as we headed home across the many desert landscapes, smiling and sad.
Adios, Terlingua
Adios, Terlingua. The crew, we got to fly.
I wish we didn’t have to go but we got all day to drive.
We’re headed back to Austin through the Chisos one more time.
I’ll try to hold your vistas in my mind.
Adios, Terlingua. Wish I was feelin’ fine.
It’s probably all that chili and the beer I drank last night
Or maybe it’s the altitude, not used to living so high
I’m comin’ down the mountainside.
Adios, Terlingua, where the ocotillo bloom
And mist covers the mountains till it all burns off by noon
In the baking midday sun we holed up in our dark cool room
And woke to desert lit up by the moon.
Adios, Terlingua, and the old Starlight Cafe
Dogs and locals on the porch, guitars and a fiddle play
For all the drinkin’ tourists with an hour and a half to wait
The starry music ends for us today.
Adios, Terlingua, and the beautiful Big Bend
Sweet Santa Elena, crossing the Rio Grande
I’m deep inside your canyon walled cathedral of rock and sand
I’m grateful for your humbling expanse.
Adios, Terlingua, and all your hippie refugees
Who left the crazy world behind for desert harmonies
I wish I could stay longer and hear a few more stories
I tip my hat to all your rugged glory.
Hasta la vista, Terlingua, vultures circling overhead
Gathered by the roadside or some dried up creek bed
So long sweet roadrunner crossin’ up ahead
A ghost town is rising from the dead.
Davis Mountain SunsetHigh Diver at Balmorhea PoolThe Chisos Mountains from the shade of the courtyard at La Posada MilagroEntering the Santa Elena CanyonMy new song, on the back of my travel guitar
I got to attend the Interactive conference at South by Southwest this year and was often reminded of how poor a substitute digital connections are for the real thing and what an epidemic of isolation and loneliness is taking place.
One presenter pointed out what a totally different experience it is when music is shared in the room as opposed to isolated in our headphones.
The best thing I heard at SXSW was a bold keynote from musician/producer T Bone Burnett, who talked about the "growing understanding that the internet has morphed into an insidious surveillance and propaganda machine," calling for radical accountability for our tech giants and asserting that “the artists are our only hope.â€
All of this made me think of my song called Be My TV who's chorus goes, "I think my TV has been watching me, it cuts up my dreams to sell ads for jeans."
The youtube video has been taken down, but you can listen to it above (he starts at 2:28) and read the full text of his SXSW keynote at Tbone's site.
Here is a short interview which references it and gives you a few of the main points.
This mantra is also a riddle, being a double negative - no more bad things - which eludes to the next trick, to do more good things. This is why the song itself has two distinct parts, the frenetic ska song about all the ways gigs turn shitty, and the relaxed ending, about how to set up ideal settings for enjoyable situations. The first half is a fed up young man getting older, shaking his fist at all the bullshit, while the second half is a slightly wiser man, choosing to steer clear of the bitterness the bullshit has brought. Because you can't just quit your job, you have to find and make a better job.
Learning to say no to dumb, draining situations is certainly a difficult and ongoing challenge made more challenging because it can lead first to an empty space where nothing happens. This can be extremely refreshing, especially for a chronic over-commiter with a fear of missing out. One of the toughest parts about saying No to shitty gigs is fear of no gigs at all. And behind that waits the fear of having to do for yourself what noone else is going to do for you.
I know for me I may have never found the courage to unplug from the shitty-gig machine if I hadn't had a kid. When Anais was born I had to say no to almost everything else for quite a while. But I had a baby that needed me, so it was an enchanting if exhausting, tradeoff. It gave me time and space to dream up what was beyond the shitty music gigs I'd stopped playing, to having to getting to put on my own gigs, and partner with people that shared my vision for what they could be.
