The Wilders SELL OUT!

Wilders UK Summer Tour:

I'm propped up against the wall in the hotel room in Stirling, Scotland. I have just a few minutes to write before I head out for tonight's gig. I realize it has been a very long time since I last posted, but a lot has happened this year, and my blog writing has unfortunately been shelved to the back of the pantry.

Thus far, 2009 has been the year of the overseas tour. We did two weeks in the UK at the end of January, followed by another three-and-a-half-weeker in Germany, Austria and Switzerland. Just a few weeks after we returned to the states, Betse came back across the Atlantic for a week-long teaching stint in Belgium, and two more weeks in the UK-touring with multiple artists from the US and Scotland, for her brainchild "Going Across the Sea" project. Now we find ourselves on another month-long overseas odyssey, starting with a week of dates in Ireland (our first time in the Republic), followed by a return to our beloved Scotland (where we now reside). This week, our tour is focused on the middle belt, between Glasgow and Edinburgh. But next week we will be heading north for a festival in Stornaway (a three hour ferry ride to this purportedly breathtaking island). Then we are looking at several punishing days in the van, with 8-9 hour drives each day, taking us south for three dates in England, and our final three dates to Wales. Although this is our 4th tour to the British isles, this time we are covering some very new territory, and thus far, our reception has been very positive.

Our first week in the Republic of Ireland was dizzying. On the 26th of June, at 6:55 in the morning, our faithful Scottish driver, Gerald, met us at the Dublin airport and escorted our poor, jet-lagged arses to his motel room to get a few hours of rest before loading us back up for a promotional appearance on RTE Radio One that afternoon. Our gig at the Seamus Ennis Cultural Center that evening was our first in the Republic of Ireland, and our first sellout show of the tour. It was a great way to start. The next day we piled into the van, driving to the south coast for a gig at the Cork Midsummer Festival. The venue was inside a vintage Spiegeltent, similar to the one we've played at the Edinburgh Festival Fringe for the past three summers. The familiar surroundings made us quite comfortable, and we gave a spirited performance to another near sellout crowd of festival revelers.

Then it was out of the van, and into a small uncovered motor boat (which barely contained us and our belongings) for a cross-water trip from the mainland town of Baltimore, to Sherkin Island. The quick boat ride was somewhat sullied by the fact that it had started to rain, and so by the time we arrived at the landing, we were all soaked to the skin. But our Sherkin hosts made us welcome and soon enough we were dried out and rocking the small but enthusiastic crowd at the Sherkin Shindig. The next morning, I took the time to explore the ruins of an old friary near the boat landing, before we had to load our gear back into the boat for the trip back to the van. Luckily, the weather was much better, and Betse was even given the wheel for much of our return voyage.

The next two days, we got a real taste of the Irish pub scene, playing a showcase in Milltown Malby, County Clare, followed by a show at the well-known traditional pub in Galway, The Crane Bar. Both of these shows were followed by sessions of traditional Irish music that stretched late into the night. It was an eye opening experience to be sure- and the Guinness on tap in the pubs made it all the tastier.

We left Galway the next morning, and headed north for two days of concerts in Wexford, and Manorhamilton, County Leitrim. Both these shows were sellouts. The small twisty roads on the west coast of Ireland left their mark on me particularly, as I encountered my first car sickness in years. But the roads straightened as we got closer to Belfast in Northern Ireland. We played to a near-sellout crowd at a rock club in Belfast, and then headed back down to Letterkenny, County Donegal for our final performance in Ireland (on the 4th of July!), at the Earagail Arts Festival. A trend was now clearly established, as this show, in a very nice performing arts center, was also sold out. Apparently, the combination of us playing our butts off in the past, as well as some pretty deft promotional work by our agent, Loudon Temple, has begun to pay off.

On July 5th, we hopped back into the van to bid goodbye to the emerald isle and catch the ferry to Scotland. Gerald estimated that it would take about 2 hours to get to the departure terminal. But unfortunately our satellite navigation unit had other ideas. The route it chose for us was a scenic drive through some of the most beautiful rolling hills I've ever seen. The only problem was that the tiny winding roads were very slow and, by the time Gerald realized that we had been put on the wrong road, it was too late to turn back. So, for the next three hours, our van literally flew up and down the tiny roller coaster roads while I grew greener and greener in the back. Several times, I had to close my eyes and hold on to my seat to put down the urge to hurl my breakfast all over Ike's backpack (which was sitting at my feet). Not soon enough, we finally flattened out and joined the line at the ferry terminal with a few minutes to spare. Gerald breathed a sigh of relief once we were safely parked onboard. I think we were all quite happy to step away from the van for the relaxing three-hour ride across the Irish Sea. As I looked at the green shores of Scotland growing closer through the window of the ship, I felt that I was coming home.

So as to not belabor this post, I will condense our continuing tour dates in Scotland as thus:

Sunday July 5th- Harbour Arts Centre, Irvine SOLD OUT!
Tuesday July 7th- Carnegie Hall, Dunfermline SOLD OUT!
Wednesday July 8th- The Byre Theater, St. Andrews SOLD OUT!
Thursday July 9th- Eastgate Theatre, Peebles SOLD OUT!
Friday July 10th- Howden Park Centre, Livingston SOLD OUT!

That's pretty much the start of the tour in a nutshell. I will make an effort to give another report soon. But please stay tuned as there is a possibility that we may have a guest blog coming soon. Right now I've got to get to our sound check for tonight's gig at The Tollbooth Gallery in Stirling. I wasn't surprised to hear from Gerald that tonight's show is sold out too.

Cheers from the UK y'all!

Smoke break at the Wall...

Berlin, Germany- February 2009.

It had been a hectic day already, and Ike and I needed a break- a smoke break that is. We're not proud of it, but we both seem to have a weakness for cigarettes whenever we are in Germany. The band was in town to play a showcase at the Berlin Country Music Messe and both of us needed a break from the completely weird scene. The Messe (Festival), is unlike anything you can imagine. Don't get me wrong, Germans LOVE their country music! And, for the most part, they've got their image right too- with gigantic Stetson hats, expensive (previously) cold-blooded reptile boots, and huge rodeo belt buckles in spades.



But something gets a little warped in the translation. Its like Americana in overdrive and tipped just slightly off center. Along with the sea of cowboys, there are mothers and teenage girls wearing matching Little House on the Prairie dresses. There are the omnipresent rock-a-billy cats in full leathers.



Then there are the mountain men in buckskins, and, strangest of all, the indians. Maybe I'm just oversensitive, but seeing white people dressed up in loin clothes and war paint speaking German totally freaks me out. Anyway, we'd both had enough of it, and pushed outside into the chilly Berlin air to roll up a couple of fine tobacco cigarettes.



There were still a lot of people milling around outside, so I said, "Hey, let's go over and have a smoke by the Wall." I pointed to a stretch of the Berlin Wall still standing as a monument to the cold war 100 yards from the entrance to the Messe. Ike said, "Why the hell not? Yeah let's go." We strolled out the gate over to the remains of the wall.



Looking at it up close, we were both surprised to see how thin it was...

Craaaack! - The Sequel...

January 26th, 2009
Maverick Night at The Zebra Bar- Maidstone, Kent England...

I had just finished singing a solo tune on the banjo, and was waiting for Ike and Nate to come back to the stage. Betse came up the stairs and sheepishly said, "Uh, I guess I'm going to do a solo now..."

I looked over at Ike, who was now peering at me from the backstage door behind the bar . "Hey dude, we need you back here- and bring that roll of gaff tape". Then he whispered loudly, "I broke my guitar...again." I quickly fished into my banjo case for the tape and hurried backstage to find Ike, Nate and Gerald (our UK driver/roadie extraordinaire) hovering over Ike's guitar like field medics hovering over a soldier who has fallen on the battlefield. Turns out that Ike had inadvertently run into the corner of the bar while he rushed offstage to change a broken string. Unfortunately, his guitar had been between him and the bar at the moment of impact. Now, I know what everybody will immediatly think, "what was he drinking and how much?", but I swear to you folks, this particular bar charged us for water, so alcohol absolutely did not play a part in the breakage. And we weren't screwing around this time either (see "Hark the Herald Angels Craaaack! September, 2006) Link

This time, the guitar was broke and you had to chalk it up to simple dumb luck.

I looked over the situation. The bottom side of his guitar was split from just below where the neck joins the body, almost all they way around to the strap button. At the point of impact, there were shards of wood missing- which Ike had pulled from the guitar, and was now carefully placing inside a small Ziploc bag. I grabbed the gaff tape (the very-expensive theatrical equivalent of duct tape, but with a much less-damaging adhesive side), and started pulling off strips. It was slow and calculating work, as I tried to tape the guitar so that the seams met as cleanly as possible. Gerald, who had our, now-stalled show, and Betse's soon-to-be-finished solo foremost on his mind, grabbed the tape out of my hand, and went to work at 3 times my speed. We heard the applause for Betse, and knew it was time to get back. Gerald finished. It wasn't pretty, but we all agreed that it was officially "fixed", and Ike gave it a strum...the old boy was still perfectly in tune- although it was a little quieter, due mostly to the dampening effect of the tape. We moved back on stage and made it through the rest of the show without a hitch. In fact, we toured almost another three weeks before I heard anything about his guitar again.

Fast forward to The Haus Der Kultur in Waldkraiburg, Germany. I was changing my mandolin strings in one of the empty audience chairs before our sound check. I heard Ike call to me from the stage, "Hey dude, do you have any more of that gaff tape? I broke my guitar...again." This time he explained that he had caught the toe of his boot on a stair while climbing to the stage. As he fell, the guitar, which he had been carrying by the neck, caught his full body weight right on the strap button as he stumbled up the stairs. The previous UK crack now continued around the rest of the waist of his guitar. I believe that if it weren't for the tape and the neck joint, we could have actually lifted the top of the guitar off to have a look inside. The only problem was that the remainder of my gaff was now in short supply. We only had about a yard or so left to fix the whole top side of the guitar. We were in serious trouble. Ike held the seams together, while I carefully ran a single strip along the crack to complete a temporary suture. We finished off the roll of tape by applying some additional structural reinforcements, and then Ike picked it up and gave it a strum... It was about half again as quiet, but still almost perfectly in tune.

A lot of people ask why we care so much about this damned old fragile guitar from Sears and Roebuck. I guess its just that our whole sound was founded on this particular "snare drum with strings". But we are starting to think that maybe, (once the old boy is glued back together that is), it might be time to have a little retirement party. Anybody out there have an archtop with no low-end tone? Does it have absolutely no sustain whatsoever? Want to sell it? We're interested! We can't guarantee that we will always give it much in the way of tender loving care, but it WILL get played... Fast and Loud and Hard, man. And we'd gladly pay as much as $80.00 if its the right one...

Tarmac Photos are the Best.

Nothing is cooler to me than seeing a photo taken from the tarmac of an airport. I remember watching newsreel footage of The Beatles touching back down in London after their triumphant first US tour. There were throngs of fans waving at John, Paul, George and Ringo. They all look a little freaked out by the commotion, but wave to the crowd before they are whisked away in their waiting limosine.


Here Ike is stepping off the plane into the cold German night. There's precious little in the way of a single fan, much less a throng. I guess the guy standing next to the plane counts for something...

Random Photo from Germany

Ike in Illerberg, Germany.

Style is difficult to achieve on the road. Most of the time, you look like warmed-over dog shit. If you want to look good, you need accessories. The moth-eaten orange and black scarf was later seriously fouled at Nate's birthday party in Switzerland, then it went missing for about a week, and then returned via German Post at the end of our tour in a tidy ziplock bag. Sadly, the stylish white glasses broke a few minutes after this photo was taken. But at least Ike will always have this photo to remind himself how cool they were.

Fleeting Friends of the Road: A Tribute to Walker Wilder

Sometimes the miles we travel bore us into silliness of epic proportions. We were somewhere in the Scottish highlands, sleepy but restless, when I looked at the pile of blankets, kindly loaned to us by our booking agent, Loudon's wife. To make space in the overloaded van, Ike had hung the blankets from a headrest facing us. In our haze, the pile sort of looked like a friendly frog staring back at us. I took Ike's hat and set it atop the blankets. Ike took off his sunglasses and then the stage was set. We worked for a few more minutes, Ike adding a stray guitar string for a mouth, me wrapping Ike's jacket around his backpack for the body, then Ike's gloves became his hands. Then, as a final detail, a pack of Walkers potato crisps gave our new friend his namesake, "Walker", good old Walker Wilder.

Oh Walker, how we miss you. You were our quiet friend for a few days. We grew to love you, then you were gone. Your crisps were eaten right from your hand, your body was removed due to pressing need for the warmth and clean clothes they contained. God speed you dear Walker, in your celestial travels...

Back in the USA!

So...we are back (finally!) from our long tour overseas. We flew to Glasgow, Scotland on January 15th, and flew back from Stuttgart, Germany on February 22nd. Over that time, we played something like 31 shows in 33 days. The trip was quite successful. We sold a lot of cd's and made a lot of new fans. And a lot of stuff happened. There are a lot of stories. But right now, I'm just too damn tired to write about any of it. I know you are hungry for more after such a long break. Thankfully, I took some pictures and shot a little video too. In the meantime, here is my footage of the last song of the night, performed with the crowd's help at The Tin Hut, in Aberdeenshire, Scotland. It seems as if everyone in the UK knows this song...




There's much more to show and tell. Look for many new posts in the next few weeks. Thanks, as always for your continuing interest in our endeavors...

ps: Hope you like the new look. I was sick of the old one. I VOTED FOR CHANGE!
brotherphil

The List...

Does this ever happen to you? You're driving in you car, listening to the radio, your iPod, a mixtape- whatever, and you hear a song from an album that you absolutely love. I mean LOVE. An album that you can THINK your way through the entire running order, start-to-finish. An album that's as warm to you as a pair of faded jeans straight out of the dryer. An album that, for some ridiculous reason, if you ended up stranded on a desert island, you would want to have with you. An album you would NEED to have with you if you were going to survive. Whenever this happens to me, I always unconsciously blurt out to whoever is riding alongside, "THIS album... is on THE LIST".

Now, I don't want to get too heavy into the logistics of why the desert island scenario is flawed from the get go. If you just consider it for a moment, with the lack of electricity, the limited life of batteries, the destructive effects of salt water on electronics, or, for that matter, the reality of any audio player actually working for more than a few years anyway, the idea is doomed. But I guess if you are like me, and you watched a lot of Gilligan's Island reruns as a kid, you can at least muster up the possibility that perpetual music, albeit limited to a carefully chosen list of 10 albums, might be possible. So, if you were lucky enough to be stranded on a desert island with a smart professor, who could design and build a bamboo bicycle that could generate electricity, AND you had a bomb-proof playback device for cd's, vinyl, whatever, you would want to be prepared wouldn't you?
Thus, the list.

I've been working on my list since early adolescence. I vividly remember my first 8-track tape. It was "Elvis's Golden Records" and I bought it with my own allowance money at K-Mart. I couldn't have been more than 6 or 7 years old, but I completely remember rushing home, ripping it out of it's big over-sized box, then gently pushing it into the stereo 8-track deck. Over the next few weeks I literally memorized that music. Coincidentally, I have only one Elvis cd in my collection now, and it's "Elvis's Golden Records"... As the years passed, other 8-tracks entered and retreated from my life, followed by piles of vinyl records, 45's and 33's, mountains of cassette tapes, and then, much later, compact discs. When I was just a kid, my dad used to take me to swap meets at the long-ago-demolished Twin Drive-INN in Riverside, MO . I developed a behavior pattern then, which has remained in me to this very day. Whenever I see an old box of records, cassettes, cd's, or whatever lying underneath a table at a flea market or a garage sale, I MUST go through the entire box. Its an obsession that has yielded me some real treasures over the years. One of them was an 8-track of The Beatles "White Album". Actually, it was only the first half of the 2-album set, and the running order was different, due to the time constraints of the 8-track format. But I memorized it nonetheless- track breaks and all. It took me years to get used the new order when I finally bought it on vinyl. But the music contained on that 8-track destroyed me, and it still destroys me today (although in a completely different way). That's why "The White Album" is on the list. I assure you that I'll need a copy if I end up on that lonely desert island... I WILL.

My 10-album list is constant, yet ever-changing. There are albums on my list that have been on it for most of my life, and albums that are are much more recent additions. After 30 or so some-odd years of collecting, I've grown pretty skeptical. For this reason, I am, by nature, suspicious when I hear something that really knocks me out. New albums that hit me this way generally get put on a probationary sub-list and remain there for quite some time. Then, if they truly have staying power, I will move them up to the actual list. Of course, when this happens, another worthy list occupant must be demoted. I'm not sure why the list must be limited to 10 albums, but it has always has been this way, and I don't dare shake up the rules at this point.

The following is my current list (in no particular order) with supporting evidence:

1. "The White Album" - The Beatles - As a huge Beatles fan, its really hard to choose which album goes on my list. Generally, as one becomes my favorite, it will replace another. With only 10 songs, I can't really afford to have more than one Beatles album on there. But my love for this one dates way back to that original 8-track. I just love the raggedness of the whole thing. Individually, the four Beatles were never more creative. But at the same time, they were in the process of destroying each other. Its a big, overwrought, fleshy thing full of attitude and ego-mania.

2. "Ram" - Paul McCartney - Sir Paul's 2nd post-Beatle solo record has been on the list since my childhood. I used to sit for hours looking at the gatefold cover on the floor of my sister's room. It was her copy and she wouldn't loan it to me. If I wanted to hear it, I had to come into her room. The music was both friendly and, at the same time, sort of edgy. I had no idea that the lyrics were nonsensical and that Linda McCartney's voice was horrifyingly bad. Upon repeated listens as an adult, I cannot divorce these childhood experiences from the music. It has always been on the list and it always will be. I just absolutely love it and can't musically justify why. To paraphrase Descartes, "Its on the list, therefore the list is.

3. "#1 Record/Radio City" - Big Star - I can't believe that I spent nearly 35 years of my life before hearing Big Star. Although I had always "heard about" Alex Chilton's seminal Memphis, TN attempt to pitch some good old USA into the british invasion, I had never had the inclination, or determination to actually seek out a record by them. Ike Sheldon brought this amazing, near perfect, rock and roll nugget into my life several years ago. I can't remember what it bumped off when it crashed onto the list, but whatever it was, good riddance...

4. "King of the Delta Blues Singers" - Robert Johnson - When I was 13 and just starting to play the guitar, I checked this out from our local library. I had read interviews with Keith Richards and Eric Clapton and they talked about what a huge influence Robert Johnson had been on their playing. I got it home and put the record on my turntable and thought it must be on the wrong speed. The guitar was sort of harsh and metallic. and the Johnson's voice sounded like he was singing through a tin can. Needless to say, I was way too young to appreciate the unbelievably haunting songs, the amazing guitar rhythm and his vocal control. These 16 songs would later have a profound influence on me as a musician. It will always be a reference point for how good you can get if you just keep at it.

5. "The Basement Tapes" - Bob Dylan and The Band- Just like The Beatles, picking a single Dylan record is nearly impossible. I choose this one because I just love how loose it is. The boys were just screwing around in the basement. Sometimes, it is amazing what you can create when you don't think anyone is listening. Dylan sneers and croons his way through a thicket of material here. And you get the more bang-for-your-buck with the additional tunes The Band were working up by themselves. I personally think The Band never recorded anything in the studio even close to as good as the stuff in the basement of Big Pink.

6. "Jazz Impressions of New York" - Dave Brubeck Quartet - I discovered this record my sophomore year in college at the University of Missouri. I used to be what they called a "suitcaser"- meaning, I packed my dirty laundry and books into my car and headed home to the comfort of mom and dad's house every weekend. This album made that lonesome 2-hour drive from Columbia bearable weekend after weekend. Many a jazz purist will discount the Brubeck Quartet as a product of the pure commercial saccharin-jazz rampant in the naive 1950's . But I defy anyone to listen to Paul Desmond's aching saxophone on "Autumn on Washington Square" and not feel a cold chill of melancholy settling into their bones.

7. "In an Aeroplane Over the Sea" - Neutral Milk Hotel - This was one that came to me in the 90's while I was still working at the Kansas City Art Institute. Oftentimes my student workers would come into my office, heralding the latest "coolest band EVER" to me. Most of what they played me is now forgotten, but I heard this record and loved it from the first listen. Regardless of my skepticism, it only remained on my sub-list for a short time. I moved it up to full residency on the permanent list before Y2K and never looked back... By the way, I LOVE the sound of a 7th grade brass band playing Sousa marches they've only rehearsed a few times. I guess its just the chaos of it all.

8. "Odyssey and Oracle" - The Zombies - This is one that could drop off the list at any time in favor of a more worthy record. Yet, for the last 3 years or so, every time I hear it, I mutter to myself, "this is still, really...on the list". Its a crazy melange of a record- the Zombies last, that speaks so much to what could have happened if they could have just got past their petty differences and made more beautiful music together...I love the drama of "Butchers Tale (Western Front 1914) and the sweet loneliness of "A Rose for Emily". I don't see it on very many other top 10 lists. So I'll hang on to it for now, in hopes that others may discover it's beauty.

9. "Tattoo You" - The Rolling Stones - Ok, I'm sure I'm going to get a lot of negative response to this one. But here's the deal: I got "Tattoo You" as a Christmas present from my high school buddy, Mark McNally, after we played touch football with about 22 other half drunk dudes in the December Missouri mud, on some Christmas vacation Saturday afternoon. We went to my Chevy Vega during half time, to sample a room temperature 12 pack of Old Milwaukee Light, when he just busted it out from behind his back. He told me, "dude, I know you don't really like The Stones, but just listen to side two. It's the sexiest album side EVER." I went home and listened. Its been on the list ever since.

10. "Final Fade" - Howard Iceberg - The newest addition to the list, but maybe the most worthy ever. I've been a fan of Howard's since the early 90's. He's a Kansas City institution. Hell, I even played slide guitar on his "Hindu Equations" cd. But I'll never forget when Howard gave me a copy of "Final Fade" at one of our local KC shows. He handed it to me and had a funny look on his face. I read the liner notes, and realized that this might be the last Howard Iceberg record. It appeared that he was intending to retire from the music game once and for all. I took it home and realized immediately, the loss this retirement would bring. Luckily, Howard has decided to forgo his retirement a little longer. That's a bonus for everyone who can get their hands on one of his records, or, better yet. see him perform his amazing songs live.

So that's my top 10 desert island disks as of 12/26/08. As is the nature of the list, it might change somewhat tomorrow, or next week. Its my list and I make no bones about it. What I choose is a deeply personal list based on my own particular criteria. You might think I'm crazy, but I'm the one who has to live with my choices on that lonely island right?

So what are your choices? I'd like to see the lists of some others out there. Who knows...Maybe one of your top 10's will eventually creep onto my own? Of course, as a musician, I think that I know EVERYTHING about music. But there's always the possibility of something interesting creeping on to my list at any time. I'll be waiting for your own lists in the comments section of this blog entry. Feel free to expand upon your reasoning, or just provide your basic top 10. I think we will all benefit from the experience...

Happy New Year!

Random Photo Moment 8...

"Strength does not come from winning.
Your struggles develop your strengths.
When you go through hardships and decide not to surrender,
that is strength."

Arnold Schwarzenegger

Random Photo Moment 7...

"I know that you believe you understand what you think I said,
but I'm not sure you realize that what you heard is not what I meant."

Robert McCloskey

Random Photo Moment 6...

"A friend is someone who knows the song in your heart and can sing it back to you when you have forgotten the words."

unknown

Random Photo Moment 5...

"I never drink water. I'm afraid it might become habit forming..."

W.C. Fields

Random Photo Moment 4...

"Sometimes its more important to be human,
than to have good taste."

Brecht

Random Photo Moment 3...

"Do not take life too seriously,
you'll never get out of it alive."

Elbert Hubbard

Random Photo Moment 2...

"A fight is not won by one punch or kick.
Either learn to endure or hire a bodyguard."

Bruce Lee

Random Photo Moment

"Now there is one outstandingly important fact regarding Spaceship Earth, and that is that no instruction book came with it."

Buckminster Fuller

The Ritual of Airports

The Brown Clown pulls up to the curb outside the Kansas City International Airport terminal and everybody scrambles. Suitcases, instrument cases, cowboy hats, carry-ons, neck pillows, and other Wilder necessities spill out onto the sidewalk as we take shifts, carrying everything inside to the check-in kiosk. Once everything is safe, I head back out and drive the van to the economy parking lot. I look for an open spot near to one of the glassed-in waiting areas. I make a mental note of the location using some stupid mnemonic- "I can't wait to retune my steel guitar to C6 tuning", or "If I run into a robot, I hope it is C3-pio". I know that no matter how creative the mental picture, I'll still forget where I parked.

I turn off the engine, put the sun-visor in the window and quickly look around to make sure nobody forgot anything. Then I lock up and go to wait for the shuttle by the glassed-in waiting area. If we have arrived in plenty of time for our flight, the parking lot is literally teeming with shuttles, and one comes to pick me up almost immediately. However, if we are running late (which we often are), its more like downtown Tombstone out there. There are no other cars coming in to park, no other people waiting, and no shuttles- no shuttles anywhere. I begin to make frantic phone calls to Betse, telling her that I'm stranded, that I'm screwed, that I'm going to have to walk to the terminal...that I just got hit by a tumbleweed. She speaks to me in a calm reassuring voice- she's incredulous because she's heard it all before. I hang up when a shuttle finally comes. I arrive at the airport and find Betse and Nate waiting next to my pile of luggage. Betse hands me my boarding pass and then they both scatter.

I grab my stuff, hit the restroom and gulp down some water at the fountain before heading into the security line. Unlike most larger airports, Kansas City International has a separate security line for each gate. Our airport was built in the early 70's, prior to today's daily terrorist threat. Although they have been retrofitting some of the busier gates with new bathrooms, once you are past security, there isn't any guarantee that there will be any services whatsoever (unless, I guess you want to call chairs a service). Regardless of this minor inconvenience, I love our sweet little airport. There never seems to be very many people flying, the lines are mercifully short, and the security staff are, for the most part friendly and free of the burnout level you see at busier airports.

I smile at the first security guard as I hand her my boarding pass and passport. She waves a weird blue flashlight over my picture, compares the info, then returns my smile along with my stuff. I move past her and pull off my boots, unbuckle and unthread my belt, take off my coat and hat, and dump the lot into a plastic bin, Then I unzip my carry-on suitcase and remove my 1 quart plastic bag containing all my important gels and liquids. I remove my laptop from the suitcase too, and put it and the gels into their own plastic tub, Finally, I pull off the tennis bag off my back (which contains my mandolin case) and lay it on the belt behind the plastic tubs. I've just organized my entire life into little train of plastic tubs. I double-check my pockets for any change, scrap metal, razor blades, or anything else that is going to get me busted, then wait for the x-ray attendant to look at me. He motions me forward. Just before I pass through the machine, I grab a quick breath and hold it... I don't hear an alarm. I'm clean- thank God. I exhale, then wait for my train of tubs to come out of the x-ray machine. I quickly put back on my belt and boots, coat and hat, and then unzip my carry-on to return my laptop and important gels and liquids. Then I go grab a seat near the gate. Even though I just went to the bathroom, I now have the urge to pee. But, of course there is no bathroom inside this gate.

I look around and see Betse sitting 10 yards across from me in another row of seats checking email on her laptop. Nate is sitting about 20 yards behind me reading the sports page. Today Ike is meeting us in Newark, and is flying out of Allentown, Pennsylvania, so who knows what he is doing? But even if he was here, he wouldn't willingly sit with any of us. For whatever reason, we don't hang out together in airports. Given the opportunity, we will change our seat assignments in order to NOT sit near each other. Of course, we DO spend a lot of time together on the road. But another part of this avoidance behavior is due to the fact that each of us has our own preference as to where we like to sit. I am claustrophobic by nature and require not only an aisle seat, but, if possible, an aisle seat at the very front of the plane. This preference allows me to get the hell off the plane as soon as possible. Ike likes the front too, but because he is sensitive to the engine noise and prefers the quieter ride up front. But, unlike me, he has no problem sitting on a plane, and will sometimes dawdle just to be the last one off. Both Betse and Nate like window seats- not because of the view, but because they have developed a technique where by they can actually go to sleep by cramming their heads up against the closed window shade NOTE: This technique requires the use of a neck pillow. Misuse of this technique can result in spinal injury).

A voice comes over the intercom telling us that they are now going to begin pre-boarding for our flight. A line quickly develops at the gate. Betse gets up and joins the line too. She will need to board as soon as possible so that she can find a safe space for her double fiddle case before all the overhead bins are full. Thus, she has a very good reason to get in line, but I look at the other people jockeying for position, and I wonder what it is they are in such a damned hurry for. I remain seated. Due to my claustrophobia, I would never willingly hurry to get ON an airplane. And besides, once you are past the gate attendant, you only get to walk a few steps before you hit a secondary line on the jetway, where everyone who got up before you is now stuck waiting. Inside the aircraft, all the people who first jumped into line are now cramming their oversize carry-ons into all of the available overhead spaces. They will have to wait, though, until the rest of us stragglers come aboard.

I wait until there most of the people are on the plane, then move toward the gate. I don't want to be the last one on the plane because I usually have slightly more luggage than is really "allowed". When my carry-on bag is fully packed, containing all of my clothes, at least two western suits, my 1 quart bag of liquids and gels, my computer and whatever else was needed depending on the tour, it is about an inch or so over the maximum size allowed on an aircraft. Technically, you are allowed to carry-on this bag as well as one nebulous "personal item". This is where it gets sticky. My personal item is the tennis bag containing my mandolin case. I need it because it has backpack straps that allow me to carry all three of my instruments at once. If I only had the mandolin case inside, it wouldn't be a problem. However, lately I've been pushing the envelope by cramming in my cowboy boots, some magazines, snacks, a neck pillow, and so on and so on... Today, my "personal item" is actually LARGER than my carry-on bag! As I move up to the gate attendant, I keep my carry-on suitcase on the opposite side of my body in an attempt to block it from her view- and I sort of stand sideways,. hoping she won't look too closely at the monstrosity hanging on my back. I'm lucky, and she doesn't even look up at me when I hand her my boarding pass. I move quickly down the jet way and run into the tail end of the line waiting to get on the plane.

After a few minutes I finally reach the door and I see the flight attendant staring at my luggage and shaking her head. I'm busted. She tells me the overheads are all full and I'll need to gate check my bags along with the strollers and wheelchairs. Defeated, I quickly open my suitcase and remove my computer, grab some gum, a magazine, re-zip everything, then say a silent prayer for the continued good health of my luggage before handing both bags off to the disinterested, overworked and underpaid baggage handler standing in the door of the jetway. Powerlessly, I watch him drop my carry-on bag from the stairway landing to the truck bed, located 4 feet below. I cringe, quickly turn away, and then move through the door of the suffocatingly small aircraft. I smile at the flight attendant and take my aisle seat in the first row. I was the last one on, and with any luck, I'll be one of the first off. Thank God.

Random Stop...

Thursday, 8/28/08 @ 9:13pm
Interstate 70, East of Hays, Kansas:

I was jolted awake when Ike hit the brakes-HARD. The van lurched to the right, crossing the rumble strip, and stopped roughly on the shoulder. Semi-trucks, lugging their heavy loads roared by as I sat up with a "hrumph." I had drifted off into sleep long enough for the sun to have gone down without my awareness. I had no idea where we were.

Ike was already out of the van by the time I raised the blinds. I looked out the window and spotted him-up to his chest in grass, climbing up a small hill toward a ridge of trees. Towering above him, about 100 feet beyond, was a solitary wind turbine turning fast in the Kansas wind.

Betse yelled out, "oh no, I bet there are chiggers."
"You can brush them off!" he yelled back as he disappeared through the tree line.

Nate turned around from the seat in front of me, laughing, and said, "Hey Phil, did you think we would be stopping for THIS?". I grumbled a non-answer, and looked back outside at the turbine, scanning the trees for Ike.

"Wow, you can hear it," Betse said, "LISTEN..." I slid my window open, but for several moments, all I could hear was the traffic whooshing past. Then I heard it, the steady, "whump, whump, whump" of the turbine.

Spurred on by this new auditory impulse, Betse too was now off into the grass, She moved with greater care than Ike- perhaps hoping to limit her parasite exposure. Nate turned to me again and said, "He was just talking about wanting to climb something." Chuckling, he added, "He's going to be on top of that thing in a few minutes."

I collapsed back into my seat with a grumble-feigning disinterest. The part of me that knew this was going to make us late, had taken momentary control of my vocal chords. But there was another part of me that secretly wanted to see Ike's shadowy silhouette moving up the side of the tower- no matter how late it made us.

I sat back up and said, "Do they even HAVE chiggers in central Kansas?"
"I don't know," Nate replied as he stepped outside to water the roadside flowers, "but I'm not feeling adventurous enough tonight to find out." Then he said, "Hey, they're coming back, there must have been a fence"

Ike an Betse returned to their respective front seats, obsessively brushing and rubbing their wrists and ankles. They spoke to each other emphatically-not about wind turbines, but about feeding habits and human defense strategies against Trombiculidae, the common chigger. It was obvious that they now imagined their bodies teeming with microscopic mites. Innumerable chiggers were slipping into a sock here, a waistband there, or worse yet, crawling under a warm, moist fold of skin where there would be protection from the incessant brushing and rubbing- the sort of place a chigger can relax, a safe place where he can linger long enough to begin to feed...



For those who don't believe in the existence of the much-reviled midwestern chigger, please visit:

http://mdc.mo.gov/nathis/arthopo/chiggers/

Or, for you adventurous disbelievers, I invite you to visit any picturesque backyard, pasture, or meadow of Missouri grass between June and August. Go ahead, have a seat, relax and see for yourself if chiggers are real.

By the way, you can't see them, they are invisible...

Sideshow!

Saturday August 9th 12:10am
Location: The Marquis De Sideshow Tent- Spiegel Gardens

"This is sideshow, not magic," the shirtless tattooed performer explained as he pushed a galvanized 10 penny nail through each of his nipple piercings. "Real people doing real things..." He reached behind a curtain, and roughly pulled out an automotive battery wrapped in heavy steel chains, then dropped it violently to the floor in front of the anxious crowd. He bent forward at the waist, unraveled one of the chains, and slipped the end link over one of the nails- locking it snugly around his right nipple. "This is sideshow, it is not meant to trick," he said as he attached the other chain in like fashion. "It is meant to shock, and AMAZE..." He then arched his back, pulling the chains taught against the nails with his arms straightened behind him like an olympic swimmer ready for the race. He paused briefly for some of the audience to take pictures of his now downward-stretching nipples. The battery was still firmly planted to the floor.

"Now I'm going to see if I can lift this battery off the ground using only my chest- but first, we're going to make it more interesting!" Again, he reached behind the curtain, now producing a set of heavy automotive jumper cables. Nervous laughter filtered throughout the audience. "How many of you understand the laws of electricity?" he asked. "Well, I will tell you that there is enough electricity contained within this battery, that if I were to attach these jumper cables to these chains, there would be enough sustained amps to kill me..." He clipped the negative cable to the negative terminal, and then, likewise, clipped the positive end to the positive terminal. Grasping up the opposite ends of the cables in each hand, he quickly touched the two ends together, producing a shower of sparks. The audience gasped.

"Now for me to be able to lift this battery, there needs to be an exchange of energy..." Again, he touched the cable ends together, producing a secondary shower of sparks. "If I rub the ends of these cables against the chains, it will still produce an electrical current, but only about 5 to 6 amps, which will NOT be enough to kill me." He went on, "So I'll be getting energy from the battery, but I also need energy from you, the audience." The tension in room was palpable- everyone focused completely on the performer. "When I begin rubbing these chains, they are going to get very hot- especially here and here," he motioned to each nail. "On the count of three, I need for you, the audience, to scream as loudly and as wildly as you can. If I can pick the battery up just a few inches, I've done my job, and I've done it well..."

"Are you ready?" he yelled. The crowd, united in their response, screamed, "YEAAAAHHH! He scraped the cables against the chains. Sparks fell down his chest as he winced in pain, "AAAAAHHHHHHHGGGGG!" There was a small cloud of smoke wafting into the front row. "Can you SMELL IT?" he asked. "That's the smell of burning flesh!" The woman seated closest to him waved a hand in front of her face. "Remember, this is sideshow, NOT magic," he repeated. "It is meant to shock...and AMAZE." He paused to let his words settle in for dramatic effect. "Remember, you must scream as loudly as you can! NOW, on the count of three...ONE......TWO.............THREE!

The performer began rubbing the chains up and down against the battery cables. Sparks flew. Smoke filled the air. The crowd screamed loudly, forcefully, wildly. The performer screamed too, but they were screams of anguish. He arched his back against the weight of the battery. From my vantage point, I could not see the battery rise off the floor, but from the change in the crowd's screams, I knew that it had. The performer screamed- and we screamed louder, as he quickly rocked his body from side to side, making the battery swing like a pendulum. Then, he relaxed, and the battery tumbled back to wooden floor with a heavy thud.

He slumped forward, clearly exhausted and dazed from the effort. The crowd cheered. He detached the chains, straightened himself, and took a deep bow.

"SIDESHOW!" he exclaimed, "Real people doing REAL THINGS!"

Ike Rips and Tall Ships-Scotland: Part Two

I've just returned to the peace and quiet of our flat. We spent the morning hucking ourselves on a local Edinburgh radio program. At this point, everything we can do to get some "butts in seats" (as we so elegantly say in Missouri), the better. I had hoped that our previous attendance problems would be strictly a United States phenomena. However, with half our Spiegeltent performances nearly finished, we have yet to draw more than half a house. This is frustrating because out of the 5 shows we did during last year's run, we sold out two, then had a nearly full house on two more. It was only on the final day of the festival (a Monday no less), that we finally had a low show attendance. Like the US, the economy in the UK is sluggish, gas prices are sky high, and people are getting depressed. And like the US, many people are apparently opting to stay home and save their hard-earned money.

Regardless, it feels really good to be back in Scotland. We played our first show in a beautifully refurbished old theater in Perth. The audience attendance for our show at the "Southern Fried Festival" was quite good. I think this might have been to due, at least in part, to Ike's participation in a multi-artist Hank Williams tribute concert up the street earlier in the evening. Betse and I walked into the back of the completely new, state-of-the-art theater to check it out, just as Ike was finishing the first verse to Hank Williams' heart-wrenching "Someday You'll Call My Name (and I Won't Answer)". The stage was beautifully lit. The house band was spread across the center and stage left side behind Ike. And on stage right, there were several small round tables. Seated at the tables were the other tribute performers and their friends. I smiled when I looked and saw Nate, Carrie and Gerald sitting up there onstage watching the show. This brilliant theatrical choice allowed the audience in the theater to watch an audience on the stage while they both watched the show. But it was clear to me that everyone's eyes were squarely on Ike at center stage when he sang Hank's words. He wore the close-fitting, dark plum western suit I bought for him a few years ago on eBay. He had on his black felt cowboy hat, a pair of black shoes (with white socks of course), and sunglasses. He looked like a cross between Marty Robbins and Hank Williams Jr, and when he sang into the mic, he looked like a damned star- and he sounded like one too. Now, it may seem that I am waxing poetic, but I rarely get to see our singer from the audience's vantage point- especially in such a perfect setting. In short, he blew me (and everybody else) away.

A few hours later, our own show was an energetic, albeit chaotic triumph. We hadn't played together in nearly two weeks, and it took a little effort to keep all four wheels on the ground. But the audience loved it, and the 90 minute set seemed to go by in a blink. The next morning, I was startled awake by Gerald at the early hour of 11:30am. My watch alarm had been set to go off at 9. But I quickly realized that I had set it for pm instead of am. Gerald said, in his infinite patience and sing-songy accent, "no wearies Phillip, tek yor tyme...havacuppatea". He grabbed up my instrument cases and shuffled up the hallway, stopping briefly to wake up Betse (who had forgotten to set her alarm), and Nate (who didn't even have an alarm). A half hour later, we were headed toward Glasgow. This van was much more spacious than Gerald's airport shuttle loaner. There was a locked storage area in the back where we securely stowed all our gear. And in the center, there were three bucket seats facing forward, and three bucket seats facing backward. On all sides, thick black drapes hung which served to divide us from Gerald, as well as obscuring any light or view that might be coming into the windows. Stepping inside felt like stepping inside a gothic stagecoach.

Soon we arrived in Glasgow, and Gerald mercifully dropped us off at our hotel to allow us plenty of time to rest up and eat something before our show that evening. Our gig location was "The Tall Ship", docked in the Glasgow harbor. Gerald picked us up from the hotel and it was just a short drive until we could see the three-story masts peeking over some harbor buildings. This 19th-century fully masted steel-hulled cargo ship apparently spent years carrying loads of bat guano from South America to the western United States, the UK and other places where the potent fertilizer was in demand. For many years, The ship was operated by a Scottish company, but was sold to the Spanish navy after WWII. She then fell into serious disrepair, before a contingency of Scottish seafaring enthusiasts got together, raised enough money to buy her back and spent countless more hours and money to make her seaworthy again. They then had her towed back to Glasgow, where she now resides as a tourist attraction, permanently chained to the dock. We parked and loaded our gear up the ramp and then down into the hold. As I walked around, I realized that this would be one of the most unusual places we would ever play. Gerald had been setting up the sound gear while we were at the hotel, so we had only to open our cases, tune up, make a few microphone adjustments, and were ready to play. We had about an hour to kill, so Nate went with Gerald to go pick up some pizzas, while Betse, Carrie, Ike and I all played a sailor's ring toss game outside on the dock.

For the second night of our tour, the crowd attendance was really good. In fact, they began lining up (or queuing, as the they say here), before our sound check, and by the time we returned to change into our suits, nearly every seat was full. Our UK booking agent, Loudon Temple introduced us and we were off to the races. The crowd gave us a lot of encouragement as we played a tight, well-paced two sets of Wilders goodies. After the show, Loudon took us down another flight of stairs into the vast cargo hold of the ship. Looking up from the very bottom into the enormous space, I could imagine myself as a turn-of-the-century sailor, sent down to inspect the integrity of the hold when suddenly I'm buried alive by 1000 tons of bat shit.

stay tuned...