Collateral Damage

Out on the road, remembering what I love to do

When I was getting ready to leave our new home in England for touring in the US, I felt pretty stressed out - would anyone come to the gigs? Some venues send ticket counts regularly, and sales were slow. Why was I putting myself through this, so soon after some very intense months of painting, packing and rearranging our lives. And what about the looming US presidential election? How could I expect people to not be completely distracted?

What about the music - would we be able to rehearse adequately and get a good set together for the gigs? Where would Eric and I stay now that our home is elsewhere? Would the rental vehicle have enough space to hold all the equipment? Would the albums arrive in time from Germany? Do people still BUY albums on vinyl or CD? Maybe I’d sold every book I was going to sell - my first memoir came out five years ago! Could I get some other merch item together in time for the gigs?

I found the most soothing thought I could, which was “I never have to do this again if I don’t want to.” Just get through this tour and the UK dates and then decide if it’s worth it to ever book a tour again.

It felt like an existential crisis. Maybe part of that is having relocated. I guess it causes you to examine how you go about doing…pretty much everything. But also, I’ve been waiting and hoping for this moment since before the pandemic; thinking “When I have my new album out, I’ll…” and that moment is here. Yet kind of like all the way back to my first album with Last Roundup in 1987, where just before we set off on a two month tour of the US I QUIT MY DAY JOB thinking “I’ve arrived and will never need to work another job again” - knowing all I know there’s still that little niggling expectation that this time things really will kick into high gear at last! This time it won’t be the one foot in front of another slog of ups and downs but a rocket-fueled ride straight to the next level: bigger shows, larger crowds, a feeling of finally arriving. Fully aware that in my many years of writing songs and playing music, changes happen incrementally or not at all (huh, maybe that’s why I have no problem throwing my life into a blender , or maybe it’s a chicken and egg kind of thing, I’d feel the changes more if I wasn’t often in the midst of tumult, or ramping up to or recovering from it?)

But all my fears were kind of a waste of energy (as Tom Petty sang “most things I worry `bout, never happen anyway”) as the gigs have been fine, great even! A few sold out shows. I’m sorry to say I’m too tired to recount them but maybe I’ll post a few photos with captions. The worst/hardest thing that’s happened (aside from several drives the entire width of Pennsylvania where the Trump signs overwhelmed the otherwise picturesque autumn landscape, this country really is so heartbreakingly epic and beautiful - please don’t elect that idiot again) is…

I lost my favorite hat. My go to, easy to wear, easy to pack, you don’t come across these too often kind of hats hat. The hat that took four years to break in, where it became a part of me.

It all had to do with returning the touring vehicle we’d rented at Pittsburgh Airport at the start of the trip almost a month ago. I needed to pass near Pittsburgh to head towards Columbus for the solo shows of the tour (the first two and a half weeks were with Eric on bass and our friend Sam Shepard on drums, so a van had been a must for that) and thought that would be a great chance to bring back the minivan and get a smaller car for just me and my guitar and small PA, merch and a massive suitcase - I guess come to think of it they might not have all fit in a smaller car! Anyways, I’d booked a four door vehicle and painstakingly removed all my gear, merch etc from our band van , left it all in my hotel room, closed out the minivan at the Budget kiosk in the chaotic on-the-verge of being torn down 1990’s old Pittsburgh airport (is there any airport in this country that isn’t in the middle of a massive renovation?!) and then walked a few steps over to the Avis counter.

“We haven’t got the four door you requested,” the woman at the desk said. This is the point where they usually offer a pickup truck or a sports car or a Jeep - “fun, huh?” like who wants any of those as a rental vehicle? This time she said “How do you feel about a Chrysler Pacifica - it’s a nice hybrid minivan.” It was in fact THE EXACT SAME MINIVAN I had just returned, only with Texas plates instead of Washington ones. Oh well, at least I’d figured out all the remote door controls and driver control panel.

I drove back to my hotel gearing up to load everything I’d just onloaded from Pacifica #1 into Pacifica #2. Then I remembered my hat.

I’d just driven from New York to Pittsburgh, a trip that took me an extra hour or two, needing to stop and sit outside at a rest area once or twice as I was so tired from all the gigs and all the driving. In taking great care to remove even every hair elastic I might need from the floor of the van, I’d forgotten I’d been clever and put my charcoal grey hat over the head rest in the back seat. In the dim light of the car rental return garage, I hadn’t noticed it.

I tried calling, filled out a Lost and Found form on the Budget website, went back to the airport at 7 AM when the car rental place opened. The guy threw up his hands “Lady that hat could be in Tennessee by now”…I’d made that drive from Pittsburgh to Nashville several times back when my daughter and I lived there and I could just about see the van cresting those hills in the last stretch of I-65 South heading towards Music City. What kind of people were in the first Pacifica now? Were they cutting up and tossing the hat around for fun, or had someone found a new side to their personality when they tilted the brim just so?

Or maybe one of the employees at Budget had taken a shine to the hat? She or he had worn it home to Moon Township and gotten a hard time from their partner “Honey when did you decide to join Mumford & Sons?”

Farewell friend - Brookes Boswell hat I loved so much I wore it in a promo pic, photo by Bob Krasner

The good thing is, I’ve been too busy driving and playing to think too much about the hat. I know I’ll mourn it as the weather gets cooler. As collateral damage for weeks of shows it’s not too high a price to pay.

As for my mantra before I left for this trip, well after maybe the first show in Connecticut or definitely the second show in Boston, I found myself mapping out routing for the next tour in my head. I feel very happy and lucky to get to do these shows. I think I enjoy playing/performing now more than I ever have - I feel like I finally got good at it. Why would I stop?

Thanks to anyone who’s come out to a show, and to the promoters and house concert friends and Eric and Sam for their talents. See some of you next month in the UK! I promise to have something left to give after I leave it all on the floor tonight in Cleveland.

Bright eyed before the tour; rocker dressing room shot by Sam; Boston; basic set list; Vienna VA; Catskill Avalon; Jammin Java by James Todd Miller; Joe C took this at Bantha Tea Bar Pittsburgh; Evan Finch snapped the show he hosted at Dear Mom/Indy