Room At The Top

Tom was singing about a Room At The Top. I felt like I’d been here before, was it two years… five or seven?

All three of those. I was driving to a writing retreat in the Michigan woods, way out there, not connected to anything. Michigan is a big state.

First there was a house concert in Rochester. Cozy, familiar, though I played a lot of new songs. I was feeling my way. It can be so strange to find yourself on stage in front of a roomful of people. With so much suffering in the world, how to feel fine trying to entertain? But it’s good to share what we have to share.

And then there was Canada. Ontario to be exact - I mean, Canada is huge.

The immigration officer could’ve been played by Christopher Guest, circa Best in Show. With a tidy beard.

“What brings you to Canada, eh?” he asked. I told him I was booked to play a house concert in Toronto. Then because I don’t know how to keep my mouth shut, I said “I’m probably telling you more than you need to know.”

“Oh you’re telling me exactly what I need to know, y’know,” he said, not unkindly, just matter of fact. I presented him with a letter I’d asked the house concert host to write for just such an occasion.  He read the letter.

“So you’re a professional musician. that’s wonderful,” he said. “How did they find you to book you to play?” I explained that the hosts were longtime fans of my work. “Is there a set fee for your performance?”

I honestly couldn’t remember what amount had been agreed upon and just said the host’s guests would make donations and that it would all work out fine, which I hoped would be true.

“And are you bringing any CDs in that you’ll… be giving away as gifts to the guests?” I could see that he was on my side, practically winking at me not to screw up.

“I have LPs,” I explained, truthfully.

“How many would you say you have?”

I thought of a good number that wouldn’t land me in prison if he asked to search the trunk of my car.  “Umm…seven?” I remembered how Eric has coached me to never volunteer more information as is my general inclination ie “AND I have CDs! Books! And maybe you’d like to see all my tea towels and shirts? I print them myself!” The official gave me back my passport and wished me safe travels and a good show.

Toronto finally appeared after two hours of the most unsightly highway you’ll see. I kept reminding myself “there’s a lake over there to the right!” to keep from being bummed out at the sight of endless drab buildings, dowdy signage.

The sight of Toronto boggled my mind, the building boom I’ve heard so much about. I think the last time I was there was the late 90s? I’d stayed at one of the tallest buildings downtown, the Intercontintental, which now looks like an antique footstool next to the shining, looming towers all around.

Thankfully the house concert was in one of those charming old-fashioned neighborhoods I remembered from way back when. My hosts were charming too, we had so much fun and stayed up til three which turned to two am when the clocks turned back.

Then I stopped in London and stayed with my friend Norma. It was weird realizing I’d left the bigger London in England just a little over a week ago. I might be a bit tired. But driving is just doing one thing at a time so kind of relaxing.

Next afternoon I headed west. The bridge across the border to Michigan was miles of semis. Like a double freight train on wheels instead of rails; all the trucks idling, belching fumes.

I cruised right up and over, the car lane nearly empty.

“What brings you to Michigan?” asked the kindly young man in the booth. He reminded me a little of mid-period Richard Dreyfus, but with a woodsy, Michigan vibe. Why does everyone remind me of somebody in a movie?

I told him I was an instructor at a songwriting retreat up north.

“Cool!” he twinkled, and asked me if I had bought anything in Canada. I thought of that two-pack of bras and pair of socks I’d picked up at a Marshall’s somewhere, but remembered what Eric said and thought the guy didn’t really need to hear about these items so I left that out. (now hoping some Canadian customs bot doesn’t pick up on this and come after me — “YOU LIED at the border!” they’ll say. I’d dumped the very benign weed gummies from my bag before crossing in and out of Canada, don’t take my underwear away…)

It was an easy drive to Saginaw. I talked to Eric on the phone for a little while — with both of us out on the road and the five hour time difference it can be hard to find the right time to talk. It’s the same with my daughter being on the road now too, I know she’s in a van with a load of guys and so we text instead of talking. I constantly check Instagram to see if either of them have added any new photos, information about their gigs and travels.

I was curious about Saginaw because of that Lefty Frizzell record Saginaw Michigan which I’ve learned was written by Bill Anderson and Don Wayne. But the closest I got to gleaning any sense of the town was the spookily empty Target I stumbled into at about 8:30 PM, with a huge Pets section and lots of shiny downwear which I imagine is the case at any Target anywhere in the country. The more Eric and I talk about living in England full-time, the more vivid and precious all these American moments feel. I never say goodbye to anywhere all the way, but looking at the US from the perspective of an eventual outsider makes it all feel quite poignant.

I’d heard a not too familiar Tom Petty song on Joe Belock’s WFMU show when I’d tuned in to hear daughter Hazel playing a session with Cory Hanson, the artist she’s playing bass with, that led me back to Echo, an album from 1999 I’ll always associate with Scott Schinder, who took me to Garden State Arts Center to see that Petty tour (he got the tickets, I drove). Eric and I just rewatched Running Down A Dream, the Tom Petty documentary and in the film, Echo is sort of an emotional nadir for Tom. The album is raw, it’s stark with a wizened humor and world-weariness. Now that Petty is gone, and we all keep moving forward, moving on, I feel a sense of strange maternal wisdom when I listen to him that wasn’t there the first time I came to this workshop. Then I was listening to Petty: The Biography and its subject was still very much alive. I felt like he was leading me then, somebody to look up to. The second time he was one year gone and I was putting up a video for Tom Petty Karaoke. His absence in the world still felt quite unreal. In 2021 I was going through my own torment with Covid and mask wars and my dad in and out of the hospital, I almost hadn’t come to Michigan but the night before I was supposed to leave there was that old guitar battle cry spurring me on.

I know other people must drive around this country ruminating on Tom Petty. It can’t just be me? I mean…as Americans, that’s what some of us do, right?

I made it to Leland and the opening concert for the songwriting retreat. I felt a little shellshocked reconnecting with some of the campers from years past, knowing how much we’ve all been through. New faces and voices too, different model guitars and partners and a new lodge to work in.

The next morning I woke up so early, feeling like I needed to keep driving. I found a nearby town that had a cafe open at 7 AM and headed there. Driving through the rain, wineries all around which was quite unexpected, Lake Michigan to the left with whitecaps rolling, the leaves still bright yellow; Lake Leelanau to the right. Michigan is so unexpectedly beautiful. My dad worked for a Detroit company for decades but would never move us there, I imagined my family coming up north to a lakeside lodge, instead of south to the Outer Banks and what would that have been like?

I was here now, that’s what mattered. Tom sang Room At The Top as I climbed another hill, saw the lake from the crest. I wanted to drink coffee in a local cafe and hear what the people who live around here sound like. I wanted to remember everything I could about Michigan, and America.