It is just about over

By Robbie on December 3, 2008

How was your 2008? My wife's theatrical work kept me home for almost half of this year, making it my most housebound year since 1994. Since I used the surplus of settled time to write and record the 50-song release shortly to come (not to mention spending more time at the gym and with the children and making meals at home and all of the other mundane activities of civilized healthy people -- a/k/a "non-musicians"), the sabbatical from roadwork was a boon. Two months without gigging is too long, though: mid-October to early December was gigless, leaving me with itchy feet and tender fingers. The digits haven't been so weak in a while -- I failed to account for the muscular loss following a prolonged stretch during which most of your guitar playing is done as an absent-minded accompaniment to writing. So I'm hoping to get out a little more -- more days than this year but fewer than the 150 that's been my standard for a while -- in 2009.

Some of my strongest memories of the year, in chronological order: 

Watching the twelfth season of CBS's "Amazing Race," with my son and father-in-law as competitors. If you missed it, they did great, making it to the last episode. Also if you missed it, you can get a musical recap by buying "Nick and Don: The Song," included in my much-bruited 50-song package. 

Sliding down the faces of mountains in Montana and Idaho with Robbie Gjersoe, as we attempted to make all of our February dates on time (we did) amid a ridiculous storm. When they start closing the interstates, it's a sign of trouble, but somehow, thanks to a combination of backroads, informed premeditation, tenacity, and good luck, we lived and performed. 

On the same trip -- getting to see Great Falls, MT for the first time, and to return to beautiful Missoula for what I hope won't be the last. The weather almost ruined the fun, but the cheerful hospitality at a little Irish pub in Missoula was unforgettable. Please have me back! 

Putting together my XM tribute to A.P. and the Carter Family. The next best thing to sitting down with Danny Barnes and Casey Driessen and barreling through "God Gave Noah The Rainbow Sign" is getting to immerse with it in mixdown. 

Enjoying several performances of David Cromer's and the Hypocrites' devastatingly restrained treatment of Thornton Wilder's "Our Town." There was an especially entrancing actress playing Mrs. Soames (spring production) and Mrs. Webb (fall) -- must get her name somehow... David's "Pinic" at Writer's Theater later in the year was also beautifully acted and designed, and altogether moving. 

Improvising with Jenny Scheinman at the Mercury Lounge in New York. 

Singing the national anthem at Cellular Field, twice. The food up in the box is something, and the sensation of standing and delivering to 50,000 quiet American people is something else. Thanks to the lovely Amy Sheridan for the opportunity. 

Playing at a castle in Afton, Virginia. The Blue Ridge Skyway between Waynesboro and Charlottesville is one of my prettiest childhood memories, and there's just no way to describe what it felt like to come to this place, on a tall hill just north of the skyway, after seven hours of flying and driving. Thanks for getting married, David and Laura. 

My 11-year-old son's first summer camp. This must be recorded as a debit, since he was plagued by a bullying teenage counselor who showed him inappropriate videos, locked him in his room and told him the building was on fire, and played weird "games" like "Rhino Rape" with his charges. All of this at a theater camp, where you'd imagine the worst behavior might be along the lines of an Addison DeWitt-ish superciliousness. We got the counselor fired, but it was cold comfort, as we can't get Preston unhurt. 

Performing at the Rose Bowl Stadium in Pasadena. Not quite as glamorous as it sounds -- it was a corporate event, after all, and the heat all afternoon was killing, and the sound crew less than perfectly friendly -- but just to be in that place, on the inside of that piece of architecture, felt like stepping back into the Garden of Allah to have a drink with Raymond Chandler. The Rose Bowl -- a notably sporty year for me! Thank you very much, Scott. 

On the same trip, dining with Dino at a restaurant called Birds with a long table of comedians and other socially marginal fauna. (Watch his heartwarming show "Oral Moral" on Adult Swim!) 

Riding the awesome coasters at Cedar Point with my family and my son Nick's pretty new girlfriend (thanks, "Amazing Race"!). 

Working with my friend Anat Cohen and a large group of other supertalented New Yorkers on a horn-blues project that I'll tell you more about some other time. One of the downsides of playing music is driving for hours on end, eating crappy food along the interstate, fighting fatigue to perform well, and capping the day by battling the night clerk at the motel. All I can tell you is, it's a fantastic way of working to get up in the morning, grab the first flight to New York, play music for five hours, have a big Thai dinner on Washington Square, and then fly home and go to bed. Hell, yeah! 

Cleaning up after the flood in September, which wrecked our basement fairly thoroughly. Who's in charge of weather these days, Al Gore or somebody? We thought we were done with our parcel of storm headaches after the previous summer's gale took out our big oak tree and destroyed most of our backyard lawn, as well as a new fence, our neighbor's garage, and part of his roof. The damage was less spectacular this time around, but we did have to kiss much of the $10,000 we spent remodeling this section of our house into an office space and kids' playroom goodbye. I lost many old master tapes, not a big deal since probably everyone who wants that music has it by now, but still a little melancholy. In all, a lot of wetwork and expense, and no help from our home insurers. And now that I'm remembering it, the day the water came in, I had to run off to a gig, a nine-hour absence that left my long-suffering wife to do most of the urgent bailing and clean-up. (I know I said I didn't gig that much last year. I really didn't.) 

Performing a tribute to Michael Jackson for the Hideout Block Party in September. A show with costumes, guest singers, puppetry, and continuous music for an hour, this was very complex for a one-time-only performance. Crucial to its success: the incredible wailing chantuese known only as Azita; the acting, puppetry, and child-herding skills of Sheri Cole; the deadly aim of Steve Frisbie; the memorization talent and good humor of Fulks-sideman-for-a-day Chris Neville; the crazy-ass charisma and congeniality of the rapper known only as Rhymefest; and the abovementioned young Preston, back from his rape and singing better than ever. 

Watching, once again, "It's A Wonderful Life" with my young ones at the revamped and better-than-before Wilmette Theater and getting to hear the whispered comment: "I never realized how incredibly realistic this movie is!" Dashed dreams, war, poverty, corruption, depression, suicide. Once more we were personally lucky to sidestep all of them, and I hope you were too. 

Merry Christmas! 
RF