Hey kids, I'm spending the weekend with my friend Fred Eaglesmith, who's rolling down Highway 66 in a sort of caravan of despair. Bunch of empty nesters gon' be hittin' Lincoln's homestead and little backwoods huts where fat gals in hoopskirts turn beeswax into sculptures, and, I don't know, a whole passel of other sights that exists along that forlorn Americana-cluttered route. And at night there'll be music, by Fred, by me, by Audrey Auld, by some others, mebbe. Wilford Brimley will be there. Won't you? (Specifics on sidebar.)
Monday we're celebrating Hank Williams's birthday at the Hideout. This time we'll likely start promptly at 7PM or a trice early even, since Beau Sample has to run off to the Green Mill kindly early. 18 dynamic songs by the Hillbilly Shakespeare, done with feeling and purpose. Besides Beau, there'll be Robbie Gjersoe playing steel and other things, and Peter Seman, that quivering mass of liveliness, on the fiddle. Won't you come?