Collapsed, Exhausted
Ten minutes after dropping my bags in my Hell’s Kitchen home, cold Saporo in hand, I collapsed on the hardwood floor, exhausted.
I am home from my mom’s in suburban Philadelphia. I am home for 72 hours before hitting the road again.
Last night’s Livingroom Tour stop was extra-special. My mom accompanied on piano me on “Hollywood Arms.” And I debuted “Christopher Street,” which I dedicated to my brother on his 35th birthday. Then I gave him a brand-new Washburn acoustic guitar. the audience, though slightly grayer than normal, did a bang-up job singing along to “Radio,” and was genuinely appreciative. As was — as am — I.
And so, after a shower and some jumping jacks (I kid), I’m heading downtown for dinner. In the morning I’ll head back to 1515 Broadway for a few days of MTV News action. Then it’s off to Springfield, OH, and so on.
I feel a little shredded. I’m taking echinacea now, in the hopes that it will ward off the inevitable illness. I feel a little bleary too, like jet lag or geographic disorientation (where am I again?). But mostly I feel lucky, and grateful, and eager to keep this streak going. After a good, long, sun-soaked break on a deserted tropical beach somewhere. Well, mostly deserted. Maybe a travel partner, my guitar, and a tall umbrella-topped drink would be in order.
On Mounting Joy (And Misery)
You, dear reader, will recall that I grew up in suburban Philadelphia (the Iowa mythology not withstanding). Valley Forge National Park is just down the hill. As a teenager, it was just a place to get stoned and make out. Now it is refuge from all that is loud, fast, and shallow.
I’ve just returned from my third run in as many days there. The cold, steady rain has broken. It’s a blustery morning. Thick gray clouds scatter the pale winter sun into distinct rays.
There are two mountains there (hills, really): Mount Joy, and Mount Misery. They are split by Valley Creek, which leads to the Schuylkill River, which leads to the Delaware, which leads to the Atlantic. Yesterday I ran along Mount Joy, over a trail of quartz shards we called The Power Trail in high school. And, because Misery must follow Joy (must follow Misery, must follow…), I tackled Mount Misery. It is a steeper run, a rockier trail covered in bramble and brush. It is no wonder Washington’s troops named it such. I reminded myself as I ran, gasping and stumbling, that it’s supposed to be difficult. It’s supposed to be miserable. As some moments in life must be. But there is always satisfaction on the other side, on the ascent.
And so I am home now, staring out at the backyard. A sole crow sits high in a bare tree. The branches stretch and sway with the late November wind. The fields are yellow and barren. The creek is swollen and muddy. Winter is here. We rest now.
I can hear my mother practicing “Hollywood Arms” on piano. She’s going to accompany me at tonight’s performance, the eighth Livingroom Tour date. Tonight also celebrates my brother’s 35th birthday. I bought him a guitar. Perhaps someday he’ll accompany me too. Or, better still, perform his own songs.
In the morning we return to New York City, where I will resume my ‘normal’ routine for a few days before heading off to Ohio and Indiana for the next four Livingroom Tour dates. And then the finale: the December 9th Sin-é CD release performance with Kevin, Jason, Todd, Tony and Leslie.
All of which is fueled by the memory of Mount Joy, the spector of Mount Misery, and the knowledge that they must exist in equal measure. Without one, there could be no appreciation of the other.
Giving Thanks
When I was a kid, we used to have this burlap cornucopia banner that came out for Thanksgiving. We would make whatever it was we were thankful for out of felt, construction paper, paste and stuff, and pin it to the banner. Since the internet is the new burlap, I thought I’d do here…
I am thankful for my friends and family. I am thankful for my health. I am thankful for music, for color and light. I am thankful for the sun. For running in the morning, and for dreams at night. I am thankful for long, slow kisses, spooning and waking up and kissing with bad breath. I am thankful for Breyer’s Natural Vanilla Ice Cream, Twizzlers, gummy bears, turkey burgers and sushi. I’m grateful for Grey Goose and tonic, for cold beer on a hot day, for dancing and singing and making a scene. For film. For memories. I am thankful for the interstate roadway system, and my ability to go anywhere I want, anytime. I am thankful for the ocean, and clouds, and thunderstorms that roll in from a long way off and break with sudden grace. I am thankful for the white-tailed deer I just saw poke through the bushes in my mom’s backyard.
And I am thankful for you.
Chapel Hill “Livingroom Tour” Report
Seven nights, seven states, many beers and one corn dog later, the Southern leg of The 2003 Livingroom Tour is complete. No almost about it; I am actually home.
I left Lisa’s Chapel Hill apartment at 6 am. It’s 6:22 pm. I just got home. What happens in the car? In those 604 miles? What thoughts passed through me in those twelve hours of time travel? I have no idea. I recall wishing I could journal as I drove. I drank at least six cups of coffee. I ate one fresh-baked biscuit-n-bacon in North Carolina. I searched truck stops in vain for either a “Virginia Is For Lovers” or a “Maryland Is For Crabs” t-shirt. And I listened to Ryan Adam’s ‘Rock-n-Roll’ twice. Other than that, it’s a blur, a dream. Except the last stretch of I-95 between Trenton and NYC: I had the windows down, U2 as loud as the stereo would go, and was slapping myself to stay awake. I was doing 80 in the truck lane, peering out from under my cap like Tom Cruise in ‘Days of Thunder’ or some weak-ass-meat like that. I felt like something of a bad ass. Good thing I was almost home. That mentality can’t serve me well.
But I’m ahead of myself: Chapel Hill. Chapel Hill! Wow, what a finale (until my next show Saturday, that is). Man, did we have a blast at Lisa’s pad! A box of wine, some Yuengling Lager and a string of Christmas lights can go a long way. It seems like everyone I met was a musician, and was so passionate about, and open to, rock-n-roll in all its forms. Media over-saturation, corporate gorging, Napster, sell-outs and all — they still believe. And so do I.
My new male non-sexual crush is this dude John Harrison, who’s the frontman of the amazing, imaginative, and completely rockin’ band North Elementary. We rapped about music all night, and every other thing he said either cracked me up, made me think, or want to jot it down (“Good musicians are derivative; great musicians steal”). And of course I cranked his record, ‘Out Of Phase’, as I drove out of North Carolina. It’s pianos and guitars and voilins and big beats and made me feel like my record is so, er, safe, so square. Which is ok. I listened to it today (which I don’t do often, no really) and was relieved to find that it’s pretty fuckin’ good. Problem is, I wanna’ record a new one already! I have three new songs from before the tour (they’re on the super secret bonus site if you order the new cd I’ll send you the URLs), and two new ones from the road (“Christpher Street” and “Shenandoah”). But I promised Kevin I wouldn’t ask him if I could record until at least May. (Anyone wanna’ take odds?)
So… I have tonight off. I’m going downtown for dinner. In the morning I’m taking a train to my mom’s, it being Thanksgiving and all. And me having so much to be thankful for and all. Like great friends, great memories, and the beautiful, meaningful and absolutely life-saving gift of music. Thank you.
Raleigh “Livingroom Tour” Report
A weather front turned the warm summer breeze that has graced this tour to cold last night sometime around my Raleigh performance of ‘Summer’s Gone.’ But the sky is clear and blue this morning, the sun is out, and I’m heading home tomorrow. All is well and right with my world.
I’m sitting at Jyl’s dining room table as her kitten Jack and puppy Kylie scramble for crumbs from my English muffin. I’m watching a Real World marathon, and catching up on some homework (I’m designing an Almost Home ad banner for Gothamist and some other web-related chores) while drinking yet another cup of mediocre gas station coffee.
I ran for recovery again this morning. Jyl (who I’ve known since sixth grade) has a home in a development called Hedingardten (or something) that feels a little like falling down the rabbit hole into ‘The Matrix.’ All of the homes match, and at one point of my run, I was concerned that I’d never find my way back through the maze of sameness. Which it seems can be said of much of suburban America. Not to knock Jyl, of course. Heck, she owns a home. Me? I’ve been renting the same place since I was 24-years-old.
Last night was another unique experience. I performed at Jyl’s friend’s Jen and Audra’s house out on the edge of Raleigh. It was my most intimate performance (read: smallest audience), but also my loosest and most inventive. Everyone in the room worked in radio, and was a major music fan. The house was adorned with memorabilia: signed Melissa Etheridge, Sarah McLachlan posters, Bob Marley and Jerry Garcia sketches. So in addition to what’s become the usual set of Almost Home songs, I trotted out a few requests (‘Go Back To Sleep’ and ‘Shiver,’ which is fast becoming my most-requested original), and winged a few covers (‘Sister Golden Hair,’ ‘So. Central Rain,’ ‘The One I Love’).
The most magical part of the (very late) evening came when Audra handed me her autographed Jewel/Sarah McLachlan/Indigo Girls guitar. She’d had it signed years ago at Lilith Fair, but it had never been played. So I did. I dug ‘Kid Fears’ and ‘Closer To Fine’ from the recesses of my mind, and everyone sang along. My encore — eyes closed, head back — was another run through ‘Shiver’ (at the ladies’ request). Then I could play no more, and was driven home where I collapsed into a deep, dreamless sleep.
So it was another unique, magical night where all that mattered was the songs, and the community we built between us (plus a bit of merch sellin’). And that’s the whole idea.
Of course, I’m remarkably exhausted, and eager to point my rent-a-Mazda northward. I’m spending Wednesday night in NYC, then hopping an Amtrak to my mom’s in Philly Thanksgiving. I have much to grateful for. This year’s been quite the harvest.
Richmond “Livingroom Tour” Report
I am in the sun-bathed, bay-windowed alcove of 1720 Grove Street in Richmond, Virginia. There is a fifty-foot statue of Confederate General Robert E. Lee just a few blocks away. I am well below the Mason-Dixon Line. I am well into the South.
The Livingroom Tour is hitting stride. I am finally rested, and hydrated, having found a balance between beer, pizza and folk/rock at night, then running, coffee and Gatorade in the morning. I feel so happy, so contented, and so grateful for this time, this process, and these terrific friends I am making along the way.
Last night’s performance was hosted by former-MTV News intern Lindsay Sterling, and her sweet and gracious friends Rachel and Kendra. They live in a beautiful old apartment in The Fan District of Richmond (so named, apparently, because Richmond was designed to “fan” out from its center). The homes here are staggering in their historical beauty. It’s not difficult to imagine the Old South, with its cobblestone streets and gas lamps.
The show was an absolute pleasure. The audience was 30 or so young professionals, themselves grappling with what constitutes home, community, and adult life. Each one of them was attentive, kind, and appreciative, as I am of them. The set was casual and well-paced. I added “Interstate,” having spent now some four days driving south on Interstate 95. And I’m playing “Here Comes Your Man” again, but finger-picking it — I’m not sure if Frank Black would be pleased or disgusted. I think that “Dear Elizabeth” remains an audience favorite, perhaps because it is as meaningful to me today as it was when I wrote it some four or so years ago (and even if I’m still not sure what it “means”).
Afterwards, when this beautiful wood-floored space was emptied of all but Lindsay, Rachel, Kendra and me, I played a few more songs for them, including the brand-new “Christopher Street” (which I’m intent on including in the regular set before the end of the tour), “Whirlwind,” and Lindsay’s request, “Shiver.” Sometime shortly thereafter, I fell asleep on the floor cradling my guitar.
This morning has been peaceful. The ladies went of to work (I failed to convince them to play hookie), and I went running through historic downtown Richmond, and down to the river where the Civil War Museum looks out over Belle Isle. I’m hoping to stop through the museum on my way out of town, as it fits nicely into my recent study of the Civil War (and by study I mean watching the Ken Burns’ Civil War series, but still).
Back home at 1720 Grove, I scribbled down a new song, “Shenandoah,” a very-simple, finger-picked ballad in the key of E:
I will follow you down to the edge of the ocean
I will follow you down to the edge of the sea
I will follow you through the pale Shenandoah
I will follow you, will you follow me?
So next it’s on to Raleigh, or Charlottesville — I’m still not sure. Seems like Jyl and I got our dates confused, so, because Raleigh’s just a short drive from Chapel Hill, I’m going to suggest that we consolidate both shows into just one tomorrow night. Then I can go over to Charlotteville today and hang out with my cousin Luke, a senior at UVA.
Either way, I remain so grateful for and so awed by the terrific community spirit of this tour. I wanted to bring my music into people’s lives in a more intimate way, and I wanted to acknowledge the relationship between singer/songwriter and audience. I couldn’t do this without them. And without you. And I wouldn’t want to.
Washington, D.C. “Livingroom Tour” Report
I’m on my friends’ Heather and Joe’s back porch in Takoma Park, MD, just a few blocks from the DC border. It’s Sunday afternoon, and I’m about half-way through the first leg of the Livingroom Tour. And I can’t even begin to know where to start…
I left NYC at dusk on Thursday, still significantly hung over from the kick-off party in my livingroom that found me passed out on the bathroom floor at 3 a.m. (thanks for waking me up, Rod, Vanessa and Abbey — but what’s up with the 165 new photos on the digital camera?). It took me nearly two hours to actually get off of Manhattan, but less than 45 to get to Princeton. Jeff met me in front of his apartment — a quanset hut, really, originally built by the university for the deluge of post-WWII GIs.
After a run to the liquor store, and some quality catch up time (plus I vacumed), Jeff and Kristan’s grad student friends began to flood in. And beforer I knew it, I was performing ‘California’ (a little quickly, I might add). It was a fun show. Everyone sang along to ‘Radio’ (which is the idea, after all), and snapped up merch afterwards (including the new runner baby-t which is going like hotcakes).
We stayed up late into the night talking, and rose early for coffee and conversation. My fondest memory will be of the four of us — Jeff, Kristan, me, and their dog Sam — sitting on their bed drinking coffee and talking about life.
Jeff and I went for a beautiful run around a nearby lake, sweating off the beers and clearing up the senses. He went of to class, so Kristan and I cought power naps, packed up, and got ready to roll…
On to UPenn, which former-MTV News intern extraordinaire Rachel Josue had rallied her troopes for an old-fashioned college attick party. Except the kind hosts — Dan and Jeremy — were watching ‘Airforce One’ in a flourescent flooded empty room when we got there. A few tea lights, six packs, and MP3s later, we were ready to rock.
The UPenn kids were great, though I must say their Ivy league counterparts beat them in the sing-along categorie. I even trotted out ‘It’s The End Of The World As We Know It (And I Feel Fine)’ for the departing seniors, but kinda’ stalled on the third verse. Still it’s been nice to pull songs outa’ my butt on a moment’s notice and know that it’s ok if they’re not perfect (thanks Dave Matthews for that lesson).
I woke early and went for a run in Philly, traversing the Schuylkill, and circling the Penn campus. My mother tought there when I was a kid, and my best friend Sibby went there, so each corner held some significance or memory. Rach and I spent the morning wandering campus and drinking coffee (nectar of the gods), before I hopped in my trusty Mazda 6 and headed…
Down here to DC. It was a beautiful afternoon, clear sky, bright sun. I was cranking the tunes (Rufus, REM, Ryan — the usual), windows down… it felt like a proper road trip. And then I was here, in the most-adult home of one of my oldest friends (I’ve known Heather since sixth grade). Their home is beautiful, and their neighborhood teaming with friends, all of whom showed up promptly at 7:30. I had hoped to get in a power nap, but no such luck. So it was meet and greet time (which is getting to be the routine, but doesn’t feel routine), and then I was on. Their friends were great and attentive and a total public radio crowd, so they got it in spades. It seemed like the record’s themes really resonated here. One of the guys’ had just gotten out of a bi-coastal relationship, and a lot of the audience was in its thirties, starting families, putting down roots, and coming to terms with wherever they are in life. Which isn’t solely what Almost Home is about, but it worked.
I’ve been performing a roughly similar set every night populated principly by the cast and locations of Almost Home: Stephanie (‘Intent On St. Paul’), the guy on the side of the freeway (‘Hollywood Arms’), California. But I’ve been adding to it as I go along. Last night Joe and I covered ‘Here Comes Your Man,’ and I encored with Nick Drake’s ‘Time Has Told Me’ (which I performed for Heather and Joe’s first dance at their wedding). I trotted out a brand new song, ‘Christofer Street,’ which I wrote on Kristan and Jeff’s porch in Princeton, as a late-night encore.
I’ve been walking all day I’ve been dragging my feet
Still I’m making my way back to Christopher Street
To a girl and a place to finally call my own
To call home
So…yeah, I am looking forward to getting back to the city and resting a while. This is a lot of work, this constant transition, constant newness. So I’ve been thinking about using some vacation time to sit on a beach somewhere sipping umbrella drinks in the sun. But for now — three more night ’til I head back to NYC — this is it. And it’s great. Great perspective, great time with friends, and evern some great music.
Hope to see you somewhere along the way…
New York “Livingroom Tour” Report
The 2003 Benjamin Wagner Livingroom Tour has begun. I will be the Johnny Appleseed of acoustic pop, rockin’ the folk from coast to coast. As long as I end up back here, back home with you.
If last night is any indication, I’m in for three weeks of mad fun, followed by three weeks of massive hangover.
I was late getting home from work — damn you Michael Jackson! The fact that I managed to leave work on the evening of one of our biggest stories of all time is kinda’ miraculous. I basically pledged to be available at a moment’s notice from the road, which is kind of absurd, but that’s whatcha’ get when you Director.
So I made it home, Jonathan Goldner en tow (carrying the new BW tshirts and martini glasses that my dad’s wife sent — thanks Madonna! They worked TOO well!). On guest was already here waiting on the steps (sorry Gigi!), and I know now that at least one other friend (sorry Jason!) had arrived and departed already. So it was a party. Everyone who helped make the record and/or its peripheral ephemera (nice combo, huh?) was here, including my Cockfight bandmates. And, of course, my handsome nephew Ethan, who was the real star of the show.
The most poignant and meaningful moment for me came just after Kev, Leslie and I played a few songs from the record. I was playing “New York’ alone, and Chris and Ethan were seated at my feet. And little Ethan, who had been a little grumpy, fell still, wide-eyed, and completely focussed for three minutes. And you know what? Moments like that are more than enough for me. They’re why I’m here. And why I’m coming home soon.
T-Minus Forty-Eight
I got 1000 glorious copies of Almost Home in the mail today. So what’d I do to celebrate? Why, head over Control One studios to record three new tunes, of course.
Kevin and I bagged three new ones in two hours: “The Rest of My Life,” “Whirlwind,” and “Wishes.” Kev was on fire with a drum loop that he just happened to have at the ready for “Rest.” You might find yourself actually dancing or something. “Whirlwind” and “Wishes” are more ballady. Kev got some great sounds, and I don’t mind tellin’ ya’ that I was in fine voice. Musta’ been the Budweiser is hijacked from the studio fridge.
Of course, the only way for you to ever hear these new songs is to pre-order the new cd, and I’ll email you a secret website URL jam-packed with brand-new, previously unreleased, and rare tracks. Trust me on this: it’s a cool thing. Your iPod will thank you.
So it’s T-minus 48 hours until I’m off work, and onto the road. You ready for it? I know I’m not — I need a nap.
I Still Love You, New York
I dunno’ if I ever said so outright, but I’d given up on The Music for a minute there. But I’m here to tell you — he said, genuflecting — I believe again. I believe.
Yeah, last year was tough. I’d been striving towards a record deal so long, and in such proximity to that whole MTV pop world, that I’d gotten pretty burned out. I didn’t believe in the power of a good song anymore. It just didn’t move me anymore. I wasn’t a Walkman addict anymore. I hadn’t found any great new band. What’s changed? Making a record with Kevin? Not performing for a year? The new Ryan Adams’ record? The new Rufus Wainright record (which is so good I almost don’t want to release Almost Home)?
Yes.
I love music again. I feel it again. It makes me smile and dance and twirl around the livingroom again. Something’s always playing again: Dave Matthews, Rufus, REM, Ryan Adams — whatever. New songs have been coming fast and furious (“Whirlwind, ” “The Rest Of My Life,” “These Wishes”). In fact, I’m recording them tomorrow night for the super-secret bonus website.
Thanks to Kevin and Tony, both of whom I came to performing with at different times and for different reasons, I have a musical community again. It’s been a long time. It’s fun … again …. finally.
Band rehearsal tonight — after a rough start that saw me 15 minutes late, and Jason even later — was spot on. But by the end of the night we had it goin’ on. There are six people playing MY SONGS. And it works! Wack. Leslie singing vocals!?! Kills. Kevin on keys? Amazing. Jaosn playing lead? Blistering. And Tony and Todd, as always, holdin’ it down with authority and grace. So yeah, man, brace yourself for some big ass rock.
Oh, and after receiving my $1663.52 invoice for the new record (didja’?), I decided that if I could spend four grand for 10,000 of my songs, I could spend $300 for 10,000 of someone elses’ — so I got an iPod. SNAP! Ask me how loudly I’m crankin’ The Strokes and Ryan Adams and Rufus Wainright. Then ask me about walking home from the West Village at 8:00 this morning…
I still love you, New York.
