It seems the Mollys are developing a rabid following in Colorado. We returned for our third visit to The Casa in Paonia, Colorado. Paonia's hard to describe: An artsy, funky, mining town? The mines are still open around Paonia, unlike Bisbee and Jerome, two funky former mining towns we play in Arizona. The Casa is a fine restaurant and we play outside in the rear yard/patio under some huge trees and the starry Colorado sky. The shows sell out every time and the crowds dance and raise hell until we quit. There's no place quite like it: A rockin' restaurant?
Afterwards, we beat feet for a three-night stand in Durango at Farquahrt's. Good crowds every night. By day, some of us hung out at the band condo (let's not get into that). I stayed for a couple nights down at the old Strater Hotel on Main Street with my family. We took a raft trip down the Animas River, which flows out of the mountains north of Durango. Gary and Catherine came with us. We learned during the trip that, although it was mid-June, the water was barely above freezing. The water that was pouring over the gunnels had been snow just a few hours earlier. But it was big fun.
We headed back to Paonia on a day off to hang out with some friends we made at the Casa. Thanks Razz, John and Freddie.
The next day it was a short, beautiful ride through gorge along the Crystal River up to Carbondale for an outdoor concert in the city park. It was our first time there, but we got a really hot reception - including an encore that was more than a polite formality. The promoters and crew spoiled us rotten. Although many Colorado towns bend over backwards to attract those who flee Denver on the weekends, Carbondale's summer concert series was obviously for the locals. It was on a Thursday evening. We felt like we were playing a big party for the residents. A family thing. Big fun.
The only letdown of the trip was not getting to go back to some of the places we've played in the past and not being able to break into Denver. It'll happen. But, frankly, we've got such loyal followings out in the rural and small town areas of many states, including Colorado, that it's hard to get to fired out about the kind of fight it takes to get into some major markets. We've played The Bottom Line and Lincoln Center in NYC, as well as top clubs in some of the country's largest cities, so... we'll wait for Denver, Phoenix and San Diego to come around.
Well, we've got a couple weeks at home and it's time to change the oil on The Beast II (we've put 21,000 miles on the "new" van since we got it two and a half months ago) and fix some of the gear that's showing road wear. We're hoping to hit almost every region of the country in the next three months. Hope to see you in person.
We made it here with time to spare, a rare luxury, and everything went flawlessly. The people that run the Smoky Hill River Festival certainly know how to make things work for the fans and the bands.
There was constant music and a lot of other things for visitors to do over the three days of the festival, held in a beautiful park (we Arizonans are a pushover for green grass and trees) next to the Smoky (what happened to that "e"?) Hill River right in Salina. There were hundreds of craft displays and a lot of participatory art "things" for kids. You could watch glass blowers and other artisans do their work. And, of course, tons of food. Sausage and barbeque and on and on. We've got to keep up our strength.
Kevin, who had stepped on a nail (went through is foot) his last day of work on Kitt Peak National Observatory outside of Tucson, was able to play standing up for the first time in a week.
Despite being the most musically unusual act there (OK, there might have been some heavy competition from Little Jack Melody and His Young Turks) we went over very well. (I won't brag...but the CD sales were amazing). The Mollys played five sets, two on the small side stages and three on the main stages. It's a good system, allowing a band to build an audience over the course of a festival. It certainly worked for us; it also allowed us to get in a lot of playing, something that we sometimes don't get enough of at festivals. (Who wants to drive for a day or two, hang around for a couple and only get to play a couple 15-minute sets?)
Gary is from Kansas (Riley-Manhattan-Lawrence) and he had family and friends here. His drum teacher, from when he was growing up in Riley, was in the audience, too. Talk about a tough audience.
Being that we were in Kansas, we were wondering about the appropriateness of Catherine's "I'll get you my pretty" witch thing at the beginning of "El Primero Beso." Fortunately, the crowd loved it.
We closed the festival Saturday with an hour-long set of all up-tempo material, got an encore ("La Llorona") and left behind five pools of sweat and a bunch of new fans. Hope we get to go back.
Well, we made it up here from Tucson in 22 hours thanks to that huge engine in The Beast II. We would have been here sooner, but I finally dragged the band into Manny's Bar in San Antonio, NM. It's just a widespot on I-25 a few miles south of Soccorro, NM (about an hour south of Albuquerque). I used to stop in there once a year with a bunch of friends on a motorcycle trip. It's a unique place. Best burgers in the world. OK, in the universe. It was good to be back and see the place still there. Manny, who built it in the mid-1940s, is older and grumpier, but he still runs a memorable beer and burger joint. We ate and drank and then had the good fortune of getting into a jam session with Bernie, one of the Manny's patrons who just happens to be a great ranchera-style singer, and guitarist. Kevin and Gary went out to the van and dragged out their accordions and Bernie started calling the tunes. BIG voice. No PA system needed. The patrons sang and clapped along. It was the kind of thing that makes road trips great. Another place we'll have to make a regular stop when we're in the area.
A few hours later we pulled out, stopped by Bernie's ranch to pick up copies of his tape made with a local band, and headed for Kansas. New Mexico has the most beautiful nights I've seen. There seem to be even more stars than you can see in Arizona.
Then, around sun up in southern Kansas, I was driving and saw some of the weirdest weather I've ever seen. Saw a huge weather front move in from probably 30 miles away. It was like someone drew a dark curtain across the horizon from west to east just as the sun was rising. It crossed in front of us and then little dark spikes started swirling on the bottom of this weather "thing" and I started thinking tornadoes. Nope, just some wierd Kansas weather. It passed over and we kept driving.
We'll be playing the Smoky Hill River Festival in Salina this weekend. It's the big event of the season here, held at a beautiful city park. There were thousands of people there for the opening jam session tonight. It was hot and sticky, but nobody seemed to mind. Midwesterners know how to celebrate the summer. It's nice to be at one of their big bashes.
We kicked off the tour with a stop at Sam Adam's Brew House in Philadelphia. How can you go wrong in a place with a name like that? We didn't. Had a great time.
Kevin's family (which seems the size of a small nation and is spread all over the U.S.) turned out and made a lot of noise for us. So did the hard cores who made it out on a Thursday night in the rain to hear a band they didn't know much about. Thanks to some airplay from Gene Shay (legendary Philadelphia folk DJ), we had a lot of new people who gave us a chance. We're planning to return. Had a great time. It was fate. We knew it. When we pulled up out front during rush hour in downtown Philly and got a parking space for The Beast II right in front of the place there was no doubt it would be a good night - even if we did have to hump our gear up a narrow flight of stairs.
The next night was what the tour was all about: WHUH-FM's "Folks Next Door" concert in West Hartford, CT. It's an annual concert sponsored by this community station during which a dozen acts, usually deemed up and coming, are paraded across the stage for 15 minutes each and recorded. Then the station puts out a compilation CD with a cut from each group. We did "Kathleen," "Rosie" and "Pride Over Dollars." Stay tuned. The album should be out in a couple months. We're hoping to use "Pride Over Dollars."
Ed & Shirley Dale, who'd never met us before, put us up for the night and spoiled us rotten. Ed's a bass player in Morrigu, a traditional band that works in the area.
The next night we were up in ... let me think, I'm forgetting where I am, let alone where I was... uh, Simsbury, CT, at a place called Gemini's. We had a fine time, although it was only shared by a small - though enthusiastic - crowd. It was a new area for us and I think we made some new friends and fans. Maybe next time we'll make Bill Domler, the promoter, some big bucks. He deserves it. He's a class act.
We stayed with some old friends from Tucson, Claire & Dave Boggs, who now live in Northampton. We kept them up all night, covered their apartment in our stuff, and finally our sleeping hulks, and the next morning swept through their kitchen like a bunch of giant hung over locusts. And they seemed to like it. Good friends. Still, I hope.
We'll forget the next night, in White River Junction, Vermont. We had a great night, musically. But got the kind of treatment that you can only write off as "dues." Don't get me started. Suffice it to say there's a place in hell for some people in the music business.
Monday night at Club Passim in Cambridge, MA, a legend amongst folk venues, made up for the previous night. We packed the joint and almost burned it down. Great audience. We're building up quite a following in the Boston area. They seem to put aside all that New England reserve for us. I guess it's hard to act dignified and indifferent in the face of Catherine and her damned hats.
We had a couple days off after Passim's, heading down to Blackwood, NJ, right outside Philadelphia to mooch off Kevin's parents. I took the train down to DC, my former hometown, and hung out with my brother, Randy, a bass player long before I started thumping. He's a CNN cameraman and got me into the White House press room one afternoon. For the first time since I quit my longtime job as a newspaper reporter last year, I kind of missed being a reporter. It also gave me a new appreciation for how easy I have it as a musician. Even my new bass rig is a lot lighter than than TV stuff my brother has to hump around all the time.
Thursday, May 15, we played a place I've wanted to get into for a long time, Twist & Shout in Bethesda, MD, right outside DC. It's a great place, where many national and legendary local acts have played. I got to see a lot of old friends and we enlisted some new fans. Though The Mollys, as an acoustic duo or with just me on bass of Kevin on accordion, have played DC many times, this is the first time the whole band gigged there. We had a hot night and were told we'll be back. Sounds good to me. DC has always produced a lot of great musicians (Roy Buchanan, Danny Gatton, Nils Lofgren, Emmylou Harris, ...) and it's a place we wanted to put on our regular tour itinerary. I think we may have finally cracked the ice there. Maybe we'll get in the Barns at Wolf Trap one of these years.
The following night we played at Catonsville Community College. It was a good sign when we showed up and saw they were giving dance lessons. It's nice to be listened to reverently in concert, but sometimes it's also nice to be danced to and this crowd came to sweat. And the promoters spoiled us rotten. Gained 10 pounds before we left, and that was before we tore into the doggy bags.
Today was the first festival of the year for us, the Spring Gulch Festival in New Holland, PA. It was a beautiful day in a beautiful setting: 60 degrees, blue sky, rolling green hills in Pennsylvania Amish country. Festivals are usually a blast, and this one was no exception. We did a short set in the afternoon and then came back in the evening after dinner to do a longer set. I think it's safe to say we were a hit with this new crowd. At folk festivals we're often the "bull in the China shop." We were here, but they kept waving a red cape at us so I guess that's what they wanted. It's a great festival. If you ever get a chance to make it here, do. It's your last chance to see 40-acre farms worked the way they used to be 100 years ago - before the days of $100,000 tractors and corporate agribusiness. You can only work so many acres with a team of Clydesdales.
Well, the last night of the tour was sure to be a good one - a return to the local Gaelic society's club in Fairfield, CT. We've played for them before and loved it. We did all of our Irish stuff and were warmly received. We drank our weight in Guinness, just to be hospitable, of course. It would be an insult to say, "no," to a Guinness. Wouldn't want to offend.
We're westbound, but we'll be back in time to play the very funky mining town of Bisbee, AZ, this weekend - one of our favorite places.
By the way, we had a blow out in the new van (The Beast II) right outside Bristol, TN, on the way up here. We were all sleeping, except for Nancy - who was driving. It sounded like a grenade went off, waking us all. But Nancy wrestled the van to a safe stop on the side of the road, avoiding a trip into oncoming traffic or down a 40-foot embankment. So, I guess truck stop food isn't the only hazard of the road. ......................
"We could live here." That’s a frequent comment heard in the Mollys’ van as it rolls through a new town or city during a tour. We’ve found a lot of places we like. Understand that we always want to go back to Tucson, but there are other places that have qualities we appreciate enough to make them seem like places we could live, too.
The little Pacific Northwest tour we are finishing tonight (Sunday April 27) has been full of those comments. Portland and Vancouver seemed like great places to live, lots of big city attractions without most of the big city evils - unless you’re on I-5 during rush hour. Same goes for Seattle, except that I-5 seems a terror all the time up there. We got there during spring, escaping the six-month gray and wet season.
The music scene in Portland is outrageous; there seem to be more mid-level touring acts coming through Portland than through any place we’ve been. Seriously, some weeks the schedule looks like New York or LA. The competition is brutal. The last time we were here there were six top-level touring acts in town the same weekend.
We had a great time Thursday night at Hood River, Oregon, just an hour up the Columbia from Portland and Vancouver. It’s a beautiful place on that wide Columbia River gorge. It’s the windsurfing capital of the world, they tell us. We played the Hood River Hotel. The crowd wasn’t huge but they were hot. The promoter, Squrl (his spelling, and I don’t argue with promoters), apologized saying the crowd would have been bigger but the bridge across the Columbia had been closed sporadically and only the real hard cores were going to take a chance getting marooned on the wrong side of the river. It seemed like a great crowd to us. They had a good sound system and a great room in this old hotel for music - and were very responsive to our music. What more could we ask?
The next night, in Everett, Washington, about a half hour north of Seattle, was a good time. Again, a nice venue, in this case a new theater set up for live theater and music. We saw some old friends, people who had seen/heard us in Jerome, Arizona (yet Spirit Room) and Boston. Best of all for me, my cousins, Cheryl and Renee were there with my Aunt Coralie. It’s hard for me to ask relatives to come out to hear us. (They had to put up with me as a kid, it seems a bit much to ask for a repeat.) But they actually like the band. It was great to see them.
And we’ve got to mention the outrageous spread the Everett folks put on for us. After a short deliberation, punctuated by some moaning, we voted it the best pre-gig meal we’ve ever had: Roast chicken, barbecued ribs, Caesar salad, fresh dinner rolls, garlic mashed potatoes, a great tart apple pie with ice cream, a mountain of fresh strawberries and a selection of micro brews. When you’ve been eating plastic Interstate food for a while, you can’t believe how good a real meal looks.
Friday night it was down to Salem, Oregon, an hour south of Portland and Vancouver, to play the most beautiful theater we’d ever seen - let alone played. The Elsinore. I can’t do it justice with words. If you’re ever anywhere near there and get a chance to see this place, do it. It is amazing.
The Aladdin Theater in Portland was an education. The crowd and the band get royal treatment there. There’s a nice, cozy little apartment upstairs so the band can get comfortable between the load in, sound check and show. And the theater, a beauty itself, has a bar and snack bar. The list of people who play the Aladdin puts it up there with the Bottom Line in New York as a prestige venue.
Well, when we’re not at the show, we’re usually getting to a show. And while we get there we’re usually either driving (everybody takes a turn at the wheel, although some of us are more steel-butted than others), sleeping, reading or listening to music. So, here’s a run down of The Mollys’ reading and listening habits of late:
Nancy, a voracious reader, is tearing through "War of the Saints," by Jorge Amado. The story takes place in Bahia, Brazil, and involves a controversy over antique statues and the statue of St. Barbara of the Thunder who is wandering about the city. She just finished "In the Time of the Butterflies" by Julia Alvarez, a fictionalized account of three sisters involved in the revolution in the Dominican Republic.
Catherine is reading "Hume," by Hume. Catherine says, "I don’t know what to tell you, he’s a very depressed guy I don’t know why because all he’s trying to do is make them think."
Gary is reading James Herbert’s "Portent," which he says is science fiction, but he’s not far enough into it to say much more than that. "I found it on the stairs at home." (We know he’s lying because homes in Tucson don’t have stairs.) He just finished consuming a couple issues of Utne Reader and Mother Jones.
Kevin shouts from the front of the van that he’s been reading Funny Times, the April issue, and Rand McNally’s atlas. I think he also reads encyclopedias, as he’s full of information which he divulges at the oddest times. Oh, yeah, he’s also reading the Chilton’s repair manual for our 1970 Ford 250 Supervan.
Me, I just finished Jonathan Wiener’s "Beak of the Finch" and am now picking my way through a selection of essays: Wallace Stegner’s "Where the Bluebird Sings to the Lemonade Springs," something I’ve meant to do for a long time. Every few pages, Stegner’s disappointment and anger over the way The West has been violated erupts through his otherwise reserved analysis of the history of western man meeting western land. It seems appropriate as we follow what is essentially a tour of the nation’s greatest hydrological and land use atrocities: the stopped up Columbia River and the raped public forests of the Pacific Northwest; the irrigation mess in California’s central valley; and the Central Arizona Project, the world’s greatest public works boondoggle - a $6 plus billion dollar irrigation ditch to further ruin the Colorado River so Phoenix and Tucson can become Los Angeles II and Los Angeles III.
I didn’t plan it that way, I just seem to read things that work with the route. Same goes for music. I’ve been listening to Dave Alvin’s "Interstate City." Alvin, ex-Blaster and master songwriter, explains in his notes that he spent the last three years touring relentlessly. A lot of highway imagery, understandably, comes across in the album. Oddly, the Greg Brown album I just picked up, "The Live One," also fits the drive. A Brown song, "Boom Town," about western boom towns - a common theme for Stegner - could serve as a soundtrack for Stegner’s collection of essays on the West.
Other things in my CD pouch this trip include "The Subdudes Live," a farewell live album from that great New Orleans band; Sonny Landreth’s "South of I-10," there’s that theme again; the Rolling Stones’ "Stripped," a great unplugged version of a bunch of Stones’ classics; and, of course, everything Los Lobos have ever recorded - I wouldn’t leave home without those.
Nancy picked up an Elvis Costello album on the trip. Catherine got a compilation CD containing the works of a bunch of Mexican bands. Kevin packed "The Blasters Collection," as well as a Mary Black album and a Cajun compilation album, and a truckload of other Celtic and Cajun stuff. I don’t recall what Gary brought along on this trip. I must have slept through his "show," that is, what he played during his driving shift. (Yes, the "new" van has a CD player.) I was probably sleeping. But I’d bet his Case Logic bag contained at least one or two Brave Combo discs. I prefer to listen to my portable through headphones, free to listen to what I please without annoying others - while using he bass boost at maximum.
Getting back to the literature: We’ve also been passing around Catherine’s copy of "Rush Limbaugh is a Big Fat Idiot," by Al Franken. Enough said. (Well, maybe not. I’m the moderate of this group and I once walked out of a neurosurgeon’s office - a place I had gone because I had a crushed disc in my lower back and was in great pain and in need of an operation - because he had a picture of Limbaugh on his wall. When the doctor who referred me there asked why I didn’t take his referral I said, "He seemed like a nice guy, but he had a signed picture of Rush Limbaugh on his wall and I decided it wasn’t smart to be lying face down, naked and unconscious with a knife-wielding Republican behind me.")
Stay tuned to these pages for news of the forthcoming live album, video and updates to our tour itinerary. There are dozens of dates waiting for the business types to hammer out the details. We could be coming your way. We'll let you know here, as soon as it's official.
"Hat Trick" is available by direct mail through Mollys' Market, or through record stores. (If your local record store doesn't have it, have them contact us or tell them it is distributed in the U.S. by Goldenrod (517 484-1712), by Burnside in the Western U.S. and by Record Depot and in Canada by Festival. Asking for our recordings in stores and requesting they be played on local radio stations are a huge benefit to us, something that you can do that we can't. And we can't thank those of you who have already done that enough.) Meanwhile, our first album ("Tidings of Comfort & Joy") is now out of print and our second ("This Is My Round") is still in print and available on CD and cassette (Again, check out Mollys' Market)
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