I’m back in Phoenix, and I am bedding down in the studio for 2 months. Around August I will be heading back out on, yet another, Public Tranisit Tour.
I will be posting samples of the studio tracks as we lay them down as well as “process video’s”.
However, for now scoot around the site and get acquiainted:
Supernormal Tyler, Will, Kate, Eugene, and Sarah in Portland, Oregon
Who knew I took so many pictures! In the midst of the whirlwind of Portland, Oregon, I managed to snap a ton of pictures and video. I am currently putting them all together and getting additional footage from Mark @ EVENT ONE VIDEO.
I have music video’s in the works, as well as upcoming local Arizona shows, and I have gone back into the studio to record the new album (more on that later).
If you are not already on the mailing list please visit the Contact page and sign-up. I will be releasing sneek-previews, and pre-release versions of all of the upcoming content.
Thanks to Eugene, Kate, Will and everyone in Portland who helped me along the way. I’ve got two months of studio time, then, it’s time for another tour.
Stay Tuned!
SuperNormal Tyler with Obama Supporters: Portland Oregon
I have finished the first draft for the text of the Public Tranist Tour blog posts. I will correct the grammar later, and I have a slew of photos that I am tagging and I will post soon… For now here is a teaser.
Meeting the morning on a hostel mattress follows a similar pattern. Dead arm and a sore hip on whatever side of your body the fates determined was the side, on which, they wanted you. I followed the morning ritual and scaled the steps to the hostel kitchen and unconsciously stood in front of the percolator. Ahh sweet devil coffee. Some bitter indescribable roast, fair trade goes out the window when the blood needs it’s nitro. By happy accident the former owner of a copy of this mornings local newspaper left their copy unattended so I retired to the stoop to thin the blood and get the poop on Portland from a trained writer.
Obama Rally
Who Knew? There was to be a rally for Barack Obama in Tom McCall Park along the Willamette River. Obama would speak today at 2pm-ish and I decided that it was high-time for me to slip back into a world I had been so willfully ignoring; the world of presidential politics. You’d think there wasn’t a war on with this incessant freak-show blaring from the tube day-after-day. Are you sick yet America?
Barack is the only candidate that I believe is at least speaking something resembling the English language. It seems the other two are just marionettes strung up by those that move in shadows and manufacture projectiles and pointy objects that find their ways into the bodies of the worlds children young and old. I’m sick with this so I figured I would go to where the masses are moved on this Portland morning and play my part for peace. ‘I’m tired, I’m poor, what can I do I am only me?’ In a resounding chorus the answer is, everything.
I went to the Fred Meyer on 41st Avenue and Hawthorne and did my part for the economy purchasing some art supplies. A package of markers and a roll of scotch tape. I spent the next hour or so, decorating my guitar with the slogan; “Freedom IS Free”. My website and crowning it all with a google friendly representation of myself. “SuperNormal Tyler”. Sure it was for peace, but my message goes much deeper than a slogan, and do I hope that Obama’s does as well.
So it’s on to the 14 Hawthorne Bus and toward the maddening milieu of a political love fest. Preaching to the choir, when it is in the name of peace one cannot consider such matters, just sing.
At the end of the speech I moved into the streets where shortly 72,000 people would be snaking their way back to their respective origins. I posted up on a street corner and began with the Chorus of my newest song “One World” a plea for peace, not accusatory, and universal.
“Freedom is Free,
It always has been and always will be,
I won’t pay for it,
You can’t make me.”
When I caught someones eye/ear, I would follow behind them and walk in the crowd for the verses:
“I heard you speaking softly about what you believe in,
Yeah, all right, you caught me – I’m listening,
To you as you recite that tired party line,
That Freedom isn’t free,
It’s a popularly propagated lie,
That there is a premium on peace”
I repeated the process, playing my song “One World” in a continuous loop until it reached a fevered pitch by base of the Hawthorne Bridge. Cars were stopped in traffic due to the crowds so I walked up to their windows and played the loop for them, passers-by stopped and one had a super-sweet piece of digital gadgetry. A big-lens-ed, fully pro camera, he was doing the videographer snake charmer dance, getting VH1/MTV video style wild camera coverage. He turned to do some more crowd cover and I decided to follow along. His camera turned back and we moved through the crowds immortalizing a moment. Powerful stuff. Much better than bland platitudes and rallies. We were doing what this “change we can believe in” is all about. No man/woman can do this alone, it’s up to us. And Portland did it on this Sunday in Downtown.
The Move Across Town
Upon my return to the Hawthorne Travelers Hostel, I learned that the Hobo Traveller would have to move across town. Seven nights is the limit, and I was going into night eight, so I kept my guitar strapped over my shoulder and decided to leave my stuff locked up at the hostel and set out in search of some new digs.
The White Eagle Saloon
The White Eagle Open Mic
It was Sunday, the week previous the wheels touched down and I hit the ground running to the White Eagle Open Mic on Albina. I decided I would return to the place where it all began. I had forgotten that they had rooms for rent above the saloon. I immediately remembered the ‘Legends of The White Eagle’.
This was purported to be a haunted hotel, in operation since the early 1900′s drunkards would be Shanghaied and forced into essential slave labor on ships. Whisked away in their stupor through underground tunnels and into a world unknown and rife with things I’ll describe in a later post.
Bad Boy # 10
After reserving my room upstairs and getting a bite to eat I retired to the patio and got into a little impromptu old-timey jam session with Mike James (empty james) and a banjo player named Gregory. Soon, the rest of the regular performers started to show and I decided I had better get balls and go and see what was in store for me. I stood outside the door that led to the stairwell that rises above street level and grants access to the Hotel above the barroom. Access to the rooms is by modern magnetic key card, and I slipped my key into the slot and it blinked red. I took this as an omen, removed my card and closed my eyes.
“May I come in?” I whispered.
When I opened my eyes, the little light blinked red! I had not been touching the door, and my card was shaking in my hand which dangled cold and queasy at my hip. Wishing to remain in the logical and physical world in which I have grown accustomed, I returned to the bar and told Keith, the barman, that apparently my key isn’t working. He ran it back through the system and gave it back. I proceeded to swallow my heart and man-up for another go at my paralyzing fear. I remembered a quote I once read:
“We Must Travel in the Direction of Our Fear.” – John Barryman
At the door again, I repeated the process “May I come in?” This time no red light, travel in the direction of your fear. I slipped the card in the slot, got the green and ascended the creaking wooden stairs. The Hotel is nice, clean, and looks as though nothing has been modified just beautified and restored.
All of the doors are named Counterfeit Contessa, Griselda, I approached the door to my room, Room 10, the name below the number ten read simply, Bad Boy. Travel in the direction… F-it.
I asked hushed permission once again and slipped the card in that Bad Boy and the door ratcheted open and I moved my body into someone else’s home. The door closed behind me and I looked around.
I knit bed-spread was pulled tightly over the big plush mattress to the right was a nightstand with a mason Jar and three upturned pint glasses. To my left was a single, simple wooden chair, and to my right, a corner sink with two faucets, one hot, one cold.
I closed my eyes again and tried to ease my sensations by talking to whatever was present.
“I apologize for the intrusion.” I stammered.
“I understand that this is your room and I wish to only stay here for one night. I have been on a long journey and I need a solid night of rest. I ask your permission to sleep here tonight, and I would like to invite you downstairs later to watch my friends and I play some music. I’ll be back up to the room around midnight, just so you know, and I’d like to ask you for a quiet night and…I have to ask you not to materialize.”
As soon as I finished saying the word, “materialize” I felt an intense warm sensation rise up my spine and my body seemed to be electrified. I wouldn’t have believed it if someone told me this and I don’t expect you to believe it either, but, I felt it, and I couldn’t define it at the time. I went back downstairs and rejoined the guys on the patio. Mike James could tell something was different about me. He looked at me sometimes over the next few minutes and I could tell that he could tell. Later, after I could speak, I told him the story I just told you and he eased my mind by saying,
“Well, I guess that’s good. When it’s cold is when it’s bad.”
That helped, but, not much. Please let this Open Mic last forever.
It didn’t but I will remember it forever. Great performers, songwriters all, we sang and played our hearts out, and if whoever I invited downstairs showed, they were treated to a great show. Faces that had become familiar over the previous week were in attendance and they brought their beautiful music to The White Eagle Saloon and poured it out and made magic that night. I want to list all the names but I’ll settle for the ones I can remember; Mike James, Erica Olsen, Gregory, Matt Johnson, Tim Fischer, Helen Chaya, Andrea Mooney, Mike Wilcox… and of course the resident of Bad Boy #10 __?___ . Terra Brown was writing something at the bar. I hope we all made it into what she was writing. Becky Wolf was at the end of the bar reading the paper. We all stayed for the duration.
Psst…
The night did end, and it was time to re-enter my usurped accommodations. I felt as though I was flopping on someone else’s couch, an intruder, despite the complete comfort of the bed and the room in general.
I crossed the room and laid my guitar down by the window and grabbed the provided hotel towels and let my roommate know that I was going to hit the showers and I would return shortly. I showered and came back to the room, set the alarm clock for 9:15 AM.
I left the light on and stared at the door of the room. Around 11:45PM I heard something that cut to the very bottom of my soul.
“Psst!”
There was no mistaking this sound. It was as clear as anything I have ever heard. I did not move my gaze from the door. To the right of the bed as I was laying in it was a window. Open, but the window looked out onto an atrium that was only open at the top to the near-midnight sky. This could not have come from the street. The adjoining windows on the atrium went to other rooms and there was no one home yet. The windows were dark and I heard it plain and clearly unmistakable.
“Psst!”
I heard it only once, and as soon as I heard it I replied.
“No.” I commanded, “We talked about this, and I thank you for not doing that again. I need rest and I will be gone in the morning.” “No,” I repeated. “Thank you.”
Somehow I fell asleep and had a horrendous dream. It woke me before the alarm clock and consisted of something resembling a view from the back/or front seat of a car or seat on a plane with flames shooting out from under a groove in the hood/wing. I couldn’t really place it, but, I felt the madness of spinning out of control and I think I heard screaming. You know how nightmares go; foggy, or vivid never really fully describable. I woke up and said,
“I’m so sorry that happened.”
I kept it in the past tense. It was the morning of my last night in town, and I’ll be damned if A flaming plane wing/car was going to be an omen. Today I leave Portland behind. So I’ll travel across town say my goodbyes, and thank all those who helped me along the road. Then I will cross town once again to teh airport and climb into the sky.
More to come…
I awoke to the sounds of the rousing drone of the early-risers. Cars hummed by and audibly it was a different place than the one, in which, I nodded off to just a few short hours ago. This was Saturday, cafe crashers were buzzing through town on their way for their morning fix of caffeine and I quickly figured I had better join them.
I took my aching head to Kate’s shower and took my second shower in less than 10 hours, wasteful, but necessary due to the sweat box show I played at Eugenio’s last night. It was all positive, I am not complaining, but all of that positivity soaked my body to the bone and it took another quick scrub down to once again gain some semblance of a respectable human being. I bedded down a dirty Hobo and exited the shower a fully-functioning olfactory pleasant guy from Arizona.
Post mechanical rain shower, I stumbled down the steps bleary eyed and on to 32ND Avenue. I slept above the Matchbox Lounge where Kate keeps an apartment, and now I needed breakfast and a Bloody Mary. Good thing The Matchbox Lounge began serving brunch. I bellied-up to the bar and settled in to where I ended up. I ordered a standard Bloody Mary and the bartender hooked it up with a veritable smorgasbord of a garnish, a breakfast in itself, but, the Bittersweet Farms Arugula and Roasted Potatoes with Gruyere Cream Sauce and a Poached Egg and Balsamic Syrup caught my Eye and I murmured, “Gimme!”
Unbeknownst to me, when you order breakfast, you get a Bloody Mary free. Fortuitous is becoming the theme for this little trip. It seems as though every decision I make is followed with good news and/or free goods and services. Gotta love Portland.
Before my entrance to this little Rock Club slash cafe, I paused for a smoke on the patio. A nice ‘everyman’ was feeding the demon as well. We shared a smoke and I asked, “Do you know when this place opens for Brunch?”
He said, ”Yeah, we’re open right now.”
“Fortuitous.” I replied silently.
Turns out he’s Mike, the owner of The Matchbox Lounge and we chatted a bit.
Over my breakfast and bloody, Mike and I realized who we both were, in a sense. He and I finally put together that I was the guy who dropped off some contact information a few days previous to garner a booking. And I realized that he was the guy that passed by the window when I was rocking Eugenio’s last night. We had an immediate mutual respect for one another as professionals. Me, impressed with his restaurateur acumen, and he, impressed with my professional musicianship.
He said, “Yeah, I’d love to have you play here. When did you want to play?”
I said, “How about tonight?”
Mike was concerned, he said, “Well I usually like to give people more time so that they can promote and get some people in here and make you more money.”
Music has never been about money for me, at least not yet. So, I defined Supernormal Records and myself to him briefly. Music is communication and I just want to communicate to the revelers at the Matchbox. It was settled with an “I’ll see ya around nine tonight.” and that was that. Saturday night in Portland, Oregon was booked.
I spent the day doing laundry at the Hawthorne Travellers Hostel and getting a little R&R in the midst of a whirl-wind. Between loads I would hit the Internet to jot down some lyrics. I wanted to learn the song ‘Watching the Wheels’ by John Lennon. Along with ‘Fortuitous’ that was becoming another theme for the tour. I was trying to reconcile going home and the purpose for leaving such a magical place. I told you before that I fall in love with everywhere I travel, and the old adage of coming home and seeing your home with new eyes works paradoxically.
‘If you leave the place you fall in love with on your travels you see it with different eyes as well.’ I always buy my entrance and exit ticket at the same time to thwart any vortex entrapping action. Portland will welcome you with open arms that seize you in an embrace and, like any good lover, never will let you go. I’m going home but ‘Anywhere I lay my head, boy, becomes my home’
John Vecchiarelli Live at The white Eagle Saloon
I was heading home to get the full benefit of ‘watching the wheels go round and round.’ Home to sit and let the dream distill itself, and to get the business end of SuperNormal Records out of the junk-drawer.
But, enough introspection. Tonight I rock The Matchbox. I arrived on Division Street around 9pm and dropped by the Matchbox to set-up. They only had an old rickety PA and no mic stand. I had everything else, but a PA. I foolishly assumed that every club in Portland would have all of the accoutrement’s of a finely formed rock show. Ass-U-Me. Such is the luck of this Hobo Traveller, Supernormal Tyler.
The true tests in art and life are what one does when they meet a brick wall. Do you admit defeat, chalk it up as a loss or do you blow the wall apart. In true SuperNormal fashion, I maintained and eased into the night, interior-busker style.
Eugenio’s was closed for some reason and my camera and a potential loaner PA was secured inside, so I relied on what I learned busking in the streets of Prague, Czech Republic. I had a few, got into my groove, and told the room who I was and filled them in on the reasons for the stripped-down delivery of tonight’s show.
Throughout my set, I moved around the room for acoustic effect and sat at tables with customers and made it a much more personal and intimate performance than it could have ever been with gadgetry. The mic stand is a shackle at times.
Speaking of mic stands, instead of my mic stand gimmick, where I use the stand as a guitar slide on the song ‘Arizona Born and Glory Bound’. There was an empty table so I put a chair on top of it and used the leg of the chair in lieu of the stand. Without a hitch, I put in an hour and fifteen minutes of pure SuperNormal Tyler and said my thank yous and returned to Hawthorne Boulevard a wiser man and musician.
I hit the Meridian for a night-cap and hit the sack. There was a party that I was invited to on 13th and Division, but, This whole trip has been a party so I wandered off to dreamland. Tomorrow was my last full day in Portland. I wanted to be fresh for whatever ‘Stumptown’ had in store for me
Just in case you are ever there. The Kinko’s off of the Hollywood Transit Center in Portland, Oregon does not deserve a damn dime of your money. I scooted up there to print out my lyric sheets for the Eugenio’s show tonight and we’ll call him Rick (because it rhymes with what I would call him if I were one) gave me a load of shiz. I spent about three bucks on 6 pieces of paper before I approached the counter to see if there were a cheaper option. They had these little design center computers that you can insert your credit card into and work. Trouble is, each piece of paper you print comes out on this super-glossy sexy paper. $.49 a pop! Forget that.
So, I kindly approach the counter and ask Rick, ”Hey is there a cheaper option”. Moreover, this is the Public Transit Tour, ‘an exercise in sustainable living’. And here I was clear-cutting forests with a mouse-click. All I needed was for Rick to print off 20 separate word documents. But, apparently Rick and the Kinko’s clowns wanted to battle. “I can’t print word documents, I’ll have to open each of these - save them as a PDF – then, print them. So, you have to put in an order and I could have it done by 4:30 tomorrow.” OK, sure I need these for the show tonight so that don’t fly, Rick-diculous!
Forgive me, but Microsoft Word is a fairly popular program. And if I may say, this was a Kinko’s – isn’t Kinko’s a print shop? Oh well, I thanked Rick for his time and headed back to Hawthorne to the UPS store on about 40th Ave and SE Hawthorne, and Aubrey, behind the counter made short work of it. Thanks. And let that be a lesson to you Rick. Please don’t put digital jack-assery between us humans. Life is so much sweeter when you serve the people not the policy. Shoulda done betta. But, all is well now, and it’s off to Eugenio’s on Division Street!
I played Eugenio’s on Division last night. The show was a smash, how could it be anything else when the vibe they’re cranking out is so pure. If you haven’t dropped by this little joint at 3584 SE Division Street in Portland, Oregon, then don the flops and shimmy down there so I can say I told you so. There is nothing more rewarding than giving music to people like the crew and stumble-in’s at Eugenio’s.
At the outset, I didn’t know how it was gonna roll - the temp in the room was making me pour it out. I intended to take a few breaks, something I rarely do. I usually rock straight through. But, I am learning to Grow Slow on this trip courtesy of the people I am meeting and the experiences I am having.
Eugene (the owner and peaceful party-animal patriarch of Division Street) has a penchant for putting anyone and everyone at ease immediately. It took me a few tunes to figure out the re-verb settings on his house PA system. He’s got a little Peavey 4 input jobby-job tucked in the corner that fills Eugenio’s to the rafters with tone. He is a fellow musician and he knows just how much amp to have for his space. Anyone unhappy with the set-up he provides is just gettin all “orchestratic”. More on that later.
Between sets I’d head out to the patio to dehumidify and feed the demon. With a smoke, open eyes, and a conscious mind, I watched Melissa work through the longest Kata I have ever been privy to.
I was being reserved in my delivery. I always am conscious of the space I am playing, and at this particular time of the day families were coming through the doors, so, I kept it low-key and clean. I started to play Aries and a Father and his two kids walked through the door. I don’t think that “drag me through all the beds that you’ve unmade” is a proper lyric to be sung in front of children, so, I cut it short and came back to it later. Once the little ones were in their beds, I cranked up the ‘Verb’ and played “Cold Cold Ground” by Tom Waits.
[insert video] = video will be coming soon!
That’s when I opened up and began puring it out. I went back into my original tunes and closed out the night. I’ve got video of the gig that I will upload later.
Eugene busted out the bathroom Guitar that he’s got stashed for these types of situations and he started teaching me how to play surf guitar. We sat on the patio outside busker-style, only lacking the tip-hat. Hours like minutes. Good Times.
After Kate and Eugene closed up shop, we all went down to the Victory for last call. One drink became two, became a bottle and it was down the street to the Matchbox Lounge. A trio of wily jackasses about to burst through the doors and get whatever they got.
Eugene and I started talking tunes and bands. He is in a few; The Ultronz for one. He gave me two CD’s the day before and I have yet to give them a spin. Not for lack of interest, but time. I’ll put it on when I get home and throw a little party.
At the end of the night, Ashley, the girl behind the bar gave us the biggity-boot and Kate was kind enough to let me crash on her couch. We sat up for one more beer on her couch, and talked about Division Street and being an acquaintance of Eugene’s. He’s one of those guys with which you immediately slip into a life-long friendship. Effortless and Easy.
Kate has a wealth of respect for her local father figure, and she is a big piece of what makes Eugenio’s happen. The place reminded me of my favorite restaurant back home, Malee’s Thai Bistro. I manage the bar there as a day-gig. Until I can live the dream to it’s fullest extent.
A steady “day-job” is key to forming this independent record label, SuperNormal Records. Seed money is needed and my bar-job provides that for me and affords me to live the dream to its fullest extent as it is currently defined.
As far as the Rock-N-Roll job goes; I have never wanted to need the gig. I think that an artists creativity is squelched when there is an intense struggle to survive off of the fruits of performing live at small bars and rock clubs to pay the rent. Again, Grow slow is the key. Once the situation is a bit more comfy, then by all means let the dream take over. But, I would argue that you cannot successfully force anything in this world, especially if you love it.
I have seen too many fellow artists chase the dream without a solid plan and most of them work in call centers now, and are 20-30 overweight and the dream is not deferred, the dream is dead for them.
Kate and I wrapped up our conversation and she went in her room to bed and I snoozed in the living room listening to the fading chorus of the late-night revelry of Division. Cars and laughter. Goodnight, Portland.
That big ‘freedom’ bird swooped me up on Sunday and I’m back at the HQ editing video and finishing up the blog posts for the Public Transit Tour, Portland Oregon 2008. I’ve got a lot of content coming, and I’m going to save my “Thank You’s” until I can do them properly.
[click the image above for a map]
Show starts at 9 PM
see a sample of Supernormal Tyler live!
More on our Video Page
Geno Panino and A Glass of Gruet Bubbly
Sunny Day Gruet
The clouds broke over Portland – here comes the sun – and it’s time for a little flop-flop adventure. Today I decided to get a little business done and then maybe, oh, I don’t know ‘do something I guess’. It’s a day before the big show at Eugenios and I figured I’ll take the day off and soak up the sun and dig on the locals for a while. I started out with a stroll down Hawthorne Boulevard and called Eugenio’s to see if I could catch the owner Eugene for a chat before the big night. I wanted to tell him how many people I think are coming and just put a face to the name. He’s been so good to me I thought I’d pay him a visit.
Down 34th Ave and a the left on Division Street and I scooted through the door. I had called about ten minutes previous and Eugene was out running errands so I’ll have a little lunch and sit on the patio. Kate was behind the bar. She’s an M-80 in a swimsuit and jean shorts sweeter than anything and fully capable of beautiful disaster if you meddle with that fuse. An angel with the devil her pocket, breaking hearts and taking names – don’t cross this one. Yeah, she’s rock and roll, man.
I ordered a Geno Panino and a glass of Gruet bubbly in a short stubby glass. I try to refrain from using stemware due to my penchant for destruction. I want no challenges today. So it’s bubbly in a stubby – Easy is the recipe, and the finest ingredient is time; so it’s slow-go to the patio. There’s a champagne sunrise at three PM and I’m in search of a day-buzz.
The Nicest Human Being on the Planet
Eugene rolled up in the alley by the sidewalk in a white Honda Accord and stepped out looking exactly like I expected him to. Laid back and relaxed. Eugenios should be built on a boat with Eugene at the helm swaying smoothly on calm waters and going where the breeze wills you. He’s rocking a blue T-shirt and cream-colored shorts and shades. He looks like he just stepped off of the deck of a schooner somewhere sandy and blue. He puts you in the mood he’s seems to be in perpetually; unceremonious, and cruising across the surface of the earth doing what he’s doing and then checking something else out for a while. The way it used to be? The way it is here at Eugenio’s. He’s a natural restaurateur.
Matchbox Omega
Three girls sat at the long table across from me, in true Portland fashion, we were all sharing the same table in a matter of minutes. Just in time too, because no more than a minute later I would have been destroyed by a cyclist that slammed into the chair that I was sitting in. These girls saved my life. Myshelle in sleeves and a sundress. A 4′ 11″ live wire and a kindred spirit of the bartendress Kate. Ashley in a simple grey dress and a push up – making a statement in muffled colors the statement she made sounded something like “Damn!” All the while laying down the wit like a short-order cook. Becky behind her cell phone peeking out to smile and drop a joke. Everything said about one could be said of the other if we are speaking solely on first impressions. There the kind of girls that make the clouds break and I blame the perfect weather on them. They had a name for their little coalition: Kappa Kappa Matchbox Omega.
Kappa Kappa Matchbox Omega:Ashley, Becky, Myshelle, and Kate
Chad meandered into the mix, he’s moving to Portland from Vermont and searching for a house. He won’t find it today, the Matchbox Omega girls stepped in and he and I are about to be hijacked. Before long we were all ’life-long’s' riding the crest of a wave beatific and ready to sail this thing all the way up to the Gold Dust Meridian on Hawthorne leaving Eugenio’s in our wake and on the docket for tomorrow night. Showtime.
Myshelle, Ashley, Chad, Kate, and Supernormal Tyler
Meridian
The Gold Dust Meridian was the next destination, so we paid the tabs and said our goodbyes to the crew of Eugenio’s leaving it as our safe harbor. We’ll return tomorrow night, and I can repay the debt of a great day to all of the people who gave it to me. That’s why I love playing music, the human connection. Stepping in and creating happiness for people, positive and prolific – I’ve got one-and-a-half hours of stage time and it’s gonna go by to fast. At the Meridian, we found a back patio, Omega had been there before but none of them had noticed it before. The little pathway was like entering a secret garden and we assembled ourselves at a table. Omega was drinking Mojitos made with 12 year Rum, and I was stepping it up a bit. I had an IPA and a shot of well bourbon, I was seeking the day buzz, and hell bent getting on there. Our collective energy soon filled the patio to the gills with day-drinkers. General jackassery and side-splitting laughter, Myshelle drew a Black Bart moustache on her index finger and was holding it up to her face and the rest is a blur. I believe the buzz had arrived. And I believe it skipped a few stages and put me straight in Zangsville!
Myshelle and her Black Moustache
One guy came in with a guitar and some one said paly us a song, he refused. I took that as my cue and went back to the Hostel and got the Git-fiddle. I walked back on the patio and asked if I could play them a song and so I played “Arizona Born and Glory Bound”. That song is kind of becoming my anthem for this trip. “the secret to success is get the F*** out”, an urge I am trying to fight. I fall in love with everywhere I travel and the common theme around here is that what is trying to happen to me has happened to many. Ich bin ein Portlander! Myshelle asked me if that was a harmonica, I said “yes”. Apparently, she plays. She started tooting around on it and I played a remix of one of my own tunes: “The Things I’m Gonna Miss”. Normally, it’s a heartbreaker track slow and solemn. People have told me it made them cry, but, now it was up-beat jovial and I gravelled-up the vocals and Myshelle rocked the Harmy. I had to go after that. I could have stayed there all day, but, I wanted to hit the Muddy Waters Open Mic on Burnside and the sign-up started at seven.�
The Crew is Growing at the Meridian
Murky Moods at Muddy Waters
I arrived at 7:05 and the place was already awash with troubadours with guitars in-tow. I got a negative vibe and heeded it. I chose to head back to the hostel and good thing I did because about ten minutes later I had to put the buzz to bed. I spun motionless on the matress then dropped off the planet at 7:00 PM. That’s Rock and Roll.
More Pictures and videos coming soon.
Exodus
Well, I managed to do it. After a night out at 9 muses and a late return to the Hawthorne Traveller’s Hostel, I awoke at 7 AM by chance and showered up to head out the door. Today’s the day for the start of the Supernormal Wine Tour: Willamette Valley, so, it’s pack up the bags lightning quick and out the door and onto the MAX red line to the Airport, a practice run for the day I am trying to not consider; the day I have to leave Portland behind. But, this trip to the airport will be to rent a Dollar Rental Car and drive out to the Willamette Valley and finally walk amongst the vines. Sunshine and grapevines.
I said goodbye to a few fellow travellers and put back together the Supernormal Road Kit and jettisoned my now oblong and imbalanced self out the door and on to the 14 Hawthorne Bus to downtown. My head still reeling from the previous evenings revelries at 9 Muses. I celebrated the coming of today last night with some fellow Hobo Travellers, and now I’m paying for it with ineffective Bayer tablets and sunglasses. Heavy stuff in-tow. That will kill the hangover, or me. My money is on it killing the hangover, so it’s lumber on, Lumpy.
View from the window of the MAX Redline to the Airport
It’s overcast this morning, but, there is something more than that. I feel like I am slipping into a little lull emotionally. When I travel there is a formula. I do not intend it, and it is not quite unique to me. Other ‘conscious hobo’s’ have similar experiences. Travelling as I choose to, alone, lugging everything I need on my back, ‘backpacking’ as it’s commonly called. I find that there are certain stages or emotional states that always come in an ordered cycle.
First: The Gush - A giddy bubbly love for anything and everything in the wide-world. That lasts for a few days; sometimes a week. Then: The Dump - that’s when then the gilded-tinge on everything fades and I begin to go inside of myself and start to feel that bastard loneliness and emptiness. A peek into a pit of despair and your heart goes to your shoes so that you stomp all over it with every step you take the weight of your pack emphasizing the blows. The Hobo Traveller questions his motives and criticizes his actions. ”Why not the beach?” I hear someone say inside my own mind. ‘The Dump’ doesn’t last long, but, I think that stage is working it’s way in now. It sucks but, the other side of it is: The Rise – a leveling off and a smooth climb into a complete happiness with the place and the process of travel and the knowledge that it brings. But, as any cycle isn’t a one time gig, so, don’t mind the down-times and look a loft. For round and round it goes.
There’s a college education in 8 days on the road. There’s a Master’s in a month. Institutional education won’t teach you how to hold on to the world when it goes wobbly and you’ve abandoned yourself for a strange town and a whirlwind. This is why I travel like I do. Sounds heavy, and it is, there is no doubt that you’re among the living and learning to live better, and reflecting on the cycle is brand new for me. This is but my second go-round.
The car deal didn’t work out. No major woop, just a brief bummer. I finally chalked it up as a ‘slight adjustment’ and got back on the MAX to City Center. Enter “The Dump” – I put my sunglasses on and moved through the motions while the MAX clacked me back to the best thing that resembles home – the hostel. Good thing the Red line is a long jaunt from the airport to downtown, it gave me time to work it through. That bastard loneliness came back and moistened my eyes and put the aortas and ventricles out of order. I Hung my head and lumbered back to the hostel to book the rest of my stay. They only have tonight open. The weekend is booked but I’ll check in the morning for a potential cancellation. If not there is another hostel across town in Northwest Portland. If that’s bust, then there’s always the luxury of a Days Inn.
A little Fence in the Japanese Gardens Portland, Oregon
Emotional Daybreak and a Distilling of the Dream
Enter ”The Rise”. It clicked on the MAX and now I am finding out how to define it. The reason why everything went awry at the airport and I can’t get the car until tomorrow which means I had to cancel the first day’s appointments is this: I don’t want to go to wine country. That simple. Maybe some day in the future, but right now I’m in Portland, Oregon, man. I’m here on a Public Transit Tour. I got plans, baby. I want to just do the job and do it righteously. I want to rock this thing out and stay where the getting is good. I’m rounding the corner and setting out on a new and elevated path. The tears distilled the dream and refocused the vision. Oh, the ideas and the little treats I’ve got coming for you. Let’s get Supernormal! I got a little light and guess what I’m gonna let it do!
